Covet Thy Neighbor

hurt you. I’ve never hurt you. Just because I’m a believer does not mean—”
    “You’re not just a believer, Darren, you’re a minister. You live, breathe, and preach the beliefs that damn near ruined my fucking life.”
    “No. No, I do not.” He stabbed a finger at me. “I had no part in that, Seth. What I live and breathe is the set of beliefs that makes me want to help kids off the street after they’ve been thrown out by parents like yours. How can you put me in the same category as your family?”
    “Because you’re fucking preaching out of the same goddamned book they used to fucking disown me!”
    Darren stared at me, his eyes wide and lips apart.
    “Sorry.” I paused, shaking my head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to curse, I . . .”
    His eyebrows rose. “You think the cursing was the most offensive part of that?”
    “Darren—”
    “No.” He put up a hand. “I’ve heard enough.” He reached for the doorknob. “And I’m glad we had this talk now. The sooner the truth came out, the better.”
    There was a two-second window between his hand landing on the doorknob and him making his escape. A few more seconds for him to get across the hall into his own apartment. Maybe fifteen total, a short window during which I could have stopped him. Or at least tried to stop him.
    But I didn’t.
    I let him go.
    My door slammed.
    Seconds later, so did his.
    I dropped onto the sofa and sighed, rubbing my forehead with the heels of my hands. I didn’t even know what to feel. Guilty? Relieved? Both? Fuck, I had no idea. All I knew was Darren was gone.
    Right across the hall, but definitely gone.

I made it through the next day on autopilot. The day after that, I could barely concentrate on my work, so I canceled all my afternoon and evening appointments, as well as the next day’s. That would hurt come the first of the month, but I’d have an easier time sorting out a late rent payment with Al than I would fixing or explaining a botched tattoo.
    This never happened to me. I’d worked on a giant, elaborate back piece just hours after a massive fight ended my last relationship. I didn’t let shit distract me from my work, but now, I was lucky I knew which way to point the tattoo needle. What the hell?
    I couldn’t stop thinking about Darren. It was like two film reels playing in my head at the same time. One was a montage of everything that made me miss him: the outreach, talking over beers, having amazing sex. And the other, running right beside the first, was that argument. I simultaneously saw us laughing over a shared joint and Darren looking at me like he was this close to tears. I heard him coming in the same instant I heard the door slamming.
    I was losing my motherfucking mind.
    Finally, I gave up on trying to clear my mind and decided I needed to cloud it a bit. I grabbed my jacket, the one with the plastic bag in the pocket, and went up to the roof. I pulled a chair and the small table out from under the tarp, and put them in my usual spot against the railing.
    I put the bag and lighter on the table, the mint tin clinking quietly on the hard plastic surface, but I didn’t roll the joint yet. There wasn’t much in the world I wanted more than to get as stoned as I possibly could tonight. Alcohol would only depress me. The weed would let me check out and not give a fuck for a few hours.
    Except my head was already a muddled mess. Too restless to get stoned? Wasn’t that an oxymoron? But, hell, I was so distracted and wound up, I couldn’t even remember the steps that would get me from this point to blissfully baked off my ass.
    I couldn’t sit still, so I finally got up and paced back and forth beside the railing. The wind fluttered the edges of the plastic bag still sitting on the table, but my lighter and the mint tin kept it from flying away.
    I glanced at the door leading to the stairs. A memory flickered through my mind of Darren wandering up here, sitting down, and joining me for a smoke. Sitting in one of those chairs across from that plastic table and taking a drag like he’d done this before. Totally relaxed and friendly, no clue at all about the conversation we’d eventually have in my living room.
    We’d just been two guys that night. We’d smoked enough to relax, but we’d still been coherent enough to talk. For a while, he hadn’t been a minister, and I had never been hurt enough by my church and family to be gun-shy about him anyway. Just two guys, a