How to leave the closet

Arthur was running. In which direction he wasn’t sure, but he was running for his dear life.



‘That just didn’t happen, that just didn’t happen!´ The denial was like a chant in his head, but every time he threw a look down at his hand, the images of those same fingers wrapped around Alfred’s cock burned the tears to his eyes, and he whimpered, felt weak and vulnerable.



Nothing was right. The shoes weren’t right. At first glance they appeared to be his ordinary, black work-shoes, but now, when he was giving them a second and a third look, he couldn’t get how he got those queer-shoes mixed up with his own. These had smaller heels on them, and the toes were dirtied with some kind of glitter. Seeing them glistening in the dim evening-light made Arthur feel like puking.



Or maybe it was just the lack of breath.



Arthur stopped op as he reached a crossing road. He was gasping for air, his lungs painfully screaming for a break in order to catch up with his furious movements. Arthur placed a hand on his chest. His heart was beating madly. Sweat had started running from his armpits. He felt everything but well, and as his vision started blurring, he tripped over to the nearest wall, slipping down to sit with his back facing it.



“Oh God… Oh dear God… You really do not exist…” Arthur whispered, fingers shaking as he poked his hand into the pocket of the jacket in order to get a cigarette. He could really need one now for calming down. But there was none. “Oh, don’t say I-“ Arthur stopped himself before having finished the sentence. Instead he looked down to – painfully – figure out that it wasn’t just the shoes that weren’t his. The jacket too. His beautiful, black coat, which he had gotten as a birthday present from a good friend, was now hanging in Alfred’s home, while he was running around in some kind of fancy, dark-purple trenchcoat. With golden buttons. And a patch on the arm saying: ‘Love? Fuck me instead’. Arthur stared at the sentences. Did people run around with such offensive suggestions voluntarily?



“How much?” Arthur looked up as a shadow fell upon him. In front of him stood a rather tall fellow, his eyes deep violet and his hair short, spiky, bleached to a point where it wasn’t even funny looking at anymore.



“I beg your pardon?”



“How much, I asked.” The guy tilted his head slightly, a grin spreading across his lips. “You’re rather nice looking. Most of the kids here are just young corpses. I could need a bottom with experience.” Arthur wrinkled his brows, not getting anything the other was saying. The man just smiled wider, apparently thinking he was playing some sort of game. “Aw, come on, I don’t have the whole night! You look freezing cold, too. So spit out a price.”



“A price for what?”



“What do you think?”



“What do I think?” Arthur gave his words a second thought. And then: “Ooh, that’s what you mean!” As he realised what the guy was out for, he felt his cheeks darken, and his eyes widened up while his brain tried to fix a decent sentence for him to turn the other down with.



To be honest, he had never even considered the fact that there were male prostitutes. Moreover male prostitutes serving other men. That kind of dirty sex he had always connected with young girls selling their bodies for the sake of a nice meal. This was new.



“I-I… I’m not for sale,” he finally got out, and the man scratched his neck with an unsatisfied look in his eyes.



“You’re not? Then what the hell are you doing on this street?” Arthur blinked with the eyes.



“What’s with this street?”



“It’s for picking up sextoys, of course.”



“It is?”



“Are you new here or just retarded?” The guy raised his brows in annoyance. “Or both.” Arthur shook his head. The man offered him a hand, and he grabbed onto it, pulling himself off of the ground.



“I am new here, thank you,” he mumbled, letting go of the man’s hand again.



“Oh.” The guy leaned down to look into his eyes. “Hey, you’ve been crying? Had some troubles?” The way the other was looking at him reminded Arthur too much about how Alfred had leaned down, just before he-



“No!” Arthur shrieked louder than he meant to. He took a step to the side, freeing himself from the wall and the man. “No, I’m fine.”



“Okay, whatever.” The man shrugged his shoulders in a lazy gesture. “Just trying to be friendly.”



“Yes, your gays are very keen on being friendly, aren’t you?” Arthur mumbled. The man grunted.



“Got anything against gays?” He didn’t look happy. Realising his mistake, Arthur quickly shook his head, stepping back. But this time the guy followed him, taking a step forward every time Arthur moved backwards.



“Of course I don’t! It’s just,” the words got stuck in his throat. Should he even say this? However – when the choices were to either speak his mind or get beaten up, he rather do the first. “It’s just, I was… I was attacked by this guy, Alfred, and-“



“Alfred? Alfred Jones?” the man interrupted him, and Arthur blinked with his eyes in sheer confusion.



“Err… That I do not know, but his name was Alfred, and he owns this red motorcycle.”



“That’s Jones!” the man chirped happily, a smile suddenly spreading across his lips. His mood had just turned 180 degrees within seconds. Arthur wasn’t sure whether he should worry about it, but he found he should just be happy for now, and nodded slightly.



“Eh.. okay..”



“We’re buddies, him and I! Oh, I’m Gilbert, awesome meeting you.” The man wanted to shake hands. Arthur just went along with it, in his silent mind cursing himself for touching Gilbert with a hand that had just been fondling what was apparently his friend.



‘He’s probably better off not knowing,’ Arthur concluded, and he just smiled: “I’m Arthur, hello.”



“So,” Gilbert withdrew his hand, looking wonderingly at Arthur, “you say he attacked you?” Arthur swallowed. Oh, why did he always get into situations like these? He couldn’t say anything to Gilbert, for what if the guy went and heard another story from Alfred? He had no idea of how Alfred must be feeling at the moment. Was he angry? Didn’t he care? Was he actually following him at the moment? Arthur threw a nervous look over his shoulder.

“Uhm, yeah, or… Well, he did save me at first.”



“Save you?”



“Yeah, from a beating.”



“Haah?”



“But I really do not want to discuss this now.” Arthur turned to look at Gilbert again. He forced his friendliest smile to cross his lips. “I was… I was looking for a cab. I’m on my way home.”



“Oh! Then I won’t hold you back. I’m looking for my fun anyway, as you’ve noticed.” He laughed out loudly, throwing his head back as he did so, making his sweater slide a little down his shoulders. Arthur noticed a tattoo of a yellow chicken peeking up on the right shoulder.



“Yeah, that’s… Yeah. Well, good luck with that.” Arthur stepped around Gilbert, “and goodbye.”



“See you!” Gilbert waved as Arthur quickly leapt around the corner, the last he heard was a: “- and see your nice butt!”



‘This is sick.’ Arthur shoved his hands into the pockets of the jacket to keep them warm as he wandered on. ‘This whole evening had been nothing but sick. I can never show my face here again. I do not want to either. That Alfred is surely going to spread the word. Arthur – easy to get, easy to make cum. How embarrassing.’ Arthur bit onto his lower lip, lowering his gaze to the ground in front of him as he walked. This could mean he had to do with women for the rest of his life. At least they didn’t make him cum quickly. ‘They don’t make you cum at all, idiot.’



The area Arthur was walking in was slowly turning more city-like. Ahead of him he could see the neon-signs and the bars and the music slowly started to play again. He could hear it again. But he didn’t feel young from the beat, and he stopped op, not wanting to walk into that area. When all kind of stuff happened from him here, what wouldn’t happen if he walked straight into the centre of the gay-community?



“I’m not taking the chance,” he mumbled, turning around to walk the other way, just as his eyes fell upon a cab turning around the corner, heading for town. He jumped, raising his arms into the air, as he almost felt saved just from the sight. “Here!” he yelled, knowing that the driver couldn’t hear him through the thick glass, but the hectic way he was waving his arms caught the man’s attention, and he pulled over, opening the door.



“Need a cab?” Arthur’s lips curved into a smile.



“Yes! Romeostreet, please,” he said as he got into the backseat. The driver turned to look at him. Arthur could see how the man wondered ‘the straight neighbourhood?’, but he didn’t let the question out into the open, turned around again and started driving.



And Arthur felt relief filling his heart. For the first time that evening, he felt he could actually relax into the seat, let his mind wander, his heart calm down.



Then he remembered.



‘My wallet! It’s in my jacket!’ Arthur plunged the hands into the pockets of his trousers with a hope of having placed it differently, but no, his wallet wasn’t there. It wasn’t as much the worry about how to pay for the cab as the worry of Alfred finding it. Everything about him was to find in that wallet! The guy could stalk him with that information! ‘It’s just freaking not funny anymore.’ Arthur sighed. He slipped the hands back into the jacket, feeling something there. A wallet. How ironically. Of course it wasn’t his, but maybe Alfred’s?



‘Wait a minute – if Alfred’s got my wallet, and I’ve got his, maybe I can make him trade with me? This way I have something he wants, too! He’s bound to give up on my wallet!’ However, the glee was shortly. As Arthur opened the wallet, it quickly occurred to him that it wasn’t Alfred’s wallet. It did look like him on the photo inside, but even though there were resemblances, the kid on the photo was much more cute-looking, while Alfred had been drowning in sex-appeal. “Must be the brother he was talking about,” Arthur mumbled. He started flipping through the different cards in there. One card was apparently for a membership in some kind of bear-lovers-club. He withdrew it to check the name. “Matthew… Bonnefoy?” Bonnefoy? From where had he heard that name before?



“We’re here.” Arthur looked up and out. Romeostreet, he was really back! “That’ll be 25.” Overcharged. But Arthur didn’t feel like making any more troubles, so he pulled out thirty from the wallet to pay with. ‘I’ll pay him back as soon as I get my wallet,’ Arthur assured himself in his thoughts before putting the wallet back into the pocket and getting out.



He still had to walk three streets. He hadn’t given the driver his correct address. The man was clearly homo, what if he followed him to check where he lived? Better be sure and stroll slowly home, not giving anything away.

“Bonnefoy, Bonnefoy,” he mumbled meanwhile, almost making a song of it. It had gotten stuck on his mind. He was sure he’d heard it before. “Bonnefoy, isn’t that-“



Arthur stiffened.



Bonnefoy.



Francis Bonnefoy. The name of his annoying, French chief.



Matthew Bonnefoy. It couldn’t be a coincidence, those names, but if Matthew were in family with Francis, and at the same time Alfred’s brother, then that meant –



“My chief and Alfred are in the same family?”



That night Arthur died a little inside.