Dillon stuck his head beneath the shower head to let the hot pounding water rinse off the flower scented shampoo from his hair. While the lather streamed down his taut chest and flowed over his six pack his lids lowered to his face. He was aware the scent wasn’t exactly manly, but he could give a rat’s ass. He loved the lavender aroma. And fuck what other men thought. He was his own man and had always been. He wasn’t one to keep up with the Jones’ or to follow the crowd just because nor would he jump off a bridge or the tallest building in the world. He dressed for himself and basically did things for himself, especially to tend to his physical being.
He was a twenty-seven-year-old man for God’s sake. A hard working homicide detective, at least he considered himself one. He was dedicated to his work or anything else he found himself involved in. He thought of himself as a loyal man with a somewhat good demeanor even though he’d never allow anyone no matter who they are disrespect him just because. He wasn’t a push over. So couldn’t he keep a damn blasted man in his life. Every time he found himself comfortable in a lengthy relationship something would make it crumble like a cracker in his hands. They’d always have some lame excuse of why they wanted to move on. All right most of those excuses might not be so lame, but they sure seemed that way. What had he done wrong? Nothing as far as he was concerned. Shit just happens. Maybe that’s what all that boiled down to, shit.
His lids lifted. His back burned. He’d stayed to damn long und beneath the shower head letting the stinging spray prickle his head and back. He even held the bar of beige soap way too long. Whatever it had been made of had softened in the palm of his hand. It was his favorite soap. He’d found other soaps to creamy for his skin. This particular brand might have cream or whatever they called it, but it was basically dry. Something his skin favored. After sitting the soap in the built in soap dish rinsed the hand,
Finished, he wrapped his fingers around the round knob. Turning it counter clock wise its squeaking sound echoed in his ears. Damn it! I keep forgetting to report this to maintenance. I’ll do that before leaving this building tomorrow
Dillon shoved the shower stall door opened and stepped out into the bathroom. His fingers yanked the maroon terry cloth bath towel from its rack and toweled his hair as well as the rest of his body. Not wanting to allow any mildew to seep into the fabric he draped it over the shower door.
He paused in front of the tall porcelain sink and listened to the mirror squeak as the palm of his hand did its best to remove the steam. Hm. Realizing something he ambled toward the door and shoved it open. Now, maybe his effort to clear a lot of steam from the mirror wouldn’t be totally useless.
Returning to the sink he brushed his teeth with the electric toothbrush and gargled. On his way out of the bathroom he yanked a clean bath towel from the linen closet toweled his hair once again with one end. In the spacious dimly lit bedroom he draped the towel over his shoulders to block the air-conditioner’s cold air off him until his body temperature reached its normal temp. Letting the mixture of hot and cold air sweep over him wasn’t a good thing. That mixture usually wreaked havoc on his sinus. He remembered how sick he’d gotten a few times since he neglected to cover himself, He didn’t even bother to protect himself with his thick eggplant color bathrobe one of his recent boyfriend’s gave him for a present. Not only going without that protective shield caused him to go through a terrible combination of a sinus, cold the damp Oregon weather didn’t help. He wasn’t about to let himself go through that crap again and wind up listening to his black ass partner bitch. He already received too much flak from Max already with his persistent bickering about homosexuals and other minorities he didn’t approve of.
Dillon went inside the big walk-in closet and yanked towel off his shoulders, grabbed the robe. After putting the towel on the hook he slid his long arms through the robe on his way back into his room. A glance at the big red numbers on the alarm clock sitting on the tall varnished dresser he noted the time had reached seven-thirty. Time had passed quicker than he expected, but he didn’t mind. He’d already gone out for the evening though what he enjoyed didn’t last as long as he had wanted.
His eyes automatically focused on a small framed picture. A color photo of him and Adam with twin waterfalls in the background. A frown instantly formed on his lips at the sight of his boyfriend, his ex-boyfriend that is. They’d spent the past seven and one half months getting to know one another. And for what, nothing. He understood Adam’s reason for opting for that job in Rome. Money. He’d been downsized from the last company where he’d been employed for the past decade. With all the money he managed to accumulate he knew Adam wasn’t desperate for any of that. He just got bored. He did spend a lot of time seeking other employment, but nothing came through. The moment he got wind of the job at a robotic’s corporation he jumped at the chance to apply. In less than a month he’d been accepted. Dillon spent a lot of time trying to dissuade his boyfriend to stay. Of course, he was aware he was being selfish, yet he couldn’t help it. Out of all the guys he’d dated Adam happened to be the only one he actually felt comfortable with and he’d been the only wanted he wanted to share a home with and to say the eye do’s. He also knew that’s what Adam desired, but that desired faded the moment the freaking ass job made an appearance in Adam’s life - - their life.
He strode to the dresser, grabbed the frame and gazed longingly at Adam. His hand shook while strong wav of anger stormed through his veins. Adam is gone. He doesn’t exist for me anymore. Now get over it. Get over him and move on. Move on? Where? How? Unexpectedly a low growl swelled in his belly. It seemed to have taken its ever loving time to free itself from the knot it formed, but he soon felt it rise up to his throat and finally explode. “Damn you Adam Collins!” Dillon’s hand raised up then tilted backward. The moment it came forward his fingers loosened their grip on the frame. It soared over the wide bed only stopping when the frame met the wall and a loud crash filled the room and his ears.
Dillon’s stomach filled with heated fury. His body trembled while his damp eyes flooded and swelled and a thick stream of liquid streamed down his cheeks.
“Damn, fuck it all, shit,”
It had been years since he’d given in to that much sadness. Mostly because it had always been drilled into him by his father that young boys or even grown men never cried. Crying was a thing a sissy would do. Men should suck it up and take it like a man. Bull shit. Later in his life he discovered crying was good for the soul. It was a release. If one never cried all that emotion would be bottled up in them and could make them a nervous wreck or even a loner. He was also aware that he should pull himself together and pick up the pieces and maybe even start all over again. I will pull myself together, but I be damned if I’ll ever start over again. It ain’t worth the trouble. Besides, I might be better off being without any one in my life. At least as far as a boyfriend or a lover is concerned. Nope. All of that is crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.
He sat on the bed end of the bed and willed himself to become calm.
I’m thirsty. But I don’t want beer. Coffee is out of the question. So is tea.
He stood and padded his bare feet across the carpet and walked out into the hall.
***
In the kitchen he retrieved a dark brown mug from the cabinet and filled the tea kettle. As the water brewed he pulled the can of cocoa with tiny marshmallows from the pantry and sat it on the wood island in the middle of the modern kitchen and left the room
Pausing at the coffee table she scooped up the remote. The moment he aimed it at the flat screen TV he pressed the On button and sat on the couch.
(to be continued –much, much later)
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