Chapter 6
All of Stitch’s passwords were combinations of Pete’s name and birthday. Pete smiled at Stitch’s sappiness. Pete checked his own e-mail, bought a few t-shirts from an online shop, ordered dog food with a coupon for free delivery, and finally, he logged into Stitch’s personal e-mail. He searched for e-mails from Charles and was stunned to find hundreds that had been sent just since Stitch and Pete had moved in together. There were months where all of Charles’s e-mails were marked unread, and Pete found himself reading the headings of the e-mails to try and figure out why Stitch sometimes responded to Charles and other times had ignored him. He wanted to understand the hold Charles had on Stitch. He wanted to see the magic and understand it.
Pete read the most recent e-mail.
“Lucky Star? I know you’ll have a good time there! ;^P”
Pete wanted to slap the emoticon, but he continued down the e-mail to read the whole exchange. There was nothing remarkable, other than Stitch saying he planned to take Pete dancing because “I’ve been a miserable git and he deserves a good time.”
Pete felt deeply unsettled by the familiarity of the e-mail. It wasn’t flirtatious, but it had the feeling of two old friends, rather than a man and his abusive ex. Stitch always played down how badly he’d been treated by his ex, but it was still alarming to see how friendly he was with Charles.
There were no e-mails from Stitch confirming they would be at the Lucky Star, so Pete looked at Stitch’s phone. There was a text from Charles saying, “Lucky Star?” and a response from Stitch saying, “Piss off,” followed by another winky face from Charles.
Pete sighed and slumped in his chair. He had a feeling going through Stitch’s e-mails was going to be like the time they’d watched The Seventh Seal. There was clearly meaning there, but Pete wasn’t going to be able to decipher it, not without Stitch’s help.
“I don’t think Stitch is going to be very helpful in this case.”
Pete chewed his lip and stared at the screen. He desperately wanted help, but he wasn’t sure it would be right.
“Tell me what’s troubling you,” she said gently. “I know we had some tough times, but we have history, right? And I have known Stitch for ages.”
Pete looked back at Poppy, sitting on the futon where Pete liked to sit and watch Henry work. She wasn’t traditionally pretty, but her freckled face was like a ray of sunshine that always put Pete at ease.
“How am I supposed to know if Stitch wanted Charles to show up at Lucky Star that night or not? He said he didn’t think anything of telling Charles, but that’s not even what happened. Charles guessed and Stitch didn’t say no and he said piss off, but was it for real? Charles didn’t think it was real. How am I supposed to know what to believe?”
“First of all,” Poppy began gently, “I doubt that Stitch knows much more than you. He was probably pissed when he wrote most of these messages, and you know how chatty he can be when he’s out of his head.”
“Maybe he can only tell the truth when he’s too pissed to care,” Pete wondered sadly. “He tells me all kinds of things when he’s drunk that he won’t say when he’s sober.”
“Like all those times he told you about his girlfriends?” Poppy teased. “Remember how confused you used to be by all the things he’d tell you? Sometimes he tells you the truth and sometimes he tells lies that he thinks will protect him. It’s not so different from when he’s sober. He just talks a lot more when he’s in his cups.”
Pete pulled his knees up to his chin and thought about Poppy’s words. It was true, of course. In the early days Stitch had been just as likely to create elaborate back stories for his imaginary girlfriends as he was to call Pete a beautiful angel. It had taken months to work out what Stitch really wanted.
Not that Pete had ever really understood what Stitch wanted; he’d just figured out that it wasn’t a girl.
“Don’t worry so much about what he says,” Poppy suggested. “You’ll figure out what he really means eventually.”
Pete wanted to hug Poppy, but it felt like a step too far. If he was going to bring Poppy into the situation, there had to be clear boundaries, especially while Stitch was in a fragile state.
“You never thought it would be Stitch in the mental hospital, now did you?” Poppy teased.
Pete stopped trying to analyze every message and just read. Most of the messages were banal. Charles was always recommending a film or a book that he thought Stitch would appreciate. Compliments were peppered into the messages, to remind Stitch that he was clever and sophisticated, and there was the occasional subtle dig at Pete that was usually greeted with extended silence. Weeks or months would go by where Stitch didn’t respond to Charles’s messages, but then there would be a typo-filled, barely coherent message that Stitch had clearly written while off his tits that would open up the line of communication.
“I had a hermit crab when I wsa a nippr and all you had to do was hold you hand out straight an it would walk around but I always gto nervus and sueezed and it would pinche me and I’d drop it. That’s me. I can’t love somthing without crushing itt.”
Pete’s eyes filled with tears as he read the anecdote, but he soon turned furious when he read Charles’s response.
“Henry, baby, you’re too hard on yourself. It isn’t all you. Hermit crabs are cute in their way, but they are tiny and easily scared. You need someone strong who can handle you. You need someone big and strong who makes you feel safe and who won’t be crushed every time you get spiky and mean. Remember our first date? You spent half the night making fun of my designer clothes and ‘posh’ lifestyle. You couldn’t scare me away then and you can’t scare me now.”
Pete turned to Poppy. “If my hands were big enough to wrap around his huge fucking neck, I’d throttle him. He’s so full of shit.”
“Keep reading, Pete.”
Pete had trouble reading Stitch’s response, but every time he tried to look away, Poppy reminded him that he needed to keep going if he really wanted answers.
“I do remember night. You asked if I wanted to grab something to eat after workand then took me to some posh fucking plce and I wsa in fucking trainers because you pickd me up at the fucking kiosk and I felt stupid and embarrassed and you kept pouring whiskey down throat all night long until you talked me into giving you a blowei without a johnny when I didn’t want to but everything was so expsnive I felt lik I couldn’t say no and you grabbed my hair so couldn’t move and came in my mouth and lughed when I called you a fucker. Yeah. I remember our fist date, fucker.”
Pete found one of Henry’s sweaters and put it on, tucking his whole body inside before he read Charles’s response, as though the sweater could protect him from Charles’s toxicity.
“It that how you remember it? You don’t remember how hard I tried to impress you or how I tried to match you drink for drink so you wouldn’t think I was too dainty for you? I know I made mistakes, but I just wanted to be with you and be the kind of guy that could be with someone like you…”
Reading Charles’s sober, cold calculation next to Stitch’s drunken, emotional rant made Pete feel physically ill. He still didn’t feel like he truly understood what was going on, but he could see how Charles had gotten a second date after sexually assaulting Stitch on the first. Everything Stitch said, Charles turned around so it was all about how Stitch was aloof, unattainable, and snobbish, and how really, it was Charles that was too drunk to make decisions because he was trying to keep up with Stitch. It was always Stitch’s fault, but worded in a way that made it seem like Charles was expressing admiration rather than passing blame.
“No wonder he’s in a mental hospital,” Poppy observed sadly from her safe distance. “Charles really knows how to go after his weak spots.”
“Even I could see Henry was lonely and needed a friend, and I’m a complete nutter.” Pete rubbed his face on the stiff material of Stitch’s sweater. It wasn’t soft or comfortable; it was stiff and scratchy, just like its owner.
“Maybe Charles thought he could be a friend to Henry, but… he’s a huge arsehole.”
Pete laughed and Poppy shrugged and continued. “I don’t know who broke Charles, but he’s not our problem, is he?”
Pete wiped the tears from his eyes and went back to reading. He read until the sky started to lighten and his eyes were burning. He’d gone further back than he probably should have, back before Pete and Henry were even friends, but he couldn’t stop. When he wavered, Poppy gently pushed him to continue. He made Poppy close her eyes when he came across pictures or videos that Charles had sent, even though she rightly pointed out Pete and Henry had invited her into their bedroom before - though only as an observer.
But it wasn’t the nudity or the sex acts in the images that were too private for Poppy to see-it was the vulnerability. There were surely plenty of sexy pics Charles had taken where Henry didn’t look ready to pass out or throw himself off of a bridge, but Charles clearly had a kink for miserable Stitch.
“I know what you think, but you’ll never know how beautiful you were to me when you found out about Sarah. It was like you finally took off the mask and I could see your bruised soul…”
“It was so sexy how you would come to me, all drunk off your tits and stumbling, and just trust me to make you feel good…”
“I’m happy for you and Pete. I won’t pretend not to miss all those times you came to me, crying in your beer over your unfuckable little angel…”
All the abuse, infidelity, and rape was romanticized, like Charles and Henry were living in an American soap opera. There was a video of Henry, swaying on his knees and looking ill, saying, “I love him so much” in a small voice before giving Charles a half-hearted blowie.
Pete didn’t have to say a word. Poppy understood everything.
“You couldn’t have known,” she said. “You tried to keep Henry from Charles, but you couldn’t have known how bad it was.”
Pete saw all the bruises and rope burns that Charles found sexy. He read through all the texts and e-mails where Charles begged Henry for a second chance, and went earlier to all the texts and e-mails where Charles berated Henry for “abandoning” him and being “cold-hearted,” “selfish,” “spiteful,” “a prude,” and, of course, “a lousy lay.” Pete marveled at how Charles’s messages went from praising Henry for being sexy and submissive to tearing him apart for being boring and passive.
“How can anyone be so awful to Henry?” Pete asked. Pete knew Henry’s flaws better than anyone, and he’d fought harder than anyone to be let behind his walls, but Henry was good-hearted, kind, and generous. While the rest of the world seemed to think Pete needed to forget about Jane, Henry had asked about her and helped Pete find ways to celebrate her life without getting too depressed. The first time they’d made love, Pete had come in his pants and Henry had acted like it was sweet instead of just embarrassing. In fact, he never made Pete feel insecure about his inexperience.
When Jane had died, Pete had thought he would never find another person who really liked him the way he was, but Henry had taken all of Pete’s quirks in stride.
“You’re what Henry needs,” Poppy explained. “Someone honest and open, who appreciates Henry as he is.”
“He’s got me, and he still ended up nearly dying while Charles tried to get a leg over.”
“That’s not because of you, Pete. That’s because Henry isn’t ready to be loved. He still thinks he deserves what he gets from Charles. But he’s trying. He wants to be happy. He wants to make you happy.”
Pete read another e-mail from Charles in which he told Henry he’d be even sexier if he went to the gym once in a while.
“Can the first step to making Henry happy be tracking down Charles and killing him?” Pete asked hopefully.
Poppy laughed her boisterous laugh. “Sadly, no. Henry needs to kill Charles in his own way.”
“What can I do?”
“Just be Pete Sweet.”
“That ain’t even my real name.”
Poppy rolled her eyes and said, “Reality is overrated.”
Xxx
Henry’s parents picked him up at the hospital and took him out for lunch while Pete grabbed a few hours of sleep. He wanted a (semi) clear head for Henry’s return. Marie and Edward had set up a hotel for the night so Henry and Pete could “catch up,” as Marie delicately put it. Pete had put all their toys out of sight, but he hoped they hadn’t gone poking around in the bedroom. There were things a parent didn’t need to know about their son, and they had already learned too much.
Pete set his alarm for two and then slept through it. He woke up to Henry’s hand gently shaking his shoulder.
“I’m home,” Henry said quietly. He looked so nervous that Pete jumped up and into his arms, wrapping his body around Henry’s.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Pete cried. “I hate sleeping without you.”
Henry laughed and squeezed him tight, but Pete could feel that something was wrong.
“What’s the matter, Henry?”
“I was just… Did you happen to look at any of the e-mails or…?”
“I read them all.”
Henry looked surprised.
“All? You mean since…”
“The first e-mail he sent you, and all the texts and all the voice mails.”
Pete felt Henry’s knees buckle and they fell on the bed in a heap.
Henry apologized and rubbed his eyes hard.
“So you saw…?”
“Everything.”
“And?”
Pete wrapped his arms around Henry’s neck and kissed his cheek.
“I love you so much, Henry Dulcy.”
Pete read the most recent e-mail.
“Lucky Star? I know you’ll have a good time there! ;^P”
Pete wanted to slap the emoticon, but he continued down the e-mail to read the whole exchange. There was nothing remarkable, other than Stitch saying he planned to take Pete dancing because “I’ve been a miserable git and he deserves a good time.”
Pete felt deeply unsettled by the familiarity of the e-mail. It wasn’t flirtatious, but it had the feeling of two old friends, rather than a man and his abusive ex. Stitch always played down how badly he’d been treated by his ex, but it was still alarming to see how friendly he was with Charles.
There were no e-mails from Stitch confirming they would be at the Lucky Star, so Pete looked at Stitch’s phone. There was a text from Charles saying, “Lucky Star?” and a response from Stitch saying, “Piss off,” followed by another winky face from Charles.
Pete sighed and slumped in his chair. He had a feeling going through Stitch’s e-mails was going to be like the time they’d watched The Seventh Seal. There was clearly meaning there, but Pete wasn’t going to be able to decipher it, not without Stitch’s help.
“I don’t think Stitch is going to be very helpful in this case.”
Pete chewed his lip and stared at the screen. He desperately wanted help, but he wasn’t sure it would be right.
“Tell me what’s troubling you,” she said gently. “I know we had some tough times, but we have history, right? And I have known Stitch for ages.”
Pete looked back at Poppy, sitting on the futon where Pete liked to sit and watch Henry work. She wasn’t traditionally pretty, but her freckled face was like a ray of sunshine that always put Pete at ease.
“How am I supposed to know if Stitch wanted Charles to show up at Lucky Star that night or not? He said he didn’t think anything of telling Charles, but that’s not even what happened. Charles guessed and Stitch didn’t say no and he said piss off, but was it for real? Charles didn’t think it was real. How am I supposed to know what to believe?”
“First of all,” Poppy began gently, “I doubt that Stitch knows much more than you. He was probably pissed when he wrote most of these messages, and you know how chatty he can be when he’s out of his head.”
“Maybe he can only tell the truth when he’s too pissed to care,” Pete wondered sadly. “He tells me all kinds of things when he’s drunk that he won’t say when he’s sober.”
“Like all those times he told you about his girlfriends?” Poppy teased. “Remember how confused you used to be by all the things he’d tell you? Sometimes he tells you the truth and sometimes he tells lies that he thinks will protect him. It’s not so different from when he’s sober. He just talks a lot more when he’s in his cups.”
Pete pulled his knees up to his chin and thought about Poppy’s words. It was true, of course. In the early days Stitch had been just as likely to create elaborate back stories for his imaginary girlfriends as he was to call Pete a beautiful angel. It had taken months to work out what Stitch really wanted.
Not that Pete had ever really understood what Stitch wanted; he’d just figured out that it wasn’t a girl.
“Don’t worry so much about what he says,” Poppy suggested. “You’ll figure out what he really means eventually.”
Pete wanted to hug Poppy, but it felt like a step too far. If he was going to bring Poppy into the situation, there had to be clear boundaries, especially while Stitch was in a fragile state.
“You never thought it would be Stitch in the mental hospital, now did you?” Poppy teased.
Pete stopped trying to analyze every message and just read. Most of the messages were banal. Charles was always recommending a film or a book that he thought Stitch would appreciate. Compliments were peppered into the messages, to remind Stitch that he was clever and sophisticated, and there was the occasional subtle dig at Pete that was usually greeted with extended silence. Weeks or months would go by where Stitch didn’t respond to Charles’s messages, but then there would be a typo-filled, barely coherent message that Stitch had clearly written while off his tits that would open up the line of communication.
“I had a hermit crab when I wsa a nippr and all you had to do was hold you hand out straight an it would walk around but I always gto nervus and sueezed and it would pinche me and I’d drop it. That’s me. I can’t love somthing without crushing itt.”
Pete’s eyes filled with tears as he read the anecdote, but he soon turned furious when he read Charles’s response.
“Henry, baby, you’re too hard on yourself. It isn’t all you. Hermit crabs are cute in their way, but they are tiny and easily scared. You need someone strong who can handle you. You need someone big and strong who makes you feel safe and who won’t be crushed every time you get spiky and mean. Remember our first date? You spent half the night making fun of my designer clothes and ‘posh’ lifestyle. You couldn’t scare me away then and you can’t scare me now.”
Pete turned to Poppy. “If my hands were big enough to wrap around his huge fucking neck, I’d throttle him. He’s so full of shit.”
“Keep reading, Pete.”
Pete had trouble reading Stitch’s response, but every time he tried to look away, Poppy reminded him that he needed to keep going if he really wanted answers.
“I do remember night. You asked if I wanted to grab something to eat after workand then took me to some posh fucking plce and I wsa in fucking trainers because you pickd me up at the fucking kiosk and I felt stupid and embarrassed and you kept pouring whiskey down throat all night long until you talked me into giving you a blowei without a johnny when I didn’t want to but everything was so expsnive I felt lik I couldn’t say no and you grabbed my hair so couldn’t move and came in my mouth and lughed when I called you a fucker. Yeah. I remember our fist date, fucker.”
Pete found one of Henry’s sweaters and put it on, tucking his whole body inside before he read Charles’s response, as though the sweater could protect him from Charles’s toxicity.
“It that how you remember it? You don’t remember how hard I tried to impress you or how I tried to match you drink for drink so you wouldn’t think I was too dainty for you? I know I made mistakes, but I just wanted to be with you and be the kind of guy that could be with someone like you…”
Reading Charles’s sober, cold calculation next to Stitch’s drunken, emotional rant made Pete feel physically ill. He still didn’t feel like he truly understood what was going on, but he could see how Charles had gotten a second date after sexually assaulting Stitch on the first. Everything Stitch said, Charles turned around so it was all about how Stitch was aloof, unattainable, and snobbish, and how really, it was Charles that was too drunk to make decisions because he was trying to keep up with Stitch. It was always Stitch’s fault, but worded in a way that made it seem like Charles was expressing admiration rather than passing blame.
“No wonder he’s in a mental hospital,” Poppy observed sadly from her safe distance. “Charles really knows how to go after his weak spots.”
“Even I could see Henry was lonely and needed a friend, and I’m a complete nutter.” Pete rubbed his face on the stiff material of Stitch’s sweater. It wasn’t soft or comfortable; it was stiff and scratchy, just like its owner.
“Maybe Charles thought he could be a friend to Henry, but… he’s a huge arsehole.”
Pete laughed and Poppy shrugged and continued. “I don’t know who broke Charles, but he’s not our problem, is he?”
Pete wiped the tears from his eyes and went back to reading. He read until the sky started to lighten and his eyes were burning. He’d gone further back than he probably should have, back before Pete and Henry were even friends, but he couldn’t stop. When he wavered, Poppy gently pushed him to continue. He made Poppy close her eyes when he came across pictures or videos that Charles had sent, even though she rightly pointed out Pete and Henry had invited her into their bedroom before - though only as an observer.
But it wasn’t the nudity or the sex acts in the images that were too private for Poppy to see-it was the vulnerability. There were surely plenty of sexy pics Charles had taken where Henry didn’t look ready to pass out or throw himself off of a bridge, but Charles clearly had a kink for miserable Stitch.
“I know what you think, but you’ll never know how beautiful you were to me when you found out about Sarah. It was like you finally took off the mask and I could see your bruised soul…”
“It was so sexy how you would come to me, all drunk off your tits and stumbling, and just trust me to make you feel good…”
“I’m happy for you and Pete. I won’t pretend not to miss all those times you came to me, crying in your beer over your unfuckable little angel…”
All the abuse, infidelity, and rape was romanticized, like Charles and Henry were living in an American soap opera. There was a video of Henry, swaying on his knees and looking ill, saying, “I love him so much” in a small voice before giving Charles a half-hearted blowie.
Pete didn’t have to say a word. Poppy understood everything.
“You couldn’t have known,” she said. “You tried to keep Henry from Charles, but you couldn’t have known how bad it was.”
Pete saw all the bruises and rope burns that Charles found sexy. He read through all the texts and e-mails where Charles begged Henry for a second chance, and went earlier to all the texts and e-mails where Charles berated Henry for “abandoning” him and being “cold-hearted,” “selfish,” “spiteful,” “a prude,” and, of course, “a lousy lay.” Pete marveled at how Charles’s messages went from praising Henry for being sexy and submissive to tearing him apart for being boring and passive.
“How can anyone be so awful to Henry?” Pete asked. Pete knew Henry’s flaws better than anyone, and he’d fought harder than anyone to be let behind his walls, but Henry was good-hearted, kind, and generous. While the rest of the world seemed to think Pete needed to forget about Jane, Henry had asked about her and helped Pete find ways to celebrate her life without getting too depressed. The first time they’d made love, Pete had come in his pants and Henry had acted like it was sweet instead of just embarrassing. In fact, he never made Pete feel insecure about his inexperience.
When Jane had died, Pete had thought he would never find another person who really liked him the way he was, but Henry had taken all of Pete’s quirks in stride.
“You’re what Henry needs,” Poppy explained. “Someone honest and open, who appreciates Henry as he is.”
“He’s got me, and he still ended up nearly dying while Charles tried to get a leg over.”
“That’s not because of you, Pete. That’s because Henry isn’t ready to be loved. He still thinks he deserves what he gets from Charles. But he’s trying. He wants to be happy. He wants to make you happy.”
Pete read another e-mail from Charles in which he told Henry he’d be even sexier if he went to the gym once in a while.
“Can the first step to making Henry happy be tracking down Charles and killing him?” Pete asked hopefully.
Poppy laughed her boisterous laugh. “Sadly, no. Henry needs to kill Charles in his own way.”
“What can I do?”
“Just be Pete Sweet.”
“That ain’t even my real name.”
Poppy rolled her eyes and said, “Reality is overrated.”
Xxx
Henry’s parents picked him up at the hospital and took him out for lunch while Pete grabbed a few hours of sleep. He wanted a (semi) clear head for Henry’s return. Marie and Edward had set up a hotel for the night so Henry and Pete could “catch up,” as Marie delicately put it. Pete had put all their toys out of sight, but he hoped they hadn’t gone poking around in the bedroom. There were things a parent didn’t need to know about their son, and they had already learned too much.
Pete set his alarm for two and then slept through it. He woke up to Henry’s hand gently shaking his shoulder.
“I’m home,” Henry said quietly. He looked so nervous that Pete jumped up and into his arms, wrapping his body around Henry’s.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Pete cried. “I hate sleeping without you.”
Henry laughed and squeezed him tight, but Pete could feel that something was wrong.
“What’s the matter, Henry?”
“I was just… Did you happen to look at any of the e-mails or…?”
“I read them all.”
Henry looked surprised.
“All? You mean since…”
“The first e-mail he sent you, and all the texts and all the voice mails.”
Pete felt Henry’s knees buckle and they fell on the bed in a heap.
Henry apologized and rubbed his eyes hard.
“So you saw…?”
“Everything.”
“And?”
Pete wrapped his arms around Henry’s neck and kissed his cheek.
“I love you so much, Henry Dulcy.”