The Guy With the Suitcase (Once Upon a Guy #1) (24 page)

The doctors had prescribed him such stronger medication to battle the infection and to ease the pain that he couldn’t go longer than four hours without a nap. He wanted to go back to the streets with his camera, though. He couldn’t wait any longer. The last three days locked in the room had been horrifying. The room was starting to feel smaller and asphyxiating. He needed fresh air and another reminder that there was something he was good at. He would just have to do a short session around the neighborhood and return home before he fainted in public.
 

It was ten when he looked at the clock, so he told himself he had to be back by 12, nap, and then go view a room.
 

That was another issue. The month was running out and people were coming to view the room that Rafe and Pierce slept in, even while they were actually sleeping. Wang didn’t even bother asking them anymore, nor knocking. That’s why they made sure to lock the door until morning. Rafe couldn’t even talk to Wang anymore. His crappy behavior made his eyes twitch and his fists curl.

So they only had a little under two weeks left until February and no agent would let them rent anything. Even though Pierce had a few pay stubs to show them and Vance ensuring he’d be back to work soon, and despite that fact he was also willing to be their guarantor. The private landlords were not trusty either. Pierce had called every ad he’d found online, even viewed a couple, or rooms that were smaller than Rafe’s current one that were completely uninhabitable. They had viewed some rooms that were pretty nice, had even viewed a studio on the North edge of the city that was almost in their price range. It had been divine, ideal, but the agent wouldn’t even discuss with Pierce and Rafe if they didn’t have all that they asked for.
 

He was going to be calling a few more private landlords later today. He’d found a few rooms that were cheaper, and if they really
were
cheaper than they could probably convince the owner they could afford it. The good thing was that with the Christmas season officially over, accommodations were emptying up and there were more popping up every day online. Hopefully, they would find something before their time was up.

Pierce returned to the room and looked for his camera, and despite the very few places it could be, he couldn’t find it anywhere.
 

He had left it for Rafe when he’d decided to leave. He hadn’t thought he deserved his gift anymore, and thought that perhaps he could sell it back. But now that he was in his right mind, he wanted it, couldn’t imagine going through his recovery without it.

“Where did Rafe put you, for fuck’s sake?” he cursed and kicked the bed.

Only it wasn’t the bed he kicked, but his suitcase, and the motion hurt his stomach so much that he curled up on the end of the bed, where he tried to control the pain. He looked on the floor at his broken suitcase. It still hadn’t been fixed and kicking it had sent the top flap flying to the wall. Inside the suitcase was his camera case.

“That’s where he put you,” he said to the camera.

The pain backed away and he sat up on the bed, taking the case out of the suitcase and putting it next to him on the bed. Then, carefully, he leaned forward and lifted the top part of the suitcase to his lap. He looked at the hinges and the nails that had been keeping it together. They were completely gone. He turned it in his hands, looking to see if it was salvageable with superglue. But instead of answering the question to his curiosity, his curiosity was peaked by a tear in the lining. He cursed.

He pulled the torn lining and cussed again when, without meaning to, he pulled more fabric out of its stitches. Before he could slap himself, an envelope held his attention. It was there, behind the lining, waiting for Pierce. Had it been there all along, or was it something someone put there recently, the reason why the lining was torn? The envelope had soaked the dyes of the suitcase and was almost yellow. But it surely couldn’t be that old. He would have noticed the envelope moving behind the lining, or the outline of it every time he opened the suitcase.

He shook his head and pulled the envelope out. It hadn’t been glued shut, so he opened it and pulled out some papers. One was a letter. He unfolded it and read.

***

“
Pierce, my dear boy,

I am writing this letter in case I never get the chance to tell you in person and, considering how your parents have been treating me, I doubt I will be able to. I hope you find this letter sooner rather than later, but I had to conceal it so that your parents don’t get a hold of it and dispose of it. Hopefully, that is not what happens. Hopefully, they have not broken the lock. Hopefully, my suitcase will reach you when you are well into your adulthood and I will have had some more years to my life, but since my health has taken its toll, I would rather be safe than sorry.

My dear boy, as you may know, I am a homosexual man. You have probably learnt to associate this word with the Devil. For heaven’s sake, in our family it is worse being homosexual than a witch. But I wanted you to know that I am not a pervert, and I did not abandon my family because I was brainwashed. Your parents might have told you that I was an evil man, but I am not. I promise I am not. Your grandma did not think so. Surely, it took her some time, but in the end she contacted me and told me she forgave me, and understood why I did what I did. She even said she had an inkling even before I had.
 

So as you already know, I left your grandma and my children. That is what your dad told you, did he not? The truth is I did not want to. I wanted to stay, be part of your lives, but he and your uncle could not grasp the idea that their beloved father was a queer. Pardon my language, but be assured they used far meaner words to describe and insult their own father than that word. Queer almost blurs in comparison. They told me they did not want me to be around them anymore, spreading my sickness to their families. So I left, and I had no one. At the time, your grandma was still not talking to me. I took whatever I had and traveled. It was a wonderful experience. I learnt more about being true to myself than that darn church ever taught me. I met people from all walks of life. I learnt not to judge, just like I did not want others to judge me. My trips were a revelation. Being a homosxual, a gay man, is more than the sin those religious idiots I call my children preach about. Being gay means to be happy, yet so many people have tried to make me unhappy. I know now that being gay runs within me and I could not have changed it no matter how many women I slept with, or how many confessions I went through.
 

Being gay is wonderful. Being part of a loving community. And we do have our community. I made friends I never thought I would. They were there for me in my darkest of moments, and my happiest. I have made some close friendships. I have even found a partner. Who? Me. A 71-year-old bag like me. His name is Roland, and he is 75. We have both been married, had families, then accepted who we are. The only difference is his family still talks to him. And they have welcomed me into their house. They even call me dad. Huh, would you believe that? I am a happy man. I no longer living a lie. Trust me; It’s amazing to live your life truthfully. I only wish it did not mean being away from you.

Now, you might be wondering why I might be telling you all this. Well, the first reason is because I wanted to explain myself, my disappearance. I wanted you to know the truth, in my own words and not the filtered lies you might have heard from your family. I wanted you to know that I love you very much and that I am very proud of you. To me, you are twice my son. I know you loved me too. I hope that did not change when your parents fed you with their lies. If you still love your old grandpa, know I am happy
.”
 

Pierce wiped a tear from his eye and sniffed in the snot that threatened to come out of his nose.

He hadn’t talked to his grandad for years before he died. When he found out about his death, he nearly choked. His breath had stopped. The tears he shed were unstoppable. He kept thinking how he’d missed the chance to tell him goodbye and how much he loved him. His parents would tell him that boys don’t cry and that he should stop. But he couldn’t. It gnawed on him that he hadn’t told his grandpa he loved him. That he would never talk to him again. But now
he
was talking to Pierce. And he knew. He knew that Pierce loved him and that he didn’t believe anything his parents had told him. He knew.

He wiped his eyes again and continued on the second page of the letter:

“
The second reason why I am telling you all this, is because I think you might be gay yourself. I have known you since you were a tiny seed in your mother’s stomach, and seeing you grow up I saw so much of myself in you. You were not like all the other boys. You were not like your father or your uncle had been when they were children. You were a free-spirit. You were so creative. So smart. So sweet. So gentle. When you had reached puberty I was sure — well, as sure as you can be, that you were more like me than anybody could tell. So the reason why I told you about my life is so that you know that you can live a normal life if you really are homosexual yourself. You can find happiness like I did. It is not a sin and you do not need to ask for forgiveness from anybody. You hear me?

If it was any indication from the way your parents treated me, I thought you might be struggling with the same feelings, and if you ever find the courage to tell them, know that you will always have a parent in me. That is why I wrote this letter. Hopefully, your parents change their ways, but in case they do not, know that you are loved and you are free to love whoever you want. And because I never want you to feel alone like I did when they wrote me off, I’ve put something in the envelope for you. That was the other reason I hid the letter. Because I did not want your parents getting a hold of it.

With love,

Your gramps Kevan Callahan
”

***

Pierce put the letter down and let himself cry. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, and there was no point. Crying hurt his wound, but he couldn’t stop himself. It hurt more not to.

When it was all out, he blew his nose on the napkins they kept by the bed and wiped his face. He took the envelope and the other papers that had been inside it and opened them to see what they were.
 

He cried again.

“Bye, Rafe. Tell Pierce he better get back soon, or I’ll kick his ass,” Damian said as he was leaving the bar after close.

“Will do,” Rafe replied.

“Good night, sweetie,” Damia winked at him and made his way down the street.

Rafe had seen Damian almost every day that week. He had first met him when he got a job at Les Fourches and Pierce introduced them. Pierce had only recently told him he had made out with him. When he had next seen Damian he wanted to punch his face, but Damian was too sweet to be jealous of him. Damian himself had reassured he was no competition. Still, Rafe didn’t like the idea of his man with another one, especially one so handsome.

He grabbed his rucksack from the staff room and waved the supervisor good night. Vance had the night off for a date and Rafe couldn’t wait to hear all about it.

He walked out of the restaurant and was making his way to the subway when his phone rang. When he looked at it, he saw it was Pierce. Some sense of déjà vu hit him and he didn’t like it one bit. Pierce never called him this late, only texted him before going to bed.

“Hello?” he answered it as calmly as possible.

He heard Pierce on the other end. He was in pain. “Rafe. You have to come get me. I’m not feeling very well,” he said.

Rafe rolled his eyes and stomped his foot on the ground. “What? Where are you?”

“I’m at Riverdale. I can text you the address, I think,” he replied.

That was almost out of the city. “What the hell are you doing there, Pierce?”

He wailed before he answered Rafe’s question. “I’m sorry. I—I thought I was doing something good for you.”

Rafe raged inside and he wanted to tell Pierce to seriously go fuck himself, but he was in pain and as much as he wanted to teach him another lesson, he needed to make sure he was okay first. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address that Pierce gave him. He told Pierce to stay on the line, but Pierce hang up.

Was he trying to infuriate him? Because it was working. What the hell was he doing all the way across town and in pain? Again? Why hadn’t he called 911? What was wrong with him?

He found it difficult to sit on the backseat, playing with his phone in his hands and rolling the window up and down, getting too hot one moment and too cold the next. It had only been four days since they were back from the damn hospital. Why was he running again?

They made their way through the Upper East Side and entered the Bronx. There was not much traffic. On a Tuesday night, there wasn’t much traffic to contend with. When they continued all the way across the Bronx and entered the street Pierce was supposed to be at he recognized the neighborhood. Pierce and he had viewed a house around this area not more than a week ago, two days before Pierce ran off the first time. It was one of the viewings that he had managed to go to with Pierce, and he’d regretted it.