Dinner is Prompt-ly at Eight - 26. Balancing Act

Balancing Act

Darren shifted in his seat, tugging on his cap, pulling the worn and threadbare bill down to cover his eyes. Hiding. He was pointedly not looking at the screen of the laptop facing him. The computer was gleaming gunmetal gray in the fluorescent light in the trailer’s kitchen. Happy pictures assaulted him.

Christian didn’t avert his triumphantly angry smirk. Though he could only see the shadows below the hat, he knew the man’s face was as red as the back of his neck. A trickle of sweat dribbled down his neck chilling him and he shivered.

Suddenly anxious, he swallowed and tried to think of what to say next.

Darren stood up, his two hundred and eighty pounds packed into his five-foot-nine frame and his heft trembled. He hiked his greasy jeans up a little so they were cinched tight underneath his generous, though not actually fat, belly.

“I better go,” he said. His voice was as gravelly as usual, the cigarette rasp was more prominent now though. There was a catch in the tone at the end, like a choke, only waterier.

Christian shook his head wildly. “No, I don’t understand.” His arms were twined around his slender body, holding himself tightly. He shivered, then looked up at the man before him.

Darren’s shirt sleeves were rolled up and there was a pack of smokes hidden in the folds. His arms were dark tan, almost brown, as was his face. Long tendrils of brown and white chest hair spilled from the vee of his heavy flannel shirt. The shirt was red. All the trucker’s shirts were red in some way whether as a primary or accent color. It was something Christian had wondered about his lover for the last few months, since their first ‘date’ after they connected on GayTruckers.com.

Christian watched in agony as the large man continued to back away from him. Finally, the blond found his voice. He had to fix this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Darren tugged the ratty lid of his cap down even more, leaving only the thick red lips and the grizzled gray and brown scruff on his chin showing. The lips parted and then closed. Opened again, fluttered, and then the trucker closed him mouth tightly.

Christian leaned forward, reaching out toward him. “I figured I wasn’t the only one, but…I never would have guessed…this.” He waved at the elephant in the room; a Facebook page with Darren’s smiling face. And others.

“I have kids,” Darren said, as if it explained everything.

Christian shook his bleach blond locks once and then wiped his eyes. “I see that.”

“What did you expect from a site that arranged hookups?” Darren added, his watery voice was trembling. “It’s for guys like me, and you. You tugged me.”

“Sure, I guess,” Christian answered, realizing his arms were still reaching for the other man. “I expected a wife at home, three kids, a house in the middle of nowhere, but this—this is insane.”

“I’m sorry,” Darren said. He’d stopped backing away, and now stood in front of the aluminum bracketed front door of Christian’s trailer and hung his head. Now even the lower part of his face was covered, hidden from view, like the whole other life he had.

Christian breathed deeply and stood. He pulled his sweater around his thin chest. He shivered, again, though the spring day was warm. Once again, he brushed his hair from his forehead, feeling the slight stiffness from his cheap extensions. The hoops at his ears bounced against his neck. It made him feel sordid. It irked him.

“I knew you had a whole other life out there, but why would you do this to them?”

“I don’t know,” Darren answered quickly. His bulk seemed to have shrunk as he slouched and thrust his big, gnarled hands into his pockets. “I guess I needed something.”

The words made the blond man pause. It sparked his annoyance and something flared in Christian. Was he an object? A plaything? Nothing?

Fury raced through Christian, contorting his face and he exploded. “Something? You needed something, and so I’m the little piece of trailer trash you play with a couple times a month?” He took a rapid breath and added, “I’m a person, you fucking asshole.”

Christian quickly wiped his eyes again and stared defiantly at the other man. “So, you decided I’d be your ‘walk on the wild side', is that it?”

“It’s not like that. I was, I am, attracted to you, and…I should leave.” But, Darren didn’t move. He stayed there looking, waiting.

“How long have you been together? How old are your kids? Did you adopt or use a surrogate?” Christian ended his string of questions with a gasp, like he was winded or worse.

“Let’s not talk about those things. They don’t matter. You knew what you were getting into,” Darren said, his voice rising and becoming more sure and steady. “You signed up for, fuck—getting off, not a relationship. Who are you to start demanding things of me?”

Christian saw the man was standing up straight and the bill of his cap was now pulled up, his eyes blazing from beneath it defiantly. He felt a surge of indignation. Goddamn him. He spoke and leveled his gaze at Darren.

“Maybe I’ll friend him, your husband, the doctor. Perhaps I’ll send him a little message about how you visit me on your runs to Sioux City.” Christian paused, and then a wicked grin crept over his lips. “Should I send Dr. Ryan Owens a picture? Maybe I’ll send him the same nudie I sent you. We could have a threesome. Wouldn’t that be fun? You wouldn’t have to keep us apart, juggling your precious time with us both.”

“I swear,” Darren said, his face changing in the kind of red it was emanating. The purple of fury replaced the red of shame. “I swear,” he repeated, “if you talk to him—”

“If I talk to him, what?” Christian blazed, his voice now shrill. “What will you do?”

“I’ll make you pay if you tell him.”

Christian turned and talked back over to his little kitchen table pulling the laptop around. He plopped down and the light from the screen illuminated his smug face, his thin pale lips, pursed and concentrating. “Maybe I’ll send him a photo of you in my shower.”

“You took a picture of me?” Darren yelled, stomping across the room. “Give me that,” he said, grabbing the laptop from the tabletop.

“That’s my computer,” Christian barked, wrestling with the trucker. Darren’s arms bulged as he pulled it from the slim man’s grasp. It was an older model, and it was more bulky than newer ones.

“Give it back!” he screamed.

Darren, without a thought, brought the edge of the computer down on his lover’s head. He heard a crack, like the computer broke, and then he smashed it again. The sound of splintering plastic, crunching metal, and the impact sounded unreal.

The trucker lifted the computer and looked at the man sitting before him. Darren realized his breathing was out of control. He held it, waiting for the blond to react.

Christian sat there for a moment, still and quiet in the kitchen chair. Blood was gushing out from under the bleach-white hair, giving it a purple sheen in the trailer’s overhead lighting.

Darren stepped back. He dropped the broken laptop which shattered on the cheap linoleum floor. Christian’s eyes flickered, like they were looking for someone or something. Then, his neck gave way, his head gaining momentum as it fell, pulling his slender body sideways.

There was another crack as the side of Christian’s skull hit the floor. A splatter of blood sprinkled over Darren’s thick, heavy, leather boots and his shins, coloring the blue denim with speckles.

Darren backed away, his mouth wide open in terror, and then fled out the door.