3. Break Each Other
3
Break Each Other
Ms. Evelyn Winchester had a severe face with pencil-thin eyebrows, a pointed chin, and a no-nonsense bun atop her auburn head. Gray streaked the hair around her temples, and her gaze was always sharp. She made me squirm every time she looked at me.
In contrast, my dad’s lawyer, Carl, was a hot mess. Don’t get me wrong, he knew his stuff, but his ties were perpetually too loose, the knots crooked. A balding man with a round belly, he was a far cry from Atticus Finch. But he was personable, and, above all else, believed my story.
Both Carl and Ms. Winchester had that going for them.
“Unfortunately”—Ms. Winchester splayed her hands in defeat—“our hands are tied. Of course, you can press charges for sexual assault, but as your legal counsel, I can’t in good conscience encourage it.”
We knew it was coming, but every person at the dining table slumped like leaking balloons. Dad took my hand firmly in his as I glared at the tabletop.
Ben buried his face in his hands, then smacked the table. “So, he’s just gonna get away with it? That’s fucking bullshit!”
After the fucked-up blowjob and eerie calm Ben had adopted, his emotional outburst surprised me. I jumped in my chair at the sudden volume of his voice.
“Benjamin,” Aunt June admonished, shooting Ms. Winchester an apologetic look.
“Well, it is! He did it—I saw it.”
“We knew it would go down like this, Ben,” I said evenly, swallowing my disappointment. “It’s over.”
Dad scooted forward, patting the back of my hand in comfort. “Well now, you said we could still press charges.”
He shared a look with Carl, and the lawyer grimaced. “I know you want this, Charlie. But it’s not a strong case for us.”
“We can’t just do nothing.” Aunt June stretched across her husband to rub Ben’s shoulder.
“And we won’t do nothing.” Ms. Winchester folded her hands demurely on the tabletop. “While we do not have a strong case for assault, we do have a great foundation to pursue restraining orders. It’s our best course of action.”
Ben scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, and what’s Silas supposed to do when that psycho goes after him again? Huh? Wave the paper in his face?”
She nodded in patient understanding. “If he violates the order, we would have grounds to press more serious charges.”
“Yeah, after he attacks my boyfriend and does God knows what else to him!”
It was my turn to smash my fist on the abused table. “Jesus Christ, Ben!”
Refusing to back down, he turned his temper on me. “You can’t just sit there and act like you’re okay with this?”
“What else am I supposed to do? I’m not going to a trial I know I can’t win. I won’t drag my family through that for him to just walk away scot-free.” I leaned forward, jaw tight. “It’s over, Ben. Let it go.”
Dad’s hand on my shoulder helped calm me as Carl cleared his throat. “None of us are happy about this. But Evelyn is right. With only your two accounts for the first assault, and nothing but Silas’s word on the second…” He scratched his bald spot as Ben snorted derisively.
“Yeah, that second assault. Keep forgetting about that one.” Ben’s jab was followed by a particularly harsh glare in my direction, and I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Ben. I didn’t tell you that Boyt tried to fuck my mouth. Get over it.” I glowered right back as he swelled like a bullfrog.
“It would have been pertinent—”
“Your face is pertinent!”
Dad cut off whatever Ben was going to say in retaliation. “Boys, enough.”
Ben and I slouched into our seats at the same moment, purposefully avoiding eye contact as we sulked. The tension thickened as Carl and Ms. Winchester exchanged a look. Ben’s lawyer forged onward.
“We will work together to get the restraining orders submitted. With the evidence we have and the signed witness statements from friends and teachers, I can’t imagine a judge would refuse us. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this is a win.”
She was right about one thing; it didn’t feel like a win.
“Now, the restraining order will be amended to allow both of you and Mr. Boyt to finish out the year at the same school. It’s called a No Contact Suit,” Ms. Winchester continued, ignoring Ben’s snort and the obvious clicking of my dad’s grinding teeth. “Within school grounds, Mr. Boyt cannot instigate any type of contact—physical or verbal—without legal ramifications. Outside of school, he will not be allowed to come within five hundred feet of either one of you. If he does not comply, he will be in breach of the order, and we will have the opportunity to take further action.”
After waiting for confirmation that we understood, she distributed several manila envelopes. “I’ll need signatures. Do either of you plan to leave the state within the next few months?”
All eyes moved to Ben as his pen hovered over the signature line. “At the end of the month, I’ll be going to California. But just for the long weekend. Friday to Sunday.”
My jaw tightened, but I remained silent as Ms. Winchester scrawled herself a note. “I’ll be sure the judge is aware.”
“Does that affect our chances of approval?” Uncle Henry asked.
“No, but it’s better to have all our ducks in a row. I should be able to take care of any questions or concerns on your behalf should the judge need more information. But I do suggest staying close to home as much as possible until the orders are approved.”
“I can cancel—” Ben looked at Aunt June.
“It’s fine, Ben,” I bit out. “I’d get the hell out of here too, if I could.”
He rolled his eyes at my snippy tone. “Restraining orders are more important than seeing my friends.”
“Yeah, but it’s Caitlyn’s birthday, right?” I said, referencing Ben’s best friend from Cali.
Confusion and, for some reason, guilt flickered over his face. “Um, no. Her birthday is in the fall. Why did you think it was her birthday?”
My defenses rose automatically. “When I was using your phone last week to look up that song, a text came through from Caitlyn about the party—I didn’t read it. I just saw the word ‘party.’”
That strange guilt was back, and Ben dropped his gaze to the document requiring his signature. “Oh, right. Um, my friend Pat is celebrating his birthday early since I’ll be around that weekend.”
Patrick. His ex—at least, I was ninety-nine percent certain that they were exes, though I’d never been brave enough to ask. Ben was going to spend a long weekend in California with his unfairly attractive ex-boyfriend. And he hadn’t told me. Fucking perfect.
“Oh. Well, be sure to tell Pat happy birthday from me.” My smile could have cut glass, and Ben’s cheek twitched.
The adults at the table exchanged anxious looks but didn’t comment on our cool exchange. We scribbled our signatures where required, then sat in stony silence as Ms. Winchester and Carl relayed more information I immediately forgot.
“We’ll be in touch,” was Ms. Winchester’s farewell as she gathered her briefcase and coat.
“Can we go?” I tugged on Dad’s sleeve the moment the lawyers left. “Please.”
Ben shifted in my peripheral, but I refused to look at him until he cleared his throat and spoke. “Can we talk before you leave?”
“I have homework,” I lied, shooting Dad a pleading look. “Dad, I’m tired. I wanna—”
Ben’s voice was hard as steel. “Silas, I need to talk to you.”
At my pinched expression, Dad gripped my elbow and squeezed. “Don’t leave angry, son,” he whispered with a significant glance over my shoulder.
Angry, jealous, guilty about the happenings of a few hours ago in Ben’s bedroom, I stalked toward the kitchen with a growl. “Fine! Let’s talk.”
Ben trailed me, then passed me when I stopped in the mudroom, arms crossed over my chest. Apparently, he wanted more privacy for this argument and clomped down the stairs. I didn’t want to return to that room after my deplorable actions, but I had little choice. Ben stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting expectantly. Dad stood in the kitchen doorway and shooed me onward. I rolled my eyes again, then followed Ben down the stairs.
Once in his room, I leaned my ass against the pool table and hugged myself. “What is it, Ben? I have homework to do.”
He shut the door behind him. “You’ve always been a shit liar.”
“Fuck you,” I said without heat.
His chuckle was sharp. “I’m good. Thanks.” The following silence was awkward as hell. Ben rubbed the back of his neck, pushing a heavy breath through pursed lips. “Pat and I are just friends,” he finally said.
It took all my self-control not to scoff in disbelief. “Have you always been just friends?”
He didn’t answer, but his expression was enough.
“Yeah, I figured.”
“I was going to tell you,” he said.
This time, I did scoff. “Yeah? When? Once you couldn’t hide it anymore?”
An impatient breath whistled through his nose. “I wasn’t hiding it.”
“Then why didn’t you just tell me that he’s your ex?”
“I… I didn’t know how.” He winced when I cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Usually, boyfriends don’t like it if you’re friends with an ex.”
“You know what boyfriends don’t like even more than that?” I said. “When you lie about being friends with an ex.”
“When was I supposed to bring it up, huh? It’s not really something that naturally comes up in conversation.”
“So, you figured you’d just not say anything at all?” I demanded with a humorless laugh. “You realize that makes you an asshole, right?”
He tucked his hands into his pockets and nodded, his eyes on the floor. “You’re right. It was a shitty thing to do. I didn’t mention it because we had something good, and I didn’t want yet another thing to argue about. It was easier not bringing it up, but that was wrong. I’m sorry.”
The apology was sincere, but his tone vibrated with frustration all the same.
“Pat and I were friends,” he continued, still glaring at the carpet. “We were friends, and then we dated, and then we stopped dating because I was leaving and didn’t want to do long-distance. He was heading to college in LA after the summer, and I was here for a year. It just didn’t make sense to me to stay together when it would only cause us pain. So, I wanted to stop dating and go back to being friends, and we did.”
I winced. “You didn’t want to break up? How comforting.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhaled heavily, sounded tired. “That’s not what I meant. Pat and I weren’t good together like that, okay? But he was there for me during a time in my life when I needed someone. I can’t just turn my back on that because we sucked at being boyfriends.”
“Okay,” I said, and he scowled at me. “What?”
“That’s it? Just okay?”
“What else am I supposed to say?” I splayed my hands, and he raked an aggravated hand through his hair, releasing a frustrated noise.
“I don’t know. I just… sometimes, it’s hard to know what you’re thinking. Or if you’re being honest with me.”
This time, my laugh was cutting. “I don’t think you’re one to lecture me on honesty, Ben. You want me to tell you every goddamn detail of my life, but you don’t offer the same transparency. You’re a fucking hypocrite.”
“You lied to my face,” he said coolly, and I bit my tongue to keep from saying something I knew I’d regret later. “You looked me in the eye, and you lied to me about what happened that night behind the stage. Don’t act like that’s nothing.”
I nodded, working my jaw. “Of course. I mean, you deserve to know, right?” I met his gaze, and he took a step back. “You wanna know what happened?”
“Silas—”
“I’ll tell you.” I took a step forward, and Ben took an answering one back. “I’ll tell you every detail of how he chased me down like an animal in the dark. How he put his hand on my throat and squeezed until I thought he was going to kill me.”
Another step forward.
Another step back.
“How he told me that he was going to teach me a lesson. Teach me respect ,” I spat the word, and Ben flinched as his back met the wall. “How he pushed me down onto my knees and told me that if I didn’t behave, he’d hurt you.”
Ben’s expression crumpled. “Silas.”
“And I couldn’t live with that,” I admitted, voice breaking. “So I knelt like a good little faggot and opened my mouth—”
“Stop,” Ben said, and I stopped.
We stood toe-to-toe, both of us breathing hard.
“Why, Ben? Don’t you want honesty?” I threw the word back in his face, and his chin trembled.
A single tear escaped the corner of his eye and wriggled down his cheek, and something inside me fractured.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and the hands that cradled my face were trembling. “I don’t want to fight anymore, Si. I’m so tired of being angry. I just… I’m sorry, okay?”
My eyes burned, and my throat felt tight.
“I don’t want to fight with you. I want us to be on the same side.”
Swallowing the tears clogging my throat, I nodded. “Okay.”
Our foreheads met, and he shuddered. “I should have told you about Pat. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”
And I supposed I owed him. Tit for tat.
“I’m sorry I lied about Boyt,” I said, and Ben sighed.
“It’s not the same. I get that; I do. I just…” His next exhale quaked. “I want to keep you safe, and I can’t. And it kills me.”
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I held him tightly as he buried his face in my shoulder. “I want to keep you safe too.”
“Not like that,” he said fiercely, hands digging into my back. “I don’t care what he says, how he threatens, don’t you ever—”
“It doesn’t matter, Ben,” I interrupted him, petting his hair. “It’s over, okay?”
“You shouldn’t be on your knees for anyone,” he mumbled, and I chuckled dryly.
“I don’t mind being on my knees for you,” I said, and he pulled back enough to give me a droll stare. I smiled wanly, and he rolled his eyes. Then he kissed me sweetly.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips, and I released the remaining anger.
“I love you too.”
“Do you?” he asked, sounding so small.
I nodded. “Yes, Ben. I do.”
We stood that way for a long time, foreheads pressed together, hands clasped between us, breathing each other’s air.
At long last, I forced myself to say, “About what happened earlier…”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, Ben, it does,” I insisted, but he cut me off again with a hard kiss.
“No, it doesn’t.” He kissed me again and again, and I stumbled back as he added pressure to my hips. “Just be here. Right now. With me.”
And because I was a selfish asshole, I said, “Okay.”
Apparently, that was enough for Ben, and he kissed me, pushing me back until I hit the pool table. He lifted me by my thighs and sat me on the edge, stepping between my spread knees as his fingers dug into my thighs to the point of pain.
I didn’t flinch; I didn’t say a word. I deserved every prickle of discomfort, every bruised divot. And I wondered if this would forever be our fate. Loving so desperately that all we did was hurt one another. Grasping so hard that we’d eventually break each other.
Ben’s zipper rasped loudly in the quiet room, and I broke the kiss, lifting the palm of my dominant hand to his mouth.
“Lick,” I ordered hoarsely.
He obeyed.
And I cradled him against my neck as my spit-slick palm moved between us.
Ben panted into my skin.
He said, “I love you.”
And, “Only you.”
And, “All I want is you.”
Didn’t he know he already had me? I was his—mind, body, and soul. There was nothing left of me that he didn’t already own.
It was a precarious position. Because we were so fucking fragile, and we were already cracked, little spindles fissuring through the crystal surface.
I loved him. I loved him so much it would rip me apart.
And Ben loved me. He loved me so much he’d let me hurt him in the end.
Our balancing act couldn’t last, and I was terrified of the moment we’d eventually topple. Because once we fell, I knew we’d shatter for good.