Love Lies Bleeding, Remmy Duchene [moboreader .TXT] 📗

use once they graduated. When the shuffling began, Anderson knew time was up.

"Don't forget!" he shouted above the ruffling of chairs, zippers, papers and the like, "your paper on Homer's Odyssey is due next lecture. Therefore if you haven't started it yet, now may be a good time." A few nervous chuckles erupted from the departing students and Anderson had to laugh and shake his head. He watched the students all leave, waiting to see if any of the regulars would have any questions or comments on the day's topic. When no one stuck around, he exhaled and slipped back into his darkened, fatherless world. It was harder to get out of bed since his father's murder, but he did it. He'd shoved his feet from the bed, showered, laced his coffee with Jamaican white rum then walked the block to campus from his home. By the time he got there, he would have sweat out the alcohol and was left blissfully numb. The numbness didn't last and by the time his second lecture of the day rolled around, he could feel everything, twice as much.

Anderson glanced at the clock.

"Fuck!" he swore. "I am so late!"

Quickly, he shoved his copy of Jane Eyre into his bag, followed by the surprise quiz he had dropped on the students that day. Yanking his jacket off the back of a chair, he tossed the bag over his shoulder and breezed out the door. He was late for pretending to be straight and completely in love with some model or another for his best friend's latest music video. He hated it, but if Byung Ho Fung had asked Anderson to move the earth, Anderson would have found some way to do it.

Anderson had no ill feelings for women. He thought they were beautiful creatures, but they never did anything sexually for him. Give him a sexy, intelligent, independent man and Anderson would be in heaven. Being one of Byung's video actors was supposed to be a one-time deal after the original model had gotten hurt. How someone could injure himself during sex escaped Anderson but he wouldn't judge. After that video, the directors were so impressed with Anderson, they were absolutely gushing.

"Taxi!" Anderson flailed a hand above his head.

The yellow machine skidded to a stop before him and Anderson hopped in, gave his destination, and slipped back into the seat. Then, he released his control and let memories of his father flood his mind completely. Judge Jazmon Williams spent his life putting away the bad guys. He always told Anderson, "Andy, I'm doing this for you and your mother. I have to make the world safer for both of you."

Anderson pressed his eyes shut. Pain vibrated through him, causing tears to sting his eyes.

"Easy, Andy," he whispered huskily.

"You sayin' somethin', brotha?" the cap driver tossed over his shoulder.

"Nah, man." Anderson sat forward and inhaled deeply. When the car finally stopped, Anderson wasn't ready to face what was ahead. But he was doing it for a friend, a brother. He paid the cab fare and watched the cab drive away until it was a tiny yellow dot intermixed with other cars all running in the same direction.

"'I didn't really expect you to come for this," Byung Ho Fung's voice interrupted Anderson's daze. The literature professor spun around and was instantly in the arms of the Chinese actor/singer.

"I know. But I did promise." Anderson managed a smile while returning the hug. He knew the madness that was to begin and was not looking forward to it.

"Andy, your dad just died…"

"And I need to keep moving. If I sit down, I start thinking and wondering what I could have done better than the tears and the feelings of helplessness—let me do this. Please."

Byung said nothing for a long while, but inhaled and nodded. "All right, bro." He waved to someone and the man instantly lifted a bullhorn to his lips.

"Makeup!" he hollered.

Anderson flinched.

Soon he was shirtless, in a white pair of satin pajama pants, lying in a bed with white sheets with a rather pretty Chinese brunette writhing against his body to the music of Byung singing "Tell Me Lies". The song was something Anderson knew all too well with the last two men he had dated. It was about a man who knew his lover was lying about her love and her loyalty to him, but chose not to face the lies in return for keeping what he thought was pure love. The men Anderson dated all told him what they'd thought he wanted to hear. They'd all whispered sweet nothings to him and a part of him loved the fact they were saying those tender words of love. They were the lies he was willing to tolerate, to take in, but soon he realized they were no good for him. They were slowly tearing him apart and he couldn't allow that to happen. They were stealing his control and Anderson would rather die than give that up.

Oh, to be in willing denial, he thought to himself.

Each time the director yelled "Cut!" his mind would shift gears from relationships to his father then to the detective who'd questioned him. Maybe if he thought hard enough, he could remember something to help. Something in the background when his father called him that morning to remind him of their date—something in his father's voice, anything that could catch the person responsible. But the director called "Action!" again far too soon and the thoughts got lost.

By the time the day finally ended, Anderson invited Byung to spend the night. They charged through the front door of Anderson's house and plopped down onto a sofa. Together they exhaled.

"What a day," Byung moaned.

"I feel you," Anderson jargoned softly. "I thought about him today."

"I told you. You didn't have to do the shoot."

"And I told you, if I didn't do it, I'd drive myself crazy."

"Have you spoken to anyone down at the precinct about the murder?" Byung wanted to know.

Anderson inhaled deeply