Chapter 4
Stitch grinned when Pete suggested they go to the Lucky Star. Since becoming aware of Stitch being jealous of Pete’s time with Daisy, he’d been sticking to gay bars, where there was less chance he’d end up chatting with a lady. When he tried to pull, he was awkward and shy, but now that he was with Stitch, Pete found it was well easy to talk to girls and he didn’t want to accidentally make Stitch feel jealous or insecure.
That they might end up back in a bathroom stall together was also a draw.
It was a good crowd for a Wednesday. Stitch immediately spotted Dave and excused himself to go make sure his drug-addled friend was aware he was in a gay bar. Pete was grateful to Dave for making Poppy possible, but he was curious about how he and Stitch had remained friends. Even Pete thought Dave was an odd duck, but Stitch clearly cared about him a great deal. Dave was one of Stitch’s suppliers, but Stitch had plenty of people to buy drugs from. Pete wondered what it was about the strange and surely certifiable Dave that had made Stitch hang on to his friendship for so many years. Pete was watching Stitch talk to Dave (and admiring Stitch’s arse from a distance) when someone offered him a drink.
Pete took the beer, said “Cheers,” and took a swig before realizing he probably should have demurred.
“That’s my boyfriend. Lover. That’s my Stitch!” Pete explained as he pointed towards Stitch in an effort to be clear he was not on the market. “He’s just talking to his mate.”
The man smiled and said, “I know all about you and Stitch. You make quite a couple.”
There was something about the way the man spoke that made Pete uncomfortable. He smiled weakly at the stranger and was struck by something familiar about his face.
“Have we met?” Pete asked. “I’m terrible with names and faces and voices and all that.”
“I’ve seen you around,” the man leered, and Pete suddenly recognized the eyes. He’d seen them peeking through the bathroom stall, the last time Pete and Stitch had been getting intimate in a bathroom stall.
Pete was rarely at a loss for words, but he had no idea what to say to someone who had watched him having sex. There were plenty of people all over London who’d stumbled across Pete having sex, but they usually took the polite route and didn’t try to make conversation.
“I’m not trying to get between you and your boyfriend. Believe me, I think you make a cute couple. You look good together.”
Pete felt uncomfortable with the flirtatious tone and the way the man’s eyes kept moving over Pete’s body, but he wasn’t sure he had any right to act put off. It wasn’t like he and Stitch hadn’t been perfectly aware that other people could watch them. People just weren’t supposed to talk to them about it afterwards.
“My name’s Arthur,” the man said as he held out his hand. Pete awkwardly shook his hand, feeling uncomfortable with even that level of physical intimacy. He looked for Stitch, but his partner had disappeared into the crowd.
“Think he followed Dave into the men’s room,” Arthur observed. “Does anyone actually use that bathroom for its intended use?”
Pete tried to laugh, but he was unsettled. He wanted to be with Stitch, but he didn’t want to walk in on him doing lines or whatever he was getting up to. He was only supposed to know about the drugs Stitch took openly. That was part of their unspoken agreement.
“Stitch really likes to party,” Arthur observed with a bland smile. “Do you like to party, Pete Sweet?”
“Why do you know my name?”
“I work with Charles,” Arthur explained, adding, “Stitch’s ex?” as though there could be any doubt.
“Charles needs to stop worrying about Stitch and start worrying ‘bout himself,” Pete snapped.
Arthur nodded sympathetically. “He’s pretty obsessed. He has control issues, and Stitch is someone he could never quite get under his thumb. Those things eat at Charles.”
From where Pete was standing, Charles still had Stitch at least a little under his thumb. He didn’t have Stitch pinned, but he was sure getting in the way of Stitch moving on.
“Why can’t he just find someone else?” Pete asked. “Why can’t he just let Stitch be happy and find someone who cares about his expensive car and all that noise?”
Arthur laughed a worldly laugh. “Charles loves the chase and so does Henry. Guys like that are happier playing their games than actually being in relationships.”
“Stitch don’t like games,” Pete argued, though he immediately realized it was a lie. Stitch did like games, just not the kind where people got hurt for real.
“Charles says the sex just gets hotter and hotter to more Henry tries to play like he isn’t interested. I mean, the sex got hotter,” Arthur corrected himself. “Obviously, Stitch has moved on.”
Pete was fairly certain Stitch hadn’t slept with Charles since he and Pete had become a couple, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about Stitch being unfaithful. There was obviously a reason why Stitch felt the need to keep in contact with Charles after all they’d been through. Pete never asked what they talked about, because there was no answer that would put Pete’s mind at ease.
Pete drained his drink, said thank you, and walked away. Arthur tried to follow him and continued talking, so Pete stepped onto the dance floor and started moving. He didn’t object when Arthur joined him, but he assertively refused to let Arthur touch him. Pete dearly needed Stitch to appear and rescue him from his unwanted companion, and more importantly, from the unwanted thoughts he couldn’t get out of his head. It was easy to forgive Stitch when he was looking at his earnest face. Stitch could be an arsehole, but he so sincerely wanted to be a good person.
Pete saw Dave on the edge of the dance floor and waved, eager for a third wheel. Dave made a beeline for Pete, who had never seen Dave looking so serious before. His stomach dropped into his shoes. Before Dave reached him, Pete heard the first murmurs. He heard snippets of conversations about the police arriving, the need to get rid of any drugs on the premises, and the words that sent a wave of terror through Pete’s body.
“Some bloke collapsed in the men’s.”
“Overdose.”
“Is he dead?”
“Probably OD’d.”
“The police will be here.”
“Is he breathing?”
“OD’d in the men’s room.”
“Pete!” Dave yelled. “It’s Stitch.”
Xxx
Pete ran to the men’s room and Dave helped push him through the crowd. Stitch was on the ground, his normally pale skin completely devoid of color. He wasn’t moving.
Charles was yelling at Stitch to wake up and slapping his cheeks. Pete dropped to his knees by the larger man and took Stitch’s cold wrist and checked for a pulse. It was weak, but there.
“He needs something to keep him warm.” Pete heard the words at a distance, as though he hadn’t spoken them. He lay down next to Stitch and held him until the professionals arrived.
Xxx
Pete was wrapped in a blanket and people kept asking him questions as though he were the one in need of medical attention. He occasionally heard Stitch’s voice, slurred and hard to understand, but proof that he was still alive and capable of speech.
He heard bits and pieces of what Charles was telling the medics, and he felt a distant anger at the clearly self-serving spin Charles was putting on the facts. Pete was able to piece together that Stitch had been afraid he’d taken too much coke and ‘someone’ had given him some heroin to bring him down. Then, while Charles and Stitch were “messing around,” Stitch had suddenly dropped to the floor, unresponsive.
Pete stood up on shaky legs and walked towards Charles.
“Did you do this?” he asked. His voice sounded far away and strange, like it was echoing through a tunnel.
Charles was waving his arms and talking far too loudly.
“Did you do this?” Pete repeated. “He could die, Charles. Did you do this to him? Was this another one of your little games?”
Pete’s next memory was of sitting on the pavement outside of the club, strands of Charles’s perfect hair in his hands.
Xxx
After demonstrating he was completely calm and not going to attack anyone else twice his size, Pete was allowed to ride with Stitch to the hospital. Stitch was groggy and confused, so Pete just held his hand and promised everything would be all right. He didn’t know what else to say.
Xxx
Pete stayed with Stitch for hours, until Stitch’s parents arrived. He’d never met them before, but he recognized them right away. Mrs. Dulcy hugged him and asked, “Why?” over and over until Mr. Dulcy pulled her away. She quickly regained her composure in a way that was so Stitch-like, it cut Pete to the core. She then insisted Pete get something to eat, pointing out that he was already thin enough to be threaded through a needle.
Pete ordered a bland soup from the hospital cafeteria and forced it down his throat. He wished his grandmother were still alive. He would have loved one of her soups. They were like getting a hug from the inside. Henry insisted her soups couldn’t have been better than Pete’s, but that was because Henry had never tasted the real thing. As Mrs. Dulcy pointed out, Pete barely had any substance to him, and yet he was left to carry on after his grandmother had passed. He remained to carry on her legacy and Jane’s, and it didn’t seem fair. They had been such big, vibrant people, and Pete was a wisp of a person, battered by the wind and incapable of being grounded.
Stitch had seemed like the perfect person to ground him. He’d been shocked to learn of Stitch’s self-destructive ways, because everything about him screamed, “boringly safe and practical.” Of course, Pete had been drawn to Stitch’s sadness. He should have known he couldn’t save Stitch. He’d been foolish to think he was strong enough to save anyone from anything.
He was trying to take his time and give Stitch’s parents some space, but Mr. Dulcy came for him after less than an hour and said, “Henry would like to speak to you.”
Xxx
Mrs. Dulcy cheerfully told Stitch she’d be back shortly and burst into silent tears in the hallway.
Pete peeked his head in and found Stitch looking sleepy, but almost like himself.
Stitch held his hand out to Pete, who ran across the room to grab it and hold it tight.
Stitch’s voice was unnaturally hoarse and quiet, but he spoke slowly and clearly.
“I’m so sorry, Pete.”
Pete was careful when he hugged Stitch, not wanting to dislodge any of the wires attached to him.
“Please believe, it wasn’t on purpose,” Stitch continued.
Pete thought of Charles saying, “We were… messing around a bit…”
“I know what you went through with Jane,” Stitch continued. “I would never put you through that on purpose. I am so sorry, Pete.”
Maybe it should have occurred to Pete that the overdose was intentional, but it truly hadn’t. He knew Stitch was reckless with his well-being and was slowly killing himself, but he was certain that if Stitch were going to off himself, there wouldn’t be witnesses or anyone to interfere. If Stitch tried to kill himself, he would do it meticulously, and Pete wouldn’t have a chance to stop him. Pete knew that the way he knew the sky was blue and that Adam Ant was a god.
“I know all that,” Pete cooed. “Just rest. You gave me a fright.”
Stitch’s arms felt weak around his back, and it was upsetting. Stitch always felt solid.
He propped Stitch’s head up with pillows and did his best to make his partner comfortable while Stitch looked on with an indulgent smile. He was clearly ready to sleep but kept shaking his head and trying to fight it off.
“Sleep, Henry. We’ll talk about all this when you’re ready.”
Henry blinked hard and whispered, “I won’t fuck up again,” before falling asleep.
That they might end up back in a bathroom stall together was also a draw.
It was a good crowd for a Wednesday. Stitch immediately spotted Dave and excused himself to go make sure his drug-addled friend was aware he was in a gay bar. Pete was grateful to Dave for making Poppy possible, but he was curious about how he and Stitch had remained friends. Even Pete thought Dave was an odd duck, but Stitch clearly cared about him a great deal. Dave was one of Stitch’s suppliers, but Stitch had plenty of people to buy drugs from. Pete wondered what it was about the strange and surely certifiable Dave that had made Stitch hang on to his friendship for so many years. Pete was watching Stitch talk to Dave (and admiring Stitch’s arse from a distance) when someone offered him a drink.
Pete took the beer, said “Cheers,” and took a swig before realizing he probably should have demurred.
“That’s my boyfriend. Lover. That’s my Stitch!” Pete explained as he pointed towards Stitch in an effort to be clear he was not on the market. “He’s just talking to his mate.”
The man smiled and said, “I know all about you and Stitch. You make quite a couple.”
There was something about the way the man spoke that made Pete uncomfortable. He smiled weakly at the stranger and was struck by something familiar about his face.
“Have we met?” Pete asked. “I’m terrible with names and faces and voices and all that.”
“I’ve seen you around,” the man leered, and Pete suddenly recognized the eyes. He’d seen them peeking through the bathroom stall, the last time Pete and Stitch had been getting intimate in a bathroom stall.
Pete was rarely at a loss for words, but he had no idea what to say to someone who had watched him having sex. There were plenty of people all over London who’d stumbled across Pete having sex, but they usually took the polite route and didn’t try to make conversation.
“I’m not trying to get between you and your boyfriend. Believe me, I think you make a cute couple. You look good together.”
Pete felt uncomfortable with the flirtatious tone and the way the man’s eyes kept moving over Pete’s body, but he wasn’t sure he had any right to act put off. It wasn’t like he and Stitch hadn’t been perfectly aware that other people could watch them. People just weren’t supposed to talk to them about it afterwards.
“My name’s Arthur,” the man said as he held out his hand. Pete awkwardly shook his hand, feeling uncomfortable with even that level of physical intimacy. He looked for Stitch, but his partner had disappeared into the crowd.
“Think he followed Dave into the men’s room,” Arthur observed. “Does anyone actually use that bathroom for its intended use?”
Pete tried to laugh, but he was unsettled. He wanted to be with Stitch, but he didn’t want to walk in on him doing lines or whatever he was getting up to. He was only supposed to know about the drugs Stitch took openly. That was part of their unspoken agreement.
“Stitch really likes to party,” Arthur observed with a bland smile. “Do you like to party, Pete Sweet?”
“Why do you know my name?”
“I work with Charles,” Arthur explained, adding, “Stitch’s ex?” as though there could be any doubt.
“Charles needs to stop worrying about Stitch and start worrying ‘bout himself,” Pete snapped.
Arthur nodded sympathetically. “He’s pretty obsessed. He has control issues, and Stitch is someone he could never quite get under his thumb. Those things eat at Charles.”
From where Pete was standing, Charles still had Stitch at least a little under his thumb. He didn’t have Stitch pinned, but he was sure getting in the way of Stitch moving on.
“Why can’t he just find someone else?” Pete asked. “Why can’t he just let Stitch be happy and find someone who cares about his expensive car and all that noise?”
Arthur laughed a worldly laugh. “Charles loves the chase and so does Henry. Guys like that are happier playing their games than actually being in relationships.”
“Stitch don’t like games,” Pete argued, though he immediately realized it was a lie. Stitch did like games, just not the kind where people got hurt for real.
“Charles says the sex just gets hotter and hotter to more Henry tries to play like he isn’t interested. I mean, the sex got hotter,” Arthur corrected himself. “Obviously, Stitch has moved on.”
Pete was fairly certain Stitch hadn’t slept with Charles since he and Pete had become a couple, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about Stitch being unfaithful. There was obviously a reason why Stitch felt the need to keep in contact with Charles after all they’d been through. Pete never asked what they talked about, because there was no answer that would put Pete’s mind at ease.
Pete drained his drink, said thank you, and walked away. Arthur tried to follow him and continued talking, so Pete stepped onto the dance floor and started moving. He didn’t object when Arthur joined him, but he assertively refused to let Arthur touch him. Pete dearly needed Stitch to appear and rescue him from his unwanted companion, and more importantly, from the unwanted thoughts he couldn’t get out of his head. It was easy to forgive Stitch when he was looking at his earnest face. Stitch could be an arsehole, but he so sincerely wanted to be a good person.
Pete saw Dave on the edge of the dance floor and waved, eager for a third wheel. Dave made a beeline for Pete, who had never seen Dave looking so serious before. His stomach dropped into his shoes. Before Dave reached him, Pete heard the first murmurs. He heard snippets of conversations about the police arriving, the need to get rid of any drugs on the premises, and the words that sent a wave of terror through Pete’s body.
“Some bloke collapsed in the men’s.”
“Overdose.”
“Is he dead?”
“Probably OD’d.”
“The police will be here.”
“Is he breathing?”
“OD’d in the men’s room.”
“Pete!” Dave yelled. “It’s Stitch.”
Xxx
Pete ran to the men’s room and Dave helped push him through the crowd. Stitch was on the ground, his normally pale skin completely devoid of color. He wasn’t moving.
Charles was yelling at Stitch to wake up and slapping his cheeks. Pete dropped to his knees by the larger man and took Stitch’s cold wrist and checked for a pulse. It was weak, but there.
“He needs something to keep him warm.” Pete heard the words at a distance, as though he hadn’t spoken them. He lay down next to Stitch and held him until the professionals arrived.
Xxx
Pete was wrapped in a blanket and people kept asking him questions as though he were the one in need of medical attention. He occasionally heard Stitch’s voice, slurred and hard to understand, but proof that he was still alive and capable of speech.
He heard bits and pieces of what Charles was telling the medics, and he felt a distant anger at the clearly self-serving spin Charles was putting on the facts. Pete was able to piece together that Stitch had been afraid he’d taken too much coke and ‘someone’ had given him some heroin to bring him down. Then, while Charles and Stitch were “messing around,” Stitch had suddenly dropped to the floor, unresponsive.
Pete stood up on shaky legs and walked towards Charles.
“Did you do this?” he asked. His voice sounded far away and strange, like it was echoing through a tunnel.
Charles was waving his arms and talking far too loudly.
“Did you do this?” Pete repeated. “He could die, Charles. Did you do this to him? Was this another one of your little games?”
Pete’s next memory was of sitting on the pavement outside of the club, strands of Charles’s perfect hair in his hands.
Xxx
After demonstrating he was completely calm and not going to attack anyone else twice his size, Pete was allowed to ride with Stitch to the hospital. Stitch was groggy and confused, so Pete just held his hand and promised everything would be all right. He didn’t know what else to say.
Xxx
Pete stayed with Stitch for hours, until Stitch’s parents arrived. He’d never met them before, but he recognized them right away. Mrs. Dulcy hugged him and asked, “Why?” over and over until Mr. Dulcy pulled her away. She quickly regained her composure in a way that was so Stitch-like, it cut Pete to the core. She then insisted Pete get something to eat, pointing out that he was already thin enough to be threaded through a needle.
Pete ordered a bland soup from the hospital cafeteria and forced it down his throat. He wished his grandmother were still alive. He would have loved one of her soups. They were like getting a hug from the inside. Henry insisted her soups couldn’t have been better than Pete’s, but that was because Henry had never tasted the real thing. As Mrs. Dulcy pointed out, Pete barely had any substance to him, and yet he was left to carry on after his grandmother had passed. He remained to carry on her legacy and Jane’s, and it didn’t seem fair. They had been such big, vibrant people, and Pete was a wisp of a person, battered by the wind and incapable of being grounded.
Stitch had seemed like the perfect person to ground him. He’d been shocked to learn of Stitch’s self-destructive ways, because everything about him screamed, “boringly safe and practical.” Of course, Pete had been drawn to Stitch’s sadness. He should have known he couldn’t save Stitch. He’d been foolish to think he was strong enough to save anyone from anything.
He was trying to take his time and give Stitch’s parents some space, but Mr. Dulcy came for him after less than an hour and said, “Henry would like to speak to you.”
Xxx
Mrs. Dulcy cheerfully told Stitch she’d be back shortly and burst into silent tears in the hallway.
Pete peeked his head in and found Stitch looking sleepy, but almost like himself.
Stitch held his hand out to Pete, who ran across the room to grab it and hold it tight.
Stitch’s voice was unnaturally hoarse and quiet, but he spoke slowly and clearly.
“I’m so sorry, Pete.”
Pete was careful when he hugged Stitch, not wanting to dislodge any of the wires attached to him.
“Please believe, it wasn’t on purpose,” Stitch continued.
Pete thought of Charles saying, “We were… messing around a bit…”
“I know what you went through with Jane,” Stitch continued. “I would never put you through that on purpose. I am so sorry, Pete.”
Maybe it should have occurred to Pete that the overdose was intentional, but it truly hadn’t. He knew Stitch was reckless with his well-being and was slowly killing himself, but he was certain that if Stitch were going to off himself, there wouldn’t be witnesses or anyone to interfere. If Stitch tried to kill himself, he would do it meticulously, and Pete wouldn’t have a chance to stop him. Pete knew that the way he knew the sky was blue and that Adam Ant was a god.
“I know all that,” Pete cooed. “Just rest. You gave me a fright.”
Stitch’s arms felt weak around his back, and it was upsetting. Stitch always felt solid.
He propped Stitch’s head up with pillows and did his best to make his partner comfortable while Stitch looked on with an indulgent smile. He was clearly ready to sleep but kept shaking his head and trying to fight it off.
“Sleep, Henry. We’ll talk about all this when you’re ready.”
Henry blinked hard and whispered, “I won’t fuck up again,” before falling asleep.