Undone by Leslie McAdam
Jason
Why’d I come here?
Some days I can’t explain my actions even to myself. After Murph left to go on his date—hookup—whatever—I stayed at home for approximately a nanosecond. Enough time to change out of my suit.
I told myself I only wanted to chill. Get a beer. Relax. After all, it was a grueling week of sales calls and being turned down right and left by people not wanting to buy insurance. Plus dealing with my dad. Sometimes a guy just needs to let off some steam, and on a Friday night that means either copious consumption of alcohol or getting laid.
I have no chance of getting laid, since Marnie’s out of town. So alcohol it is, although I’ll admit driving this far to do it might be what the kids call a poor life choice. Now that I’m here, though, I’ll take it easy.
It’s worth the drive, since the brewery’s a nice place. I’ve come here before, by myself or with friends—back when they were still around.
But in reality, I don’t know why I’m at a bar in Colebury. I have beer at home, and I’m acting like an overprotective older brother. I’m not even that much older than Murph—we’re about the same age, I think.
Something about Murph, though. I can’t explain it. Not even to myself.
When I entered the crowded bar, my eyes landed on Murph immediately, because he lights up a room. He’s unapologetically unique, and you can’t help but watch him. He’s so secure in who he is that he doesn’t care what you say. He’s gonna be himself.
I can appreciate that about a guy.
I mean about a friend. A new friend. I can appreciate that about Murph.
Not wanting to be in a bar without something in my hands, I ordered the first IPA I saw on the list and came over to a table, wanting to be alone and unwind from the week. I tried to get so I wouldn’t be in Murph’s sight line, but it was the only table available.
So much for trying to not be overbearing.
But I do my best to keep to myself and take in the whole room, not just my roommate. The music in this place is decent—jazzy stuff tonight. I recognize a few people from town.
I notice, though, that Murph’s date is talking his ear off. Murph doesn’t give off miserable vibes, but he’s not the life of the party, either. I suspect that makes this a rare situation, although I’ve only known the guy a week. His smile seems too polite, like it’s plastered on his face.
I have half a mind to go interrupt, but that would be an asshole move, and I can barely justify being here in the first place. I’ve already done too much by showing up without a decent explanation.
One beer, and I’ll be gone. I take another sip. It’s good, and I do relax. My jaw unclenches, and my shoulders loosen.
But Murph swivels his head to me, and his expression is a different one than I’ve seen before. This isn’t his happy face, nor his flirty face. But it’s not a “come rescue me” face, either. It’s contemplative, almost yearning. I find myself wondering what he’s thinking.
There go my shoulders, binding up again.
Murph’s date orders more beers, and I see him down one after another. Murph’s still on the same one, as far as I can tell.
Meanwhile, I’ve switched to water. And I can’t explain why I went to a bar forty-five minutes from home to drink water.
I guess to make sure Murph’s date doesn’t hurt him. After all, this is the aggressive guy who sent Murph the dick pic. It seems my fears are justified, since he’s swaying, and his cheeks have that flush some people get with alcohol.
I watch, wary, as London reaches over and takes Murph’s hand.
Murph draws it back, and I know I’m not mistaking the look on his face or the way his mouth forms the word, “No.” But the guy practically climbs on top of Murph—getting very handsy—and kisses him.
I want to rip the man’s head off.
Murph stands up and pushes him away, and I’m on my feet in one millisecond and at their table in two.
“Hey,” I say. “Back off.”
But this twat knocks his chair over so he can keep his hands on Murph, even reaching around to knead Murph’s ass.
Murph has the sass to be able to tell London off, but for some reason he’s not. He’s struggling to get away, so I tug London by his collar. He stumbles back, and I stand between him and Murph.
“Do you want this guy bugging you?” I ask Murph.
“No.” He looks over my shoulder at London. “I think you’ve had a few too many.”
The drunk guy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be like that. You didn’t have a problem with me the last time. Get your asshat friend here to leave us alone.”
“Jason’s not an asshat,” Murph says, sticking out his chin. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Seems like an asshat to me.”
“Fuck off,” I hiss at him.
“S’make me.” And he lunges around me, toward Murph again, this time aiming for, I don’t know, Murph’s ear.
I grab the first thing I can find, which is the guy’s own beer, and throw it at him like he’s a dog and it’s a hose.
Liquid drips down his face. “What the fuck, man? Why’d ya do that?”
My pulse races. “Because he said to get off him.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He said no. If you couldn’t read that as no consent, I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing the fuck’s wrong with me,” slurs the guy. “Just you, jackass.”
“Hey,” Murph says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I can stick up for myself.” But his hand trembles.
“I know you can.” I turn to him and study his wide blue eyes. “I only wanted to help. Are you okay?”
“Course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Now his whole body is shaking.
Fuck.
“Murph, let me take you home.”
He takes one last look at me and at the other guy and nods.
The guy’s still wiping his face with napkins and swearing up a storm. Security arrives to escort him out.
Murph turns and leaves, with me following close behind.
* * *
We drive home, and for the first time, there’s a tense silence between me and him.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your date,” I say. “I just …” My words trail off, because I can’t think of a reason why I was there other than it’s a free country and if I want to go to a bar, I can. Even to drink water.
“Oh, you didn’t.” He gives me the patented Murph grin, which I can see even in the dark. Then it slips. “He wasn’t doing it for me. And he was rather drunk. I think he was drunk even before I got there. So thanks for butting in.”
“I think you could have handled it yourself,” I say, meaning it.
“Normally, yes. I may be small, but I can be mighty. It’s great to have backup, though.”
My hackles immediately rise. “You’ve been hurt on a date before?”
“Easy, Cujo. No. But there’ve been a few times where the other guy was on something or had too much to drink, and I had to stop things.” He glances over to me. We turn onto my street. Our street. “Do you even want me saying this? You probably get grossed out hearing about men touching each other.”
I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t want detailed descriptions. But I’m also pissed off at anyone who would take advantage of Murph.
But he’s telling me he isn’t helpless. And maybe I should let him handle his own situations.
I glance over at him. “You can tell me anything, and I’ll listen.”
A long beat goes by before he says anything. “That’s truly great, Jason. Most people just talk. It’s nice, if you’re a talker like me, to find someone who will hear you out.”
“I’ll do my best to keep an open mind.”
“I know.”
We pull up to the house and get out. I unlock the front door and follow him up the stairs. His legs are longer than I thought.
When we get up to the top floor, he opens the door, and we both go inside, shucking our shoes.
“Want something to drink?” I ask, suddenly not tired.
“Yeah.”
“Sangria?” I head to the fridge and poke my nose in. Murph had made a pitcher.
“Sure, unless you want something stronger.” He tucks his stockinged feet under him on the couch and drags an old blanket of mine over him, and he looks so cozy I don’t want him to have to get up for anything.
“I think if we had whiskey, I’d probably end up doing something stupid.”
Murph perks up. “Oooh, then we must.”
I laugh. “No way. You just dealt with a guy who drank too much.” Grabbing two highball glasses and the pitcher, I go into the living room. I pour, then join him on the couch.
“Cheers,” I say, and we clink glasses.
“Cheers.” He gives me a small smile.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Why were you so uncomfortable with that guy? I thought you’d gotten together with him before.”
Judging by the look on his face, that was the one question I shouldn’t have asked.