Come Into My World Read online

  And he did. But he also specified, Just making sure you saw my race in my profile.

  It had specified Anglo-Indian.

  Yeah, what about it? I messaged him.

  Just some guys don’t read it properly and then get pissed when I turn up.

  Really? Their fucking loss then, the racist pricks. Of course, I was also speaking with hindsight, because I knew Dev now. Their fucking loss indeed.

  I won’t, I texted back. Besides, how stupid are they if they can’t see from the photo?

  They just think I’m really tanned, he replied.

  He made me laugh out loud. That’s how quickly he captivated me. And even though he recognised me, it didn’t faze him, as he said he didn’t like reality television or pop music that much. That normally would have made me block the guy so he never showed on my feed again, but I actually found it refreshing.

  After a hook-up, I usually tried to get rid of the guy as soon as possible. Not Dev. We talked until all hours, fucked like bunnies two more times until our dicks cried out for relief, and it was Dev who had to beg off staying because he needed to try and get at least some sleep before his next shift.

  I had told him that I wasn’t after anything serious, and although I saw a flicker of disappointment, it didn’t stop him from coming over again.

  And then, before I knew it, Dev and me hooking up became a regular thing. Regular as in, he knew I liked my coffee with milk and one sugar and where I kept my condoms.

  So to cure myself from becoming too infatuated with him, I kept on sleeping with other guys. Like I said, complete arsehole.

  Still lying in the rapidly cooling denouement of my night with Connor, I texted Dev. After all, we were friends: friends with benefits. I could talk to him so easily.

  I just let one of my brother’s friends fuck me. Well, I didn’t know they knew each other at the time.

  The reply seemed a long time coming. And you want me to do what with this information?

  I frowned. It wasn’t like Dev to give me attitude. Sorry. Thought you’d just want the goss.

  It didn’t take so long for the response this time. So do I need to help you get rid of the body?

  I chuckled to myself. Dev was a nurse at one of the major hospitals in Perth. He had often said he could make someone “disappear” if he needed to, with a series of paperwork changes and accidental incinerations of body parts. I wasn’t completely sure that he was joking either. Maybe I was playing with fire by playing him along.

  No, I texted back. Already taken care of.

  Now my phone rang. Dev’s smiling face shone from the screen, a picture I had taken of him one night in bed when we had actually just lain together and talked all night. Okay, sex had taken place first thing in the morning. But we really had spent most of the night just talking with each other, kissing and wrestling in the nicest way possible. Dev was the only guy I could do that with, even if I insisted to him during it that we were “bros helping another bro out.”

  Yeah, I really said that. The even more ridiculous thing was I actually believed it at the time. Any kind of sexual activity I had with guys was written off as “bros being bros,” even though I knew I was gay. I just thought if I didn’t get emotionally attached that it wasn’t really gay. Which was why I fought Dev off so much.

  It was a twisted sense of logic that served me well for quite a while. Now I admitted I was gay, and liked, no loved fucking men, but I refused to tell anybody I was gay and I refused to fall in love with any man. Because then my heavily structured little bubble would burst.

  Dev started in on me without even a greeting. “Did you really get rid of a body?”

  “No! What do you take me for?”

  “A desperate sociopath, most days.”

  That was another thing. If anybody else spoke to me like Dev did, I would cut them off as easily as I did Connor. But I kind of liked that about Dev.

  “Stop flirting with me,” I told him.

  He snorted. “So, what happened?”

  “Why don’t you come over and I’ll show you?” I didn’t even know why I said that. Shit, my dick would be raw by the end of the night.

  “And be your sloppy seconds? No thanks.”

  “You wouldn’t be sloppy seconds. Just seconds.”

  “That sounds great, Steve. But I’ll pass.” There was a bite to his voice that told me I had obviously gotten too close to the edge.

  “Suit yourself. Anyway, he said he wouldn’t tell Joel.”

  “Like Joel doesn’t already know.” There was that attitude again.

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t need it confirmed now, does he?”

  “He already knows there’s something going on between us,” Dev said, like a dog with a bone.

  “Once again, not confirmed,” I said. “And with us it’s just—”

  “Bros being bros,” he finished for me, in a dull tone like he’d heard it all before. Which he had. “Anyway, I gotta go.”

  “What, do you have company?” I asked. “Is that why you couldn’t come over?”

  “I’m not your booty call to run over whenever you click your fingers so we can fuck in your already come-stained sheets.” The dull tone was now angry, but Dev’s form of “angry” was just a slightly raised volume.

  “You didn’t answer the question,” I said.

  “Goodnight, Steve.”

  He hung up on me. And I was left there, slightly cold now, and wondering why his refusal to answer me made me so unhappy.

  Chapter Two

  The second time I hooked up with Dev, he had looked me squarely in the eye and said, “You know this bros being bros stuff is bullshit, right?”

  I had tried to fend off the sudden emotional onslaught, but he batted away my comebacks about how I was attracted to men, but was straight. Or maybe I had no label. You know, I was a modern guy. That kind of stuff.

  But he rolled over on top of me, his cock digging into my thigh.

  “Feel that?” he asked.

  My eyes clouded over with desire. I could barely see him above me. “Yes,” I choked.

  “What about this?” He shifted his weight slightly and now his cock was pressed against mine. And I was rock-hard as well. “Do you feel that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s not just bros being bros. That’s liking cock.”

  I would have whimpered right there if I let myself. “But that’s what I’m saying. I’m attracted to men, but girls—”

  He kissed me, slow, deep, and tugged on my lower lip before letting it go. “You wouldn’t kiss guys like that if all you liked was getting off. You probably wouldn’t even kiss them.”

  “It’s part of sex, isn’t it?”

  Dev looked disappointed. “So you’re just going to keep playing the game?”

  I couldn’t answer. My hand snaked around the back of his head and pulled him in for another kiss. He was right. I kissed like I felt something—it was some kind of emotion, no matter how much I pretended otherwise.

  Dev reached between us and handed me a condom. I rolled it on and he guided my cock to his arse. As I slid within him I wanted to cry out his name, tell him I liked him—I wasn’t going to scream out love, as even he would find that ridiculous on our second night together—but he was kissing me and I was letting him know that I felt something for him, my breath hot in his mouth and my flesh warm within his.

  The third time we got together I invited him to come and watch me perform.

  He agreed.

  It surprised me. And he knew how I would want it to be.

  “I’ll stay in a dark corner,” he said. “So your fans won’t know you’re a bro.”

  I knew he was teasing me, but he kept his word. Unfortunately, my family turned up. And when it became obvious I had a “friend” in the audience, as I couldn’t exactly ignore Dev on my break in between sets, my mum and dad invited him to come and sit at their table.

  Joel immediately saw Dev’s beauty, but I knew it was his persona
lity he approved of the most. Joel probably felt he had met a bosom buddy and I felt a pang that this wasn’t a moment we could share—introducing my new “friend” and having Joel later tell me that I had nabbed a good one when he discovered Dev was a much better person than I was, maybe even wondering what the hell it was Dev saw in me. And, you know, I wouldn’t blame him for thinking that.

  And just like that, Dev was accepted by my family as if he’d never not been a part of it.

  Which made our “casual” relationship status even harder to maintain. My parents thought the world of him, liked that he was a nurse as it meant he was responsible, and even idly wondered if he was gay—Dev had never intimated that, as I thought it would make our friendship look suspicious—and if he would be a good match with Joel.

  That was when Joel admitted that he was seeing someone, thank you very much. Oh, and he was a part-time drag queen.

  My mother thought it was wonderful there would be another performer in the Colvin family.

  Now Mark was another seat at the table whenever I had a gig. Sometimes I caught him and Joel giving Dev and me the side-eye, a look that insinuated they knew exactly what was going on between us.

  But I still couldn’t come out.

  And I still fucked other guys. Never a girl, though I pretended I did occasionally.

  I still texted Dev every time I had a gig. I wanted to see his face in the audience. Time went on, we spent more and more time together, but I still resisted the obvious.

  There had to be a time, however, when it would start to sour for Dev.

  I’m doing a gig tonight at the Basso if you want to come.

  My text was still unanswered by the time I took to the stage at the Bassendean Hotel, sweating heavily, with my guitar in hand.

  Maybe he was finally ignoring me. Being a nurse usually accounted for why he was so calm and able to deal with me so quietly. He probably saw a patient worse than me every hour. As a rehabilitation nurse, working with patients after accidents and the like, he worked set hours during the day. Unfortunately, I worked at night so I couldn’t see him as often as I would like to—I mean, to booty call.

  The crowd, as usual, treated me like a nonentity. I was just background music to their pub roasts and pulled-pork sliders. They would have been just as happy with some pay television music channel turned down low so they could still talk, snuffle, and snort over their meals.

  “Thanks for having me tonight,” I said, to no one in particular.

  There was a small but enthusiastic reception from one table over to my left. I squinted against the one lonely spotlight to see my usual gang of Remember My Name fans.

  “Hello.” My small acknowledgement of them would be enough to make them happy. “My first song tonight is one you probably all know.”

  I started strumming my guitar, the notes acting as the chorus of “la la las” from Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out of My Head.” On the acoustic guitar, slowed down from its dance floor origins, it became a plaintive ballad. It wasn’t a very original shtick, taking pop songs and turning them into maudlin funeral dirges, but they usually proved pretty popular. It had served me well on Remember My Name after all, even if I did get compared to Ed Sheeran a little too much for my liking. If you’re going to be compared to a British ginger you want it to be Prince Harry.

  Oh my god, Prince Harry.

  I could see Dev rolling his eyes at that. I pushed him out of my head. He popped up far more often than anyone else.

  As the song came to a close, a second table joined my fans in clapping rather enthusiastically. I shielded my eyes from the light so I could make them out, as they were further away.

  Joel and my parents were seated at a table with Dev. Joel put his pinky fingers in his mouth and whistled like a tradie signalling smoko. And now Mark came to join them, carrying a jug of beer and some glasses. At least he hadn’t come in drag.

  And of course, bloody Connor wasn’t with them. Small mercies, and all that. I hoped if they ever did offer for him to come along he would have enough sense to decline. I could just imagine him and Dev getting together and comparing notes, while my family pretended that they didn’t know I was gay and they were sitting at a table with two of my conquests.

  Feeling particularly mutinous I broke into a rousing rendition of No Doubt’s “It’s My Life,” directing it to their table—a barely disguised “fuck off, and leave me alone.” My teenage angsty self would have been proud.

  And it was kind of counter-intuitive, at least in Dev’s case—I had specifically invited him.

  My parents seemed oblivious to the message, but I saw Joel and Mark whispering behind their hands. It wouldn’t have been lost on Joel; he knew me too well.

  There was a tiny smirk on Dev’s face. Did he know what I was doing? I wasn’t sure if he was amused or unimpressed. Smirks could be so open to interpretation. Or misinterpretation.

  I had a short ten-minute break halfway through. I needed alcohol so I got my second performer freebie of the night and started drinking it at the bar.

  Which was where my parents accosted me.

  “Not going to say hello, sweetheart?” Mum asked, giving me a big kiss. This was exactly the reason why I didn’t want them here. My “fans” pretended to take photographs of one another while actually getting us in the background. If I actually was famous they probably could have sold them to some magazine that would have no doubt used them for an article about my mother issues.

  “Just needed a drink, Ma,” I said.

  “Isn’t alcohol bad for the voice?” my father asked.

  “I think my voice could be a little more ragged,” I told him. “It makes you sound more soulful.”

  “You were lovely up there,” Mum said, giving me another hug, which was awkward as I was still standing at the bar and she could only give one with half of her body. She kept her arm around my waist.

  “Lovely?” I scoffed. “Exactly what every rock star wants to hear about their performance.”

  “Well, Ed Sheeran is lovely, and look at how popular he is!”

  Fucking Ed Sheeran again. If he ever crossed my path, he wouldn’t survive it.

  “Even guys like Ed Sheeran,” my dad said helpfully.

  “There’s no accounting for taste,” I said.

  My dad frowned. “I like Ed Sheeran.”

  “He’s just not my cup of tea,” I said, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

  Both of my parents looked a little wary, a little wounded, now. God, I was a fuck-up. But I couldn’t stop myself. I tried to pave over the crack I had caused.

  “Thanks for coming. Any requests?”

  “Janet Jackson’s ‘Nasty.’”

  I closed my eyes briefly when the voice came from behind me. Joel. Having a little dig, and a deserved one.

  “My boys,” Mum said proudly.

  Joel smiled at her. “Just stealing my bro for a moment.”

  Bro? So butch.

  And yes, I recognised the irony.

  I made sure I grabbed hold of my beer before he whisked me away.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Do you think our parents are stupid?” he hissed at me.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Don’t be a bloody smartarse.”

  “Oh, just spit it out, Joel.” I was tempted to say or do you swallow? It was so easy to rile him.

  “They don’t have to come and support you, you know.”

  “I don’t ask them to,” I reminded him.

  “But they come anyway. Because for some strange reason they’re proud of you even though you act like they’re shit beneath your shoe—”

  “You’re being a tad melodramatic,” I said, taking a sip of my beer. “More so than usual.”

  He looked like he wanted to whack the drink out of my mouth and hopefully take my teeth with it.

  “Maybe if you don’t want them to turn up you should stop advertising your gigs,” he said, looking around us. “I mean, I don�
��t really think it will affect your audience numbers.”

  Ouch. Joel was the super nicest guy everybody knew, but he also was good at turning on the bitchiness when he needed to. “That’s really sweet, Joel.”

  “As sweet as someone constantly telling his family he doesn’t want their support when they come out week after week to give it? To have not even slightly passive aggressive, but fully aggressive dedications given to them which basically say ‘leave me the fuck alone’? That nice?” Joel got red when he got angry. A bull would have been goring him by now if he had been in a ring. I kind of wished he was, and immediately hated myself for thinking so.

  “Then just give up on me,” I said. “Then you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  “Oh, you would love that. It would just feed your martyr fantasies about how nobody cares about you and you’re just a tortured artiste—”

  “Hey,” Mark said from behind us, “your mum wants to talk to you, Joel.”

  It was so obvious an attempt to break up our fight that it made my “fully aggressive dedication” look subtle in comparison.

  Joel sighed, and walked off. I was expecting Mark to join him, but he stayed.

  “What, are you going to start on me now?” I spat nastily.

  “It’s not my place.” He shrugged, as if he was already done with me.

  “Good.” I shrugged too, as if his words didn’t wound, and turned away.

  “But I think you’re making a huge mistake.” His tone was mild but his words were firm. There was no doubt he meant what he said.

  I didn’t want to hear it. “I thought you just said it wasn’t your place.”

  Mark glared at me. “Your brother means a lot to me.”

  That comment speared me. I wished I could find someone like that. But I couldn’t let him or the world know, so I made a production of rolling my eyes and said in a bored tone, “That’s great.”