Chapter 8
Acouple of days passed in uneventful boredom, when Spencer just kept drinking and smoking in his room, with the occasional visits from Mia, and sometimes his friends.
Scarce words exchanged with Duncan, as if since that painting session, he had grown distant, locking up into that hateful self he had built as a shell.
Waiting one night to be driven to the vernissage of one of his parents’ friend’s exhibitions, he seemed bored, already stoned out of his mind when the car pulled up.
Duncan opened the door for him, worried a bit at how he was already unsteady. “Sure you want to go?”
Spencer looked up at him, mocking. “Yes… sure… Shoo-shoo…”
Duncan closed the door, fed up.
But he followed the parents’ car to that posh exhibit hall, filled with posh people standing with drinks in their hands.
The crowd thick outside. His stomach clenched, because this was not supposed to be an event like this, but apparently, the party had been spread to the street too, at least, music was blaring from the speakers and people danced, cheering at the arriving guests.
Duncan parked the car near the curb, and went around it. He caught Spencer’s arm when he scrambled outside.
“I’m fine…” Swaying, so Duncan waited until he could stand.
He let him go then, trailing him as Spencer walked to the entrance, waving at his fans. He had white pants and a jacket on, a ruby red shirt, half open, and shoes with thick heels. Duncan wished he had put on something steadier, but there was no other choice but to escort that young idiot inside.
He stood then near the wall, watching Spencer’s mother drag him to their friend, a tall man with silver hair.
Watched that guy stroke down Spencer’s arm, plant a kiss on his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth.
Fuck. A tiny flame in his chest, but he laced his hands together, just exchanging a quick look with the others.
The night spent watching Spencer drink, his glass filled as soon as it got emptied.
Wobble around to watch those paintings which didn’t make any sense to Duncan, dragged then to dance by that painter guy.
Spencer’s parents had gone home, of course, so Duncan just waited, mildly fed up.
Hoping he didn’t have to wait near a room whilst that guy fucked Spencer’s brains out…
Sighing, he leant a bit against the wall, drained, but his eyes stayed on them, dancing, close.
The guy’s hand sliding on Spencer’s ass.
Fuck. The doors burst open then, and the crowd piled in as the music went wild, lights flashing.
Duncan pushed through the crowd to get to Spencer, glimpsing his white jacket flashing amongst all those writhing bodies.
Wanting to get closer when Spencer was being dragged away.
Shit. Maybe he wants it though… a small thought until he met Spencer’s wide eyes flooded with despair.
Fuck! Duncan shoved the humans in his way as he plowed through the crowd, ignoring the cries, the blows on his back.
Giving some punches back, precise, bones crunching under his fists.
His knuckles scraped raw, he reached Spencer the moment that guy was dragging him to the back.
Not even asking, he punched the guy in the face, leaving him to stagger, cup that bleeding nose.
Duncan grabbed Spencer, hard, yanking him against him.
Now, to the door… Checking where he was, he held Spencer close, shielding him with his body as blows rained on him.
Pushing people out of the way with his right arm, he held Spencer tight by the waist, almost carrying him.
Feeling Spencer’s arm go around his back, clutch his jacket tight.
Spencer just held on tight, his heart hammering above all that haze.
Wedged against that warm, hard body, feeling his iron arm around his waist. Glimpsing when he could look that he was sheltering him with his body.
He came… he was there… Almost fainting, he clung to him, trying to breathe.
Hearing Duncan’s small grunt when he got hit or somebody rammed into him.
That breath of fresh air as they spilled out into the night.
Shouting, but it was blurred as Spencer’s legs gave…
but he felt being lifted, carried with great pain.
The door. The car seat. The belt. He tried to speak, amidst all that fright, and his senses blown to pieces.
“You… you…”
“Just shut up. We’re leaving.” A small concern in that voice. “You’re well enough for home? Hey…” Shaking. Darkness.
He blinked awake, his eyes on all that glowing white above him… this is death… maybe… breathing though, so he licked his parched lips, that familiar taste of charcoal lining his mouth… oh… ok… The room coming into focus. He rolled his head to the side, meeting those stern, grey eyes.
“Hey… hospital?”
“Fuck knows what got put into your drink… so yes.”
Spencer caught that light bruise on his jaw. “You got hit?”
Duncan shrugged. “Comes with the job.” Trying to ignore all the other bruises on his body.
Spencer closed his eyes, those lips smudged in black, in a bitter smile. “You would die for me? Me…”
“Yes.”
Spencer grinned. “Wow… your life for my shitty one… great trade.”
“It’s my job, so yes, if protecting you means I die, then that’s it.”
“No one to mourn you, Righteous?” It had come out soft, as if he was talking about himself, that grief laced in his voice.
“No. Not anymore.”
“Would you mourn me?”
Duncan swallowed that bitter grief lining his mouth. “I’d mourn your life.”
“Clever answer.”
“Whatever…”
“My parents?”
“I called them but they’re off on their holiday so… they said you should take care and behave.”
Spencer whined a laughed. “Ah, always the caring… Fuck them… I need...”
“Nothing. None of your fucking poisons here.”
Spencer looked at him. “I was joking, although…” Stretching his hand in front of him, watching it tremble.
Duncan rose and rang for the nurse. She arrived fast, and he turned to her. “Mr Galloway is an alcoholic, so please make sure he doesn’t slip into a coma or something… his hands are trembling.”
Spencer’s eyes went wide. “I’m not an alcoholic!”
The nurse looked at Duncan. “I’ll talk to the doctor.” She hurried away then.
Spencer had pushed himself to sit, seething. “Just because I drink more than you do… doesn’t mean I’m an alcoholic!”
“Keep lying to yourself and all will be fine? Your hands are shaking and you look like shit. You’d kill for a drink now, mhm? That’s what alcoholics do. You need your drinks to function, so I’m making sure you don’t die of withdrawal, because sure as fuck you won’t die on my watch.”
“Oh, part of the job, right?” That hate had flooded his eyes.
Duncan’s lips parted, torn between being pissed to no end and bathing in that worry for that young fool.
“Yes. The job. But I also, somehow, care a bit about that sorry ass of yours. I can’t change who you are, can’t tell you not to drink, I can’t tell you shit.
All I can do is make sure you don’t die yet… that you give yourself a chance.”
Spencer smirked, leaning back, ash white. “How righteous…”
The nurse came back then. “We’ll put him on meds.”
Spencer swallowed his nausea. “Great…”
Duncan crossed his arms. “You’ll feel better.”
Spencer kept his eyes closed. That small fright there that he needed meds, that Duncan cared at all. He shouldn’t care… brute… nobody cares… Nobody had ever given a shit about him. His phone, silent, he didn’t even try to reach for it on the nightstand. Fuck everybody…
“Go away.”
“No.”
Spencer just smiled, swallowing that lump in his throat. “I’m your boss.”
“The fuck you are.”
“Semper fi…” Soft, almost on the verge of collapsing into darkness.
“That’s right.”
Duncan watched him slip into sleep, his dark hair spilled on the pillow, those sharp lips a bit slack, traces of charcoal marring that blanched skin. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
He could bring Spencer home the next day, letting him in, but Spencer sent him away from that huge, empty house.
Just the staff remained, his parents gone on holiday.
They don’t give a shit… never have… Sitting at his open window in a crop top, an open red silk short robe, and boxer briefs, his bare feet on the window sill, he smoked a joint, vaguely craving a drink, but they had pumped him full of meds, and somehow, he didn’t want to drink…
not yet… Watching the sun set, that vague anxiety creeping in, and above that, the memories of Duncan’s body against him, of how his hand felt on his waist, how it felt under his shoulders and thighs in his arms, his scent when his head was wedged against him, that sweat above his deo, his aftershave…
He sighed at that surge of lust pushing against his chest. Fuck…
Duncan lounged on his sofa, reading on his tablet, trying to focus when the words escaped him, tearing him out of that movie in his head.
Fuck. The night, calm, he could hear the crickets through the half-open window, letting that cool night air in.
The distant lights of the mansion through the trees’ leaves.
A small thought at what Spencer could be doing.
Probably drinking and smoking himself to a slow death…
Scoffing. He raised his head at the steps on the stairs.
Alert, he stood, only having his boxer briefs and a T-shirt on.
Who the fuck this late? Cautious, he went to the door.
Knocking. He opened, ready to tell the fuck off of anybody who dared to disturb his peace.
Eyes wide when he got pushed in, a warm body wedging against him, and he almost shoved it away when the smell of weed hit him, a glimpse of that dark hair.
“You…?” He still caught his upper arms, incredulous, that rush of fright down his spine.
“Me…” His breath reeked of weed, but not of alcohol… not drunk… those eyes blown wide, those dark eyes, glinting with a new light above all that hate.