I thought acting casual would make this easier but Andrew wouldn't even look at me. I couldn't blame him because every time I saw myself in the mirror-- I wanted to throw up.
Drew didn't answer me.
I started again, "What can I say? There aren't words to fix this, Drew. I'm-- I'm so sorry. I know it takes two to tango but Mark started it."
"That's funny," Drew snapped back. He was quietly sitting by the fireplace, on his third glass of Cabernet. He looked awful, as bad as I felt. "Mark's story differs from yours! And I tend to believe HIS."
He got up and started pacing. I'd never seen him so upset.
"How can you believe Mark? Over me?" I said. "How could you trust him?"
"No, Eric!" he yelled. "The question is-- how can I trust you?! Looking at you repulses me! The only image I have in my head is... God! I can't even say it!"
"I'm sorry!" I pleaded. "I'll never do it again."
"Goddamn right!" He suddenly became quiet, mumbling "Because I'm not giving you the chance"
"What was that Drew?" I screamed back. I felt Andrew slipping between my fingers-- all the things we had, everything we wanted for each other-- gone in an instant because of Mark Fitzgerald.
"Get out." Andrew threw his glass against the wall. It smashed into pieces and I felt pain. A small shard of glass had ricocheted off the cement and cut my cheek. We both froze as I pulled it out of my skin. I was fine, except for the unsettling truth lingering in my stomach of what we had become-- adversaries.
Andrew left the room. I stood there, in a state of shock.
The next hour was a blur. I remember Andrew screaming in the bedroom, crying and yelling. I remember going to the medicine chest to disinfect my cut cheek. And I remember standing in the kitchen, shaking, feeling cold... scared.
I went through the mail-- one of those things you do when we're in shock to find the order, to do something mundane to feel grounded.
I saw a note... I tensed... I knew who it was from...
I did know what it meant...
I was terrified.
