Written in Scars(14)

The cat gazed at his owner with soft eyes, blinking slowly, before strolling over to his breakfast bowl and shoving his face into a mound of biscuits.

“He’s not used to visitors,” Logan explained, “but he seems happy to have you here.” And then reaching across to put his hand on Sam’s wrist, he said, “And so am I. Thrilled to have you here.”

A rush of emotion coloured Sam’s cheeks. This is what a relationship could be like. What it should be like. No sneaking around with other people. No cheating. No stilted conversations with nothing in common to talk about. Logan had shown more respect in the last eleven hours than Johan in eleven years.

“I’m glad to be here too,” he said. “But there’s somewhere else I need to be.”





Chapter Six





The walk from the Metro station to his front door seemed a hundred times longer than the reality. Every step forward was heavy with dread; away from the life he wanted, toward the one he dreaded. The house, his husband, they used to bring him so much happiness, now he was fearful of both. As much as he blamed Johan for the mess they were in, Sam knew he was an equal partner in the guilt. He’d allowed things to get out of hand, to drift so far from the promises they made to each other.

On the journey home, he’d rehearsed the things he would say. Things he should have said months, no, years ago. But as the house came into view, his mind went blank. Those carefully planned words deserted him. He fought the urge to turn around. He had to do this. Stay strong.

He clung to the memory of Logan - the pleasure they enjoyed last night and again this morning. He could still smell him. Sam showered before leaving the cottage but the scent of the man lingered. It clung to him, maybe on his clothes or just in his imagination, wherever it was he welcomed it.

What am I doing? You can’t have Logan. You’re married. And even if you weren’t, it would never work out. He’s a successful author, he’s been all over the world and built his own house. You’re a pen-pushing civil servant. You’re small. Unworldly. You can’t have a man like that.

So, I’m stuck with Johan?

Of course you are. You married the shit.

Sam’s hands trembled as he reached the house. His heart beat wildly. It took three attempts to get the key into the lock. He took a deep breath, dreading what he’d find on the other side.

Silence greeted him as he stepped inside. It was better than the alternative.

And there were no strange coats hanging in the hall. Another small blessing.

The living room was a mess. It stunk of cigarette smoke and stale booze.

“Fucking hell.”

The front curtains were closed. Sam pulled them back and opened a window, letting fresh air into the stagnant room. He turned to survey the wreckage. There was drug paraphernalia everywhere. The coffee table was strewn with needles and small shot glasses. He saw a plate and a credit card, obviously used to chop up powder. Wads of used tissues and kitchen roll littered the carpet. Most of the cushions from the sofa were also on the floor.

Revulsion rose in his throat. He went straight to the kitchen and ran a glass of water, gulping it down to the last drop. The walls of the tiny galley seemed to close around him, crushing him. He gripped the counter top and took slow, deep breaths. Get a grip. Keep it together and be strong.

This is the day when everything changes.

“Now where the fuck are you?” he muttered, striding back through the house in search of Johan.

Sam stomped up the stairs and headed straight for the bedroom. The stale boozy fart smell was even worse here. Johan, thankfully alone, lay face down on the bed, his waxed arse stuck out from a tangle of stained sheets. In his sleep he clutched his mobile phone. No doubt trawling for another Grindr hook-up when he passed out. Bastard.

Sam tore open the curtains, flooding the room with daylight, and flung the window wide.

With a groan, Johan pulled a pillow over his face.

“What are doing?” he grumbled.

“Good question,” Sam spat back. “It stinks in here. You should see the state of yourself. The state of the house.”

“Shh,” Johan waved a hand at him.

“Don’t shush me, you bastard.”

“Where have you been, anyway? I sent you a text.”

“I deleted it.”

Johan pushed aside the pillow and struggled into a sitting position. “What for?”

His eyes were bloodshot. It amazed Sam he could open them, considering all the shit he’d been using.

“What have you taken?” Sam asked.

He grimaced. “What do you care?”

“Only that I’ll have to pay the mortgage and the bills again this month if you’ve wasted all your money on that crap.”

“Keep your tits on. It was only Tina and G. Besides the guys brought it with them. I didn’t spend any cash.”

“And that makes everything all right, does it?”

“You’re the one bitching about money,” Johan said indignantly.

“It’s not about the money,” Sam sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s this. You. Everything. You told me you’d stopped.”

Johan scratched his head, then his balls. “I did stop. I have. This was a one off. A blip. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry, okay.”