Painted On My Heart

“We’re all doing better. I’m the favorite child now. My mom loved the landscape you did for her,” she said, beaming up at him.

“Good. It sounded like her when you described her.” He gave her a genuine smile, happy to hear how his work had pleased her mother.

“I’ll slide you in first. Get you in a room as soon as one opens.”

Kellus nodded, giving her a wink before turning toward the waiting room and pushing through the door.

Bad call. He gave an inward groan. He hadn’t paid much attention when he’d arrived, but couples filled the room. Outside, he had the families, but in here, it looked like gay couples day. Grease played on the mounted TV, and to add the proverbial cherry to his already spectacular day, “We Go Together” echoed over the polite murmurs of the patients occupying the intimate space.

He exhaled a little too loudly as he closed the door, which in turn caused all eyes in the small space to immediately land on him. Of course, the couples were strategically spaced, leaving only one chair open between each of them. He made his way to the closest seat, squeezing in between two men as he leaned forward, reaching for whatever magazine lay on the coffee table in front of him.

The guy to the right of him wore nice cologne; the one to the left appeared to be an animated talker, using his arms and hands with his words, spearing Kellus with his elbow every few seconds. He opened the magazine, not even bothering to read the words on the page.

Another thought occurred to him, threatening the good mood he’d managed to develop. They would certainly ask him about John today. The internal sigh he always held regarding John forced its way out. He hated this, all of this, and especially what his life had become.

Just the thought of John defeated Kellus in a way he wasn’t certain he’d ever really get past. God, John had truly turned out to be such a motherfucker. His parents had always told him John was no good. He’d never listened, and he’d certainly had blinders on when it came to their relationship.

Frustrated, Kellus closed the magazine and left it lying in his lap. Apparently, today he was taking a trip down memory lane, but his parents hadn’t always been right about John. Everything had been okay between them until a couple of years ago. His life was happy. He had so much to live for. He’d been on the fast track to the big time. He had John, the only man he’d ever been with—a decision he’d made willingly at seventeen years old. John was his very best friend and his incredible, sexy lover. For many years, he’d had everything right in his grasp, but somehow, it had all slipped through his fingers when John had started using.

Kellus closed his eyes, his fingers still clutching the magazine. The pity party going on in his head sent pain shooting across his heart. He shouldn’t think about the past. He’d learned that lesson. He needed to fix his focus solidly on the future. Things were different now. That life didn’t exist anymore.

He couldn’t change the cards he’d been dealt, only the way he played the game. That thought still didn’t erase the pain nor did it change the fact that now he was sitting alone in a HIV clinic, praying for the upbeat song to end as he waited. To add insult to injury, knowing he would be forever tied to a prescription that cost more money than his house payment made him physically ill. How could he ever continue to afford his life?

The fast track that he’d been on had come to a screeching halt. Actually, it had crashed and burned in a big, ugly, fiery mess all because he’d been stupidly loyal and believed in love. What was it about being best friends throughout high school that tied you to that person for the rest of your life?

“Kellus, come on back,” Kara, his nurse, said from the side door, drawing his attention back to the present. Startled, he looked up. He hadn’t even realized he’d let himself go there again. Those bad thoughts could always sneak up on him in the most unusual way and take hold of his heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he walked past.

“Not a problem.” She patted him on the back and started toward the back offices. “I like those bracelets.”

He ran a hand over the braided leather straps on his left wrist. “I trade art with this designer. She’s indie. Great stuff. She’s got a store on Etsy.”

“Write her site down. I like that cross at your neck too. Is that her design?” she asked, walking next to him.

“Yep. Mention my name. She gives a twenty percent discount.”