Just Couldn't Help Myself

Murphy’s eyelids fluttered a moment before they opened, his pupils huge. “Hey.” I said quietly beside him, and he turned his head to look at me, his eyes adjusting to the light. It was like he was focusing on me. “Are you okay?”

He licked his lips and folded his hands calmly over his stomach. “I fainted.” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“In your kitchen.”

“Yes.”

“Because of your talking cat.”

I hesitated, then looked away. “Yes.”

He chuckled. “Johnny,” when he said my name there was a tiny thread of impatience through it, “Would you like to explain to me how the fuck you’d think I’m okay after that?!” he’d started out calmly, but his voice had risen in volume and intensity, so that by the time he’d gotten to ‘after that’, he’d been nearly shouting. His breath hitched, and I looked at him. His eyes were huge and dark, swimming with far and confusion and anger.

“Murphy-”

“What the fuck is going on? I’ve gone crazy, right?” Murphy pressed his fingers to his temples and laughed bitterly.

“Well, actually, I thought I was the crazy one.” I told him, and he glared at me. “I didn’t think anyone else could hear him.”

“Oh, I fucking heard him.”

I sighed. “Look, I know you’re freaking out right now, and you have every right to-”

“You’re goddamn right I do!” he snapped at me.

“Maybe it’s better if he explains it.” I said, and glanced over at Lonnie, who was sitting on the window sill, looking moody.

“What-” Murphy followed my eyes to the cat. He made an odd shouted sound and flinched.

Lonnie rolled his eyes. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“Oh God.” Murphy covered his face with his hands.

“And you should’ve told him I don’t like being called a cat.” Lonnie told me, and we both looked at Murphy when he burst out laughing.

“Yea, that was my reaction, too.” I said quietly.

Murphy dropped his hands into his lap. “Every time I caught you talking to him, he’d been talking back?” he asked.

“Pretty much, yea.” I stood up. “I know he scares you, but I really think it’s best if you hear him out.”

“I’ll stay on this side of the room, if it helps.” Lonnie offered.

“What would help is for there to not be a talking fucking cat.” Murphy said flatly. “Where are you going?” he asked me angrily as I headed for the door.

“Kitchen.” I said quietly. “Just… listen to him.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever forget his voice, Johnny.”

“That’s sweet of you.” Lonnie quipped.

“Play nice, fuzz ball.” I pointed warningly at Lonnie, who looked away, making a disgruntled growling sound. I went out, and shut the door behind me.

I sat at the kitchen table and did nothing for over an hour. I just sat there, hands folded, and waited. This was what we’d discussed. It was Lonnie’s secret, and Lonnie’s mistake that Murphy knew, so it was Lonnie’s responsibility. Maybe that was a bit of a cop out on my part; I mean, Murphy was my… whatever we were… but still, what was I supposed to say? Lonnie had done this before, I hadn’t. It seemed for the best.

Eventually, I heard the bedroom door open, and Lonnie padded out, with Murphy behind him. He was watching the cat as he walked, his eyes intense, his face perfectly blank. I stood up and met him in the doorway.

“So?” I asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked at me carefully.

“So you have a talking cat that’s not really a cat.” he nodded his head slowly. “I’m not sure what you’d like me to say about the whole goddamn thing.”

“Well, are you okay?”

“It’s really a stupid question, Johnny.” Murphy muttered, and then surprised me by slipping his arms around my waist and rest his cheek against my shoulder. “We’ll see. It’s the best answer I can give you.”

I hugged him back. “So… you still want to see me?”

He pulled back and glowered at me. “You aren’t a talking cat.” he said. “He is. It’s not like you did something wrong.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief and kissed him quickly. “You’re taking this great.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to do? Freaking out won’t do anyone any good. Besides that, it happened. It’s real, and I can’t change that. It seems so pointless to guts nuts over this.” he shrugged.

We sat on the couch and talked for a while, then he went home. Lonnie hopped up on my lap as soon as he was gone. “Well, that went well.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not. Can we go to bed now?”

I picked him up and we went into my room and laid down. As I was finally drifting off, I heard something in the living room. I listened for a while, but when the sound didn’t come again, I closed my eyes and slept.

The next morning I woke up to the smell of coffee. A good smell, normally, unless you live alone. Startled and angry, I snuck out into the kitchen, hoping to catch my intruder-


-making toast.

Deacon was standing at the counter, drinking coffee out of my favorite mug and staring at the coffee machine. “Morning, Johnny.” he greeted without even looking at me. “You’re not very quiet. That hallways is creaky.”

“What the fuck are you going?” I asked him, stepping all the way into the kitchen. He looked over at me, his painfully blue eyes flickering down my bare chest and then back up to my face, his mouth twisting into a sly little grin. “What?” I snapped at him.

“Nothing.” he picked up a second mug and held it out to me. After a moment’s hesitation, I took it. “I had some free time, I thought I’d come over last night.”

“Last…” I scowled.

“I slept on your couch.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugged. “It looked lonely?” the toaster popped, and he turned and pulled the toast out of the slots. “Are you hungry?”

I sat down at the table. “What fucking time is it?”

“Ah…” Deacon pulled a pocket watch, of all things, out of the front left pocket of his black jeans and flipped it open. “Six twenty four.”

“In the morning?” I snapped.

“Yes?” he shrugged.

“You know,” Lonnie said from under the table, scaring the hell out of me. “He could be the devil.”

“He’s right.” Deacon said, and set a plate of toast in front of me. I stared at it, then up at him. “What?”

I pointed to the toast; which as buttered a sprinkled very lightly with cinnamon, no sugar. “How the fuck did you know I eat toast like this?”

He grinned. “Same way I know you take your coffee with two creams, no sugar, but in the winter, you use candy canes like stirrers to infuse the flavor in it.”

“And how’s that?”

“I’m the devil, obviously.” he said, completely straight faced. When I just stared at him, he burst out laughing and shook his head. “I’m fucking with you, lighten up.”

“You should check.” Lonnie said at my feet.

“That’s not really-”

“I don’t mind.” Deacon said, and before I could protest, he’d taken off his shirt.

Hoo, boy. Talk about way too early for that kind of eye candy. No matter what this guy was, he certainly had way too much good going on for my frazzled brain to handle. He was lean but heavily muscled, his shoulders were really, really broad, his nipples dark and small. There were tattoos, alright, but not the kind I was looking for. A looping, heavy black design that reminded me strangely of a dinosaur fossil, if it’d been drawn by H.R. Geiger, ran from just under his left armpit to the waistband of his jeans, and there was what looked, hilariously enough, like a heavily detailed compass rose around his belly button.

He let me look, then turned. His back was clean of tattoos, but all that crazy, inappropriate lust went right out of me when I saw the scars. They were long, ugly white, some of them almost an inch thick. They looked like claw marks, or whip scars. There was at least a dozen of them, crisscrossing over the muscles and planes of his back.

“Need to cheek here too?” he asked, putting his hand son the hips of his jeans, and my face flushed.

“I don’t-” I heard his belt buckled clink and he dropped his jeans to the floor. Yep, it was back. I felt overheated and about to pass out just looking at his damn near perfect ass. “Deacon, I really-” he turned then, and my mouth snapped shut, catching my tongue between my teeth. I tasted blood.

“See?” he said, and I made an little gurgling sound. He pulled his jeans back up, redoing his buckle, and flashed me a smile. “Satisfied?”

Uh, no? I swallowed a mouthful of blood. “So you’re not the devil.” I said, astounding and thankful that my voice sounded mostly normal.

“Nope.” he sat down across from me, shirt still over the back of the chair not being used, and drank his coffee. “We need to get to work, Johnny.”

“What?”

He rolled his eyes. “You need to learn how to slip.” he explained. “I don’t think we have a lot of time.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, scowling. “You know something. It hasn’t happened yet?”

He shrugged. “I just know we need to hurry.” he said vaguely. “So you need to eat, and we need to get to work.” he stood up. “I’m going to take a shower, okay?”

Before I could tell him that it was definitely not okay, he left the kitchen. I sighed and glared down at my toast. “Fuck.” I whispered.

Lonnie hopped up onto the table and sniffed Deacon’s coffee mug. “Did that work for you?” he asked.

“What?”

Lonnie looked up at me. “Look, if you’re not going to be gay for that guy, can I be?”

I resisted the urge to shove him off the table and ate my toast.