orangetoughguy | log post II

[Freddy thinks about bringing up the ladies in the hallway but even he knows it's not fair to compare women to religion, even though there are some people who would argue they're more alike than you think.]

Solving a problem starts with admitting you got a problem. I think you've heard that one before.

[It's not a knock against the old man's past coke issue, the words just come out quick and sharp as a retort. As for fucking...Freddy scoffs.] Bullshit.

[There are other things that the old man holds in high regard. Ladies painted onto paper don't rank in the top ten on that list.

Larry takes that stab...the absolute wrong way and responds the same way. Sharp, fast.]

Yeah, yeah I have. I'm so fucked up with all these problems after all.

[The old man shakes his head and puts his hands on his waist. Seriously, what? As for fucking though....]

You don't believe me?

But you'll just step aside and let me do my own thing even though you hate it. [Just like when they were seeing other people. Just like when Larry was willing to keep those ladies on the floor.] You fuckin' martyr who do you think you are?

[Jesus Christ? That would be an ill-timed shot. Hands on his waist get a steeled gaze from the kid, daring him. What is this, hate sex chicken? He's calling the old man's gesture as a bluff, the kind that's meant to prove Larry doesn't have a problem.] Go on.

Shit. I didn't say I hated it. I don't like it. Don't mean I'm gonna be burning anything. And since when is it bad to be doing something that I think would make you fucking happy? What fucking good is it gonna do to piss and moan?

[As he's asking this he moves his hands to the front of Freddy's pants. His eyes are on the man's face, steel eyed gaze and all.]

Hard already?

[Because he's checking, calling his bluff. The only thing that makes sense about this moment is how his hands fit over the kid.]

[The fact that his big paws are on him makes the kid feel guilty but not because of his faith or some sense of principle with regards to what they do. He feels guilty because he brought them this far, and because he has to say the words:]

Get your hands off me.

[Freddy doesn't want to get hard. He doesn't want to fuck despite being the one who dared the other man. He shakes himself out of that grip to grab his cigarettes and go straight for the little balcony alcove, a luxury this home they share is afforded to him. He slams the sliding door shut behind him.]

[There was a nagging small voice that said maybe the kid was not gonna be up for it. Too late to listen to it now. Larry gets the feeling that he fucked up bad. He takes a few moments to linger on the other side of the glass and give the guy a little time before he's going out after him. Slow easy opening of the door. At first no words come on out. He feels like his breath weighted.]

That was too far.

[He knows Larry's coming out when he hears the sound of the door. Freddy keeps his back turned to him, another cigarette already lit as he perches on the ledge. There's no danger of falling over here, there's a short expanse of roofing below, the top of another apartment.

The lack of words and acknowledgment are just as much a message of: Leave me alone. How old are you, Newendyke? Twenty-seven or seventeen?]

[Softly, in case there are ears out here though he wants to yell and be fucking heard.]

Freddy.

[That he's got to hear, it's not whispered for God's sake.]

Can we fucking talk?

[Tap tap ash on the ledge.]

About what.

[Slow sigh so it won't come out as exasperated.]

I fucked up there. I get it. That's just what I didn't want to happen.

[Seriously? Freddy shakes his head.]

Go back inside.

What?

[...really? Rather than listening, he takes two steps closer, maybe visible in the kid's peripheral vision.]

Come on...

You're right I don't fuckin' listen and when I do I either pick the wrong thing to listen to or the wrong guy to listen to or I listen but I still fuck it up anyway, okay?

[Puff.]

Just get away from me for a little while.

[He never said that. At least...not that way. Larry's brow furrows as he stands there, not sure of what to say. Maybe it would be taken for something else. Fuck can he even say that's not what he meant either?]

Don't be like that.

[Please. Freddy's never asked Larry to step back. Then again, the old man's done it his fair share. Regardless of his request, he retreats as far as the door to open it and look at that man's back.]

[Ugh. It shouldn't be so easy for Lawrence Dimick to make Freddy Newendyke's resolve crumble a little at a time. He actually looks over his shoulder like a sulking dog, tail not moving until they meet eye to eye at which point there's the slightest twitch of a wag. The kid just doesn't know what to say now.]

[That's encouraging, more than encouraging. But nothing's solved.]

I didn't mean it all like it came out. [I'm sorry.] You know that, right? [He's not going closer. The kid wants his space. Larry sticks where he is long enough to relay that much before stepping through the threshold of the sliding glass door.]

[When the kid left he left without a word, presumably to get some air and solitude.

When the kid comes back it isn't way late, more like bordering sundown, but he's got a tired look to his face and small marks to his knuckles like he clearly hit something. Hard.]

[The old man didn't leave. And he didn't order take out either. There's cereal out. Hearing the door is a relief and a half. Larry doesn't directly greet him but stands and approaches the entry way to get a look at what kind of condition the man is returning to him in.

Chew chew chew the bite in his mouth and then swallow.]

Hi.

[Freddy says upon meeting Larry face to face, considerably cooled down.]

Hello.

[Face to face, cool. Good. The old bear comes on closer. No touching though, not yet.]

Thirsty?

[God it hasn't even been that long--hours really--but he's missed this. He has to think about it for a moment. Then Freddy nods and moves to the kitchen to take a seat.]

Yeah, a beer would be good.

[Away to the fridge he goes. Larry cracks open a cold one for the kid. Of course he still keeps the door open to grab a beer for himself.

He missed the kid. It was driving him up the wall in the silence not knowing where he was, what he was doing. And no, it wasn't worry. Not entirely. Just misery not knowing what he was thinking, what he was feeling. No time like the present. The old man takes a load off beside the kid.]

So...

Thanks.

[He nods for the beer then takes a generous swig of it. Ah. Cold one on the counter now he also notes the inability to start a conversation. Well how does one even go about rectifying this situation?]

I overreacted.

[Say more, say what he told you.] I got mad cause all those doubts you got... [About God.] Well I got some of them too.

I think I over reacted too. We don't gotta talk about God or religion or church. [Though, that's not it at all. Not really. The first sip is cold, refreshing cutting through the remaining starch of cereal.]

Sorry I got you mad.

I was ready to pin it on some other guy, you know, just tell you someone else talked me into it, but that ain't right for anyone. [Freddy shakes his head while using the cold bottle to soothe the redness of his knuckles.] We gotta talk about it cause I want it, you know, I wanna...I wanna keep some of that with me. [In my life.]

I wanna know why it upsets you.

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