Although he never cared much for Peter Saunderson, Harry could not help but pity him. One night, years back, Harry had been rushing to get ready for a date with Katrina and had banged on the bathroom door.
“Peter! When the hell will you be out of there?”
“Go away.” Peter groaned.
“Just tell me. How long?”
“Fuck off, Jenkins!”
Harry leaned hard into the door. “I want to brush my teeth and shave.” He banged again. “Let me get my stuff, and I’ll use the kitchen.”
“Open the fucking door yourself, asshole!”
Harry turned the knob, and the door swung open.
Peter, shirtless, was bent over the sink. Straightening up, he lowered the towel from his face and turned to Harry.
“Jesus, Peter,” Harry whispered. “What happened?”
Peter’s face was black and bruised. Blood flowed from a slash on his cheek. His chest was covered with nasty welts. He sat heavily on the toilet seat.
“What d’you think? I was beaten up.”
“Let me take you to the hospital.” Harry moved toward him.
“Stay the fuck away!”
“Who did this to you?”
A sob broke Peter’s voice. “The whole goddamned fucking world did this.” He held out the blood-soaked towel. His face was swollen into a Halloween mask.
Harry wet another towel and began to dab Peter’s forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“Couple of guys in the park jumped me. One held my arms back, and the other beat the shit out of me.”
“But why? What were you doing?”
“What the fuck do you think? I was doing absolutely nothing. I cut across Queen’s Park to get to class. They called me a pervert, a queer.” Peter stifled another sob.
“Did you tell the cops?” Harry began to work around the bridge of Peter’s nose.
“That’s really funny. The cops would probably give them a medal.”
“I think you need stitches.”
Peter shoved his hand away. “Don’t try to play the Good Samaritan, Harry. Most of the time, you treat me like I’m some piece of shit, that’d pollute your pristine self.”
“But I don’t mean …”
Peter’s laugh was ugly. “You know, I don’t get it,” he began quietly as he dabbed his lip. “Guy like you sees a girl, and right away you get a hard-on. The whole fucking world says, Great guy! Go get laid. I can’t help it. Same thing happens when I see some guy. Then everybody yells sicko! Pervert! Then they beat the shit out of me.”
Peter turned to Harry. Tears ran down his bruised and swollen face. “And it’s not the first time, either. Is that fair?”
Harry had no words. He just shook his head.
Giving Harry the finger, he said, “So, Jenkins, get your stuff out of here and leave me alone.”
Torn from his recollection, Harry stretched back in his desk chair. Being gay certainly had made Peter’s life hell, at least in the early years. Maybe it was the pain, all bottled up, which had made him so vicious and cunning. He just knew Peter had a lot to do with Katrina’s leaving—the end of his first serious love affair. He shook his head, wondering if life had become any easier for him since then.
