Broken (11 page)

It doesn’t. “It’s not enough. For the last few days, all we’ve done is fuck in your office, in the car, in a bathroom at the village. I’m starting to feel like some kind of cheap fuck toy.”

“Theodore…”

“I don’t like it, James. I don’t like the man I’m turning into. Sex used to mean something to me. I didn’t just give myself to anyone who asked. But with you…”

His words fade and I don’t know what to do, what to say. I want to reassure him but I don’t know how. I’ve never done
this
before. Theodore’s the first man I’ve ever fucked more than twice. Does that make this a relationship? I wouldn’t know. Is that what he’s even asking for? I wouldn’t know that either.

All I know is that I’m not ready to stop being with him yet. He’s a good man. He has values. He
cares.
He makes me wish I could be like him. He makes me want to be
better.

“I know it’s just sex,” he continues. “And that for some people it doesn’t need to involve emotion, but it does for me. I can’t help it.”

“Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing,” I say. It’s not a notion I particularly understand, but I admire it nonetheless. “I don’t know if I can be who you want me to be, but…but I can try.”

He shakes his head and it confuses me even more. I’m losing him and I don’t know how to stop it.

“I’d never want or ask you to change. That’s not how relationships work.”

“Is that what you want? A relationship?”

Theodore sighs. “I just want to know you.
You
. Not just your dick.”

He has no idea what he’s asking for. If he did, I’m sure he wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

“I’m really not that interesting,” I say, forcing playfulness into my voice. I suppose it’s my way of trying to dodge this whole, uncomfortable conversation.

“But I
am
interested. To everyone else you’re an uptight, arrogant prick, but I’ve already seen deeper than that. And…and I want
more
.”

More?
“I don’t know if I can give you that.”

Sighing, Theodore pulls away from my touch. “Then I can’t do this anymore.”

“Wait!” I say, panicked as his fingers curl around the door handle. “I’ll try. I don’t know if I
can
do it but, please, let me try.”

“Why? I’m sure you’ll find a replacement in no time. In fact, for all the shit Ed talks about you, I’m pretty sure he’d jump at the chance to suck you off in your car. You wouldn’t even need to say please.”

“But I don’t want him, or anyone else. I want
you
.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I could come up with some cheesy bullshit but it would be a lie. You’re different. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the very first time I laid eyes on you. It makes no sense to me so, no, I can’t tell you why. But…I-I need you, Theodore.”

Closing his eyes, he exhales slowly through his nose. “I feel like I might be about to agree to the worst mistake of my life.”

“I can’t promise that you’re not,” I say, my heart pounding.

“But no more sex. I’m banning it.”

What!
“For how long?” My balls ache at the thought.

“Until we know each other a little better.”

“So…you want to
date
first?”

“I know it’s old-fashioned but-”

“It is,” I cut in. “But I also find the idea strangely fascinating. I can’t say I’ll be any good at it, but I’ll give it a go.”

“You will?”

“The concept of courting has-”

“Jesus, don’t call it that. You make me feel like an old man.”

I can’t help but smile. “
Dating
has never appealed to me before, but for you…”
I think I’d do just about anything
. What the hell has this man done to me? “For you, I’ll try.”

“Okay then,” he says, with what looks like a mixture of surprise and suspicion clouding his eyes. “Let’s just hang out. See what happens.”

Hang out?
I don’t think I’ve ever ‘hung out’ in my life. “I can still wank though, right?” I ask, my tone teasing.

Theodore rolls his eyes and offers a lopsided smile at the same time. “I want to get to know you, not control you. Wank away.”

When I realise our time together is coming to an end, my smile fades. “Can I at least kiss you before you leave?”

He responds with actions, climbing into my lap and twisting his fingers into my hair. My lips part, eager to take his tongue, but it doesn’t appear. Resting his forehead on mine, he pecks feather-light kisses across my top lip before sucking it gently between his teeth and releasing it again.

“I’ve gotta go,” he breathes, pulling away from me.

My mouth is still open. I’m breathless. Excited. Confused. Hopeful.
Terrified
.

“And you’re
sure
people can’t see through this glass?” he adds, looking up at his block of flats through the tinted window.

“Bit late to be thinking about your modesty
now
.”

“That’s not even funny. Tess is up there. Her seeing me suck your dick would be like fucking you in front of my grandma.”

A small laugh trickles from my throat. “You’re good. I promise. Nobody saw; not Tess, not your neighbours, nobody.”

He nods, appeased. “I’ll see you Monday?”

That’s too long
. “Or before.”

“But not for sex.”

“No sex.” I salute him. “Scouts honour.” But fuck if this isn’t going to be hard.
Literally
.

Theodore smiles, opens the door and clambers awkwardly out of the car. “Goodbye, James.”

The door is closed before I can reply. My head falls back on the window and I close my eyes, composing myself while praying to a god I don’t even believe in that I’m doing the right thing.

Please. Please don’t let me ruin this.

**********

“Uckle James! Uckle James! Come and see!”

I’ve barely walked through the door to my brother’s house when Isobel tugs on my hand and starts pulling me into the living room. “Look at what, princess?”

“YouTube!”

I turn my head towards Max, drawing my eyebrows together, and whisper, “Three year olds use YouTube?”

Max chuckles. “She knows her way around it better than I do. Drink?”

“Just water, please,” I say, clapping his shoulder before joining Isobel on the plush three-seater.

Isobel is engrossed in the TV. I’m struggling to see the appeal. So far, all I’ve seen is a pair of hands opening two rows of Kinder eggs one by one.

Laura, Max’s wife of six years, appears with my water and she bends down and pecks my cheek. “Good to see you,” she says.

Smiling, I take my drink. “Thanks.” I take a small sip and then flit my gaze between her and the TV. “How is this entertainment?”

Laura laughs, shrugging. “The voiceover woman makes my ears bleed.”

“Whatever happened to Rosie and Jim? Tom and Jerry?”

“Uckle James!” Isobel calls for my attention, yanking the sleeve of my jacket. “Look! She got a paw patrol toy.”

“Wow. That’s awesome, princess.”

“Paw patrol is well sick.”

“Sick?”

“She spends a lot of time with my nephew,” Laura explains. “He’s twelve, and everything’s either sick or peng.”

Peng?
I’m thirty-one and suddenly feel like a pensioner.

Laura disappears to finish dinner, leaving me alone with Isobel. For a while, I just stare at her. Her hair is longer since I last saw her and she’s definitely taller. Kids grow
fast
. She looks a lot like me, or at least like I do in childhood photos. I don’t like that. It makes me worry about what else I might’ve passed on to her. She’s perfect. Sweet. Kind. Adorable.

Happy
.

Every time I see her I hope she doesn’t turn out like me. Sometimes I find myself analysing the things she says, her mannerisms, actively looking for similarities between us. If I’m honest with myself, I think that’s the reason I don’t come here too often. I love her so much, but the thought of
tainting
her somehow tortures my mind.

“When’s Nanna coming?”

I’ve been so busy watching Isobel I didn’t notice Max enter the room. He stands next to me, addressing Isobel. “She’s on her way. Go and ask Mummy for a wipe for that mucky mush of yours.”

Isobel licks the back of her hand and rubs it across her mouth instead.

“
Isobel,
” Max says her name sternly, making her huff. “Go to Mummy while I talk to Uncle James.”

Here we go
. I’ve managed to avoid him since he left my apartment after my birthday trip to the hospital.

“If I do can I have a zine when we go to the shop?”

“We’ll see.”

Appeased, Isobel jumps up and starts running out of the room. “Mummy! Daddy said I can have a zine!”

“She can’t read, can she?” I ask. She’s a bright girl, and I don’t know much about kids, but surely three year olds can’t read magazines.

“She likes them for the shitty toys stuck on the front. The kind that break after two hours and end up punching a hole in the sole of your foot when you least expect it.”

I nod, though I’m not familiar enough with kids toys to really understand. “So, how’s work? Did you go to Glasgow?”

Turned out, Max was asked, last minute, to travel to his firm’s Glasgow branch to implement a new training method they’ve developed at his Manchester office.

“Stop trying to avoid the topic, James. I want to talk to you before Mum gets here.”

My jaw tenses. I don’t want to do this with him. I know he cares, and that I’m an arsehole, but it’s uncomfortable and I want to run away.

“Has the cut on your head healed?”

“Almost. Still a little tender but the stitches are starting to dissolve.”

“And how about
inside?
Are you sleeping okay?”

“Yes.” My tone is clipped. I don’t mean it to be but I can’t seem to stop it.

“Have you made a doctor’s appointment yet?”

I sigh, frustrated. “I don’t need one. I’ve already told you, I drank too much that’s all. I fucked up. It won’t happen again.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking
at all
.” His voice is concerned rather than reprimanding and guilt pools in my stomach.

“I know. I don’t usually, but lately…” I trail off, running a hand over my flustered face. “It’s been tough getting to grips with the running of the company. I just slipped.” I shrug. “But it won’t happen again,” I repeat, willing him to believe me.

“If you need help, why not look into selling a share? Finding another business partner?”

“No.” The word is acidic as it rolls off my lips. How can he even suggest that? “Dad managed, and so will I.”

“But Dad wasn’t…”

He falls silent and anger bubbles in my veins. “Wasn’t what?” I snap. “
Sick?
Mentally ill? Fucked in the head?”

“Stop it, James.”

I don’t
want
to stop. I want to defend myself, but when I hear my mother’s voice in the hall, I clamp my mouth shut. She doesn’t know the half of it, and she never will.

My mum knows I’ve taken antidepressants in the past but, beyond that, we’ve never really talked about it. I’ve never felt able, or even wanted, to discuss anything of any real emotional importance with my mother. I can’t say for sure if it’s
her
issue or
mine
.

She’s a good mum. She loves me, of that I have no doubt. I had a good childhood, never went without. But like a lot of people, she can be judgemental. I don’t think it’s necessarily intentional. I actually think she sees herself as quite open-minded, but nevertheless I’ve grown up listening to her comment on the news, celebrity gossip, neighbourhood rumours, with phrases like, “Suicide is selfish.” “They don’t know how good they’ve got it.” “How can they be depressed when there are children dying in the world?” And her personal, and most used, favourite, “He/she needs to snap out of it.”

She’s not a bad person, possibly all talk. I’m sure she’d never voice her views outside the family. Most people only air their honest opinions, judge things they’ve no experience with, to people they’re close to. Would she react differently if she knew one of those ‘selfish’ strangers she mocks was her own son? Possibly, but I have no intentions of finding out.

I stand up to greet her. “Ah, so that’s what my youngest son looks like,” she says, pressing her hands to my cheeks.

“Sorry, Mum.” I kiss her cheek. “I’ve been busy with the company.”

Smiling, she releases me and bends down to Isobel who’s just ran in from the kitchen.