Twice as long as recent chapters; more plot than porn. Two more installments after this one.
Adrian's not coping well in this chapter I'm afraid, but on the plus side we get to hear from Dan for a bit. Stick with the guys!
______________________
"You should have fucked that guy with all the tattoos," I tell Dan when we hit the sack.
"Will you stop it! I said I wasn't interested."
"You said he was well fit."
"Just because a guy's well fit doesn't mean I want to fuck him."
"You said we could look for other people."
"Sure. I know, I just asked not to be left alone while you did them, so then
you
said you didn't want to. I didn't think you wanted me at the sauna just for me to fuck someone else? I wanted you; is that so bad?"
"No." No, it's not.
"You didn't even seem to be looking at anyone else, so it doesn't really matter, does it?"
It matters more than anything, if I can't be what he wants.
It's late and falling asleep is the best option, especially after the epic last two weeks. That big meeting on Friday went well, eventually, but it was a long day after not enough sleep for nights on end. Now, of course, I have the time but can't get to sleep.
It keeps disturbing me. He's clearly wanting just me, and for me to want just him. But I still want Laura.
More to the point, I've fucking
earned
Laura.
And she'd be gutted if I cancelled on her.
Dan will be bereft if I
don't
.
Shit.
I wake late, lounge about in bed while Dan hits the gym, and pour myself a generous glass or two while we watch telly in the afternoon. I cook a bit of dinner because then I don't have to say much.
"Thanks. Kinda nice, this couply thing, innit?"
"Aye."
I'm gonna break his wee heart. Knew he was too good for me.
I down another half-bottle while watching telly this night. Too tired to concentrate, might as well enjoy a drink.
"You're knocking them back. You OK?"
"Course I am."
He's out in the office the next day. I focus on my work well enough, but it's not good. Soon as he returns, I'm pouring. Just Glenfiddich, basic stuff. Might as well use it up.
"You're not right, Adrian. What gives? Do... do you want me to move out?"
Bless him. I don't want to lose him, but how the hell can it work?
"No. Just leave it, OK?"
"If you're sure." He heads to bed; I pass out on the sofa, crawling to bed when I wake all stiff in the night.
He gives me a kiss when he's heading out to work. "Looks like you're sick. You stay in bed - hope you feel better soon, love. Love you. Bye."
Oh,
fuck
.
That's not just a term of endearment; that's a declaration, that is.
Now I'm a fucking heartbreaker as well as well as a cheating bastard.
I drag myself to the lounge, make some tea and toast, text Naz to say I'm ill, and watch daytime telly. Landing on Jeremy fucking Kyle with the regulation love-rats is not fucking helping. Where's Bargain Hunt, or Escape to the Country Which Is Being Infested By Poncy Rich Couples Who All Deserve To Be Shot, when you need them, eh?
If I ditch my deal with Laura, she'll hate me. Breaking promises is the work of cads and bastards. Besides, and this is why I
know
I'm a fucking arsehole, I don't want to.
The other option is hurting Dan, either cheating on him or dumping him.
I don't think I could survive without him, now he's been in my life.
Which brings me back to being a two-timing cunt. I've been low in my life, but never that low.
At least I know what to do when I hate myself this much. Only one way to escape a bit.
I trot down the corner shop and ask for vodka. The cheap shit's on offer, so I return to the sofa with 70 cl of liquid happiness.
It's not happiness, really. Numbing agent, more like.
I'm not totally stupid; I pace myself, only a couple glasses an hour, just enough to blank out the shit.
I'm hoping Dan will come in around six.
He doesn't.
Couple hours later, he's still not back. I've polished off the bottle; everything is fuzzy and harmless, now.
He must have given up, gone back upstairs to Max's, me being all dour pisshead the last two days.
Fuck
.
I can't manage without him.
I hurl the empty bottle somewhere towards the kitchen. It smashes on a counter and it's just too much to deal with, broken glass and sharp edges. I grab another bottle off the dresser and get to work polishing off the Glenfiddich. It's a boring dram, can hardly believe it's a single malt - it deserves to be knocked back by an alkie.
Suffice it to say, I don't notice when Dan comes in round nine, having skipped the pub after his football to come check on me instead.
_________________
"My flatmate's gone on a bender again and I can't rouse him!"
"Is this typical?" the paramedic asks.
"I know he had drink problems when his wife died a few years ago, but not since then. Just this last couple of days, don't know why..."
"Hm. He's conscious again now. And there we go... Sick again."
He listens to his radio. "Arse. You're sure it's just alcohol he's had? That's something. Look, the hospital's swarming with a major incident. Are you able to care for him, because otherwise he'll just be lying on a trolley in the recovery position, all night?
I've reamed out his airway, I don't think there'll be any more vomit to worry about aspirating. You know what to do? Great. Don't be afraid to call if he goes unconscious again, give him Diarolite if you can - here's a couple sachets to go on with. You say he's not done this for years? Probably a reason, then. Lost his job? Been dumped? Someone dead, or he's found he's got a kid? Anyway, good luck with it, mate, he's lucky to be living with you."
I shove yet more soiled bedding and clothes into the washing machine and continue my vigil, eventually falling asleep next to him. Am I just a stupid over-emotional sap? I know Adrian would say he's just a bitter bastard with a drink problem, but I thought he was more than that.
A phone rings. The sun's up, so it must be morning. About nine.
Adrian doesn't move. Those wonderful blue eyes with the little laughter lines all round are staying firmly shut. Not sure whether he's acting comatose on purpose or not.
I look at the phone on the bedside table and recognise the name. I'm suddenly desperate not to be alone dealing with this, so I pick up Adrian's floppy right hand and manage to drag his finger over the sensor to unlock the phone and answer.
What I hear is a cheerful, "How's it hanging, big lad?"
"Will? Are you the Will what's Adrian's mate from like twenty years?" My words come out in an inarticulate rush.
"Aye. Who're you, and what are you doing with Adrian's phone?" Good question.
"It's Dan. My name's Dan... I'm... I'm living with him now. But... it's all gone pear-shaped..."
"Living with him? Ha! You're a brave one! But what's happened? He on the piss again?"
"Mm. Yeah. He's normally pretty controlled with the drink. I guess you know, he won't drink alone before 8 pm, doesn't overdo it - not much, anyway, and it was all fine for the first two weeks. But this last week, suddenly he's been shit-faced every night and he won't talk to me! I had to get an ambulance out, last night?"
"You called 999?
Shit
. He OK now?"
"Technically conscious. Won't say anything. I think he's asleep again, now." I look over at Ade's stubbled face. Out of it, but definitely breathing.
"He talked to you, about stuff, before?"
"Yeah. I get the impression he doesn't share his emotions with many people, but somehow we got chatting when we first met, and kept on. Within a week I seemed to know him better than I knew half my own family! Or thought I did."
"Oh, aye?" The voice, similar to Adrian's, but different, more of an English cadence, pauses, as if thinking. "What's he been telling you, then? Criminal record and rehab?"
"Yeah, that. Some good stories, but that's him making light of it. Taking everything going in his twenties, heroin and all. Until Diane got hold of him."
"Uh-
huh
." There's a quiet mutter, as if this Will
hadn't
known about the smack. "What d'you know about his family?"
"One older sister with a wee girl, expecting a boy any day. Ma very Catholic, praying to St Jude he'll find a new wifey. Dad died a year before Diane did..."
"What was his da like?"
It feels horribly like an interrogation.
"Says he was a bastard, especially since what he - the dad - said was a kneecapping by the IRA but Ade thinks it might have just been a family thing with his uncles, not sure."
"He really
has
opened up! Not to mention giving up smoking since he met you. Look, is he conscious at the moment?"
"Technically. Off his face, though, not answering, and all crying into the pillow when he rouses a bit. Won't talk to me. I called 999 round ten, but they said if he doesn't pass out again and I know basic first aid, leave him be, just watch him."
"Shit. You sure his ma hasn't died?"
"I doubt it. She phoned yesterday evening. I had to pretend to be a colleague and that he was in some vital evening meeting with clients. I don't think it's that - he keeps muttering about being such a bastard, he doesn't deserve me..."
"Oh god. Not that
again
!"
"What?"
"He had some episodes like that when he got together with Diane. She got him to go for therapy, fuck knows how. Frogmarched with a bullwhip, I wouldn't be surprised." The man's voice sounds amused. "Probably means he's falling in love with you if he hasn't already."
Now that wasn't something I expected a stranger to tell me. "You reckon?"
"I
know
. So, my wee man, can we rely on you to be good for the daft eejit and not break his stupid fucking heart, or if not, could you just dump him now so I don't have to come round and trail ye? Me and the gang'll be doing you in style, if turns out you've hurt him more than the bleedin' wee sod's hurting himself! We'll get him back to rights, don't you worry."
"You think? Don't
you
worry. I want to look after him. I just don't know what to do!" I must sound pathetic, practically wailing at him. I want to believe what he's saying.