Why did he think I’d believe him when he said his phone was off? I was already convinced he didn’t love me anymore. My drug use had rocketed back up to how bad it was before I’d met Kyle. I don’t think I was sober for longer than it took me to shoot up again. Matthew thankfully didn’t seem to be all that bothered by it, apparently because of Damien. The poor guy had more than just drugs to put up with from me. He had the nightmares, spontaneous fits of crying and the random break downs into a screaming wreck to put up with too. The guy was like a fucking saint, though and took it all in his stride, doing whatever he could to look after me. I had no idea how Kyle could want to cut him out of his life.
While I was trying to find something to watch in an attempt to recover from Kyle not giving a shit enough to want me there when he got his casts off, Matthew was in the kitchen making something to eat and generally leaving me to my own devices. Which, in retrospect, probably wasn’t the best idea.
Y’know those annoying pop-ups on those sites that have TV shows on them? Especially the porn ones? Guess who was featured in one of them? I stared at it for a second. I’d recognise his tattoos anywhere. Something snapped inside of me and I threw the laptop across the room, shouting wordlessly at the top of my lungs.
"You okay?" Matthew asked, his eyebrow heading for his hairline as he walked through from the kitchen.
"He's doing porn,” I screamed at him.
"Who? Kyle?" he wrapped me in a hug and I tried to stop shouting so I wouldn’t deafen him, but it wasn’t happening.
"Yes Kyle,” I yelled, slamming my face down into his shoulder.
"Are you sure? Maybe it was just someone that looks like him," he ran his hand through my hair. I got up and beat my laptop into submission, showing him the advert when it decided to cooperate. If he was grossed out by seeing gay porn, he didn’t show it, just sighing a little. "I think you need to speak to him, Rayn."
"How do you talk to a brick wall? He doesn't care about anything anymore!"
"I know, but just try," he said, cuddling me again, no doubt to try and stop me from screeching his apartment down again.
"Why would he listen to me?" I asked, feeling the tears joining the party. "He doesn't care about me either"
"I'm sure he does really."
"He didn't even tell me he was getting his casts off. He didn't want me there and he doesn't want me home."
"You don't know that til you talk to him.”
“Every night I wake up having a panic attack because he doesn’t love me anymore. I repeat, why the fuck would he want to listen to me?” Matthew just kept me wrapped up in a hug and it didn’t take long til my anger dissipated and I ended up a crying wreck.
The next day, I’d given in and arranged to meet Kyle at the park so we were on neutral ground in case things ended up going to shit. He was already sat on a swing waiting for me when I got there, wearing a long sleeved shirt despite the warmth of the day. I stumbled over and sat down in the swing next to him. If you think I was sober, think again. I was dosed up and suitably dopey. If I was gonna talk to him, I didn’t wanna end up screaming my head off at him in a public place.
I didn’t look up as he turned his gaze to me. “Hey,” he said.
"You wanted to see me?"
"How long have you been in porn for?" I asked, not seeing any point in making small talk with him.
"You did a video the same day you got your casts off?" If I hadn’t been so fucking high, my tone would’ve been one of disbelief. But I sounded about as blank as he probably felt. He shook his head. “Then what was the pop up ad of you fucking some guy I saw last night?"
"Y'know when I disappeared for a bit?"
"I may have been high. And I may have ended up doing a porno.”
“And now it's what? Your career or something?" he nodded, and I wrinkled my nose, vaguely wondering how many people he’d slept with now. I could count my shags on one hand. I’d bet he couldn’t. "What's wrong with finding a normal job?" I asked when he didn’t say or do anything.
"Sex is what I do best."
"And you didn't think I'd mind? It was bad enough knowing you were fucking people for money but now you're fucking them on camera." He didn’t say anything again. “I'm still your husband, y'know, whether that means anything to you or not anymore." I had no idea anymore.
"Of course it does."
“What does it mean to you now?"
"It means that I love you."
"Doesn't feel like you do anymore,” I said quietly.
"What d'you mean?" Was he being thick? Seriously?
"I mean it doesn't feel like you even care about me, let alone love me."
"Of course I care about you."
"Then fucking show it."
"Show that you care about me."
“Stop whoring yourself out. You're better than that, so act like it," I wanted to slap him. I thought I’d taken enough to stop me getting angry, but apparently not. Clearly I’d have to be in a coma to not want to knock some sense into him. He was silent again and I glanced over as he moved. He didn’t notice me watching as he picked at his wrists. I guess that was why he was wearing a long sleeved shirt in this weather. "This is like watching Damien falling apart all over again,” I said slowly as he started to bleed.
"Damien used to cut, and now you are. It's like watching him destroying himself again.” He didn’t know what to say and just looked at the ground, still picking at his scabs. "Please don't. I can deal with drugs even if they turn you into a cunt, but that?"
"It makes me feel something.”
I guess I was right then. He might say he loves me, but how can a person who doesn’t feel unless they’ve got a razor buried in their arm say they can love anyone? I stood up and walked away.