Why is it that everybody close to me has left?
Am I some kind of unclean soul? One that poisons all that come near me? Drew thinks I've broken our trust for each other and won't speak to me; Hugo, well, let's just say I ruined that friendship; Mike doesn't come around anymore, and Fran-- she talks to me, but I know it's only lip service.
She thought Steve was just using me. And she was right.
I went back to Steve's place to get some of my things, hopeful that I'd be able talk to him.
I tried the knob on the front door. It was open.
I stood in the doorway in disbelief.
Steve was lying in bed and on top of him was a woman.
Her head tilted back and she moaned in ecstasy. One of Steve's hands was cupping one of her breasts, the other was grasping her hip.
The woman looked my way, stopped and screamed.
I'd seen her somewhere before. Was it at Mocha Daze? Was it at Charlie's funeral?
I wasn't sure.
She quickly got off Steve and covered herself with a sheet.
Steve jumped out of bed and headed towards me. His naked body shined with the mixture of sweat and sex. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I came to get my stuff."
He picked up a bag filled with my things and stuffed it in my arms. "Here's some of it. As you can see I'm busy right now. Come back later."
He escorted me out the door and slammed it in my face. I paused, hearing them talk inside.
"Who was that?" she asked him.
"Him? Just some guy I was letting stay here. Everything was cool until he tried to make me."
"He's queer?"
"Yeah," Steve said. "It's sad when people mistake kindness as an invitation for sex."
I ran down the apartment building hallway.
I went to my office at the gym and got out some of the paint and a small canvas I'd kept there.
Picasso had a blue period.
My whole world's turning from blue to black.
Just like the bruises on my body.
Just like my soul.
