His Biggest Mistakes

The endless ticking of the clock was the only noise in the otherwise silent room, and the sound echoed through the air. The orange glow of a street lamp shone through a gap in the curtains, casting long, flickering shadows on the room’s walls. Greg was sat in one of the armchairs fully dressed, his head resting in his hands, trying to rub away a headache. He let out a low breath, raking a shaking hand through his already tussled and dishevelled hair.

Greg didn’t want to leave. He knew that he should, knew that it was ultimately for the best, but that didn’t make it any easier, that didn’t mean he wanted to go. He was happy in England. The thought of leaving of leaving the country, of leaving Clive, was painful to the point of being nearly a physical ache.

But he knew it would be better to end it now, while he could. End on his terms before he messed things up again.

It’d hurt Clive more if I stay, Greg thought, scratching his ear and readjusting his glasses. Can’t stay happy forever.

Sighing, Greg got up and picked up his suitcase. If he left now, he’d just about get the last late night bus heading for the airport. He could decide where he would go from there. Maybe he could go back to LA – God knows it had been a while since he had been there last.

It took a few moments for him to find the energy to walk the few steps towards the door. He stared at the handle, willing it to open for him. It wouldn’t heed his wish; he had to do it himself. Sighing again, he reached out a hand and rested it against the door knob.

The living room light snapped on quite suddenly. Greg froze, his hand still on the door handle. A small tremble had worked its way down into his fingers. He turned his head, blinking several times as the flood of light momentarily blinded him.

Clive stood in the bedroom doorframe, still naked but with a dressing gown hanging in the crook of his elbow. “So, you’re leaving.” His voice was soft, his manner suggesting that he wasn’t surprised to find his boyfriend standing in by the front door in an obvious attempt to leave.

Greg just started at him, looking like a deer caught in headlights. His hand remained on the door; it had taken a great deal of strength to place it there and he didn’t have any left over to remove it.

“I don’t suppose you were planning to tell me where on earth you’re going at this time of night?”

Greg’s voice finally made itself known again. “I… I’m….” He took a deep breath, cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m leaving. Thinking of heading back to the States.” His voice was quiet, his gaze fixed on a piece of carpet a few feet from him.

Clive took a few steps forward, pulling his dressing gown on as he did. “Well, I can’t say that I’m very surprised,” he said, tying the knot tightly around his waist.

Greg managed to lift his eyes up to meet Clive’s, one eyebrow rising slightly. “So you’ve been waiting for me to leave?”

Clive shrugged, stepping closer. “You haven’t seemed very happy recently, so I knew it was only a matter of time.”

“Oh, so now I’m fucking predictable am I?” Greg snapped, his voice finally rising to its normal level.

Clive sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Look, I’m sorry. Can we just go to bed now? Enough of this nonsense about you leaving.”

“Clive, I’ve got to go.” Greg broke eye contact, scratching at the back of his neck. “I don’t think I can stay here anymore.”

“Can we at least talk about this?”

Greg glanced down at his watch and shook his head. “No time. My bus is in five minutes, last one of the night.”

Clive stepped forward and pushed the door closed just as Greg managed to find the courage to open it.

“Greg, please.” Clive’s voice was low, his hands gentle as they reached up to touch Greg’s shoulders. The American squirmed away from under the fingertips.

“My bus.…”

“They’ll be more buses in the morning,” Clive answered, leading Greg reluctantly over to the same armchair he had been fretting in for the past hour. Clive stood awkwardly by Greg’s arm. “Since we’re both up, do you want a cup of tea?”

Greg snorted. “England’s answer to everything: a cup of tea. Losing at cricket again? Cup of tea. Lost your job? Cup of tea. You’re a fuck up who screws up everything? Go on, ’ave a cuppa.”

Clive didn’t reply until he returned from the kitchen several minutes later, a cup of tea in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. “Is that what you’re worried about?” he asked, placing the drinks on the table in front of them and perching on the arm of Greg’s chair.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Greg answered, taking his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You never do.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Clive took small sips of his drink while Greg simply glared at his. Finally, Clive spoke up again, trying a different tactic.

“If you want me to come with you-”

“I don’t.” Greg raised the coffee mug to his lips, swallowing a mouthful. Clive had always known from the start how to make good coffee; Greg was going to miss that.

Clive sighed wearily. “Gregory, why must you be so difficult?”

“For the same reason you have to be so goddamn condescending,” Greg snapped back.

“Well maybe if you didn’t push me away every time I tried to help.”

“Oh sure, go blame me again why don’t you?”

“You’re the one who was trying to sneak off in the middle of the night!”

Greg didn’t say anything for the next couple of seconds, glaring at Clive before dropping his gaze down into his mug. When he spoke again, his tone was much lower.

“I can’t stay here,” he said quietly, swirling the hot coffee around inside the cup.

“Why not?” Clive asked, reaching out to touch Greg’s shoulder again. “I thought you were happy here.”

“I am.”

“Then why must you go?”

“Because I screw things up.” Greg took another mouthful of coffee, savouring the taste. “Every relationship I’ve been in I’ve ended up fucking up at some point or another.”

“Just because you may have had a few bad experiences-”

“Not just a few,” Greg corrected. “Every. Single. One. It’s like my brain won’t let me be happy for more than a couple of months.”

“You’re over exaggerating.”

“Oh really?” Greg’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, and he placed his drink back down on the
table. “You really want to hear my relationship history?”

“Please, be my guest.”

“Alright, fine.” Greg shifted his position in the armchair in order to get more comfortable. “So, when I was in third grade, I had my first girlfriend. Susie, her name was. We lasted two weeks, until I poured paint down her dress during art class when she asked for a kiss.”

Clive chuckled. “Remind me never to do anything artistic with you.”

Greg glowered. “This isn’t funny.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Clive replied, managing to stifle his laugher. “I’m sorry Greg, go on, please.”

“Don’t know why I fucking bother,” Greg muttered, taking another sip of his drink. “Anyway, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, my past relationships have been notoriously bad.”

“One paint throwing incident back in primary school hardly counts as notorious.”

“Yeah? Well Rebecca, my second girlfriend in high school certainly does. We were together three months before I blew it by getting into a gay rights argument with her uptight republican parents.”

Clive opened his mouth to say something but Greg continued over the top of him, raising his voice. “In college, I had my first proper boyfriend by the name of Eric. I screwed that one over by kissing and groping his roommate at a party.” Greg took another long swig of coffee before continuing. “That was the same day he proposed to take our relationship to the next level. Christopher was next, and he asked me to move in with him. I freaked and broke it off, thought we were moving too quickly. Then there was Krista. Hell, I didn’t even like her that much, so I guess it wasn’t overly surprising when I ended up in bed with her ex.” Greg let out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “The last person I was with before you was seven years ago, this guy Ben, and I did end up moving in with him. He lasted much longer than any of the others, two years almost, and we were happy together.” He paused for a moments, staring at his hands contemplative.

“What happened?” Clive asked quietly, snaking an arm around Greg’s waist.

“I panicked,” Greg answered, draining the last of his coffee. “I kept expecting him to leave because part of me couldn’t believe we lasted so long. I… I kept thinking up these weird ideas to annoy him, to see how far I could push things without him ending it. Like, I would leave dirty laundry lying around the house, and I would leave plates under the bed to grow mould, and… God I was so stupid. It was just… I couldn’t understand why he would want to be with me, so I guess I wanted to see if I could push him away.”

Greg took several deep breaths, staring down at his hands clasped his lap. When he continued, his voice was a little shaky. “I managed to in the end, of course. It all came to a head about a month before our anniversary. He had planned a meal out at some fancy restaurant, and I kicked up a huge fuss about something. I can’t even remember what it was about; given the kind of mood I was in at the time, it could have been something as stupid as me not liking Mexican food. We argued, and I….”

“Go on,” Clive prompted.

“I… I eventually yelled some bullshit about me not wanting to be seen with him.” Greg closed his eyes and swallowed several times, his cheeks burning in shame. “I don’t even know why I said it.”

“So, what happened next?” Clive asked finally.

“What the fuck do you think happened next? We certainly didn’t start fucking on the kitchen counter.” Greg ran both of his hands through his hair, adding, “Sorry, stupid answer.”

“Well I dare say that wasn’t the most intelligent of questions,” Clive said, forcing a small smile.

Greg managed to smile back. “It’s fine, sorry.” He sighed again, his gaze on the floor between his feet. “He… he asked me why, and I said…..” Greg’s voice cracked a little, and Clive squeezed his shoulder tightly. “Anyway, that’s why I need to leave. If I stay any longer I know I’ll end up fucking up again, and… and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Right, because waking up to find you gone wouldn’t have hurt me at all,” Clive said dryly.

“You don’t understand! The way it ended, it… it’s better for me to just leave now, it’ll hurt less for you.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Clive murmured softly, bringing his other hand up to cup Greg’s cheek. Greg pulled away from the touch, standing up and beginning to pace in front of the window.

“Clive, I can’t stay here! I’m poison! I know I’ll end up saying something or doing something that’ll hurt you, and… and I don’t want that! Surely it’s better for me to leave now instead of waiting until you hate me?”

“I think it would be better if you actually tried to work through your commitment issues, and if you chose to talk to me instead of bottling everything up and running away,” Clive replied in a cool voice.

Greg groaned. “Clive-”

“Gregory, do you think you could possibly shut up for about five minutes or so? You’re not the only one here who has something to say.”
Greg’s eyes widened a little in shook and he opened his month to speak, but Clive held up his hand to stop him and for once, Greg complied.

“You’re not the only one in this relationship who has doubts, you know,” Clive said, draining the last dregs of lukewarm tea from his cup. “Don’t you dare think for one moment that I don’t worry about messing up what we have. Do you think that I don’t spend nights worrying that I’ll make one jibe too many? Don’t you wonder if I think about you leaving running off on me?” Clive paused for a moment, before adding, “Though I suppose I was right to worry about that.”

“I-”

“I’m not finished.” Clive contemplated Greg for a moment or so, his eyes glaring into the American’s. “Greg, if you were so bloody afraid of messing everything up then why the hell did you even agree to be in a relationship with me?”

“Because… when I first met you I enjoyed spending time with you. And I ended up falling for you,” Greg said, a blush creeping into his face. “I still love you, by the way.”

Clive rolled his eyes. “Yes, because fleeing in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye or an explanation is a sure sign of a person’s love.”

“Don’t you dare try and say that I don’t fucking love you!”

“Well you have a damn funny way of showing it!” Clive snapped back. His voice wasn’t quite a shout, but it was close to it. He took a long breath and released it slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer. “If you really love me like you say you do, stay. And enough bullshit about you ruining things.”

“Clive, you don’t understand.” Greg sat down heavily on the couch, letting his head fall into his hands. “You didn’t see the look on Ben’s face at the end. He… he looked completely heartbroken. And I don’t want to do that to you.”

“The intentions are noble, I’m sure.” Clive stood and walked over to where Greg was sitting, kneeling down in front of him. “But I’m able to take care of myself, and I’m willing to take the chance of heartbreak if it means you’ll stay with me.”

Greg turned away from Clive’s gaze, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. “It’s just that… I’m afraid. This is the first time I’ve been with someone for this long, and… and I don’t want to screw up again.”

“You won’t,” Clive answered, placing his hands over Greg’s.

“But how can you know that?”

“I don’t. But I love you, and I trust you, and that’s enough.” Clive placed a soft kiss on Greg’s mouth. “Now, how about coming back to bed?”

Greg allowed himself to be led back into the bedroom, still feeling uncertain. He stood in the doorway, watching Clive untie the knot of his dressing gown and take it off, hanging it on the back on the desk chair.

“You know, maybe disappearing in the night was it,” Clive said thoughtfully, pulling on a pair of old boxers and an oversized t-shirt before slipping under the bed covers.

“What was it?” Greg asked, stepping inside the room and loosening his tie, bending down to take his shoes off.

“The way you were going to screw up.”

Greg didn’t answer, focusing on undoing his shirt buttons. Letting his shirt and jacket drop to the floor, he sat on the bed in order to take off his trousers.

Clive sat up and placed his hands on Greg’s back, fingers brushing lightly against shoulder blades. “You are still going to be here when I wake up, aren’t you?” he asked quietly

“Sure,” Greg answered, placing his glasses on the nightstand.

“And you’ll still be here the day after?”

Greg paused. “I’ve got that interview then, remember?”

“But you’ll be here when I get home?” Clive persisted. “You won’t end up flying off to Brazil or something?”

Greg pulled off his socks and swung his legs up into the bed. “Never liked Brazil that much,” he said lightly. When Clive continued looked worried, he added, “I… I think you’re stuck with me for a while longer. I like it here.”

“That’s good.” Clive trailed a hand up Greg’s chest. “Don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t insult your ridiculous hairstyle.”

Greg snorted. “You’re just jealous that most of your hair disappeared sometime last century,” he joked with a smile, although his heart wasn’t in the jest.

“Yes, I was wondering when you were going to make a bald joke.”

They lay in silence for several minutes. Clive thought that Greg had fallen asleep until the American said, “I do love you, you know. I wasn’t lying when I said that earlier. I know I’m not the most romantic of people, but I still care about you a great deal. I hope you know that.”

“I know you do Greg. And I love you too; I just wish you didn’t worry yourself so much.”

Silence resumed, and Clive eventually fell asleep. Greg fought for consciousness for a while longer, his mind still worrying and overanalysing, but all too soon he felt his eyelids drifting close.

He both hoped and feared the thought of him attempting to leave again the next day, but at that moment, he could do nothing but stay.