Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs

Chapter 22

Damián was true to his word. They arrived at Dorothy's before there was a large crowd.

Alex could feel the music through the floor, up through his legs and into his chest. It made him slightly nauseous. His teeth rattled. He didn't know a gay club would fill him with such sensory issues.

Damián took his hand and weaved them through the crowd. He shouted something at Alex which he couldn't hear over the music blaring through the speakers.

Alex shook his head and shouted back, "What?"

"Do you want to get a drink?" Damián repeated, pointing behind him to the bar.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure."

"What do you want?"

"What do people drink at clubs?"

Heavy bass started again with a new song seamlessly beginning a few seconds before the second one ended. Another widely-acclaimed gay anthem. Another song that made Alex walk a little off balance up the few stairs to the bar.

Damián got them close to the bartender. All of the seats were occupied by people at least 10 years younger than Alex. He began to wonder if he had missed out on something during his younger years. Maybe he had missed out on some major queer developmental stage because he hadn't had any other gay people around him. No one besides his younger sister.

There was never anyone to talk to about how certain things worked. No one to ask where men met other men or what places other queer people liked to hang out. He couldn't even ask anyone how gay sex worked, and his frame of reference only ever came from articles from gay journals and—though he knew it was totally inaccurate—porn.

He worried, as Damián handed him a whiskey sour, that he had missed his chance at being young and carefree. Sure, his 30s weren't old. He wasn't knocking at death's door. But seeing the younger people surround him in rainbow tube tops and lace shirts, he felt there was never going to be a chance for him to experience that.

There had never been a group of 20-somethings that he had partied with and made dumb decisions only 20-somethings made. All Alex could do, with a little bitterness settling in his chest, was be with one other 30-something and make the dumb decisions 30-somethings made.

Damián led him towards the back of the club. The music was still loud, but it wasn't deafening anymore. They slid into an empty booth together.

"I'm going to give you a second to chill," Damián said. "And I usually don't drink all that much, but I did open a tab. So, if you want anything else, let the bartender know it'll be on my card."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! This is your first time out at a place like this! Let me take care of you!"

Everyone looked like they were having fun. Damián watched the people around them.

Damián reached out to lay his hand over Alex's. He looked really nice. He did wear the promised crop top. It was tight and showed off the wonderful way his waist pulled in like a triangle.

He was gorgeous, who was Alex kidding? He was so beautiful, it made Alex's heart ache.

Alex eventually felt the pleasant warmth of a buzz. He wouldn't call himself tipsy, but he did definitely relax. Sometimes he felt like he was born with tension in his shoulders, like his the stress there rivaled Atlas'. But it was all gone then. And maybe it was because of the drink or maybe it was because Damián was rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

"Want to check out some of the front?" Damián asked.

"I don't know."

"You don't have to. But if you want to see what the other gays are up to, it'll all be up there."