Of Love and In

I don't know why I try. I just don't. I get up at six in the morning every day, shower, tame my unruly hair into a stylist's dream, and paint my face up so that I look like someone completely different than when I woke up. I drag my tired ass out into the bright shiny world determined to make this new day better than the day before, I say to myself "Self, today I will meet my soul mate" only to be home by six more tired than when I left, alone and disgusted. Well, I am not completely alone. The bottle of Grey Goose under my arm screams to be opened from its crackling brown paper sack, I am only too happy to oblige.

"But Ricky!! Why can't I be in your show?"

Even dead Lucy's shrill voice alerts me that it is past midnight, and all I have accomplished is a nice martini induced buzz teetering on the brink of full on inebriation and five chapters of tripe. I am a writer ... well, I used to be. Now, if someone took account of my life they would see a lonely chick in her early thirties who by day traipses all over Dallas with her notebooks and laptop pretending to write a 'novel' but in reality she is trying to be seen by any available man who is meets her lofty standards making him marriage material.

The outside observer would see that her disappointment is tangible when she returns home from the long day to drink away her troubles as she tries half heartedly to revive a writing career she is not even sure she really wants anymore. The outside observer would watch me pop a couple of different pills from an unmarked prescription bottle, and wonder what I am washing down with my cocktail.

"Oh God ... why do I even try anymore? Please just end it already why am I still here!"

I drunkenly scream to an unseen and unheard God hoping that this time it will hear me and put me out of my misery. But, another hour or so passes and I am still here, it never listens. I am drunk, depressed, and distraught, but still to my chagrin, very much alive. I push my laptop off of the bed, drink the last bitter dredges of my now warm martini and fall into the small pile of pillows waiting for my weary head.

1.

"Who are you? Where am I?" I hear myself ask. But unnervingly I notice my lips never moved. The faceless man says nothing; he extends a warm hand to me and leads me through a lavish house to a bedroom. Somehow all of the sudden I am on a bed that feels more like a cloud, there are arms roving my body finding no purchase on any one spot, but invoking feelings of ecstasy unimaginable with in my very core.

I have no idea who this man is based on his physicality's, but somehow I know his soul. The man making love to me is someone in my life right now someone I have wanted before, but never had, someone I have loved, and sometimes still love. He strokes my body as if he were born to do just that and right as we are about to climax together he stops. He looks up and around as I urge him desperately to continue.

"I am calling ..." His voice is like cool silk sheets caressing my burning skin.

"What? I don't care; I'll get the phone later... please don't stop ... don't go!" I claw at his back as he makes to withdraw from me.

"Justine, there is no time I am calling ..." he says again with more urgency.

His body slowly fades into nothing as the room dissolves into my familiar bedroom. And as I begin to hear the cacophony of the phone ringing more clearly I cry. He is gone again. It is a dream I have constantly, so much I am terrified to go to sleep because I know I will wake bereft of his warmth, his love, any love. The caller is insistent; the ringing phone would not cease I threw the comforter from my body. Angry, I flew from the bed faster than I should have after a night of drinking and chemical induced sleep. I clutched at my head praying that the jack hammer working tirelessly at my skull would break the surface and permit me to leave this earth. Unfortunately, my prayers again fall on deaf ears, and my life was spared as I grabbed the phone receiver.

"What!" I bellowed into the handset.

"Umm Justine you ok?" Malichai's voice sounded a bit more cheerful than my own as I tried to compose myself and rein in my temper.

"God Malichai, what are you doing up so early?"

"I am catching an earlier flight home today ... will you be able to meet me at DFW around ten this morning?"

I was silent ... my head pounded with new unrelenting fervor hell bent on forcing me to recall each and every volatile sip of vodka that passed my lips the previous night. , I still felt drunk and this man whom I would walk through fire for, but he won't see it, wanted me to greet the day with open arms?

"I think I just had a dream about you. Your call woke me out of it." I croaked giving my tired eyes a vigorous rub.

"Oh yeah ... was it a good one?" he asked.

"No, um, we were being chased. I think someone wanted to kill us or something. It was so surreal" As I lied I could still feel his demanding lips on mine and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and dream about him some more.

"Then I guess it's good I called when I did huh?" He did not sound convinced, but also did not want to hear the real dream; so we both were content with the murder scenario.

"I'll pick you up at ten Malichai. Hope you have a good flight..."

"Wait Justine, that's why I called, I did not want you to freak out when you saw him, Edward is flying in with me. He wants to visit for a week. Tell me you are ok with that."

As soon as he said the name Edward my blood ran cold, and my head pounded so hard I thought my ears would bleed. Edward is the Bain of my existence and a pain in both of my ass cheeks. The last time Edward and I had been in the same city I told Malichai that if I ever had to see Edward again that I might kill him. And now Malichai is actually asking me if I am ok that he is bringing this effeminate son of a bitch to my home for a fuckin visit? Hell no! I am not ok with it! When we all lived in New York Edward propositioned Malichai, knowing that Malichai and I were together. And the shit of it is, Malichai went to him!

"Justine, you know I have always been curious ..." He said to me as he grabbed his keys and proceeded to leave our flat to go sleep with Edward to satiate his bi-curiosity. I thought I would never forgive him. That night I packed my things, called my mother in Texas to get a plane ticket home. And by five the next evening I was back in Texas on the phone with wet hair talking to a begging Malichai. He wanted me back in New York, could not understand why I left, and had the ever famous argument of ...

"It was just sex, it meant nothing ...I didn't even like it!"

After three years with me he jumps up and gets curious. We both had always been eccentric, loved to try new things ... but together. It had never dawned on me after all the nights we spent at various drag shows and in gay clubs like Monster that Malichai would ever wish to go outside our relationship, much less with another man. I couldn't compete with a man; I had no idea even where to begin, so I did the next best thing and ran. He threw away the best relationship either of us could ever imagine and have not found again on some cock that supposedly, he didn't even like.

But still, it took him four years of co-habitation in a studio apartment with Edward to satisfy his curiosity with his not so good homosexual experience. In the four years we were apart we spoke often, I eventually forgave his transgressions against my heart, but I never trusted him again, and he knows it. Still, when it was over between him and Edward I told him to come to Dallas until he figured out what he wanted to do, not my best idea as I am still very much in love with him. And now, I am just hours away from being faced with, Edward, * AKA* Satan.

"Malichai, why would you invite Edward here? Are you really that oblivious to my feelings? Or do you just not give a damn?"

"Justine, please, he and I are still friends, you know that..."

"Ok, well Malichai, I can't stop him from making the trip, but you and your 'friend' can make arrangements for a 'friendly' hotel room! Oh, and Love ... Edward had better not say a mumbling word to me when I pick you up. If he does I may dive on him right on the spot!"

"Justine, don't be like this ... a hotel room is not necessary ... we are just friends! He can sleep on the couch..." he whispered heavily into the phone.

"Malichai, you are lucky I am even bothering to pick you up! Edward will not set foot I this house, not ever! And if you don't play your cards right, neither will you!"

With that I slammed the phone down hurting my hand. As I cursed in pain I hoped that Malichai would send Edward to a hotel alone, and that Malichai would stay with me. But with little to no faith I ran a hand through my already mussed hair as I trudged back to bed. I had a good four hours before I had to be at the airport, and nausea was slowly creeping into my stomach. I lay down and attempted to will the sickness to wash over me as quickly as possible. As I lay there I contemplated my affection for Malichai and every other man I had gotten attached to only to end up with a broken heart every single time.

"God if you can hear me at all ... Please I am begging you, take away my capacity for love. I am begging you, if you have any compassion at all close my heart forever, it is already in pieces ... put a shell over it, don't let anyone else in. Please stop dangling the prospect of love and happiness just out of my reach ... please ... G-o-..."

My prayer fell silent on my lips as I fell back into bed pissed off, dejected, and distressed. No one heard me, I am sure of it.