Page 64 of Beneath the Stain
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Mackey rolled over to his stomach on his little bed. It was “contemplation time,” which meant that they had about an hour to themselves to read, play on the net, call their dealers (yeah, Mackey knew a few not-so-clean-and-sober folks in rehab), or generally fiddlefuck around. The doc said the idea was to give them time to get used to being by themselves. Mackey figured it was just impossible to structure everybody’s day down to the last fucking nanosecond while they tried not to think about their drug of choice. Right now, as Mackey wondered if he’d crossed the line, gone too far, poked the one guy who texted him with impunity in this human desert too hard for him to text back, he sort of longed for a Xanax.
Please don’t give me shit about that, Trav texted, and Mackey stared at his phone for a minute. It was just so damned honest, really.
I’m sorry. He wondered when the last chance he’d had to saythathad been.I crossed the line. I’m sorry.
I will never be okay with that, do you understand?
Mackey sighed. This here was a fundamental disagreement.Then you will never be okay with me. And wasn’tthatscary? He wanted to take it back. He had beenanythingfor Grant, would have doneanythingto make it so Grant would stay with him and not Sam. When he’d been high, he’d been like an in-and-out drive-through of ass. He would have bent over for Satan if he’d had a condom.
But he wasn’t high, and he wasn’t a kid. This… thisattachmenthe had to Trav—it was not going to be worth anything if Trav couldn’t deal with Mackey James Sanders as God made him. Mackey could change for the better—he could learn to say “I’m sorry” and try not to piss people off quite so much—but he would never believe that people were meant to be perfect.
Trav apparently believedhewas meant to be perfect.
Not so serious, Trav prompted.
Mackey cocked his head, smiling a little.What in the hell does that mean?
It’s not a philosophical disagreement if I think what I did was wrong.
Mackey laughed. Okay. So they were going to debate—that was okay. A debate was good—it was bickering, bantering, whatever. Mackey could deal with that.
Do you MEAN to contradict yourself? Should there be a sarcasm font I can read?
I don’t want you to forgive guys that hit you, Mackey.
Trav, if I hadn’t been losing my fucking nut, do you think I wouldn’t have hit you back?
If you hadn’t been losing your fucking nut, I wouldn’t have hit you in the first place!
So think about it like a really hard bitchslap. I had it coming.
This whole conversation is making me violent.
That’s hilarious. It’s cracking me up.
Just promise me, okay?
What?
Nobody gets to hurt Mackey Sanders. Not even me.
Mackey looked at the words for a moment. Wow. A promise not to let himself get abused. Did that extend to mental abuse? Did it extend to not letting himself get dicked around by someone who said they loved him but didn’t follow through? Did it mean not letting himself get called a faggot, even by his stupid brother? Did it mean telling Trav when he got too tired or was spazzing out, and maybe have something happen besides another pill or a bump of coke? Did it mean not lying to his mother or the press orhis mother,goddammitwhen they asked him about girls?
Did it mean letting someone close enough to love him?
One little goddamned sentence and Mackey’s whole world crashed to a halt.
Mackey?
He swallowed.
Believe it or not, that is really fucking profound.
There was another long pause, this time on Trav’s side.
It should be a simple truth.
Yeah, well, so should not getting high to get out of bed. Doesn’t mean it’s not new to me.
