Another Time
He's not the one you expected when you opened the door. Joey. You haven't thought of him in so long, and to see him standing here now is to have shame creep in around your heart.
"Joanna left me," he says.
He doesn't look like he did that day, after the tumult of the weekend after you spurned him. Then he was gaunt, unwashed, grungy. Now he's neat, clean, looking how he always did, like he's wearing berry-red lipstick and you know he's not.
"I'm sorry," you say, and don't know what he wants. He looks pleading.
"She cheated on me," he said.
You smile a little, to give him sympathy. "Sucks."
Joey kisses you, then. It's a shock like ice, with a tug like drowning, and, when he pulls away, strangely pathetic.
You suddenly want to go lie down. You want to sleep forever. "Why'd you do that, Joey?" you ask.
He half-closes his eyes, laughs. "I'm messed up," he says.
You don't know what to say to that, so you invite him in. "You take your tea the same?" you say, and he nods, his eyes wandering all over the room, over your photos, Brian's posters, the scatter of mess on the coffee table. You don't want to leave him here to spy upon your life, but you make yourself. Down to the kitchen you walk, to put the kettle on, take a deep breath.
He follows you down the hall, slips into one of the dining table chairs. "You don't live with Astrid," he says.
"Astrid has a girlfriend," you say. Joey laughs, but it peters out when you don't join in.
"And you?" he asks.
You look at him. You can't believe he's here. Why is he here? It's as good a response as any. "Why are you here, Joey?"
He groans and leans his head down on the table. "I don't know," he says. "I got your address off Nicole. I didn't mean to, you know..."
"What?"
"Do this," he says. "Shannon, are you all going to leave me?"
Your expression softens for a moment. "Joey, you remember that girl in fifth form? Name started with M, the East girl..."
Joey looks up. "So I'm a bastard and I don't deserve anyone."
You sigh. "The world's not against you, Joey."
His gaze drifts. He looks long ago, somewhere else. You've the urge to grab hold of him, shake him even.
"Joey, I can't help you," you say.
He gives a flicker of a smile. "I'm sorry," he says. "It's not fair of me to call on you like this. Were you busy?"
You smile back, for an instant. "Just waiting," you say.
Joey nods, stands up. "Don't worry about the tea," he says. You start to protest, but he shakes his head, just barely. "I'll see you 'round," he says.
You find yourself nodding. "Another time," you say.
He kisses you again, but on the cheek this time, and very quickly he's gone, leaving you with a kettle full of hot water and barely the strength to hold yourself up. You slump down into the chair he left. Soon Brian will come home, and you'll get up. But for now, you're tired.
---
A/N: This story was originally published in Cupid on a Friday Night, ed. Alan Bunn and James Norcliffe, in 2005.