Agoraphobia

Chapter 1

POV JUSTIN

I look at the door and remember the times I was so anxious to fly outside and go do something- anything- it wouldn’t matter. Now I’m fucking terrified of opening the thing. I’ve been in this apartment for years, ordering take-out, paying bills online- using money that my mother set aside for me for when I was retired. Ha! I have no job to retire from.

That money is running out fast.

TV rules my life, as does the internet. I like it. I’m ashamed of it. I have no friends- if I were to keel over dead, no one would care or even know until the smell of my decaying flesh was noticed by some neighbor. Or some bill wasn’t paid.

I worry about that happening- dying alone in here. I have a beautiful dog and two very annoying cats. I take as good care of them as I can. They chase each other all over the apartment and it drives me crazy- I find myself screaming at them, which only eggs them on. It’s ridiculous. But, they’re my only ‘friends’. I envy Georgia (as in O’Keefe), my dog, who jumps and paces at the door to the small yard, longing to go outside. That’s my girl.

So, here I am, watching a re-run of Law and Order- a daily ritual, of course. I’m suddenly startled by a knock on my door. It scares the fuck out of me- not just because of the sudden noise, but because there’s someone out there wanting to come in- and I haven’t ordered any delivery or anything. I’m very nervous about strangers. Georgia starts barking like a banshee. She does that- until the door opens. Then she backs off and hides behind me.

Hesitantly, I walk towards the door and peer into the peep hole. And I see the most incredibly beautiful man I have ever seen- and as a TV afficionado, I have seen the most beautiful people possible. Until now. Without even asking who he is, I fling open the door.

What the hell is wrong with me? This could be a fucking axe murderer!

“Can I… I help you?” I stammer, staring at this gorgeous stranger. The artist in me quickly assesses his appearance; he’s taller than fuck- 6’2” or 3” or so, I’d estimate; chestnut hair; full, coral lips; long dark brown lashes framing the most incredible, large gold-flecked green-hazel-brown *whatever the fuck* eyes. I admire his strong jawline and noble nose; and his physique- fuck, his body is unbelievable.

Needless to say, I’m itching to sketch him. Shit- listen to me- I’ve looked at him all of 5 seconds and my desire to put this beautiful man’s image on paper is only trumped by my cock being harder than it’s ever been. I pull my bathrobe closer around me trying to hide it.

He raises an eyebrow at me curiously- or maybe it’s knowingly; I can’t tell. Fuck. “Yeah, I hope you can help me. I just moved in next door and I was wondering if you knew of a good take-out place nearby. Chinese or something.”

I just stand there speechless, like a fool. Not just because I’m so attracted to him- I’m also not used to talking to people who aren’t just delivering me food and making change. The art of conversation is not the kind of art I’m good at by any means. ‘But fuck me- this isn’t really conversation- he just asked a simple question, Justin!’ I admonish myself.

After a few moments, his eyes shift a little and so do his feet, obviously taken aback by my intense scrutiny. “Er, never mind. I’ll go to the neighbor on the other side of me. Sorry to bother you.”

“No- wait-” I blurt out. “Stay, please. Listen, I’m just not used to visitors is all. I have at least 20 menus for delivery; I’m sure they do take-out too.”

There’s a pause.

There, see? My lack of social grace has pretty much left this guy unimpressed- or thinking I’m nuts. I’m either blathering like the village idiot or staring at him like the village perv. And again, this is the first person I’ve talked to who wasn’t simply delivering me food or booze from the corner store.

But I notice that the guy hasn’t split, hasn’t run screaming down the hall to call his realtor to put his apartment up for sale – or call the police to say there’s a lunatic in his building. To say I’m surprised is an understatement. That’s what *I’d* do if I met me right now.

“What’s your name?” he asks calmly, a small smirk on his face- he seems to recognize that my awkward yammering is in response to him. He eyes me and it seems he likes what he sees- but I’m not sure. “And who’s your friend?” He smiles, gesturing towards Georgia, my wonderful watchdog who is standing behind me oh-so-bravely, looking at Brian curiously- usually, she looks apprehensive. Right now, she looks curious. Hm. “Is she friendly?” he asks, crouching down.

“She’s um… wary of strangers. Her name’s… Georgia… O’Keefe. I’m… Justin.” Fuck. Could I stammer more??

Georgia shocks me as she jogs right up to Brian as he crouches down; she’s wagging her tail and he chuckles as she licks his face and tries to climb onto his crouched thighs. He ruffles her ears and tries not to roll over backwards from the onslaught of affection. I have never ever seen Georgia do this- she doesn’t even do it to me; probably because I never greet her at the door- I’m a constant- I’m never out so I never come back. We’re best buds, but there’s no need for an enthusiastic greeting in our circumstances. What’s odd about this though is Georgia typically hides behind me when a delivery person comes to the door- and even if the person tries to make an overture towards her, she backs away, wary, growling. And they’re *bringing food*. This guy *wants* food.

This man finally regains his balance, picking her up gently by her front legs and placing her back on the ground in front of him and he stands, smiling. “I love dogs,” he says simply. “I’m Brian, Justin.”

“B..Brian.” I like that name. “It seems dogs love you back; Georgia never acts like that with strangers. Sh…She doesn’t even act like that with me.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on that. “Well, Justin, welcome me to the neighborhood why don’t you, and let me in to see the menus you have? I’m starving and I don’t know Philadelphia at all.”

Shit, I wish I could be so smooth. I stand here dumbly for a moment staring at him.

”Justin? Am I making you nervous or are you always like this?” Well, at least he’s direct. I appreciate that.

“Both,” I answer before I can stop myself. He grins cockily. “Um, but come on in. Sorry- the place is a real mess…”

He waltzes in and looks around. “Yeah. It is.” I’m still standing with my hand on the doorknob, watching him. Fuck- I’m being so creepy! Georgia follows on his heels.

Then he bee-lines to my desktop- aw fuck! I was checking out porn sites! Gay porn sites! What if this guy is actually a homophobe and he kills me?

Well, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad… to have the end to my misery at the hands of this intriguing man. But my gaydar, while rusty, senses he’s gay, too. I’m 99% sure, given the sly looks and smirks he’s given me.

After glancing at the website on the computer, he turns to look at me with a slightly wicked smile on his face and an eyebrow cocked; but he says nothing. Definitely: Gay. My hard dick twitches. Shit.

I hurry over to the kitchen to hide my ever-reddening face (and burgeoning erection). I get to the drawer with all the menus, wishing I could go turn off my monitor to hide what he’s just seen- but of course, doing that would mean I’d have to get physically close to him- and being close to that wicked grin and those beautiful eyes - I’d probably come spontaneously. That’d be just perfect right about now, eh?

At least he didn’t seem to think it's fucked up that I was cruising gay porn sites- which doesn’t surprise me. He doesn’t strike me as being at all prudish- he actually strikes me as quite the opposite with his calm cockiness. Which, I have to admit, is a little intimidating…

I avoid his eyes, open the drawer in the kitchen island and pull out the multitude of menus I’ve lived off of for so many years.

I look up and notice that he’s now right across the counter watching me and, startled, I impulsively thrust the menus towards him on the counter and avert my eyes again. He’s so fucking close I can smell him- he smells wonderful. He smells clean, masculine, sexy- and I have to get away from him as soon as possible. Seriously- I may come.

He chuckles. “Shit, Justin, you are definitely a slob.” He comments frankly, gathering the scattered menus into a neat pile; I bite my lip. I know I’m a slob, but he doesn’t have to be rude about it. “Justin.” He repeats my name and despite myself, I get even harder than I had been. Thank fuck for this kitchen island between us. His voice and demeanor are so even, self-assured and confident, I find myself staring at my nail-bitten finger drawing invisible circles on the counter like some shy schoolgirl. “Hey, Justin,” he says more quietly.

I dare to glance up.

“Thanks for helping me out. I really am new to the city and don’t know much about it- I didn’t have much time to research it and its restaurants before they transferred me here; and I cook for shit.”

Tentatively, I see that he’s actually probably a gentle soul with a decidedly mischievous side- and that’s just my impression so far. I mean, I’m pretty sure he knows what effect he’s having on me and until his last comment, I suspect he was having fun with it. When he saw how flustered I was getting, though, he toned it down. So I smile at his comment. “Well, I don’t get out much, but I can tell you some nice spots to go.”

“I’d rather if you’d accompany me,” he says simply, genuinely- and I freeze.

What the fuck do I say to *that*? ‘I’d love to go with you but I don’t leave this pitstain apartment for any reason?’ “Um, as I said, I don’t get out much…” I say in a near whisper.

“How come? You’re a good looking guy- I’d think guys would want to be seen with you in the ‘Gayborhood’.”

A little shocked at that last statement, I blush furiously. ‘Good looking guy?’ I think.

“’Gayborhood’?” I repeat dumbly.

“Yeah, sure- that’s the only research I did before getting here-- time was short- it’s the main gay area of town- Philly is apparently very gay friendly and I’m going to check out the ‘Gayborhood’ as soon as I’m settled. You don’t go there?”

“No. I’ve never even heard… heard of it.” Why am I embarrassed by that? “As I said- I- I just don’t. I mean… well, I just don’t get out… much,” I say again stupidly. But it’s none of his business, frankly.

“You don’t ‘get out much’- or you don’t feel safe to leave this apartment?”

“I just don’t get out much!” I nearly shout, surprising myself at my reaction.

His eyebrows go up in surprise at my sudden flare of temper- which it really isn’t- it’s more… shame. “Why the fuck not?”

“None of your goddamned business!”

There’s a pause and he steps back, obviously thinking I’m insane. “You’re right- it’s not. Thanks for the menu. I’ll give it back when I’m done with it- I’ll slide it under the door so I don’t bother you,” he says simply, and moves towards the door.

I stand there and stare at his back as he’s walking to the door.

“Um.”

He doesn’t stop and keeps heading to the door- either he didn’t hear me, or ‘um’ doesn’t mean anything like, ‘stop, don’t leave’ to him. Why would it?

“Brian, wait,” I manage.

He stops and turns to face me. Georgia sits beside him, looking up at him adoringly. What is up with her?

“Why should I wait?”

“I don’t leave the apartment because I just don’t…” I can’t explain it, really.

“Justin, you were right before- it’s none of my fucking business. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

Why do I feel like I *do* owe him one? Is it because this guy isn’t scared of the – well, frankly, the strange way I’ve been acting? Or that he actually asked me to dinner and I want him to understand it’s not the company I’m afraid of- it’s leaving the apartment? Well, the company does scare me, but not because it’s him. It’s just because it’s *another person*. “I know I don’t owe you an explanation. I just… it’s just that I don’t leave here ever- I would love to leave and have dinner with you. But I can’t.”

“Justin, that’s fine. You do what you have to for you.”

“Fuck it. You don’t understand. Welcome to th… the neighborhood. A... As you said, just slip the menu under the… the door when you’re done with it. Or keep it. I don’t care…” I'm sure he can hardly hear me now. With that, I back away and then turn and try not to run into the bedroom. Once there behind the closed door, I throw myself onto the pile of dirty laundry on my bed and wish I were anyone else but myself. I keep hoping to hear the front door shut so I won’t have to face this man again with his oh-so-direct manner and his calm, cool and collected demeanor, so opposite of my own. I won’t have to face myself at all and how transparent I must be. I won’t have to face the blunt statements and questions this stranger asks.

Then things can go back to normal and maybe I can catch the tail end of the Law and Order episode I was watching before my world tilted when he showed up at my door with an innocent request for a menu.

But I don’t hear the front door. I hear my bedroom door open and then quietly click shut. I grab my pillow and fold it over my head- “Go away!” I yell, muffled into the pile of laundry.

“Justin?” he says quietly.

“Why the fuck are you still here?”

“What the hell is with this hostility? Listen, Justin, I don’t know you at all and I don’t know what’s going on with you. I didn’t expect my question would get you so… make you into such a drama princess. So just forget it, okay? The last thing I need to do at this point in a strange city is make a fucking enemy of my next door neighbor. I make enough enemies in my fucking job. So, forget I said anything, and I’ll slip the menu under the door and no hard feelings.” With that, he reopens the door. “Maybe I’ll see you around. If not, thanks for the menu- as I said, you’ll get it back under your door. If you want, I run every morning and Georgia can come with me if you… can’t… get out to walk her. The yards with these garden level apartments are pretty small. You can leave her in the yard and I can get her there for a run and then let her back into the yard- we won’t have to see each other that way. She seems to be very active- I thought a little running might help her let off some steam. And she and I seem to get along. So, just let me know.”

‘Let you know’? I think to myself. How? I can’t leave the apartment to ‘let you know.’ And then I think: ‘don’t leave.’

With that, he leaves. And I lay here in the dark wondering what the fuck just happened, what the fuck to do about it.

As usual, I do nothing. I go back in the living room, grab a bottle of vodka, go to the sofa and turn on the TV to blot out the real world.

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