Coming Out with the Truth Ch. 06

"The tenth." I repeated, unsure exactly what to say.

"That's correct."

"I was home." I said faintly, feeling John's presence nearby like a comforting warmth against me. He knew I'd been home. He knew I had nothing to do with this. He knew this was all just rubbish.

And yet at the same time I was cold with fear.

"On your own? On your birthday?" They knew it was my birthday. Shit. I swallowed and hesitated.

"I was at home." I repeated softly, only answering half the question. I didn't want to answer it. I was waiting. John would come to my rescue- wouldn't he? He'd tell them he was with me...

"Were you alone, Mr. Draper?" the cop asked me more coldly. I raised my eyes, glanced between the cops and risked a glance at John.

His face was shuttered, pink. His jaw was set. He looked like he was bracing himself for a blow. He was looking at me with the same hard expression as the other cops.

He wasn't going to say anything.

"Yes." I finally answered softly. "I was home. Alone." The words cut deep into my heart.

"And what did you do? Rent a movie? Make some phone calls? Send some emails?"

I'd been in bed with John. I didn't know what the hell had been on tv so I couldn't even pretend to have watched something. I barely knew what night of the week that had been. We'd ignored the phone when it had rung. And no I hadn't sent any emails- as if I would have wasted time on the computer when I had John naked in my bed! But right then I wished I had. Just one. Answered one call. Just made some small mark in the maze of the internet, in the ether of the universe, that let them know I'd been home and nowhere near the city.

"I made dinner." I said slowly, swallowing hard. My throat was tight and it was hard to speak. "I made roast lamb and chocolate cherry cake. I had some champagne. And I went to bed."

"What time?"

"I- I'm not sure. Ten? Eleven?"

"You drank champagne on your own?" one of the cops asked.

"It was my birthday." I answered stiffly. John, I begged silently. John, say something...

"Mr. Draper. I find it hard to believe you spent your birthday evening at home drinking champagne on your own. Are you telling us you don't have a boyfriend or any friends in town or family somewhere you might have shared the evening with?" He had to have heard stranger things, surely...

"I spent the evening alone." I repeated, feeling closer and closer to losing it entirely.

"And you didn't make any phone calls? Didn't receive any visitors? You made a roast, alone, and drank champagne, alone?"

"If you ask John here," I snapped, my temper finally fraying. I looked at him, saw the set of his features, the sudden sharp fear and shock in his eyes as his gaze snapped to mine. He really thought I was going to out him? That really stung. My heart actually broke a little. It hurt more than anything in my whole life. "He'll tell you I'm more than capable of drinking anything on my own." I realised in the silence that more people than just the cops were listening to me and probably had been the whole time and also that I didn't care one bit. "Is that everything?" I asked viciously.

"Just one more question. When was the last time you spoke to your former partner?" Ouch. I wished I hadn't corrected him. Former partner hurt a lot more than ex-boyfriend.

"I haven't." I said frostily. "Not since he left me."

"Alright. So you're telling us that you didn't assault her?"

"If I wanted to assault someone," I answered through clenched teeth. "It would be Graeme bloody Shields. Not his wife who doesn't even know I exist."

"That's all then. If you think of anything else," the cop said and held out his card. I glared at him a moment then snatched it with ill grace. "Don't leave town." He told me. Then they nodded to us and then turned and headed back towards their car.

I stood in shock for a moment. There was a silence so complete that I thought it had to be my hearing rather than the absence of noise. I looked at John. I wanted him to say something, anything. I wanted him to run after the cops, to even just look at me, to acknowledge what had just happened.

Instead he stared at a point somewhere over my shoulder. I had the impression he didn't want me to look at him. As if that would be enough for people to start to guess.

I swallowed hard, looked around at everyone else. No one was meeting my eyes. I moved blindly towards the rubbish bin. I dropped my beer into it, then I turned on my heel and walked away.

My chest was tight around my heart. I felt sick. Why hadn't John said anything? He hadn't even had to come out. He could have just said we'd had dinner. He could have said I'd gotten drunk and he'd cleaned up after me again. No one would have argued. He could have even asked the cops to his office to supposedly find out more about the incident and my being a suspect and there had a quiet word to them... he could have gone after them as they'd walked away... and he'd done nothing.

I jammed my hands in my pockets. I was nearly past the last of the kids playing with the ball when Joel ran up.

"Hey, coach," he said.

"Later, Joel." I said, slightly tersely. I was angry and upset and shocked and I didn't want to play right now.

Instead he put his hand on my arm. "I'll tell them I was with you." He said urgently. I shrugged him off.

"Don't you say a word." I said angrily. "After what your dad accused me of? And do you even remember where you were that night? No. If they talk to you, which they probably will now they've seen you run over here to talk to me, then you will tell them the truth." I knew I sounded absolutely livid, but I didn't care. I couldn't help it. He wasn't supposed to have heard. He wasn't supposed to be offering to do what the man I was in love with wouldn't. My grief was a sharp pain right through my chest and gut.

"Then why won't John?' he asked me. I reeled as if slapped. "Yeah, I know." He said with a shrug. "I saw you in your shed, months ago. I saw you at Angie's party too. And... So why isn't he telling them he was with you?"

"Because he-" I wanted to defend him. I knew why. He couldn't bring himself come out. He wouldn't tell anyone. And god, I knew it was hard, but I really needed him to stand up for me. I needed him to tell the world how he felt about me. If he actually felt anything at all.

Maybe he didn't. Maybe keeping our relationship secret was more important to him than the relationship itself...

"I don't know." I finally answered into the growing silence. I felt broken by the admission. Defeated. I would do anything for John. Anything at all. I was completely in love with him. I had been for months now. And he wouldn't be seen with me in public more than once every fortnight or so. He was going to stand by and let me be interrogated, let me be a suspect in an assault because he didn't want anyone to know about us. Or was it, to know about me?

"Joel, listen to me. You're not to say anything to anyone, got it? Least of all to John. Just stay out of it, alright?" He looked hurt but I couldn't waver on this. "Alright?" I asked again, louder, and he finally nodded.

I sighed, tried to get a grip on myself. This wasn't Joel's fault. "Look. I do appreciate it. But... it's not worth you getting involved. Just keep your nose clean and tell them the truth about anything they want to know."

"Except about John?" he asked.

"Anything, except about John." I confirmed. He looked at me like he didn't believe me, like he was going to wait until I was gone and then do exactly as he liked anyway. "Joel, there's every chance he will... talk to them." God, oh god, I hoped he would. And yet somehow... it felt like a lie. It felt like a useful fiction instead of something I could actually believe in. "I need... to give him a chance. So please. Don't say anything." I don't know if he believed me. I hardly believed me.

Joel nodded unhappily and I left him there. I was going home. I was locking all my doors and shutting all my curtains, and I was going to roll up in my blankets and probably wish I had more champagne. I liked it a whole lot more than rum.

The house was dark and cool inside, but I was too agitated to sit down. I paced my hallway. I felt like I was waiting, but I don't know what for. For the phone to ring. For my phone to ring. To make some sort of decision, to come to some sort of conclusion within myself...

I paced the hallway for ages. I couldn't even consider doing anything else. And the longer I paced the more clear it became that no one was going to arrive at my door, that no one was going to call. And then I really couldn't even think about doing anything else.

Finally, when I didn't think I could keep doing this anymore, I sat on the couch, pulled out my phone.

"Emma?" I asked when the phone stopped ringing.

"Keith?" My sister's voice had a surprised lilt to it. I didn't call her as often as she'd like. Mostly she just called me. And more and more frequently I'd been with John and hadn't answered or called back, so it had been a while since I'd spoken to her.

"Hi, Em." I said, finding my throat tightening. "I'm sorry I haven't called for so long."

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately, and I leant back and closed my eyes. Tears leaked down my cheeks. "Keith?"

"Em, would you come and visit me? Please?" I could hardly speak past the lump in my throat.

"I've got a week of classes before mid semester holidays start," She answered. I squeezed my eyes tighter shut. Of course she did. Fuck. And here I was calling her and hoping she'd drop everything just because I wanted a shoulder to cry on. "Which I can skip, easy. I'll ask Josh to take notes for me. I'll be there quick as I can, hon. I'll just pack some stuff and hop in my car, ok? Will you hold up 'til then?"

"Yup." I answered, despite the desolation in my chest's persistent scream of 'no'.

"Anything I can bring?" she asked.

"Some rum." I answered. "Actually, anything will do. Whatever."

"Oh, Keith." She said heavily, which only made me want to cry even more. "I'll be there soon as I can, alright? Make sure you call me. For anything, you hear?"

"Yeah." I said quietly.

"Ok, hon. I'll be there soon." She hung up and I covered my face.

The house was too quiet. I wanted John there, in my kitchen laughing and talking and occasionally attempting to help but failing miserably while I cooked. Cutting his fingers or distracting me until something burned. Sitting in the lounge with me watching tv or making out or telling me stories about his work, just talking about life. In bed just curled up together, or with my laptop, him reading what I'd written while I edited one handed and interrupted him a lot with excuses and explanations since I was so paranoid he wouldn't like it. Even banging on my door or trying to break my back door in again just to tell me he'd told them the truth and that he loved me and that everything was going to be alright. Telling me he was sorry and he'd call them now, straight away, if only I just answered the door. Or even just demanding to know what I was thinking walking away like that.

And instead there was just that awful, echoing emptiness. That gut-wrenching silence.

I went upstairs and undressed. I turned the shower up as hot as I could stand and stood under the water with my eyes closed until the hot water began to run out.

Getting out and dry and dressed in track pants and t shirt took more effort than anything I'd ever done in my life.

I did go to bed. Not because I was tired, but because I couldn't concentrate on anything else, and there was nothing I wanted to do. I couldn't eat or read or write or watch tv or anything at all. In the end I lay there in a ball with my phone nearby. I was waiting for it to ring. I didn't plan on answering it if it did, but this silence was worse than anything.

This was worse than anything I could have imagined.

I wasn't even sure I'd hurt this bad when Graeme left me, even though I didn't see how that was possible. I just hurt. I ached all over. I was in so much pain that it felt physical.

I felt like the dumbest fuck in the world. My previous partner and I had never acknowledged our relationship at work, because he'd said he felt like it was 'unprofessional'. I should have seen the truth when he left me for a woman. But then to get involved with a closeted guy straight afterwards? What the hell? What had I been thinking?

I lay curled around a pillow because it was something to hold- even if it was depressingly thin and cold and absolutely nothing like the warm body I wished it was - and I somehow fell asleep.

I was woken up by my phone ringing. With all the thoughts racing around my head I could hardly believe I'd ever nodded off.

"Em?" I asked with a mix of relief and sick, crushing disappointment after looking at the screen.

"I'm at the front door, doofus." She said. "You gonna let me in?"

I scrambled down the stairs, tripping and stumbling down the last few, nearly knocking over an antique hall stand I'd bought. Pain shot up my leg from my toe. I swore and hopped to the door, fumbled with the lock.

"Keith." Em moaned when she saw me and threw her arms around my neck. I peered over her shoulder. Through the bushy fake fur of her hood I could see that it was late. Really late.

"Ok." She finally said. "Let me go, now." I let her go and stepped back. She grinned at me. Her little old Honda sat in the driveway behind my car. And on the doorstep next to her was the most massive suitcase I'd ever seen. I didn't even know they came that big. I wondered how she fit it in her car.

Em was wearing green plastic dangly earrings and had her hair tied on top of her head in something like a topknot, in front of which she had settled a pair of impossibly pink sunglasses. What she thought she was doing with sunglasses on top of her head in the middle of the night was beyond me. She was wearing leggings and a short skirt with colourful hi top sneakers, and her bulky jacket with the fur-lined hood. She had a red tasselled handbag, a laptop bag and a book bag over her shoulder.

We went inside and dragged her case upstairs into the second bedroom. I was glad there had already been sheets on the bed. I didn't have the energy to do make it up or do anything else right now.

I showed her around the house at her insistence. I think she was impressed by its size and my recently manifested decorating skills, but I wasn't inclined to talk about it much. I was still in shock.

She changed into pyjamas while I made hot chocolates and got out some cookies on autopilot.

I asked about the drive down and she shrugged and made light about some idiot driver who'd nearly killed her and some detours through town.

She could tell I wasn't listening. She took our mugs and put them in the sink with the empty plate then dragged me upstairs behind her and into my room. She pushed me onto the bed and tucked me in, sat next to me with her legs crossed. Her toenails were silver and sparkly. The tattoo on her ankle and calf was still as incomprehensible to me as ever.

"You going to tell me what happened?" she asked.

I shook my head and pressed my face into the pillow.

"Did he leave you?" She asked bluntly. I shook my head. He hadn't outright. "So you left him?" I shook my head again. "You fought?" She guessed. I shook my head for a third time. Emma sighed and reached out and took my hand, squeezed it in hers. "I'm running out of ideas here, Keith." She said dryly.

I turned onto my side so I could see her. "You know," I swallowed hard and began again. "You know that Grae left me?" She nodded. I hadn't actually talked about it with her. I just knew that mum had told her. "Well. He didn't just leave me. I left something out."

"What?" She asked, solemn and wide eyed.

"He left me for someone else." I admitted, my voice breaking. "A woman. And they got married three months after he left me."

"Three months?" she repeated loudly. I nodded. "Well, shit." I nodded again. "Why didn't you say something?"

"It was bad enough he left me. He'd been cheating on me and he was leaving me for her. I couldn't... I didn't want everyone to know." She rubbed my palm almost like a massage. It made me want to cry.

"So," Em said slowly. "Something's happened with Grae?"

"His wife... she was assaulted."

"Oh." Em said, but she looked puzzled.

"The police came to question me."

"What? Why would they think you'd hurt her?"

"Because I wrecked Grae's car when he left me. Because Grae told them about it. I don't know. I don't know, Em."

"Ok. And...?" she encouraged me.

"They came to ask me questions. We were celebrating a win. And I was standing there with John. And they asked if I recognised her in these photos, and then they wanted to know where I was September tenth between 9 and 2 am."

"So you're a suspect." I nodded and closed my eyes.

"The thing is... that was my birthday."

"Yeah, I called and you didn't answer." She said, then frowned. "Where were you?"

"Here."

"Then why didn't you answer?"

"Because John was here." I answered miserably. "I did call you back."

"John." she repeated. "So he's- he's the new boyfriend?" she asked. God, I wanted him to be. The word send hot longing right through me. "The one you were so excited about and then don't actually talk about."

"Yes. No. I don't know." I squeezed my eyes tighter shut. "Thing was... John was with me when they were asking questions... and he didn't say anything."

"So, what- the cops think you're a suspect because he didn't tell them he was with you?" That about summed it up. I nodded. "Fucking prick." She said in a surprised voice. "I told you it was a bad idea to date a guy who wasn't out. And now you tell me what Graeme did to you? And you thought this was a good idea why?"

"Em!" the last thing I needed was for her to say I told you so. I pulled the pillow over my face and fought the tightness of my throat. I wasn't sure if I was shaking or not.

"You're having a good year, hey?" Em said gently. "So what are you going to do? Keith, you can't keep seeing this guy. You'll only get hurt."

"It's a bit late for that." I said bitterly. "I'm in love with him." Emma sighed. "God, I wouldn't have gone out and got my heart broken on purpose! I just... It wasn't supposed to be like this..." My frustration faded back into shock and pain and I found my eyes filling with tears.

"Keith." She moaned and wrapped her arms around me. She stroked my hair gently and I half held my breath to keep myself from crying. I didn't want to cry anymore. I just wanted it to be over.

Em stayed with me until I fell asleep.

I stumbled downstairs the next morning and found Em had taken over my kitchen table with all her books and notes. She was wearing yellow leggings and a green skirt with a pink jumper, somehow was sitting cross legged in her chair.

"Sleep ok?" she asked. I shrugged and opened the cupboard to find a coffee mug. "I would have made you breakfast if you'd stayed in bed longer." She said with a frown.

I didn't answer, just made my coffee and sat down opposite her.

"You're really pale." She said.

"Gee, thanks."

She gave me a smile that was two parts sad and one part worried. "Movie marathon?" she asked. I shrugged. I really didn't care. As long as there was no effort involved on my part.

We followed that pattern for a couple of days, hardly leaving the house. Em studied a bit and I slept (or tried to) a lot, she tried to feed me up and I refused to eat.

In the end she relented and bought some tequila and lemons and we passed an evening getting soused.

Again, it didn't do anything much to help.

Em and I were watching nothing and more nothing on tv the day after that when the doorbell rang. I was in my pyjamas with a quilt around my shoulders, so Emma got up to answer it. I realised in the instant before anyone spoke that I knew who it would be.