Chapter 12
Ben
Iwoke the following morning with a pounding head and bile churning in my stomach. I hadn’t even made it to my bedroom, passing out on the couch in the living room after drinking almost an entire bottle of whiskey after Tristan left.
I couldn’t stop myself from pouring shot after shot, not when flashbacks kept playing in my head of how it felt to have his lips on mine. What it felt like to have his hands wrapped around my cock. How damn intense my orgasm was.
Each time the memory played, my cock twitched as if it was getting ready for round two, and I kept drinking in hopes that I could block out the myriad of emotions pounding through me.
I should never have let it happen. I should never have kissed him back, and I certainly shouldn’t have fucking told him to touch me. But I was lost in the moment, with his hands on my body, and his tongue battling mine, all I could think of was that I wanted more, and I wanted it with him.
But as soon as we’d made each other come, the voices from the past started shouting in my head, and they were louder than ever, reminding me that I was disgusting and that something was wrong with me.
Reminding me that I didn’t deserve to have anyone in my life.
I had to get away from Tristan; the voices were too loud, and as shame coursed through me for what we’d just done, I could only focus on getting as far from him as possible.
I hadn’t expected hurt to flash across his face when I told him to get out, though.
And I hadn’t expected that look of disappointment to haunt me as the night wore on.
Not even the whiskey could remove that image seared into my brain.
Blinking against the early morning rays, I dragged my sorry ass to my bedroom. Not bothering to strip out of the clothes I’d changed into after Tristan left, I clambered into bed and pulled the covers over my head, intent on going back to sleep, and nowhere near ready to face the day.
I wished I could say I felt better when I woke several hours later, but it would have been a lie. If anything, I felt worse.
Trying to distract myself, I spent the day locked in my office attempting to work, but when my mind kept wandering back to Tristan, I gave up. Then, I spent the evening with my phone in hand, tapping out messages to him, only to delete them again.
When darkness fell through the house, and my head still hurt, I decided to head to bed early and hope that by morning, I’d have figured out what the hell I was going to say when I next saw Tristan.
The familiar feeling of being watched dragged me from my slumber. I sat up and flicked the light on, just like I’d done a few nights ago, only this time, I didn’t nearly shit myself at finding a figure standing by the window.
I knew instantly that it wasn’t Jake, and after rubbing my eyes a few times, I realized it was a woman. “Who the hell are you?”
She released a deep, throaty chuckle, one that made it sound like she was a heavy smoker. “Of course you don’t remember me. Wouldn’t have expected you to, darlin’.”
Recognition flowed through me at her voice and her calling me darlin’, but it couldn’t have been the person I thought it was; she was dead.
Wasn’t she?
“Barbara Thompson,” I whispered into the dark, nerves beginning to vibrate through my body.
Moving closer, she smiled, flashing her yellow-stained teeth. “Oh, you do remember. I’m flattered.”
“You died,” I stated, certain I’d read about her death last year.
She’d been found in the street several days after I evicted her, having succumbed to hyperthermia.
“No thanks to you, darlin’.” The word murderer flashed into my mind, and a pang of hurt shot through me. Was that what Tristan thought of me? Like Jake had done, Barbara sat on my bed, the mattress dipping and pulling me from my thoughts. “Let me guess, you think you’re dreaming.”
I raised a brow. “I must be. Ghosts aren’t real.”
She chuckled again. “Yeah, Jake said you would be skeptical.”
“I think I’m starting to go mad,” I muttered to myself, scrubbing a hand down my face.
She made it sound like she and Jake were buddies in the afterlife.
Briefly closing my eyes, she was still sitting there when I opened them again, staring at me with a smirk on her lips.
“What are you doing here?” I huffed. “And don’t say you’re here to give me a warning. I’ve had that speech from Jake.”
“Oh no, darlin’, I’m not here to warn you. I’m here to help you.”
“Help me do what?” I asked, morbid curiosity sweeping through me even if I was convinced this was a dream.
“To help you change, of course!” She clapped her hands together, the bang echoing around my newly decorated room and making me jump. “Unless you want to join Jakey with all those chains?”
I gaped at her, not sure what to say. What in the hell was going on in my brain for it to have conjured up something as ridiculous as this? Before I could begin to come up with an answer, cold hands landed on my arm, and my blood turned to ice.
Frozen to the spot, I could only stare back at Barbara, her blue-tinged lips pulling into a grin. “It’s time, Ben. Time to go back and face your past.”
I was starting to think this wasn’t a dream. My bedroom disappeared, replaced by a very familiar scene. The locker room of my old group home was exactly how I remembered it, right down to the stench of body odor.
“What the fuck?” I gazed around in disbelief, reaching out to press a hand against the cage that kept all the sports equipment in.
“You remember this place?” Barbara said, coming to stand beside me.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat as painful memories swirled in my mind. “Unfortunately.”
St. Michael’s was the third home I’d lived in, and the one I stayed in the longest. I didn’t remember anything about my past, other than growing up in care.
All I’d been told of my life before the homes was that I was two years old when my mom decided she didn’t want me anymore and had dumped me outside a fire station.
No one knew her name, and all that was left with me was a letter saying what my name and date of birth was, and that she was sorry.
I’d been placed straight into the system, and over the years, while other kids around me were fostered or adopted, I was left to rot in the hellhole of various group homes.
No one wanted me. I learned quickly that if I wanted to achieve anything in life, I could only rely on myself, and I worked my damned ass off to better myself.
A clanging sound echoed around the locker room, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I whipped around to see a young boy coming out of the showers, a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark hair dripping with beads of water.
I stared in bewilderment at the fifteen-year-old vision of me. He looked so real that I found myself reaching out to touch him, only for my hand to disappear through his chest.
“This is a memory, Ben. He can’t hear or see you,” Barbara clarified. “Do you remember what happened here?”
I nodded, unable to form any words to tell her what happened, but I didn’t need to. Right on cue, another boy appeared. My best friend, Henry. He was fully clothed, having showered earlier, but had come back to see what was taking me so long.
“Hey, there you are. I was looking all over for you,” Henry says, coming to stand in front of me while I dry off.
“Yeah, sorry. I was the last to shower,” I reply.
I grimaced at the image. I was always the last to shower. As I’d reached my teenage years, I found myself looking at my friends differently whenever we were in the locker room. I didn’t understand why seeing them without their tops on elicited feelings inside of me that girls didn’t.
The boys my age had started bragging about how they had kissed girls, some even going as far as describing how they’d gone to the next base with a girl. But I never felt that way whenever girls talked to me, and I knew why.
I didn’t want anyone to know that I was attracted to other boys, as it was something I was trying to understand, so I started showering last to avoid being around anyone. Especially after the time I got a boner in the shower with Henry and had to rush out to hide it with soap still in my hair.
Shaking the memory away, I returned my focus to the younger me.
“I can’t believe this is our last night together,” Henry says. He’s been fostered by a couple and is being moved to a whole new state. “Are you gonna miss me?”
I place a hand on his shoulder. “Of course I’m going to miss you. You’re my best friend. I…I don’t know what I’m going to do without you here.”
Sorrow flowed through me at remembering how I felt at that very moment. Henry and I did everything together. Losing him was like losing a part of me.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. But you better write back,” I reply.
“I’ll write every day.”
There was a pause, and for a minute, young me and Henry stared at each other. I knew what was going through my head at that very moment. A little voice told me to kiss him, something I’d wanted to do for weeks now, but hadn’t been brave enough.
The voice told me that this was my last opportunity, that if I didn’t kiss him now, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. It turned out, I would regret this moment, but not because I didn’t kiss him.
“I’ll leave you to get dressed,” Henry says, tearing his gaze away from me. “I’ll see you upstairs for dinner.”
“Okay,” I reply, my eyes dropping at a missed opportunity.
Henry starts to leave. He takes several steps, then pauses, and turns around. Another moment passes when we stare at each other, before he walks back to me, standing so close that I can feel his breath on my lips.
“I…” he says, trailing off as if he doesn’t know what to say.
I don’t know what makes me do it, but I lift my shaky hand and tentatively cup his cheek. He nuzzles against my palm, our eyes locked. And then he does something I didn’t expect. He leans forward, lightly pressing his lips against mine.