Disclaimer: The characters belong to other people except The Googra Gustas who are a fictional band whom used to appear in comic strip form in my queerzine when I was a student.

Author's Notes: Thanks D.

Story Notes: No real sex - just a confused and abused Ray.

This story is a sequel to: Black Spikes, Stan

"Confrontation"
by Jodie Louise

        I phoned in sick.  Said I didn't expect to be back for a coupla days - Welsh didn't say much.  I lied and said I had flu.  I don't know if I could put `had a very heavy sex session involving belts etc' on the sick form.  Besides, don't really want everyone to know about what gets me going.
        I'm having a shower, inspecting the damage.  It stings a bit but eases my aching muscles.  I turn the water right up hot and scald the pain away.
        The kid did good.  Too good.  When I had a look in the mirror I saw my ass is bruised up and I somehow got a black eye.  There are also nasty gashes from the studded belt on my body.  Need a few days for things to heal before I go back to work.  Haven't let myself get this carried away for a while.  I feel happy though, well as happy as I ever feel anymore.  I won't need such a heavy session for quite a while now.  The scars and marks will remind me - remind me how much I hate myself. 
        When I let other people hurt me it is like they are cleansing me.  It is a release, an escape from the shit of my life.  Some days I wake up and can't be bothered to breathe, but I still do, it's one of those automatic things.
        I like sleeping.  Not in the real world when you're asleep.  Sometimes my dreams scare me - but I like the ones that scare me.  What scares me more is waking up and realising that everything is gonna be the same again and you've gotta put up with the same shit.  Not many things take me out of this hell anymore - the sex does, punk music does, dancing does but that's 'bout it.  I s'pose three things ain't too bad - four if you count the sleeping thing too.  But no more than that.  Not sure if I'm really enjoying living at the moment to be quite honest.  I haven't really been right since Stella left.  And I've been worse, a whole lot worse, since Fraser has been avoiding me.   
        Slowly I lather myself and feel around my body, making sure everything is still working okay.
        Fuck the pain away.  Fuck the pain away.
        I repeat those words over and over again in my head.  Except fucking wasn't enough anymore and the whole thing just gotta whole lot bigger and nastier somewhere along the way.
        A crash, the sound of the apartment door being forced brings my cop sense up.  I'm outta of the shower, grabbing my gun shouting "Chicago PD" before I can stop myself.  
        And I'm out of the bathroom face to face with Fraser.
        I'm naked and wet and my gun is pointing at Fraser.
        "Jeez Frase, y'scared the life outta me."
        I squint behind him.  The door is hanging slightly off the hinges.
        "You did a good job on my door, Frase.  You think you can close it before my neighbours get a peek.  If the door'll close that is."
        Fraser opens and closes his mouth before turning and closing the door.  Well sorta closing it.  He makes a meal of balancing the door so it is sorta covering the hole in the wall.
        "Why did you break in?"
        "I was worried about you, Ray.  Lieutenant Welsh said you were ill and when you didn't answer your phone or door I got worried."
        "Well as you can see I'm okay."
        Fraser gives me a good look up and down.
        "You don't look that okay to me, Ray."
        A look passes between us and I'm not sure exactly what it means.
        "Jeez, will you let me dry off now?" I ask putting my gun on the side and going back to the bathroom.
        I turn off the shower and start drying myself.  How am I gonna explain this to him?  What about the truth Kowalski?  You owe him that much.  But I don't like saying this sort of stuff it somehow makes it more real than just doing the stuff I do.  I s'pose it is admitting out loud that I need to do those sort of things to function normally, or, at least, as normally as I ever get.
        "Ray, are you going to tell me what is going on?"
        Fraser is stood in the doorway, eyes gentle, staring at me.  I think I scare him.
        "D'you remember black spikes?"
        "Black spikes?" says Fraser frowning.
        "That young guy at the gig."
        His eyes are intent on me and Frase nods.
        "Well, we bumped into each other again at this club.  And - well - I taught him about the kind of sex that I like.  At first he was a bit...squeamish y'know but then he really got into it.  Really into it."
        "He did that to you?"
        "Yeah." I answer.
        I avoid Fraser's eyes by pretending to be busy drying myself.
        "Those bruises and those cuts?"
        I look straight at Fraser I need him to understand what a sick fuck I am.
        "Yeah - and I enjoyed every second of it." I explain, holding my gaze with his.
        Fraser's legs give way beneath him and he's there on the floor in a heap.  I go to him, squat beside him.  We are like that for a moment just sitting in silence.  His eyes look red - like he is trying not to cry.  I get all choked up at that - he cares enough about me to cry about me doing shit to myself.  And I start sobbing, and he is too.  We're both sitting there sobbing our eyes out.  After a few minutes the cold gets to me and I stop crying.  I tap Frase on the shoulder, get up and pull my t-shirt and sweatpants on.
        He is still sitting there on the floor.
        "C'mon Frase." I say dragging him up.
        We're just standing like that, real close for a moment.
        "D'you want some tea?" I ask.
        Fraser doesn't answer but I pull him by the hand towards the kitchen.  I think he is in shock `cos he's not saying anything and has this glazed look.  I think I have really done it this time.  He's realised that he don't really know his partner - that he has been teamed up with a real fuck-up.
        I let go of Fraser's hand and start pulling open cupboards to make the tea.  I don't know what to say to him.  I just keep quiet.  May be if I had just kept quiet that night instead of kissing him then this wouldn't be so bad.
        I make the tea sweet.  I think my mom said it was good for people in shock or somethin'.  I hand the mug to Fraser who blinks and then takes it.  He has a mouthful of tea - I can tell he don't like it, that it is too sweet for him but he doesn't pull a face or anything.  Just has his mountie face on again.  This is bad because I'm not sure what he is thinking.
        Not being sure how to handle this I go and inspect my door.  Jeez - Fraser had an Incredible Hulk moment or something - the door is very battered, the hinges loose.  Think I can fix it but will probably have to get a new door.  I turn and look at Frase - he is staring at me.
        "I don't like you hurting yourself."
        "Well I can't do anything about that Frase.  I enjoy it - I hafta do it."
        Fraser is looking at his hands, not me now.  He lets out a sigh.
        "Can we make love again, Ray?"
        And I want to but it would be wrong.
        "What?  I don't think that's a good idea."
        "I love you, Ray."
        Shit.  Don't I know it.
        "I know.  I love you too.  That's why I can't..."
        I am gazing into his eyes real sappily.  I just can't put him through this.  His eyes look sad and he stares at the floor.
        "Understood."

        Have you ever loved a band so much you'd do anything to see them, to touch them?  Well, there is one band I love probably for the totally wrong reasons because they seem as sexually fucked up as me.  And they are playing here in Chicago.  Small place, they're not as popular as they were, but I like the small places -  I like it when you can eye-ball the singer.  And I want to eye-ball this singer 'cos he makes me hot and has done ever since I saw him on the front of the NME (oh yes, I used to get it sent over from England).  And I want to forget about Frase and me being totally hung up on him.  Living in a fantasy world for an evening should achieve this.  And he is the singer that fucked my virgin arse in the dressing room.  So god knows how old he must be now.
        That's how I came to be here in this cramped sweaty shithole to watch The Googra Gustas.  Tony the singer is doin' his best Brett Anderson impression and really this is all old hat but I like watching.  And the first song is about London and gay sex, and that's pretty much what all the songs are about - just sometimes I like bands just 'cos I fancy the singer.  Very sad, but true - how much I fancy the singer does affect how much I like the band.  It does help if they do good music but I don't always care about that.  Not when I got Tony there doing his stuff looking so good I could fuck him until Christmas.
        I get carried away by the music.  Everyone sways to the beat.  The whole room.  It is amazing, it is great, it is fantastic.  And it don't matter that I'm nearing forty and done a shocking white peroxide job to my hair.  After all there are a lot of other freaks here, in fact that would be freaks spelt with a capital `F'.  Of course I fit right in.
        When the band finishes I feel drunk - not just from the drink but from the feelings the gig has brought back.  The promise of sex.  I am humming when I leave the place.  Fraser is waiting outside for me.
        It had been a couple of weeks since he'd seen me with the bruises and ever since then we both had been working on autopilot.  Avoiding stuff.  He pulls me by the elbow towards the park.
        "Frase, what are you doin'?"
        "I want to talk to you.  I want to sort things out."
        I look at him.
        "Are you following me or something?"
        "Well...yes.  I mean tonight I followed you."
        By now we are standing at the edge of the park.  Fraser is still holding me by the elbow.
        "So you wanna talk?  Let's talk."
        I free myself from his grip, fold my arms and stare at him.
        "Not here.  There." says Fraser gesturing towards a bench.
        I follow him over to the bench and sit down.  Frase is already sitting down, his back straight, hands on his knees.  There is a silence.  The talk does not seem to be forthcoming.  I roll my eyes, slouch right back on the bench and sigh.
        "Are we having this talk or not?"
        "Er, yes, Ray."
        "So then...talk."
        "I have been thinking about us - about the...things you like doing."
        I fidget - I don't like the way this talk is going - I don't like talking 'bout this stuff.  I hate admitting I'm an A grade pervert.
        "I love you Ray, and I don't want to see you..."
        Fraser turns and looks at me.  He touches my cheek, just for a moment.  A sigh wracks his whole body and he shudders.  I think he has gone a pinkish colour but it is dark.
        "Will you let me do those things to you?" he asks.
        "Jeez, Frase, no. No."
        "Why not?"
        "You won't like it.  I don't have you down as a sadist."
        "But I don't want you...I want to make sure you are safe and if it means...hurting you because you like it then I'll do it.  One day someone else might go too far for you...and then..."
        This amazes me - I don't know what to say.  I realise I'm sitting there gaping and quickly close my mouth.  Frase grasps my hand in his.
        "I find it abhorrent but I would rather be with you, even if it is like that, because I can't stand the thought of not being with you."
        It is sort of a proposal.  The tears have sprung to my eyes before I can say anything.  I'm such a bastard.  I rub my eyes with my hands trying to stop the tears but they flow.  They flow freely.  And I'm sobbing - my whole body shaking with tears - with what Frase has offered me.  His arm is around my shoulder and he pulls me against his chest.  What Frase has offered me and what it has cost him.  He loves me, really loves me.
        "After a while perhaps you might not feel the need to be hurt by your lovers." he whispers into my hair.
        So that's it - Frase wants to cure me.  Maybe he can, maybe he can't.  I don't know.  I'm not sure if I can try this...don't know if I can put him through that stuff.  He'll hate it, hate it and in the end it will drive him away.  Love will tear us apart indeed Mr Curtis.  I might end up hanging myself from a clothes drier like you did.
        I burrow into Fraser, try and mould myself into him.  It is warm, it is safe here.  And I don't know if I'll take up his offer.  Don't know if I want to be cured.  Don't know if I want to turn Frase into a screwed up fuck like me.  So I close my eyes - breathe in his scent and think about nothing.

End Confrontation by Jodie Louise: jodie.mouse@virgin.net

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