Out of Luck


Chapter 10: The Inevitable Ending (and Beyond)

It was well into afternoon that day that I realized that no one was going to come for me, to see if I was alright. The realization hit me kind of weird. I was one of those kids who would always run crying and upset to their room when I got yelled at, and my mom would always come to comfort me some ten or fifteen minutes later, telling me that I shouldn't take things so hard, and that I should learn to take responsibility for my actions. That this is really fair treatment and I that was expected to take my punishment without complaint - and that no matter what, she loved me. So whenever I get upset and have some loud and very verbal tantrum of any sort, I expect someone to come and to me and tell me that I'm a spoiled brat, but they loved me anyway.

But this time, no one came. From the time I woke up from the time I realized that I was completely alone, I was in this weird state of hopeful suspense, almost completely under the belief that someone would knock on my door, call me, e-mail me. Whatever. I didn't realize how strong that assumption was until I realized how stupid it was. I had seriously thought someone would, I don't know, just show some sort of effort to make sure I wasn't drowning in my own barf right now or something. If a few tears and a phone call from my anorexic girlfriend was enough to get someone to check up on me, then why shouldn't my little drunken spaz-fest with Terry warrant a concern or two? Even through my bitch of a hang over, I forced myself to get up. Even though my wrist was too swollen to move properly, I managed to clean myself up and dress myself. I drained the bubble bath water from last night. I put away my whiskey, cleaned up the spilled soda. I began to clean my puke out of the carpet, but realized I'd probably have to stop at the store to pick up a proper carpet cleaner if I wanted to get the smell out. I wanted it to look halfway decent in the apartment, should I get a visitor.

Despite how much it hurt to continue to be forgotten, I checked my email and voice messages constantly, hoping that maybe someone called me while I was cleaning, or emailed me when I wasn't looking. But no one did.

When I realized that no one cared, I surprisingly didn't feel as depressed as I thought I would. It hurt, sure, but it was nowhere near my emotional distress from last night. Which I refuse to let my mind linger on for too long, because the fact that I told Terry I loved him – which is humiliating in its own right – and then totally got shot down was just too much for me to handle at the moment. But when I realized that I was doomed to spend the rest of this day alone, it didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would. It was more like disappointment than anything. Disappointment like getting a 'C' on a test you studied really hard for. The type of disappointment that made you feel like a worthless shit, but wasn't something that felt like it was going to consume you altogether. For me, it was more like an 'oh, well' than an 'oh, god.'

I'd missed one of my earlier classes, but I made a deliberate effort to try to get back into the flow of every day life. I mentally chastised myself like I was my own mother. You're an adult now, Alec, I'd say. You don't get comforted when you fuck up, you deal with it. You don't need anyone else. No man is an island? Fuck that. Even this morning, the morning after the worse night of your life, you managed to get up and clean up by yourself. You don't need anyone. You're an adult. Deal with it. Don't be a child. Of course, chastising yourself never ends well. You're so stupid, Alec, I'd say. You're a pathetic little fag. That's why Terry doesn't want you. It's because you suck the life out of everyone around you. You lie. You cheat. You don't have any real friends. You leech off of everyone around you, and when they tell you to stop, you just sit back and laugh, asking for more and more. You don't deserve Terry. You don't deserve anyone. Even Dennis is too honest for you.

Yeah. My mom never got that harsh. Don't worry.

It was hard to fall asleep that night. My mind kept racing over everything that had happened in the past 24 hours or so. I hated thinking about Terry. It still hurt. I couldn't even have flashbacks to our super-sexy and extremely-perfect sexual activities without feeling nauseous and dizzy from the emotion. I was so tired, and it was so hard to find that 'neutral relaxed' place I always need to get to in order to fall asleep. If I wasn't thinking about Terry, I was thinking about ways to stop thinking about Terry, which was really the same as thinking about Terry. If I wasn't thinking about that, I was thinking about how lonely I felt. If I wasn't thinking about that, I was thinking about how screwed I was.

I probably didn't fall asleep until 4AM. I awoke the next morning in the early afternoon, just in time for class. Which I attended. Since I had nothing else to do. Since I had no friends, no hobbies. I was so off-kilter. On my way to class, my gaydar picked up this cute little freshman-looking kid with a nice ass. He was interested in me. Not today, twinkie, not today. The thought of gay sex just depressed me. The thought of straight sex depressed me, too, only I didn't think about that as much. I digress.

Strangely apathetic, I decided that I needed to talk to Terry. I hated the idea of doing it, but I just needed to. Kind of like you hate to breathe when there's a dead skunk nearby, but you have to unless you die. It was exactly like that. I needed to, at the very least, apologize. It kept running through my head like some crazy scene in a movie. I was on the ground, a nauseous wreck, screaming my veins out of my neck, and there Terry was, just crying. I made him cry. I'd never seen Terry cry before. Maybe you don't understand how completely depressing it was for me to realize that I made Terry cry. We were always chummy and full of jokes and somewhat emotional nonchalance. If I insulted him or upset him, he'd either laugh it off or directly tell me not to do it again. He never got emotional.

But I made him cry.

So after class I took out my cell phone in the safety of my own puke-smelling apartment and called him. His phone rang twice before it went to his voice-mail. Yeah. You know what that means. He saw it was me and intentionally sent me to his voice-mail.

I wasn't too surprised. I'd do it too, if our positions were switched. His voicemail was the standard 'Hey, this is Terry's cell. Leave a message and the time you called. I'll get back to you when I can. Later.' When it was time for me to leave a message, I froze for a second. What the fuck can I say?

I think I might have paused a second too long for it to be considered normal. I tried to recover the lost time. "Oh, uh. Terry, this is Alec. I…" I should have prepared better. I should have written it out beforehand and read off my message all perfectly edited and thought out. I should have gone online and looked up things to say when you've completely fucked someone over but still want them to like you. I should have emailed him, something nice and spelled checked. What's so special about a call? But it's too fucking late to hang up now, and I've got to say something. Fuck. "Uh. I just want to apologize for being so… stupid. Mostly for being stupid the other night, but for being stupid all along, too. I hate that I hurt you. Uh…" That can't be it. There has to be more. Should I mention that I'm alright and not currently drowning in the physical manifestation of my desolation? Would that sound too bitter? Too needy? No, no. This isn't about me. This is about Terry. "I'm not proud of how I acted. But, I mean – Terry, I want to say that… that I meant what I said about… h-how I felt about you." This is so awkward, I'm blushing. "Anyway. I guess… that's it. Bye."

And I pressed 'end.' The nervous adrenaline in my system was making me want to do something. Anything. Even work. Even code my brains out. Even do my taxes. Anything. Iron underwear. Whatever. But I didn't do anything but sit there and stare at my cell phone. I wanted Terry to call me back, I wanted some formal recognition of being an adult – maybe some sort of slight nod from God or something. I don't know. I needed someone else besides myself to tell me what to do, and whether or not the action I just did was good or not. So I just stared at my phone.

See, this is how crazy people start crazy cults and have crazy lifestyles. They start expecting things where things ought never be expected. Like spiritual approval from a cell phone. A cell phone low on batteries, I may add.

Finally finding it in myself to move from the safety of my couch, I went and plugged in my phone, sighing with a stunted disappointment when I realized I had nothing to do. Well, except sleep that is. I was tired, hell yea. But could I sleep? Probably not. I was too unsettled. Figuring it couldn't hurt to try, however, I stumbled my way to my room and just flopped onto my bed. To help blow out my thoughts, I put my mp3 player on high volume until I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my ear drums screaming. I didn't feel like myself. I didn't feel confident, I didn't feel satisfied, I didn't even feel all that good looking. I didn't feel smart, too. I'd always taken a sort of arrogant pride in the skill with which I could punch out lines of code, point my way into the most indirect logics, and shit out some recursive implementation of So-and-so's algorithm of this-or-that. But during class today, I found myself completely lost and completely unwilling to become unlost. They say creativity is just the self becoming aware of something that had always existed by means of their own drive. My drive was fucking shot.

Even with the ear-numbing music, I must have fallen asleep. I remember waking up and looking at my clock and being like 'wow, it's five hours later.' It was still relatively early – around 8 in the evening – so I decided to get up and watch TV or something. Only I hear that the TV is already on.

The first thing I see when I walk into my living room is Terry. In fact, that's just about the only thing I see. It was just Terry and that's it. No couch, no TV, no computer, no walls, no room. Just Terry. Then my senses and general awareness began popping their way back into my brain, during which I had a strange sensation of losing my memory for a second. It was dramatic. Now fully aware, I notice that Terry is sitting on my couch, watching TV.

Well, he was watching TV, and now he's just looking at me. I'm in my sleep clothes, just boxers and a t-shirt. For a second, I feel like I'm in my old element. For a second, it feels like the past month and a half never happened. For a second, it feels like he's trying to check me out as discretely as possible, trying not to offend my straightness, and I'm feeling pleasantly vulnerable under the gaze of the guy I'd give my left nut to fuck (again). But only for a second. After that second was gone, reality seemed up to speed up with the current issues.

I shifted my eyes away, turning slightly so that he was looking at my profile. Terry just sort of sat there, his eyes kind of wide and shocked looking, but at the same time calm and composed. I can't explain it. Maybe the greenness is getting in the way. He turns off the TV. "I, uh, got your message." He paused, and it was a little awkward when nothing was said. I figure he was probably waiting for me to say something, but I was too busy trying to bite down the hysteria in my larynx. The fuck is he doing here? He continued to explain himself a bit for me. "I tried calling back but your cell was off or something-" he glanced at its place on my desk, charging. "So I came over and knocked, but you didn't answer. I have… an extra key so I just came in to wait for you. I… didn't realize you were sleeping until I got in. I didn't want to wake you up…"

As his voice trailed nervously off into whatever mumblings he felt like he had to justify omitting, I finally found some sort of courage to turn to look at him. He looked good, as always. Maybe a little high strung at the moment, but he looked good. I still want to fuck him. I feel horrible admitting it, but it's hard to take three years worth of yearning out of your psyche. I still want to impale him. I thought about it, even while sober. I'm fairly certain than I do love Terry, but that doesn't mean I can't continue to have immature desires and fantasies about him. I want to dominate Terry, make him mine. I want to make him mine the way he made me his, the way he just took everything I had to give – emotion wise – and just summed it up in one giant fuck. I digress.

He was looking at me with something pleading in his eyes. Like he wanted something only I could give him, but I just didn't know how to read him anymore. The temperature in the room went up my boxers and gave me a chill. "No, no, that's ok. I don't mind that you're here." He looked like he relaxed a bit, but there was something else that he wanted to hear. Oh, fuck, Terry. You have to meet me halfway on this, ok? I can't figure you out alone anymore. "Why did you come?"

"Because I…" He looked conflicted as he tried to find the right words. Maybe he had lots of things to say and they were all trying to come out at once and he was trying to find a decent queue and order to punch them out in. Maybe he had only one thing to say but it was just difficult to find the right words. "I didn't expect you to call. When you did, though, it was just… It made me feel worthless."

Ok, not what I was expecting to hear. Quite frankly, I didn't like the sound of it. I love Terry. Only, he makes me hurt, and I make him hurt. This doesn't seem right. "I'm sorry?" Like, what do you say to that? I'm not even sure I understand completely. How the fuck could I make him feel worthless? Apologies aren't supposed to do that. Like, what the fuck?! For serious. For serious.

Terry sighed and looked away. "The other night, when I checked up on you, I really didn't expect things to get out of hand like that. I've seen you drunk a million times, Alec, but fuck. You turned into someone else. I was so scared."

Oh, if you're expecting some sort of pity party, you're not going to get it. My emotional upheaval and mental breakdown overrides your fear. Fucktard. I hope I look bitter right now. Bitter and half naked. My next words kind of came out a little sharper than I'd hoped. "Good. Maybe I turned into someone who doesn't fuck everything up so bad." Oh, too late for that, Alec, too late for that. Terry almost looked like he was about to cry. Fuck, he can't cry. If he cries, then I cry, and then we're just a bunch of crying gay guys in a room and that's just emo. Sighing, I made my way over to the couch and slumped down beside him, trying to close the emotional gap between us by physically closing in the spatial gap. "I told you I'm not proud of what I did."

Beside me, Terry nodded. He leaned lazily against the back of the couch with me, his head turned as he watched me. I'm not entirely what he was watching besides me breathing or something, because I wasn't really saying or doing anything interesting. But he had that 'watching' look in his eyes. That look people get when they don't seem particularly mentally animated at the moment, but have a distinct concentration on a certain subject and its actions. Terry took a breath that announced he was going to speak. "Then how… how can you expect me to take what you said to me seriously when you act like that?"

I mentally winced. It was a good point. A slobbering drunk tells you he loves you as he makes out with your shirt and a second later is a raging maniac, puking and falling and bumping into walls and shit. Doesn't exactly spell out 'sincere confession.' I mean, not that I didn't have a good reason behind my naked screech-and-puke fest. Which I plan to bring up and shove in his face, right about now. "You seemed to take it serious enough when you shot me down."

"Alec, you have to understand that-"

"-No. I don't have to understand anything." I interrupted him. Yeah, we were going to argue. I'm just groggy enough for this to work, and he's edgy enough to go along with it. "I don't care what you have to say behind your reasoning, but you don't go saying shit like that to drunks. You don't go saying the one thing you know will ruin them the most. You just don't. Kind of like you don't leave said drunk naked, puking and screaming on the floor completely alone for the next twenty-four-plus hours. I don't understand at all, and to be honest, any increase in my level of understanding of what happened between us the other night won't make anything better – so I don't really want to understand. I just want to forget. I just want to forget that entire day. It was for shit." My nose was still bruised from where Dennis had punched me. My wrist was still sore, too.

Terry was silent for a second, studying me. Having that weird 'watching' look on his face. I couldn't stand looking back at him, so I just crossed my arms on my chest and turned my head the other way. I felt like a stupid little brat, pouting my way into a deeper hole, digging my own grave. But fuck, I just needed to say that. He was asking for it. When he spoke, it was low and soft and almost made me forget what we were talking about. "And that's why it made me feel worthless when you apologized. Maybe you did turn into someone who doesn't fuck things up."

The last part of that sentence, I'd like to add, was said with something of a cynical smirk. I couldn't help but to return it. With my dimples. Cynical dimples at the moment, but still, how could you not want to fuck me with my dimples? Anyway, our out-of-place smirks disappeared quickly, the weight of our words not yet gone from our minds. I sighed, tired and wanting to go back to sleep. "I don't know what you want from me."

"I don't either," He admitted, looking at me. He was looking at me with what I used to recognize as lust. I wanted to kiss him so bad right then, and he must have felt that in some weird extrasensory way, and he slowly let one of his hands reach up and touch my cheek.

It was a small touch, almost innocent really, but it felt like the world to me. The warmth of his hand against my face gave me chills. I knew my eyes closed. I knew they closed because it was like I was watching myself as a third person – I knew they closed because I saw them close, objectively and from a distance. From my detached point of reference, I watched as Terry began to slowly rub my cheekbones with his thumb, slowly letting it maneuver its way down to my lips, tracing them. I saw the goosebumps on my arm second before I felt them. I was having an out-of-body experience, and all I could concentrate on was how much I wanted Terry, and how fucking ruined I'd be if he denied me again.

For a second, I thought he was going to slip a finger in my mouth. I as preparing myself to taste the subtle saltiness of his finger as it massaged my tongue. I opened my eyes, however, and he must have gotten scared when he saw himself reflected on them, because he quickly withdrew his hand, making my face feeling cold and empty. That's the story of my life, isn't it? Terry finding away to somehow make me feel cold and empty. A little bit of anger rising from my fingers, I took a deep breath and gave a somewhat sarcastic look at Terry before I pushed myself away from the couch. "You know what I want from you. Now make up your mind about what you want from me."

I knew I was kind of laying my soul out on the line right there. Sure, he could say yes and we'd have a giant fuck and my life would be complete. I said those words, however, completely expecting him to deny me again. I don't know what it is with Terry. We tease each other, we've been doing it for three years, we're good at it. He's been playing with me in my give-hope-take-hope game now so long I've fallen victim to my own thing. But there's just a line I have to draw when every time he takes hope away, I get a visceral emotional death.

Apparently, I have the same effect on him, I realize as I stand there, looking down at him. In fact, the realization hits me and I almost smirk. Terry was wrong. He said I had lost – but he was wrong. We're still in the game, and therefore, I haven't lost. I just had to find a way to get above him again. I need to find a way to gain control of the game. I need my two-point lead. After all, we were still in 'Step Four.' Fuck, I thought we had advanced to 'Step Five' – Give in – when Terry fucked me, which was probably why I fucked thing up pretty good when I prematurely advanced to 'Step Six,' Shame Denial and Escape. Let me repeat that. When he fucked me. If you remember, however, I'd started my little game with Terry only willing to give in if I were to fuck him. Which had not happened. Oh, Hell yes, this game hadn't ended yet.

And I'm not going to quit until Terry was mine. For real, this time.

That's why Terry's next words had little to no effect on me. "I guess, no, then. Right now, I'm with Dennis."

I tried not to hold back a smirk at the mention of the blond. What a twink. I guess I can't really blame him after all. In fact, he just might have made things more interesting. My lack of devastation caused Terry to look confused. He must have been completely bewildered when I smirked and let out an awkward little laugh. "I guess I can't fuck him anymore, can I?"

Surprised, Terry didn't say anything for a second. Maybe he realized I was still in the game, maybe not. It didn't matter, I wasn't going to leave him alone. Does that make me sound creepy? Whatever. It'll actually make things sexier, to go on double-dates with Terry – and maybe even Dennis – with some new girlfriend, all the while having both of them know I'm just fucking her for the straight-appearance. This thought made me snicker out loud again, and at this new sound emitted from me, Terry finally found the will to speak, a small smirk of his own forming on his perfect features. "No, Alec. You cannot fuck Dennis."

I smiled warmly at him. Terry's face was more relaxed, but he still looked confused at my behavior, and a little awkward. Maybe he thought I'd finally went insane, and as soon as he left, I'd start killing people by the dozens. Haha, how awesome. I mean, how horrible. In an attempt not to appear too creepy, I stretched out my right hand towards my love, as an offering of peace. When he shook my hand, I don't think he realized he was making a promise – a telementt, to be old-school about it – to continue in on my game. A game that I was determined to come out on top, quite literally. "Let's just turn the clock back a month or so. All this never happened. I still visit you and watch manly TV shows, and we still share a beer or two on our rougher days. Deal?"

He looked a little suspicious, maybe catching on to my perpetual desire for him, but he nodded and shook my hand without hesitation. Maybe he didn't want to think that our game was over, either. Maybe he wanted me to be the one to finally get him. Maybe he wanted to see how far I would go for him. "Deal."

"And with that, platonic friend, I must ask you to leave. I have a phone call I have to make to Mallory."

The room felt silly. Like cartoon kind of silly. The feeling of fakeness and comical whateverness was increased only when Terry laughed and scratched the back of his head, walking slowly backwards towards the door. "Yeah, you probably should. She's in need of serious updating. And…" With his hand on the door, he made one last bewildered smile and wave to me before he left. "You have fun with that."

"Consider it done," And he left. Well, not before I took my time taking one last glance at his ass, that is. Oh yes, things were just like times. Maybe he'll even let me wrestle with him. I can only dream.

I felt renewed. I was a born-again fake-straight-queer. My soul, after dying, was like a phoenix, rising from the ashes. A gay phoenix, really. I was so tired such a short time ago, but I was suddenly filled with an energy that came out of nowhere. It was amazing. Feeling like nothing could get me down, I actually did call Mallory. The conversation itself wasn't too bad. We broke up, duh, but it was more like a "So, you're gay?" and then a "Yeah. Sorry." and then an awkward "It's not because of me, right?" and then a "No, I've been gay for a long time." and then a "Oh, well. I don't think we can date anymore, then. Or have sex – although if you want to, I mean, that's just flattering to me." and then a "Um…" and then a "Ok, no sex. But can we like, go shopping together or something?" to which I replied "Whatever. Listen, I've got to go… do stuff." and then it ended.

As I ended the conversation with Mallory, I suddenly remembered something significant. The last time I saw Mark, we knew we probably weren't going to be seeing each other again. We'd gotten close to each other, closer than I had wanted us to, and even I was feeling sad about letting him go. The memory came to me so clearly that I was surprised and even appalled that I'd forgotten it.

Mark and I had just had sex for the last time. I didn't know it then, but I know now that it was probably the first time I'd 'made love' to anyone, that last time with Mark. We had just finished having sex, and we were sitting in bed, all tired and sweaty and satisfied and smelling like sex. Mark and I were facing each other, sitting Indian-style on the bed, completely naked, and holding hands. Despite my recent orgasm, I just wasn't emotionally sound. I was going to miss Mark so bad, and by the look on his face, he was going to miss me just as much, if not more. Knowing this made me want to stay with him even more. I gave him a quick peck on his lips, and after it was done, we looked at each other, knowing it was the end.

"I'm going to miss you so much." He had said it like a whisper, like he was already crying, even though he wasn't at that point. I didn't want him to cry. I hate when the guys I like cry, especially when I'm somehow the reason behind the tears. I tried not to breathe too much on him, lest my own sorrow be somehow transferred into him. "I'll never forget you."

He was so close to tears. I wanted to make it better. I was completely sober. "I love you, Mark."

And then he started to cry, tears flowing over his makeup, leaving dramatic black streams of tears on his cheeks. We kissed one last time, then. And then I got dressed and left, never to see him again.

The sorrow of that moment years ago felt its way inside me. As I looked at the door from which Terry just left, I knew I wasn't anywhere near ready to say goodbye to him yet, and I knew I'd do anything to keep from saying goodbye. That thought alone just made me feel the best I had in weeks.


As I walked down one of the more commercial streets in Bearleton after class one day, my gaydar began to shoot me hints out for some hot stud waiting at a bus stop. Curious, I positioned myself so I could see him better. And fuck, like I suspected, he was pretty hot. Short brown hair, slightly styled, a stunted tan, a sexy-casual way of dressing, and some badass looking sunglasses resting on a face that seemed to be hand crafted by god to suck cocks. My interested was piqued. To say the least. Let's just say I've been feeling more like my old jolly gay self again.

Two weeks had passed since Terry and I had made our pact, our agreement of turning back the clock. Surprisingly enough, things actually had gone back much to the way they were before all of the shit that had happened. That first visit was awkward, oh for sure, when I first showed up at Terry's apartment for a long night of CSI:Miami reruns and beer.

Dennis had immediately wanted to talk to me, even tried to seduce me. "I'm sorry," I had told him, sharing a quick amused glance with the blonde's boyfriend next to me. "I promised I wouldn't fuck you anymore. No more double-dipping." And we all laughed. As things began to feel more natural between the three of us, and as the beer began to flow more freely, everyone just relaxed and it felt like the past two months just melted away.

"So Alec. Sorry about punching you." This was Dennis. Him, Terry and me were all sitting on the couch, drinking beers and trying to amuse ourselves during the commercial break. Like I always seem to be, I was sandwiched between Terry and Dennis, enjoying both of their company more than I should have, and feeling a little weird about not having to pretend to be straight anymore. "You know I only yelled 'stop fucking my boyfriend' to humiliate you, right? I mean, that was the most obvious and dramatically bitchy thing I could think of to say at the moment. It worked didn't it? Anyway. I just want to let you know that you're welcome to fuck Terry, just as long as I'm somehow present. Kay?"

Terry and I had exchanged glances. Maybe we held our gaze a moment too long. Oh god, I love him so much. I love his green eyes, his black hair, his dimpled chin. The thought of having sex with Terry simultaneously brought down into my mind an entire series of sex-filled flashbacks and fantasies. I like to think that Terry recognized his reflection in my eyes, and knew exactly what I was talking about. I also like to think that he was reciprocating my fantasies, at least on some level. As god as my witness, I will have him, I will make him mine. I will crack open his ass with my cock like Moses cracked open the red sea with his stick. And, well, divine intervention. But it was mostly the stick, and you know it. But if divine intervention wants to pay me a visit, I'm not going to stop it.

I managed to find the mental capacity to laugh in Dennis's general direction. "You're such a slut."

I found myself a little unnerved when both Terry and Dennis had shared looks then, laughing. Like they had an inside joke. Sometimes I forget that they're dating. Sometimes I forget that, as soon as I leave, they'll have some sort of fantastic gay sex while I sit at home by myself and play video games. Sometimes I forget that, and it's for those moments that I feel I'm the happiest. It was during those moments where Terry, Dennis and I were in a state of completely equality that I found myself feeling most at peace with the world.

It's not like I hate Dennis, quite the opposite really. I don't love Dennis, but I like him. He's a good-looking guy, and has something of a likeable personality along with it. With all this said, however, if he ever cheats on Terry – including with me – I'll fucking kill him. If and when he fucks things up with the love of my life, I'll be there waiting. But until then, I think I'm satisfied with things. In fact, I'm glad Terry is with Dennis. Dennis, I know from experience, is at least good enough for him. He has my stamp of approval, if you will. But I still feel jealous as Hell when they look at each other like that.

Thank god they don't kiss in front of me that often. I think they do that on purpose. I think Terry is afraid of breaking me again, afraid of seeing me all down like that. I think he tries to be a little gentle with me, especially when I've consumed a little alcohol here and there. This doesn't bother me. No matter what he thinks about my mental state, as long as I'm in this crazy game of cat-and-mouse with him, I'll be alright.

Terry and I meet eyes one last time before the show starts. He probably knows I'm still after him. He's proven he's not stupid, and he's proven he can read me like a book. I know I still want him, and he knows I still love him. And he knows it's just a matter of time before he gives himself to me. For good.

Maybe the only thing he doesn't know is that I'll wait for him forever, if I have to. Maybe its better that he doesn't know that. I turn my attention back to the show.

So this new sunglasses-hottie at the bus stop, he looked good. Yeah, I can wait for Terry, as long as it takes. He'll come around eventually, I know he will. But in the mean time, I might as well have some fun.

As I made my way to my new victim, I took out my cell phone and began my fictitious conversation with my fictitious girlfriend, making sure I had some spare change for the bus when it came.

Step one, establish straightness.