Page 110 of Something Like Winter
* * * * *
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.Friedrich Nietzsche was certainly right about that, but Tim wondered if the German philosopher had ever hidden at home while paying someone else to do his dirty work. Tim wasn’t alone, either. Next to him perspiring over textbooks was his alibi. Jessica was a fellow student, and to Tim’s credit, when she had advertised needing a study buddy, he hadn’t yet hatched his evil scheme. But he knew Ben was smart. Tim would be under instant suspicion, and so he took advantage of the opportunity.
Tim invited Jessica over for the afternoon, trying his best to focus on the study material. Mostly he let her talk, only occasionally asking a question to fake interest, when really all he could think of was his stupid plan.
He had felt convinced of the idea until this morning. So much could go wrong. What if Jace found Aaron tacking it to the door? Or what if Ben had plans with Allison and didn’t even go to Jace’s apartment? As the afternoon wore on, Tim was convinced it had been a failure.
Then he heard a pounding on the door.
“Be right back,” Tim said, running to answer it and finding Ben, his face crimson with anger.
“Who’s here?” he snarled.
Uh oh. “Just someone from school.”
Ben glared in disbelief before pushing past him. Oh man, was he pissed! Tim followed him to the living room, waiting just outside the door and imagining Ben discovering Jessica surrounded by books and notes.
“Is that your car outside?”
“Huh?” Jessica sounded completely lost, which was perfect. “Yeah. Do I need to move it?”
“No. Sorry.” Ben’s voice sounded more embarrassed than angry now, so Tim made an appearance.
“Actually,” he said to Jessica, “we’re going to have to do this tomorrow. Something’s come up.”
Jessica panicked. “There’s only two days left!”
“I know. We’ll really nail it tomorrow, promise.”
Jessica gathered her things and left, the look of terror never leaving her face. Oh, those pesky finals! Tim would be worried about them if he didn’t have Eric’s money, but these days his focus was on Ben.
Chinchilla danced at Ben’s feet as he sank into the couch. She yapped for his attention, peeing in excitement, but Ben was too deflated to respond. Tim grabbed the paper towels he always had nearby and cleaned up, glancing up at Ben. God, it was good to see him again! Even if he did look miserable.
“You didn’t leave a note on Jace’s door, did you?” Ben asked. “Or have someone else do it?”
“No.” Tim sat up, as if concerned. “Why? What happened?”
And it all played out, just like in his fantasies. Well, almost. Ben didn’t throw himself into Tim’s arms, but as he talked, his anger was directed only at Jace. Tim grabbed a couple of beers to help the process along as Ben became more and more agitated. And then it all went terribly wrong.
“You know, if he was going to cheat on me,” Ben said, “I wish he just would have asked. I would have let him, if he wanted to. I don’t care. I mean, it would have hurt, but it’s better than him lying to me. That’s the worst part, because it makes me wonder what else he’s lied about. Not about cheating, but—” Ben’s voice cracked. “What if he lied about loving me? Why else would he sleep around?”
There were tears. Only a couple, but like the ghost of Christmas past, they brought Tim right back to the night when he watched Ben crying in his backyard. That moment had been the lowest in Tim’s life, and now he had done it all over again. Ben was hurt, and it was all his fault.
“I’m going to throw some pizzas in the oven,” he mumbled, getting to his feet and feeling unsteady as he left the room. He couldn’t stand to see Ben like this, didn’t want to face it.
Once in the kitchen, he tried to compose himself. The damage was done. Ben would be hurt either way, whether he believed the lie or knew the truth. His anger might focus back on Tim, but the hurt would remain. Swallowing the bitter taste of guilt, Tim decided to press forward.
He brought another couple of beers with him to the living room, needing a drink as much as Ben did. Even the alcohol didn’t allow Tim to enjoy his victory. Night came and Ben was too drunk to drive home, so Tim invited him to stay over. When Ben stumbled into his arms, making a clumsy pass at him, Tim felt repulsed by what he had done and guided Ben to one of the guest rooms. Then he went to his own room, helping Chinchilla into bed before crawling in himself. Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling, prepared for another sleepless night. * * * * *
I can make him happy.
These simple words carried Tim through the next three days. Ben was busy with finals, and Tim had little time himself, but he would have given up graduating if Ben wanted to be with him. He called Ben whenever he could and talked him into a quick lunch once. The subject of Jace never came up, Tim too scared to broach it. He prayed that all of this hadn’t been for naught, but ultimately decided to stop agonizing over hurting Ben and to focus on his conviction.
He could make Ben happy. Much more than Jace ever had. If he had made Ben happy in their teens, when Tim’s efforts had been half-assed and incompetent, then surely now would be so much better.
Saturday was hellishly hot, and while Ben had told him on the phone that he’d be busy working on his thesis, Tim called anyway and invited him over for a swim. The second Ben said yes, Tim sprang into action, fishing leaves out of the pool, whipping up a pitcher of Kool-Aid, and checking his appearance in the mirror. He already wore suggestively tight swim trunks—not that Ben didn’t know what he was packing—and he fussed over his hair, trying to decide if he should gel it into messy spikes or leave it natural since they would be swimming. He still hadn’t decided when he heard Ben open the front door.
“Chinchilla, come!” Tim ran for the back patio, picking up the serving tray with the Kool-Aid and balancing it like a waiter. He had hoped Chinchilla would stand obediently at his side, but instead she attacked the stack of towels and was dragging one away.
