Angel

Ian stopped pacing. He shook his head and sighed deeply. “We played around a couple of times, okay? Just for fun. It wasn’t anything. It was ages ago.”

“Played around? What is that? Do you have sex with all your friends?”

“Yeah. Instead of shaking hands. What is wrong with you?!”

“Why are you getting so mad at me?”

“Because you’re being a jackass! What do you want me to do? Do you want me to stop being friends with Ray?”

“No,” Paul said. It was the only answer he could possibly give to such a question, but it was a lie. The true answer was, “Yes, I do.”

“Then what?”

“I just don’t understand, if you can just ‘play around’ like that, how do I know if it means anything with me?”

“You don’t know if it means anything? You don’t know if it means anything? You know what? Fuck you!” Ian kicked the end table, knocking it over. Then he stormed into the bedroom.

Paul got up, set the table back in its place, and then followed Ian. When Ian saw Paul standing in the doorway, he threw a pillow at him. “Get away from me. Sleep on the futon,” he said.

“Just calm down for a minute,” Paul said, holding the pillow in front of him. “Let’s talk about this.”

Ian’s hands were clenched into fists. “What do you think I’m doing here? You think I’m just sucking your dick for the free room and board?”

“Don’t talk like that. Why would you say that? You know I don’t think that.”

“I do? How can I know that? You don’t know if it means anything? All this time, you think I’m just playing around? How am I supposed to feel about that? You tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. Great! That’s just great!” Ian went back to pacing.

A minute went by like that, Ian fuming and pacing and Paul staring at an invisible spot on the bedspread. Finally, Paul said, “It’s just… I’m not used to being with someone like you.”

“Like me?” Ian turned to Paul with his arms folded across his chest. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t say it that way,” Paul said. “It’s not bad. I mean, you’re so beautiful.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “What’s your point?”

“I see the way people look at you. You could do anything with your life. The second you decide what you want to do. I look at someone like Ray, and I wonder what you’re doing with me. He’s your age. He’s—God—insanely good-looking. And you can just go out and have fun without worrying about what anyone says about it. Why wouldn’t you want that? Of course I worry. I can’t give you any of that. You should have that. I mean, you must want that. And all the men. How can I not wonder where I fit into that? I’m afraid you… you must have had better than me. You must… want better than me.”

Ian rubbed his forehead as though he were trying to smooth out his furrowed brow. “You told me you had faith in me. Do you remember that? When we first met? You hardly knew me then. Why don’t you have faith in me now?”

“I do. I do have faith in you.”

“Then show me,” he pleaded. “Trust me a little bit. I’m not comparing you to anybody. I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t want to be. If I was going to cheat on you, you think I’d do it in your face like that? Just because you’re insecure about stuff doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m the slut.”

Paul nodded. “I know.”

“Do you? I don’t think you do. You have to stop torturing yourself with the other-men bullshit.” The words caught in his throat. “You have to stop torturing me too, because I don’t know what to do anymore. You’re always the one pushing me away, you know that? It’s not me.”

“I’m not pushing you away.”

Ian sat down on the bed. “You don’t think I get jealous? You know who I’m jealous of? I’m jealous of Sara.”

Paul was shocked. “Sara’s dead.”

“I know,” Ian said. “How can I compete with that? She’s an angel. The minister and Saint Sara. And I know how petty that sounds. You’re so proud of her. You’re never going to feel that way about me.”