Under the Front Porch

Every time I’m unsure, I look in the mirror and remind myself of the re-birth I’ve been allowed through this arrangement. My eyes scan the sheer baby blue fabric clinging to the soft lines of my body, when a pair of arms wrap themselves around my waist. He nuzzles his chin in the space where my neck connects to my shoulder. The beginnings of a smile tugs at my lips and I turn my head to connect our lips, running my fingers through his salt-and-pepper curls. He pulls me in closer and there’s a friction from our abdomens touching that elicits a moan from my mouth. I grab his elbow and gently guide him towards the king-sized bed that he purchased specifically for our activities—the contrast between his strong pale hands and the black satin sheets is striking. 

A few hours later, I slip out from under his arm and make my way to the bathroom, thankful for the silence that marble floors provide. I turn the carved glass knob inside the shower and stick my hand under the rushing water until the temperature becomes satisfactory. The steam obscures my surroundings and for a moment I don’t feel like a ghost haunting the vacant rib cage that is Antoine’s summer home—just a molecule in the condensation. I could slip out of the window and evaporate without having to face how deep of a hole I’ve dug myself into, but there’s no turning back at this point. The redness of my body from scrubbing on autopilot is a testament to that. This isn’t about me, it never was. It’s always been for Jamie. 

I can still hear the high-pitched shriek of his laughter, tears welling at the corners of his eyes as he clutches his stomach. The sound echoes off the bathroom walls and rings in my ears. The five-year anniversary of his passing is in a week, which means this chapter is finally coming to a close. Seven days before his body was found under Antoine’s front porch, curled up into a ball and drenched in blood—Jamie came to my doorstep in the pouring rain. His mascara had run down his face, streaky gray lines disappearing under the hem of his black t-shirt. I held him in my arms as he shook from the cold, using his chattering teeth as an excuse not to tell me what happened. 

“Is it that man you’ve been staying with? Did he do something to you?” I whispered into his neck, the taste of salt and rain mixing on my lips. 

“No,” he sniffled. “No, just me.” 

Jamie slept on my couch that night, curled up in the same way he was found—like an abandoned dog. That was the last time I saw him. His younger sister, Gretchen, gave me his phone after the funeral, she told me to keep it safe while the investigation transpired. Apparently, he’d given it to her “in case anything happened to him”, he didn’t want Antoine tied up in the aftermath. The guilt wore her features like an unsettled spirit, she couldn’t even meet my gaze during our conversation. I haven’t been able to contact her since, even though I see her around town when I visit home. She must have my number blocked. 

After reading every message between him and Antoine, I understood the shape of what had happened between them—what Jamie meant by “the aftermath”. It was clear that he was taken under the wing of this older wealthy gentleman under the guise of safety, a transactional relationship that benefited the both of them. My friend got to stay off the streets and live in a luxurious summer house for free, the only exchange being his body, time, and devotion. He would even pay Jamie for his services, or so he promised. Antoine is a twisted individual that preys on vulnerable younger men that he can strip of everything until they become emotionally, physically, and financially dependent on him. It was clear from their messages that he was being manipulated, bent backwards until he was seen as useless by his “lover”, then cast aside—a broken doll. 

It never became clear to me whether Jamie being found under Antoine’s home was meant to be a personal message or a sad coincidence. He could have come to me, but I understand it could have felt like too much to explain from his perspective. Either way, my next steps were clear. Although the older gentleman was never charged or arrested for the incident, it did put a target on his reputation. Whispers of his name and description were spread throughout the queer community in my home state, so it was almost too easy to sidle into his space. It had been exactly two years since Jamie’s death when I approached him. He was vulnerable, in desperate need of validation, for someone to make him feel in control again. 

“You look like you could use some company,” I sat down next to him in the red corner booth he’d been occupying, two drinks in my hands. Antoine looked up at me in surprise, wide eyes never breaking contact as his fingers curled around the cold glass. 

“Do I know you?” He narrowed his eyes, visibly shrinking into the leather cushion after noticing everyone’s eyes on us. 

“I’m new in town,” I grinned brightly. “I would have come sooner if I knew that I’d find a man like you.” I trailed a finger from his knee to the top of his thigh, earning a mischievous gleam in his eyes—cutting through his pupils like a sword. 

It didn’t take much after that to get into the backseat of his car, fogging up the tinted windows from the inside. Antoine didn’t bring me home for a few weeks after meeting. We’d go on dates at various high-end locations in the city and end the night at my apartment or in the back of his Bentley, on a sandy towel at the beach one time. As the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting dancing reflections of light on the water’s surface, he interlaced his fingers between mine. 

“None of my exes have ever taken me to watch the sunrise on the beach before.” I looked deeply into his eyes and gave my best attempt at a sincere smile, tugging at the thread that would unravel the walls he’d put up. 

“I guess you can say I’m a romantic,” he mirrored my expression and leaned in for a kiss. I planted my palm firmly in the middle of his chest and pulled away. 

“Not so quickly, tell me something about yourself. I feel like I barely know you,” I pouted, allowing my palm to slowly slide down to his lower stomach. Antoine closed his eyes, as if deliberating the right answer to my request—and when he opened them again, his eyes were half-lidded and gazing at something beyond me. 

He told me everything, some parts in excruciating detail and others glossed over almost completely. I didn’t prod or ask questions, trying to express the appropriate amount of curiosity, not like I’d been enduring the hours of his company just for this. It started off innocently enough, he told me that they met at a club and he could tell right off the bat that the younger man was enamored by him. Then, he proceeded to completely twist the events, snapping back each finger and dislocating the joints out of their sockets of Jamie’s metaphorical corpse until he was made out to be an obsessive stalker. An endless abyss opened up in my core and began to pull my organs into its center of gravity, a tornado ravaging my insides. I gasped at all the right beats and widened my eyes as his sentences suffocated the candlelight that held my friend’s spirit. By the time Antoine reached the end of the story, the sun was high in the sky and its rays were beating over our heads. I squinted up at the blinding light—the only witness to his false confession. 

“You can imagine how this would affect a man’s reputation,” he looked down at the space between us mournfully. 

“Why didn’t you just move away, then?” It came out of my mouth like a jagged edge, causing him to flinch at my tone. I quickly put a hand over his and apologized, blaming it on the intensity of the moment.

Antoine shook his head in reassurance. “Because then it would look like I did it,” he answered. “I have nothing to hide.” 

When the cold water reverses the redness of my skin, I turn the water off and wrap a warm robe around the length of my body. The thing about this plan is that I’m not going to wait until the five year mark, because I don’t actually know the exact date of Jamie’s death. I tried asking his sister about what the pathologist concluded after the autopsy, but by then she was already out of reach. So, I decided it didn’t matter when I did it, only that it was in the time-frame of this week. Call it impulsive, but after the ways he touched my body today I decided that this would be the last time. Everything is already in place. 

I’ve used my assets and skills to earn a bold and italicized place in Antoine’s will, which we had written together after a particularly sudden health scare last year. I played the dutiful toy, falling apart at the thought of losing him and staying by his side every waking moment—with a healthy sprinkle of tears shed and holding hands while he was unconscious. The nurses would tell him about it when I left to use the bathroom or fetch him food, it would reinforce my loyalty. His life partner, he would never have another after me because he couldn’t with his ruined reputation, but he never said that part out loud. It helped that I was a perfect doll, broken in all the right ways that got him off, but not too broken that he had no choice but to toss me. I kept all his secrets and told him all of mine, or at least that’s what I promised him one night while I rocked on top of him. 

As far as anyone knows, I’ve been outside the country for the last month. I’ve hired someone that’s off the grid to stay at a hotel on the coast of Sydney with one of Antoine’s credit cards he’d given me, free to spend any amount he liked. In the meantime, I’ve been staying on the grounds of this summer home the entire time, careful as to not be spotted by anyone. The only witness is the man that I’m going to kill, then make look like it was a suicide. I gave my vacation double my old phone then got a burner before “leaving” from a friend for the time being, guiding him to orchestrate a text thread between Antoine and I on the old business phone he gave me a few months ago. When the investigators find this phone hidden under the mattress he’s found on top of, they’ll see an exchange of me “becoming wise” of his manipulation and fleeing to Australia to get away from him. They’ll see his pleading, begging, and manipulation tactics over the span of days, before a final threat of goodbye that he ends up following through with. 

Once dry, I begin the process of putting on a commissioned wig and doing a makeup routine that I haven’t re-visited in years. Looking in the mirror, it doesn’t look exact but it’s close enough. I slip into sweats with mud stains all over them, drenched in water to mimic the effects of standing in the rain. Hopefully, this will jog his memory quickly enough. Finally, I slip on each leather black leather glove and double-check the gun in my duffel bag, registered in his name, to make sure I only loaded it with two bullets. One would be enough, but two covers the potential margin of error. 

I’ve thought about this moment every day for the last three years, writing the script in my mind then on paper, lighting them with my cigarettes afterwards until they were nothing but ash. But in reality, it doesn’t really matter what I say. I just want to see the look on his face when Antoine connects the dots and the world begins to fray at its edges behind his eyes. 

I stand at the side of the bed for seconds that feel like hours, but he finally mumbles something in half-sleep and squints up at me. He widens his eyes, the memory clicking in his mind but not enough for him to put his finger on the exact coordinates. 

“Do you remember me, darling?” I try not to grin at the jarring image of my voice coming out of this face. 

“Where have we met before?” Antoine whispers, disappointment settling over my shoulders as I realize he must think this is a dream. 

“Across your lawn, the night they found Jamie. We locked eyes, remember?” 

He nods slowly, rubbing his fists into his eyes vigorously in a poor attempt at waking up. I plant my palm firmly against his chest, the new leather squeaking from being broken in. “Do you want me to help you wake up from this?”

Antoine grips my wrist, nodding fervently now. “Can I ask you a question first?” He asks almost innocently, pupils flitting around the room wildly in search of proof that this is an unconscious moment. “Why do you sound like Emil?” 

I lean over and whisper in his ear, “I am Emil, I always have been.” This entire time I’ve been struggling to suppress a joyous smile  from stretching over my lips, but I don’t hold back. 

He shakes his head, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation. Antoine puts both of his hands around my head and pulls my face close to him, scrutinizing my features. This startles me, I pull the gun out of the holster around my thigh and put it in his hand. He looks down at it and gasps quietly, I watch the gun vibrate slightly as his hand begins to tremble. 

“I’ll wake up if I do this right?” 

I nod, forcing the last kind smile I can manage towards him. “Works like magic.”

Antoine puts the gun into his mouth and points it at the roof and I already know this is going to traumatize me, but it’s the best possible outcome. I remind myself of what he’s done, dehumanize him and compartmentalize his existence in a box that will sit at the back of my mind. He looks up at me like he’s still unsure of what’s going on, debating the possibility of this being real—which is dangerous. 

“Don’t drag it out,” I caress his cheek with a gloved finger. “It’ll be over soon.” 

A determined gleam sets in his eyes, then he closes them to prepare for the impact. But, nothing will prepare him for what’s about to take place. He pulls the trigger and blood splatters everywhere, it gets on my face but I close my eyes to avoid the horrific scene. I turn around and exhale, the room suddenly tilting on its side, but I push forward and head back into the bathroom. 

My face is pale when I look into the mirror, eyes wildly dilated, and I clean the blood off my face with violent tremors in my hands. I don’t check to see if he finished the job, I walk right past his bedroom and run down the marble spiral staircase for the final time. It’s over now, the back door slams shut behind me and I walk straight into the woods, taking the trail that leads into a field just outside of town. 

There’s no longer anything behind me, Jamie would have never asked for this—but I did it for him anyway. It’s what he would have done for me, although more impulsively and violently. All I need to do now is catch my flight to Sydney. I travel in the wig and makeup, the final shedding of my past life’s skin.