DINER

- i.

They were lovers, once. 

(Which was funny, because Andrew hated to be called a 'lover' of anything, really.) 

Ben looked down at the barrel of his gun. His gun. That was a funny thought. His mother had always called him a sweet boy, if anything. And he really was. 

Up to that moment, probably. 

//

ii.

Andrew always had gum in his mouth. "Stops me from smoking," he told Ben, once, while they lay together in bed, with tangled sheets wrapped around their legs and their sticky breath mingling in the air.

Andrew hated anything remotely 'retro'. Which was why Ben was so amused when Andrew told him that he had applied for a job in George's Diner.

"You hate this," Ben said, once, when the diner was about to close and they were the only ones left there. 

Andrew rubbed at the counter with a dirty rag and sighed. "It's not all bad," he said. "I get paid to do this, you know. And I like strawberry milkshakes." He tapped at the glass with his free hand.

Ben idly stirred at his chocolate milkshake; something that Andrew always prepared for him whenever he came by. "Whatever happened to school?"

"I honestly don't know," Andrew said, after a while. 

They both said nothing after that.

//

v. 

"You're planning to kill me, aren't you." 

Ben woke up with a cold sweat, and he stared at the ceiling. Andrew lay next to him, as still as a rock. He listened to the sound of Andrew's heart beating, and he closed his eyes.

"I know what you're doing," Andrew said, softly. 

Ben kept his eyes shut.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't tell you everything," Ben said. He rubbed at his eyes, and blackness swirled around him, like broken constellations.

"So you're planning to kill me." 

"I'm not fucking planning anything," Ben said, sitting up straight. 

He opened his eyes.

Andrew was sitting upright; his back propped against the bed's headboard. 

"Go the fuck to sleep," Ben said.

Andrew reached out and touched Ben's cheek. "I love you," he said. "Always remember this." His fingers were shaking.

Ben didn't say anything.

//

iii.

Andrew was cheating on Ben.

The thought alone made him sick, and his stomach churned violently and his mouth tasted of copper and rage.

"I know I'm not the greatest boyfriend," Ben said, his fists clenched into a tight, hot ball.

Andrew was sitting on the couch cross-legged, with a newspaper spread out in front of him, and he shrugged. "You're not the greatest anything."

"I will fucking kill you," Ben said, voice soft.

Andrew cocked his head to the side. "Of course, babe. And then you can kill yourself too, and we'll die together. Happy. You don't want to die alone," he said, his voice growing with venom with every spoken syllable. "Nobody wants to die alone."

"What's his name?" Ben said, closing his eyes.

"Tom," Andrew said, and he got up and ruffled Ben's hair and walked out of the door.

//

i.

They were happy, once.

They took photos together and had matching ironic everythings--t-shirts, facebook statuses, blogs.

They shared the same bowl of cereal and they shared the same friends and they shared interests and they shared thoughts and ideas and they shared their love.

What nobody told Ben was how to live once that person stopped sharing. 

//

iv.

"I bought a gun," Ben said, hysterical.

Elena clicked her pen and closed her notebook shut. "Ben, I--"

"You have to break confidentiality, I know." Ben said. He shrugged. "Call the police at 9. George's Diner. Down Smith Avenue."

He rose from his chair.

"Ben, are you alright?"

"This will probably be our last session," he replied. The hysterical edge to his voice was lost and was instead replaced by a detached, monotone, "thanks for all the help for the past four years."

//

vii.

Andrew lay there in a pool of his own blood. 

And now he would do the same, Ben thought.

He gripped the edge of the counter helplessly. The bright red of his blood was only just visible against the maroon of the table.