You Don’t See Me - 4. Chapter 4

“Memories can be used to hurt, or to heal. You get to choose.”

Michael

Michael watched the hand of the clock on the wall tick away. He had gotten the thing at an estate sale. A vintage knick-knack. But now the clock had become stifling—the incessant ticking of it, reminding him all day long that life was composed of time, and that time was ticking by, tick-tock at a time. It wasn’t just the clock, the entire condo had become stifling. Why? Because he owned it. Michael was just a guest, yet somehow trapped in this place. Unable to leave, even though nobody was holding him hostage.

He looked at his phone once again. Still no call. The man said he would know by today. But it was almost 3:00 PM already. The information was vital. Michael needed to know.

He tapped the Lyft icon on his phone and ordered a ride. The driver was an older man—chatty in a way that always made Michael uncomfortable. He preferred the safety of silence. Words could wreak havoc on things, on people…on lives.

“Going anywhere in particular?” Michael debated whether he should be honest, or if he’d be better off lying. He decided to go with he truth.

“I’m going to see a private detective. I’m trying to find out information regarding my family.” The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

“Adopted?”

“Yes, when I was a baby.”

“Ahh, and you think your biological parents will bring you some closure?”

“No, they’re bad people,” Michael replied.

“Oh, you already know who they are?”

“I do, I’m just looking for more detailed information,” he replied, trying to remain vague. He wasn’t ready to tell the full truth of what he was doing just yet.

“What do you think this is going to bring you, then? If it was…a shitty family. Why do you want to relive that all over again?"

“I’m not reliving anything, I was adopted as a baby,” Michael repeated himself. “Besides, everything in life is what you make of it, including memories. Memories can be used to hurt, or to heal. You get to choose,” he stated. The driver pondered the statement for a while, and just when Michael thought they had fallen into a comfortable silence again, he opened his mouth once more.

“I don’t think that’s how it works. Memories are memories, you don’t get to decide what kind of effect they have on you. That shit stays with you.” Michael ignored him.

“You can pull over here, the office is right around the corner,” he said after a minute. The driver pulled over the car.

“Good luck kid,” he said after Michael got out, then drove away.

Michael stood in front of an inconspicuous small building. It could have been a dentist's office for all anyone knew. No identifying signs outside, just a dark green door. Behind it, a woman busily typing away at a computer. And behind her, a big man with a stack of papers in his hand.

“Michael,” he said, surprised to see him, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d pop by and check if you have any information for me,” he stated, trying to sound casual. He needed to know. But the man shook his head.

“Not yet, I’m still waiting on the call. Could have saved you the trip here buddy,” he said apologetically. Michael closed his eyes in frustration.

“Well can’t you call him?”

“That’s not how it works. We’ll know when we know. You can’t rush the process. He said he’d call today, and he will. He’s a man of his word.” Michael didn’t give a shit if the man had a halo above his head, he needed to know. It was imperative. It was…everything. “I’ll call you as soon as I know, trust me.” Michael didn’t trust him, but he nodded his head and left the office.

He got back to the condo and went in for a quick shower. Ford would be here soon, and he didn’t want to look out of sorts. The last thing he needed right now was for anyone to have suspicions about what he was doing.

The second he got out, with the towel still wrapped around his waist, he saw the front door open. Ford dropped his carry on by the door, then whistled like a construction worker lusting after a busty woman walking by.

“Well, isn’t this a sight,” he said and smiled. Michael mustered a small smile back. He felt Ford’s fingers grab at him hungrily, it was a predictable pattern. His sex addiction was rampant.

“Not tonight, I don’t feel so good,” Michael said, feigning discomfort.

“What’s wrong monkey?” Ford asked, using the familiar nickname. He was so good at that, so good at becoming close to another person and making them feel unique to him.

“Stomach ache, I think the shrimp I ate for lunch is not sitting well with me,” Michael lied.

“Oh no,” the man replied concerned, “you have anything to take for it here?” Michael shook his head. “I’ll go get you some Advil. Go lay down,” he said, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. If you didn’t factor in all of his lies and the other men he was seeing—not to mention the fact that he was married—he truly was the perfect boyfriend.

Michael went into the bedroom and shut the blinds, blocking out the still bright Miami sun. It felt like he talked himself into getting sick, because suddenly he really did feel pangs in his stomach. He turned on his side and closed his eyes. He was almost certain that he already knew the truth. But what was he going to do with it? Who was he going to tell? Or would it be better to keep it all a secret. Things could stay just as they were, nobody needed to know.

He heard the door open again. After a minute Ford walked into the bedroom with a glass of water and two liquid Advil tablets.

“Here,” he said, and Michael obediently took them from his hand then swallowed the unnecessary medication, and followed it up with a drink of water. Ford laid down behind him, and gently wrapped his arm around Michael, being careful to not touch his stomach. He really was perfectly thoughtful.

“I missed you,” he said, softly.

“I missed you too,” Michael replied.

“I have some good news,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Michael said, feeling sleepy in the comforting cocoon of the handsome man’s arms.

“I talked to Tom. Stark Lights is yours,” he said, and Michael could tell he was smiling.

“Are you serious?” he said, turning his head around to look Ford in the eye. He didn’t think he would get the role. His audition had been terrible, lifeless. This was all Ford’s doing somehow.

“I’m serious. You’re a big time star now,” he said, and kissed Michael’s lips with the passion of a high school lover. And Michael kissed back, because it was impossible to resist Ford. He was like walking temptation. Built to entice your every sense, with his looks, with his voice, with his hands and lips—he was a rare specimen.

“Now get some rest, I’ll be in the other room if you need anything. I gotta make some work calls.”

“Okay,” Michael replied. “Hey Ford?” he said and the man turned back at the door to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” he said, not ready to talk about any of it after all.

“You got it monkey,” he said and winked, then walked out. Michael felt himself fall in and out of consciousness, the anxiety in his body not letting him properly sleep. He checked his phone every few minutes, trying to be discreet. Ford, even though he was married and having multiple affairs, was also sickly jealous. Any thought of Michael texting or speaking with another man would turn into a nasty fight, and Michael didn’t have the strength for that today. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

Suddenly his phone was vibrating. It was the PI. He picked it up as quietly as he could.

“I found him. I found your brother,” said the man’s voice, and Michael’s heart dropped into his stomach.