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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Michaels Mess - 5. Chapter 5

As I walked back to the living room, my mind raced. I knew that man in the photo. That was Andre—the SVP of our division. Charismatic, sharp, always in control. But how does Michael know him? Were they…? No. That’s not my business. I’m just the guy who rents him a room. Still, something about the photo—the intimacy, the familiarity—didn’t sit right with me.

I glanced back toward the kitchen, where Michael sat rigid, now staring at his laptop like it might betray him further. His eyes were unfocused, lost somewhere in the past. Whatever was going on, it was clear Michael didn’t want anyone digging into it. But now, by sheer accident, I had seen something he desperately wanted to keep hidden.

Still, curiosity gnawed at me. Michael had been so guarded since the moment he moved in, always keeping things to himself. This moment—this picture—felt like a crack in the armor, something too personal for him to ignore, yet too painful for him to confront. What was their connection? Should I ask Michael? Should I ask Andre? No, how could I ask Andre? Not my place. Either way, it felt intrusive, like opening a door I wasn’t meant to open.

If Michael was keeping this a secret, there had to be a reason. My heart thumped with uneasy curiosity. But why couldn’t he just share it with me? I swallowed hard, remembering the image of Michael kissing another man. Why couldn’t he let me in, even just a little bit?

I thought back to all those little moments where I’d tried to hint at my feelings—had I been too subtle? Did he see those hints and ignore them? Or was I just wrong about him altogether? Maybe he’s not gay, I reasoned. But that picture… men don’t kiss other men like that. Men don’t kiss men, period unless they are gay.

The more I thought about it, the harder it became to ignore. I had opened Pandora’s box, and now I wasn’t sure I could close it. Michael was my friend, and I had promised myself that I wouldn’t push him, not if he didn’t want to share. But something told me that if I left this alone, I’d never get to know the whole story. And that bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

He was nothing to me—or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. We weren’t dating, we weren’t a couple—hell, he doesn’t even know I’m gay. But... is he? Could he be? Is that what he’s running from? The more I think about it, the more I wonder if there’s something he’s not telling me. Something that maybe... we’re both hiding.

Unbeknownst to David, I was wrestling with my own fears. The next few days passed in a haze. I stuck to my routine—waking early, making coffee, and heading to the café for my shift. I kept my head down, trying to focus on the tasks at hand. At home, it was different. David and I didn’t talk much—not about anything meaningful. He didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer, but the silence between us was heavy, like a constant hum in the background.

I couldn’t escape it. Every time I caught David’s gaze, my stomach twisted. I knew he had questions. I knew he was waiting for me to open up, but I couldn’t bring myself to share the truth—not yet. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face the fallout of what I had done or who I am.

During my shift, my mind drifted back to that moment—the photo. The image of me with Andre, so intimate, so raw. I hadn’t thought about it in years, but when David saw it, it felt like the lid on everything I’d tried to bury was suddenly cracked open. I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for anyone to know the real me, especially not David.

I didn’t want to go back to that place, the one where I had to explain the mess of my past. But I knew, deep down, it was the only way forward. I had spent years running from it. Hiding. But that didn’t make it disappear.

I wasn’t sure if David would look at me the same way if he knew. His kindness had always been a balm for my wounds, but it felt too much now—like a kindness I didn’t deserve. He was good, and I wasn’t. I had ruined so many lives, including my own.

I told Mama Loretta my secrets, and she never judged me for them. Nothing changed between us afterward—her warmth, her acceptance, it all stayed the same. Now I’m starting to think maybe I should let David in, too. Maybe it’s time I tell him the truth, own up to my past and all the mistakes I made. But that’s only part of it, isn’t it? Telling the truth is one thing, but I’d still have to face the people I hurt—and just talking about what I did won’t be enough.

That evening, after my shift at the cafe, I decided to walk home. The cold air stung my face, and the darkness of the night seemed to amplify my thoughts. The empty swings in the park swayed gently in the wind, like ghosts of memories I couldn’t escape. As I walked past, I couldn’t help but realize how much time I had wasted—time I couldn’t get back. I had spent so many years hiding from the truth, from the people who mattered most: Sarah, the kids, and now David. I wasn’t proud of who I’d been, but I couldn’t run anymore. Not from myself, and certainly not from the truth.

My past was catching up to me.

The thought of facing David—of finally confessing everything—made my stomach churn. What if our friendship, which had become one of the few things I could rely on, was ruined? But deep down, I knew I couldn’t keep pretending. Not anymore.

When I returned to the apartment that night, I stood outside the door for a moment, trying to steady myself. I knew what I had to do, but the weight of it—the vulnerability—felt overwhelming. I had to tell him, he had seen the picture and I knew he had questions. I would tell him everything.

I opened the door. David was sitting on the couch, the TV on but muted. He looked up as I entered, his face softening when he saw me.

“Hey,” he said, smiling "Dinner is on the table, you'll need to warm it up."

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice quieter than usual. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

I put my jacket, and winter shoes away and put on my slippers. Those dumb slippers. I walked into the living room, and sat opposite of him, not knowing where to begin. But I couldn’t delay it any longer. “David,” I started, facing him. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s up?” he asked, setting the book down on his lap. His eyes searched mine, his usual easy demeanor shifting to something more concerned.

I took a deep breath. “I think I owe you an explanation. About the picture.”

David straightened but didn’t interrupt. I could see the curiosity in his eyes, but he was patient.

“I’m gay,” I said simply, the words heavier than I expected. “And that man in the picture—Andre—we were… together. A long time ago.”

David nodded, his expression calm but thoughtful. “I figured as much. Andre’s the SVP in my division. You worked with him, didn’t you?”

“Yes. He has my old job,” I said, my voice quieter now. “But that’s just part of it. I made a lot of mistakes. More than I can count. I hurt a lot of people—people I loved. I’ve been trying to start over, to leave it all behind. But it feels like no matter how far I go, my past keeps finding me.”

David leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. “I didn’t ask, and you don’t have to tell me. But I will say this—you’re not the only one with a past, Michael. Nobody starts fresh without carrying a little baggage. But the one thing they do, is they own up to their mistakes. Have you?”

I hadn’t, of course, owned up to my mistakes. I realized that now. I ran from them, leaving everyone I cared for behind. That was another mistake I added to the growing list of mistakes I had made.

“Where do I even start?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “The beginning? The middle? The end?”

David didn’t say anything, just waited. Michael took a deep breath and plunged forward.

“I was with someone, David. An amazing woman named Sarah. We built a life together, and had three kids. Twins, Shawn and Samantha, and a third child I’ve never even met. I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.” His voice cracked, and I hung my head in shame. “That’s what I lost. Not just a partner—my family. My kids.”

David’s expression softened, but he stayed silent, letting Michael continue.

“Life wasn’t easy for us, but we made it work. Or at least, she did. She was incredible. I didn’t know—no, I refused to admit—what I was. That I was gay. And then… I ruined everything. I hurt her in ways she didn’t deserve. I hurt everyone.”

I continued my story, unearthing every hidden part of myself. I told David about the men I had been with—Ryan included. The lies, the deceit, the business trips that weren’t really business trips, the secret getaways where I thought I could escape from my reality.

I spared no detail, no matter how shameful. I bore my soul, raw and unfiltered, laying bare every deed, every betrayal. The weight of my confession was suffocating, but I pressed on, knowing there was no turning back now.

David listened, his face unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was shocked, disgusted, or simply resigned. The silence between us was heavy, almost unbearable. Yet, for the first time in years, I didn’t feel the need to fill it with lies or excuses.

When I finally stopped, my voice hoarse and my hands trembling, I looked up at David, searching for something in his expression. Forgiveness? Understanding? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I had laid everything out, leaving nothing to hide behind.

I paused, my gaze fixed on my hands. “I wrote letters. To Sarah. To Shawn and Samantha. Even to the child I’ve never met. I wrote them for their birthdays, milestones, just... things I wanted them to know. But I never sent them. I locked them away. Would she have read them? Would she have given them to our kids? I don’t know. I was too scared to find out.”

Silence. Too much silence. It was deafening.

David let out a slow breath. “Wow. That’s... a lot to unpack. Have you ever tried reaching out to her? To her family? Ryan? Nate?”

Michael shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “What’s the point? She made it clear she didn’t want to talk to me. Everything after that night—after the truth came out—was through her lawyer. She never said a word to me again.”

David leaned forward, his tone growing firm. “Michael, can I be brutally honest with you?”

“Sure.”

David sat forward, as his gaze bore into him. “You told me all of this. You’ve poured your heart out to a therapist. But did you ever say sorry? Not to a journal, not in those letters you never sent—did you ever actually apologize to Sarah? Admit your mistakes to her?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I just shook my head.

“That’s what I thought,” David said, his voice calm but unyielding. “You left your parents, your home—I get it, they’re assholes, pardon me for saying. But you keep running, Michael. Even now, you’re running. Apologizing won’t fix what you’ve done, but it’s not about fixing it. It’s about owning it.”

“She wouldn’t listen,” I muttered. “She didn’t want to speak to me.”

“That’s an excuse,” David shot back. “You didn’t try. You’re sitting here, telling me about your pain, your therapy, your fresh start—but what have you actually done to make things right?”

I blinked, stunned into silence.

David leaned back, folding his arms. “Coming to New York wasn’t starting over, Michael. It was hiding. Real starting over would’ve been admitting your mistakes, apologizing—not just to Sarah, but to your kids. To Ryan, Nate and to yourself.”

“I…” I began to speak, but David cut me off.

“No. No more excuses. You told me all this like it’s a confession, but it’s not. It’s just another story you’re using to avoid doing the hard thing. You say you’ve changed, Michael? Then prove it.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge. I didn’t know what to say. I just sat there, staring at the man across from me, wondering if maybe, for the first time, I was hearing what I needed to.

“Michael,” David began, his voice steady but gentle. “I’m not your mom, and I’m definitely not your dad. I’m just some guy renting a room to you. I don’t have all the answers, and I’m not here to give you a timeline or tell you how to fix your life. That’s something only you can figure out.”

He leaned forward, his expression softening. “But let me tell you this—you’ve been carrying this weight for a long time. Too long. What you did, yeah, it was wrong. No one’s denying that, not even you. But it’s not about what I think, or what anyone else thinks. This is about you deciding if you want to live in that shadow for the rest of your life.”

David paused, choosing his words carefully. “And no, I’m not kicking you out. That’s not who I am. I’m not here to judge you, Michael. I haven’t lived your life. I don’t know the pain, the choices, or the circumstances that brought you here. But what I do know is this—you’ve still got a chance to make things right. Maybe not perfect, but better.”

He sat back and gave Michael a small, supportive smile. “The next step is yours. Whatever you decide, just make sure it’s a step forward.”

What should I do? What should my next step be? The question lingered in my mind, heavy and unavoidable. David was right—maybe I was too scared to admit it, even to myself. Running away hadn’t solved anything. All I’d done was bring my baggage to a new city and unpack it in a different room. The shadow of my past still loomed over me, no smaller than before. He was right: I’d be living in that shadow for the rest of my life if I didn’t do something.

“I know what you’re saying makes sense, David,” I said, my voice low. “But…”

David leaned forward, his gaze steady but compassionate. “But what? Michael, I told you—you have to decide what to do next. I can’t. Your therapist can’t. Nobody can. Only you.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. “But let me tell you something—whatever choice you make, don’t kid yourself into thinking there’s all the time in the world. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, Michael. Sometimes, it just lets them fester, turning the pain into something worse. Speak to her. Apologize. Maybe even try to reconnect with your kids. Whatever you do, don’t wait too long. Some chances don’t come around again.”

I sat there, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a tidal wave. He was right, but the thought of facing Sarah—of confronting everything I had destroyed—made my chest tighten. What would I even say? Would she even listen? And my kids... would they even recognize me?

But what was the alternative? To continue running? To live with the shame gnawing at me, a shadow that grew darker and heavier with every passing day? Maybe it was time to face it.

The next few weeks went smoothly, and I felt lighter after telling David about my past. He never once passed judgment, and we went about our days as if nothing had changed. But the conversation lingered in my mind, replaying over and over. I knew he was right—I had to fully confront what I’d done and apologize to the people I hurt. I just wasn’t sure if I could do that yet.

But I had to start somewhere. I decided I’d reach out to Andre.

When I got home one evening, weeks after we spoke, just after eight, David was already there, as usual. True to form, he’d left food for me. He goes above and beyond what anyone would do—or at least, that’s what I tell myself. Maybe I don’t really know. I’ve never had a true friend. I only ever used people for my own ends.

“Hey David—thanks for dinner, as always,” I said as I dropped my bag by the door and walked into the living room.

“Hey Michael, no worries. You’re liking the café, huh?” he asked from the couch.

“Yeah, I really do. Roger and Janice aren’t the most tech-savvy people, and when they saw me working the software and fixing a few problems, they asked if I’d help with some other stuff. It’s been keeping me busy. Hey, can I run something past you?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“They’ve been talking about retiring. Their kids don’t want anything to do with the café, and they’ve mentioned selling. I’m thinking about making them an offer. I can probably come up with 60%, but I’d need to take out a loan for the rest. I’ve even put together a few proposals where I could pay off the remaining 40% over time.”

David sat up, his interest piqued. “Looks like your experience as an SVP is coming in handy here. That’s a solid idea, Michael. Even without seeing the proposals, given what you’ve told me about the place, I think the café has a lot of potential.”

“That’s what I think too. They’ve built a great community around their brand, and I think I could take it further without losing their aesthetic—the look and feel people love.”

“Then do it,” David said, his tone firm. “Pick the proposal you’d accept if you were in their place and pitch it. What’s the worst that happens? They say no? If that happens, you’ll figure something else out.”

I hesitated. “Will you take a look at the proposals? Just to see if I’m on the right track?”

“No, I won’t,” David replied bluntly. “Michael, you need more confidence in yourself. What happened to you in the past is done—you can’t change it. But you can control what happens now. Pick the best proposal and pitch it. You’ve got over a decade of experience—way more than I do. You don’t need my validation. Go with your gut - your intuition.”

Ouch. That stung, but he was right. I was still seeking validation. Deep down, I guess I always had been, and I let that dictate how I lived my life.

“Thanks, David. For being here.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, sure, Michael. That’s what friends do, right?”

Friends. Such a simple word, but it held so much meaning. I guess we were more than just roommates now, though I’d never really acknowledged it. Who would want to be my friend after learning about my past? Apparently, David did. Maybe he saw someone past all the screw-ups, someone who still had value.

Maybe he saw someone worth saving.

“Umm… David, there’s something else.”

David set his book down and looked up at me again, his expression curious but guarded. “I think I know what, but I want to hear you say it.”

He never makes things easy. He would make a great therapist.

“I want to speak to Andre,” I admitted, the words feeling heavier than I expected.

David leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “Okay, so why tell me about this? You know where he works. You can probably get in touch with him. What does that have to do with me?”

“I was hoping you could help me…”

David shook his head firmly, his tone gentle but resolute. “No, Michael. I won’t. And it’s not because I don’t want to. I do. I really want to help you get past all of this, but this is your road to travel. Pulling me—or anyone else—into it is just another way to deflect. You need to stop running, Michael. You need to own this. You.”

His words stung, but they rang true. I had leaned on others to clean up my messes for so long. David was right—these were my mistakes. It was up to me to fix what I had broken.

David softened his tone, his expression still firm but understanding. “Michael, I’m sorry if that came across harshly, but you know I’m right. You might be mad at me right now, but take some time and think about it. Listen, I’m heading off to bed. Early day tomorrow. Just clean up once you’re done, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, David.”

“Of course,” David said, giving me a small nod before getting up and heading to his bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I stared at the empty sofa, the faint sound of David’s door closing behind him. I did have a phone number for Andre, though I wasn’t sure if it still worked. I also had his email address, but no. That would just be another way to avoid facing him head-on.

This wasn’t something I could fix with an email or a buffer. If I was going to do this, it had to be a real conversation—just him and me.

I’d try the number tomorrow morning. My shift didn’t start until noon, giving me enough time to gather my courage and try to connect with him. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of determination. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

I woke up around eight the next day. As I stepped into the quiet apartment, I realized David had already left for work. I brewed a pot of coffee, poured myself a cup, and sat down at the kitchen table. My phone rested in front of me, the number dialed but not yet called.

I stared at the screen, wrestling with my fear. What would Andre say? Would he even pick up? But I couldn’t keep avoiding this. I pressed the call button, and the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

“This is Andre,” came a voice, familiar but different. It was more measured now, more in control.

“Andre… it’s Michael. Michael Evans,” I said, my voice faltering.

A long silence stretched between us. I could hear a door closing on his end before his voice came back, sharp and cold. “Michael? Why are you calling me? There is no ‘us,’ Michael. There never will be. I thought I made that clear the last time we spoke… what, eight years ago?”

“I know, Andre. Please. Just hear me out,” I said, my heart pounding.

“What do you want?” His tone was clipped, guarded.

“I just want an hour of your time. Nothing more. I’m not looking for anything but a conversation,” I replied, my voice trembling.

Andre let out a bitter laugh. “Why should I give you an hour? Do you have any idea what you put me through? They audited all my work. I was sent home for weeks, nobody would talk to me. I went to therapy, Michael. Therapy. To get over you and the mess you dragged me into. I worked my ass off to rebuild my life, and now you want to waltz back in and… what? Unpack your guilt? Explain yourself?”

I swallowed hard, his words cutting deeper than I’d expected. “I understand how you feel. But please, Andre. Just one hour. You can meet me anywhere, and I’ll leave you alone afterward.”

There was another pause, the silence heavy. “You’re in New York?” he asked finally, disbelief lacing his tone.

“Yes, but I didn’t know you were here until recently. I swear.”

“How did you find me?” His suspicion was palpable.

“I didn’t… It's complicated. I don’t want to drag anyone else into this, Andre. Please, just one hour.”

Andre sighed, exasperation in every syllable. “Fine. Let me think about it. Don’t call me again, Michael. I’ll be the one to reach out if I decide to.”

The line went dead.

I sat there for a moment, stunned. His anger was justified, and the fact that he hadn’t outright refused was more than I’d hoped for. Now, all I could do was wait.

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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Great chapter, if I can only make one suggestion... Make a clear distinction between two POVs. It is a bit confusing who is talking to whom?

Nevertheless, it is good that Michael has finally found courage to tell David his life story. He couldn't know it, but it is the best thing he could do. David is amazing friend and advisor. The only thing I don't absolutely agree with him is about Michael's running to New York. Yes, Michael needs to confront his past and make amends, but to do that, he first had to move out from toxic parents, change the surrounding, gather his own thoughts...and of course, find good friends as David to support him. 

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