Gemini (8 page)

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Authors: Chris Owen

Tags: #erotic MM, #Romance MM

BOOK: Gemini
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He turns to the boys and hugs them each, makes them promise to call soon. We'll all go out for dinner, he says. And talk about books and art and real estate and what's wrong with big business.

Jamie snorts and insists that sports get some air time and Paul comes over to me and takes my hand, that shy smile on his face again.

Not a bad day, really. Paul came out, Jamie got off, I got a new home. Feels good to be me.

68

Gemini

by Chris Owen

Chapter Eight

Bobby and Fred are waiting for me when I get to work, and I can tell that it's bad news. They're sitting in the main room and it's quiet, and that's just not the way the place is. Usually you can barely hear yourself think in there, the music is so loud, even when we're not open.

I go and sit down and look at them. "What?"

Fred leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling. "We're making them re-check, Gent. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure it's a fuck up at the lab. But until they call back and give me the all clear you got time off."

I think I'm gonna pass out.

"What did I test out on?"

He doesn't answer for a long time and all I'm thinking is how many fucking high risk groups I'm in. Gay. More than one guy. Work with needles. Spend my time wiping fucking blood off people. Oh shit, what if I gave something to my boys? "What the fuck did I test positive for?" I think I'm screaming.

He tells me he doesn't know, that he just gets the word that employee number whatever had a contaminated or infected sample and can't work until retesting is done and said employee is proven clean.

I go home.

I just sit in the living room for a bit, trying to remember if I
ever
stuck myself with the needle when I was doing a tattoo. If even once I had a torn glove. Hell, half the time I wear two gloves on each hand. Clients don't have to prove 69

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they're clean, so we have to make sure that we're safe and clean and follow all the regs and fucking take care of ourselves.

I think I might lose it sitting there. All I can think about is when the hell did I fuck up? How did it happen without me noticing? I'm meticulous about my hands, I check for cuts and scrapes all the time. I just can't remember. Maybe it didn't happen. Maybe the fucking lab got a false positive. That happens, right?

My boys. Fuck. If I gave them anything I'll never forgive myself. The way we are, one gets it the other one will too, even if they don't touch me ever again. And they may not.

That thought sends me to the bedroom and I start throwing my shit in a bag. Not gonna let my boys get sick.

Not gonna hurt my twins. Not gonna let them get sick.

I stop when I realize that leaving now isn't going to change a fucking single thing. If I passed it on then it's done, and the least I can do is stick around to pay for it. To help. If they let me. Besides, where the hell would I go? This is home.

God, I can't think. I go to the kitchen and grab the phone, call Fred. I gotta yell so he can hear me over the music.

"When will they call? Will they call me or you?"

He turns off the racket, or closes a door or something.

"They'll call me to tell me if you can work or not. They'll call you with the results and talk to you about it."

"When? Why the hell hasn't anyone called me about this?"

"They said they would. Check your machine, Gent."

I look down and see the blinking light. "'kay. Sorry. When will they get back to us?"

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"First they're going to go back and trace the numbers.

Make sure that the vials were really your blood, you know? If it was, they'll re-test. You'll probably have to go back in and get another needle. Look, man. Listen to me. They fucked up.

I know it, you know it. No fucking way you got anything off these needles, you're too careful."

I just nod, then realize I'm on the phone. "Yeah." My voice sounds hollow.

He doesn't say anything for a moment. "Paul. He's gonna be okay with this. He'll take care of you until this shit is cleared up."

I nod again. They don't know about Jamie. "Yeah, he'll be cool. Listen, I gotta go. Call if you hear anything."

I hang up the phone, delete the message and head out to the Razor's Edge. It's one in the afternoon.

They find me there at ten-thirty. I've had more to drink than I can ever remember and I'm still sitting there, having another beer. I feel fine.

Paul slides in next to me in the booth and Jamie across, and they just look at me. I try to grin, but it doesn't really make it past being just a thought.

"You ready to come home?" Paul asks.

I sort of nod and Jamie's just ... he's just staring at me.

Then he stands up and Paul stands up and I think about standing up.

"Fuck." I think I say it out loud, but maybe I don't.

Jamie and Paul look at each other. They reach over and haul me up and I find out I can walk. Well, in fact. We leave the bar and start walking, keeping an eye out for a cab.

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"How long you been there?" Jamie asks.

"Before two. What time is it now?" I see a cab and point, let Paul do the flagging down.

"Almost eleven. What happened?"

Jamie won't look at me. He's beyond pissed. I don't know why. If he doesn't know what happened why is he mad at me? Not like I made him come looking for me.

Paul's pulling on my arm, getting me to climb into the cab.

I get in, Paul's in back with me. Jamie goes around and sits in front.

Paul's looking at me with wide eyes. "You didn't work today. We saw your stuff on the bed and called the shop.

They said you took the day off and I should go find you.

Fred's pissed."

Oh crap.

I lean my head back on the car seat. "Tell you about it when we get home, 'kay?"

Paul nods and looks out his window. His hands are in his lap, tight fists, and his mouth is down at the corners. I'm scaring him.

I hate this.

We get home and go into the living room. Jamie is practically vibrating. Paul's ... well, Paul's quiet. My bag is on the couch, the shit I packed still in it. But nothing else. They didn't help me along, anyway.

Paul sits on the couch and looks at me. I sit down in the easy chair and try to figure out what to say. I look at Jamie.

He's staring at me, eyes hard. He moves to stand behind Paul, one hand on his twin's shoulder.

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Right. Them. Me. Got it.

It's Paul who finally asks. "What happened between getting up and going to work, Gent?"

I look down at the floor and back up at them, run a hand through my hair. My hair is fucking everywhere, not sure when I lost the elastic.

"Went to work. Had to leave." I look at them and they don't get it. I gotta open my mouth, tell my boys what I've done to them. And Christ, I didn't know that anything could hurt like this.

"I ... I got a positive test."

Paul's off the couch and on me before I can blink, holding me and telling me it's gonna be okay. He's shaking. I gather him up and start talking, tell him I'm always so careful at work, that I can't remember being stuck, that I'm sure the lab made a mistake and oh God, Paul I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry.

He's listening. He's nodding his head. He's telling me that I'm right, that the lab made a mistake, that he knows how careful I am. He's telling me that the lab will call back and it will all be okay.

We sit there for a bit and then Jamie clears his throat. I reach out, ready to pull him in so I can tell him how scared I am, how sorry I am that I've done this horrible thing to him and Paul.

But he's not there. He's still standing behind the couch.

"You were gonna leave."

I look at him and Paul slides off my lap and sits on the floor at my feet.

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"I wasn't thinking, Jamie. Was gonna go before I made you sick. But it could already be too late." I look at my bag.

Jamie's looking at me and he's still mad. "Jamie, I'm sorry. I just wanted to save you from—"

"Who did you think it was?" His eyes. Oh fuck, his eyes are hard and I don't understand.

"I told you, I don't remember anything. Can't remember getting stuck, can't remember cuts or scrapes—"

"Jamie thinks you figured one of us was screwing around,"

Paul says real quietly.

Everything stops. Jamie looks at me and I can't tell what he's thinking. One of them? One of my boys cheating? The thought hadn't crossed my mind. Until now. And because I'm scared and drunk and hurt and for a million other bad reasons I say, "Guilty conscience, Jamie?"

"Fuck you." He turns and leaves, goes to the bedroom.

Paul goes after him.

I stay where I am.

I can hear them. I can hear them yelling, Jamie swearing and Paul telling him to calm down. Paul's telling him that I didn't mean it, that before Jamie said it I hadn't even thought of it. Jamie says something about not even knowing what the positive was for and I remember the message on the machine. I don't know either.

It goes on for ages. I can hear them talking quietly for a long time. I fall asleep in the chair.

It feels really late when I wake up. It's still dark, and the lights are all off except the one on the side table, next to the 74

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couch. My bag is gone. I try to sit up, but I feel sick, so I stay where I am.

Then there are arms lifting me, carrying me to the couch, and I can lie down. A cool hand pushes my hair off my face and I try to open my eyes, but I can't. I whisper "Thanks,"

and go back to sleep.

The next time I wake up it's almost morning. Jamie is sitting on the couch beside me, brushing my hair. He's not making any noise, but his face is wet.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I never thought that. I didn't, Jamie. It's my fault. I'm so sorry."

He shakes his head and says, "No. Not your fault. Nothing is wrong with you. There can't be, we just found you, see?

I'm sorry. I'm scared and I thought you were walking out on us too, and I just didn't think and I'm so sorry, Gent."

I push myself up. "Not walking. Not running. Just ... just please, Jamie. Tell me you know that I trust you."

He nods and leans forward, his forehead on mine. "I know it. I really do. I'm so sorry I was such a bastard."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "We okay?"

He kisses me really softly. "We're okay. And you are, too.

You have to be."

We sit there while the sun comes up, Jamie brushing my hair and me trying not to think.

Paul comes out of the bedroom at seven thirty. He looks at us and comes over, kisses us both good morning and sits down on the floor.

"Gent?"

"Yeah, baby?"

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"What was the positive for?" He's looking like it damn near broke him to ask. Christ how anyone managed to sleep last night...

I shake my head. "Don't know. I deleted the message on the machine."

They stare at me.

"Okay," Jamie finally says. "Do you want to go retrieve it, or should one of us?"

I look at them and see that there's no way they're gonna let me pretend that this isn't happening. I stand up and go to the kitchen and stare at the phone. Finally I pick up the receiver and punch in the code. I feel arms around my waist and know that it's Paul behind me, holding me up.

I listen to the message and grab a pencil, write down the number of the doctor and the lab, the time that they want me to come in for another blood draw. They say that they'll call by noon today to let me know for sure if I need to be retested. I hang up and turn in Paul's arms, feel the press of Jamie behind me.

Surrounded by my boys I can say it.

"Hep C."

Someone starts to shake and we all slide to the floor. No one says anything for a long time.

I don't feel sick.

Jamie finally gets up and then Paul. They drag me off the floor and we all go into our room, lay on the bed. At some point they both call in sick to work. I lay there thinking about the last time we all called in sick. Fred was pissed. He knew I wasn't sick.

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Paul makes a huge stack of toast and we all eat on the bed, watch TV for a bit. When the phone rings I just about scream.

Jamie answers it 'cause he's closest. He hands me the receiver. "Think it's Fred."

"Hey Gent," I hear. "That Paul? Told you he'd stick close.

Where the fuck did you go yesterday? Man was almost out of his mind."

"Bar."

"Yeah, I get that, I guess. They call yet?"

"No."

"Call me when they do, 'kay?" Then he's gone.

I crawl off the bed and go into the bathroom. Didn't think the toast was going to stay down anyway, what with all the booze in my system. Paul makes more and makes me eat.

The next time the phone rings I answer.

I listen and write shit down. Make an appointment for me and my boys to get tested. When I hang up they're staring at me, holding hands.

"Made appointments 'cause we need the reassurance. Too fucking scared not to get tested for everything again." I walk over to the them and touch their faces. So very much alike, these two. But they are so different. Paul's blinking too fast and Jamie's not moving at all.

"I'm okay. Really. They transposed some numbers. Not sure if it was a bad test or what, but my blood is clean. They want to retest to make sure, but like I said, we're all getting tested again. I can work, if I want to. And—"

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I don't get any further. Jamie falls back on the bed and starts shaking, curling up into a ball. Paul holds onto him and I fit myself around Paul. We don't say anything, just lay like that for a long time.

I call Fred later and tell him I'm taking the some time off, and that I want to talk to him about going appointment only.

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