Chapter 21
21
LUKE
I stand in the atrium of the church, silent.
It’s not real. He’s not gone.
It’s a lie, I keep telling myself, as Mom thanks the attendees.
Wake up, Luke. Wake up, and you’ll find out none of this is real. Only a nightmare.
But the more people who talk to me, who say things like, “I’m so sorry for your loss, my poor boy,” the angrier I get that my eyes aren’t opening, pulling me from this horrible place.
When Brad touched me while I was enduring that horrible memory, a flash of awareness moved through me, and I knew what I had to do.
It’s not something I wanted to do. I wouldn’t think anyone would want to force themselves back through the worst memories of their lives. But I know like I know who I am that this is the only chance I have of having the Moment. It’s the only chance of saving people from the Slasher.
I’ve already been through the pain of being at the hospital with Mom, but my torment isn’t over. Not yet.
It’s after the service. We’re in the cemetery, watching as the coffin is lowered into the hole in the earth.
It’s not him, I assure myself, though I know better.
He wouldn’t leave me like this.
I turn to Mom, who puts a handkerchief to her face, unable to stifle her sobs.
Why does she keep crying when it isn’t even him?
“No!” I call out as I experience the pain I wouldn’t let myself feel the depths of that horrible day. It’s like nails driving into my chest, tearing me apart. I won’t survive this, I’m sure of it.
I should stop, but now that I’m in these memories, it’d take more effort to leave than to stay with them.
A flash between weeks, then months after the funeral, to a day when I’m sitting at the kitchen table in the afternoon.
He’s gonna come home. He has to. But why doesn’t he?
In my dreams he’s there, and he’s real, but then I wake and he’s not. Why?
Then comes a moment I remember too well, but it’s not like the other memories. It’s much later.
I’m in high school, and I finish my 5A championship, breathing heavily as I search for Mom, who hurries to me. Yet a part of me, some part that’s forgotten, even after four years, looks for Dad.
But he’s not around.
Tears stir in my eyes.
Don’t let her see. Don’t let her know.
But as her gaze meets mine…
Fuck, she knows.
I stuff all my emotions away. Push on like that didn’t just happen.
Now I’m in the hospital, and my uncle approaches, teary-eyed. He looks just like Mom did back when Dad died.
No, no. It’s not real. It can’t be.
It all comes flooding back. Every cruel moment. Her funeral. Stuffing down my emotions to keep it together long enough to make it through. Then the haunting moments, like with Dad, not the terrible, nightmarish moments, but beautiful moments when I wanted them to be there.
To see me.
To be proud.
To show me they loved me.
I’m opening a letter.
My acceptance to St. Lawrence. A rush of excitement runs through me, and I search around as if they’re somewhere here with me, for me to share it with.
But they’re not here.
They’re gone.
The pain burns within me like fire. It overtakes me, and suddenly there’s just darkness again, and I thrash about wildly as the sensations don’t cease with the memories. They go on, terrorizing me, and I cry out to the unjust universe for taking them from me.
I cry out, knowing only Brad can hear my pain.
Finally, the sensation releases me, and I collapse on my back, breathing deeply. The pain has ceased, and I feel something else move through me.
I know what this is even before it hits me fully. It doesn’t feel like relief, but like a quiet embrace of all that’s horrible and beautiful. An acceptance of this powerful grief. My body vibrates with energy, tingling all over, and it reminds me of the feeling I got when Brad first touched me.
As I close my eyes once again, I feel like I’m being embraced in a warm hug. I’m floating in what in my mind’s eye looks like an orange light, moving through me. It’s the energy Brad told me about, from the Rift.
Suddenly I’m aware I’m not just floating in my mind, but levitating, without needing Brad inside me. It’s not me doing it this time, though. It’s something beyond me.
As I open my eyes again, I find myself steadily drifting to the floor, before settling against it, this energy that possessed me dissipating, leaving me trembling.
The door at the top of the stairs opens, followed by footsteps. I don’t have to turn to know it’s him.
He hurries over and kneels at my side. “Luke?”
“It happened,” I whisper so softly, I wonder if he heard me.
“I know. I felt it.”
Despite the ease I feel now, I notice the terror in Brad’s expression.
“What’s wrong?”
Being so captivated by the experience, I’d momentarily forgotten what happened just before. And as the realization hits me, I look away.
“You don’t know how hard it was to keep from coming in here,” he says. “Knowing how much pain you were in. I can’t imagine how so much pain can fit inside this body of yours. God, Luke…”
I feel so vulnerable, so exposed. Like he didn’t just hear my pain, but witnessed those memories in my mind.
“I was right,” I say. “Those memories were getting in my way somehow.”
“What happened?”
I sit up, still unable to make eye contact. “It was like I was paying a price for not feeling so many powerful emotions at times when I just wanted to break down.”
I turn to him and notice his wrists; there are red marks around them.
“What are these?” I ask, taking his hands to assess them.
He looks to the floor. “When it got bad, I had to keep myself from coming down here. There was some rope bound around some old boards upstairs, so I knotted it around my wrists to distract myself. If I hadn’t, I would have broken the damn door down and forced you to stop.”
The wounds are deep, and in a few places, he’s drawn blood. “Oh God, Brad. Was it that bad?”
He hesitates, then says, “There was a moment toward the end where it sounded like you were dying. It was blood-curdling.”
Now it’s not just embarrassment that he’s heard me like that; there’s guilt too. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you to go. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”
“I wanted to be here, and I’m glad I was. It was like someone was hacking my arm off with a handsaw, so I had to restrain myself. But I would have rather that than leave you.”
My heart warms. Doesn’t surprise me. It’s the kind of guy I’ve learned he is.
“Luke…Luke, please look at me.”
He pulls his hand out of my grasp and runs his finger under my chin. Just like I did with those memories, I force myself to face him.
“You have nothing to feel guilty about. That was so brave. I don’t know that I could have done that even with half the shit I’ve dealt with in my life.”
I thought if our gazes met, I’d feel ashamed of what he saw, but I feel his sympathy, this tender side of him. I never would have wanted anyone to see me like that, but if someone had to, I’m glad it’s him.
I raise my hand to his face, stroking gently. He closes his eyes, and as he rests his face against my palm, he takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, his expression has relaxed.
I kiss him, hoping to soothe what remains of his worry for me. He doesn’t resist me, lets my tongue slip between his lips before his greets me.
Despite how much energy it took to have the Moment, as we kiss, my strength returns. I push against his chest, guiding him onto his back and straddling his waist.
Brad feels just as greedy for my kiss and touch. His hand slides under my shirt, running up my abs, around to my back.
A wave of inspiration overtakes me. I know what I want from Brad.
“Can I—I want to fuck you, Brad.”
Since we started messing around, I’ve been so obsessed with getting him inside me that, though it crossed my mind, I never fixated on it the way I am now. Maybe it’s because seeing him so distressed by my pain, I just want to put him at ease the way he’s put me at ease all those times he’s taken this ass.
“Please let me fuck you,” I beg, and fighting to speak between kisses, he says, “You can…do whatever…the fuck you want to me.”
He’s all fucking mine.
It’s not something I take for granted.
We remove each other’s clothes, our lips and bodies parting just as long as they have to until we’re naked. He fetches a packet of lube from his pants pocket.
That’s my Brad, always prepared.
We position our shirts and jackets so he can lie on them. There’s a chill in the air, but it’s quickly forgotten as we latch back on, our combined body heat and this special magic between us making it easy to forget about things like temperature. It’s like we’re not even in the church cellar anymore, but in our own world, one we’ve constructed from each fuck.
I’m lost in kisses until I manage to pull away from his mouth, kissing down his neck and body, nipping at his flesh, biting gently, licking. I make a quick stop at his cock to give it a teasing lick before running my tongue down around his balls, to his ass. I hook my arms under his thighs, raising them to display his ass.
I take a moment, just looking at how pretty it looks.
And it’s all for me.
I place a gentle kiss against Brad’s thigh. Then I ready myself with the lube and push my head against his tight hole. Our gazes meet, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he waits in anticipation.
He nods, and I push the head inside, watching as he closes his eyes and rolls his head back.
I take my time, steadily inching my way inside, watching as his muscles twitch and his cock firms beneath me. Slow and steady, I push in as he opens up for me. As I get that last inch in, he arches his back, and I lean down, resting my forearms on either side of him as I offer a kiss, appreciating how tight he is. How firmly his ass grips me.
“God, your cock feels so good.”
I pull out and then thrust back into him, then do it again, steadily building up my movements, watching Brad’s open-mouthed expression as he takes each push. We work together—as I push, he rocks his hips as we find that familiar, natural rhythm between us.
“Fuck me harder,” he begs. “Fuck me, Straight Boy.”
His lips tug into a smile, and how can I not laugh? This is what I love about messing around with him. The play, the fun that helps us escape all the bullshit.
But then I give him what he wants, putting in the work as I give him broad, intense thrusts. The way he rocks his head either way, opening his eyes enough for me to see them rolling, it’s clear I’m hitting the spot just right, which only encourages me as I continue to fuck him. His muscles shake with my movements as he moans before his eyes open, his gaze meeting mine.
Despite what he heard earlier, me at my absolute worst, I don’t see pity in his eyes, only appreciation. He sees past my defenses, past the pain in my soul, but it hasn’t scared him away, only drawn him in more.
I see this beautiful man, whom I’d once thought the biggest asshole I’d ever met.
But he has his own wounds. His own aches.
These aren’t things I look past. They’re part of what make him so beautiful to me. They’re part of what has given him this big heart. Part of what makes seeing his smile or hearing his moans of pleasure all the more intoxicating. Because I know what it takes to overcome that darkness in his heart.
And I just want to be here for him, allow him to use my body as an escape from it all.
Our instincts guide us through our experience as we change positions, like Brad won’t be satisfied until he’s tried my cock at every angle. I remember that feeling with him all too well.
We fuck until we’re panting and sweaty, both of us on our knees, me behind him, thrusting still. With my arms hooked around him, his cock in my firm grip, his ass claps as my hips slam against him. His muscles tremble as I kiss and bite at his shoulder.
“I’m not gonna make it much longer,” he admits. He sounds ashamed, like he’s disappointed he can’t give me more.
“Don’t worry, I’m about ready too.”
“I don’t want to blow until you’ve come in me.”
I lick my lips. Just the thought of my cum pumping into him makes the pressure swell.
“Look at me,” I tell him, and he turns his head, his gaze meeting mine once again as his hot breath pushes against my face.
And it’s all too much for me.
The pressure builds to its peak, and my movements pick up until I feel that explosive sensation.
“Yeah, give it to me,” he says, and I do, my body smashing against him as I fill him up. His cock tightens in my grip, and it’s clearly too much for him too because a moment later I feel the warmth spreading over my fingers as I pump him good.
I cling to him, our bodies shaking as we come down from the high.
After I pull out of him, he lies on his back against our clothes, and I curl up against him, tucking my face against his chest as I massage his abdomen with my cum-soaked hand.
“Thank you for that,” I say.
“I should be thanking you. That was amazing.”
It was.
But as I glance up at him, I see the worry has returned. As wonderful and necessary of an escape as it was, we both know what this means.
“Now that I’ve had the Moment,” I say, “we need to—”
“No,” Brad says, stroking my cheek. “Not tonight. Tonight, let’s just make this about you and me. We can deal with everything else tomorrow.”
I like the sound of that, but I know it won’t be that easy. There’s too much at stake. Still, I’m determined to make the best of it, so I rest my head against his chest, tugging him close. Clinging to him the way we plan to cling to tonight.