Chapter 15
Kyle
Idon’t hear the door open and close. Nor any footsteps.
My focus is on Bren’s face—his swollen lips and flushed cheeks, and the look of utter bliss in his eyes.
I revel in the pleasure of being inside him, taking him to a place where he is free from the chains of his life.
I love him more than I could ever put into words.
Some days it’s on the tip of my tongue, but then the fear of getting it wrong, or perhaps getting it right, stops me in my tracks.
Because Bren is mine now, and I won’t risk scaring him away, not even to confess my love.
So instead, I tell him with my body, my actions, my determination to stay by his side no matter what.
There are no signs of anyone approaching. Not keys dropping onto a kitchen table or boots being kicked off. I’m completely lost in the moment. So, when Bruce’s voice cuts through Bren’s breathy moans, I freeze.
“What the fuck!” the old bastard roars.
So many thoughts pass through my mind—protect, run, fight.
But panic renders me immobile. Bren decides for us both, pushing me away and getting to his feet.
He quickly steps in front of me, facing Bruce with his hands up in surrender.
I become acutely aware of our nakedness and glance around for some clothes.
“Just fuckin’ wait,” Bren says as Bruce advances further into the bedroom. “Let him go. Just let Kyle go.”
“You filthy fuckin’ faggots. After all I’ve done for ya. Takin’ ya in, feedin’ ya, puttin’ clothes on ya back and a roof over ya head. I should kill ya both.”
Bruce charges forward, grabbing Bren by the shoulders and throwing him into the wall, where he slumps to the floor. Bruce is tall and heavyset, and he moves with murderous intent.
“Stop! Fuckin’ stop!” I scream. Bruce kicks Bren in the ribs and then turns to me. I’m relieved his attention is away from Bren. I back up, eyes skittering around the room, looking for a weapon and then…
There’s throbbing and pain and pressure in my head. I try to open my eyes, but the light is blinding, and I squeeze them shut. Where the fuck am I? What the hell happened?
I feel upside down. Trying again, I blink a few times, realising one eye isn’t opening as the room comes partly into focus, distorted and blurry. I’m at Bren’s. The living room is sideways. Something’s wrong with my eye. And my mouth. Jesus Christ. The room spins the moment I move. “Jesus… Fuck!”
“Not a fuckin’ word from you, faggot.”
Then I remember.
I force my good eye to stay open, realising I’m lying on the couch. My vision doubles as I drag my body upright and he comes into my line of sight—that motherfucking cunt Bruce. He’s staring at me, a long hunting knife in his right hand and a snarl twisting his vile face.
“Where’s Bren?” I ask, touching my eye, then my lip. My right eye seems to be swollen shut, and there’s dried blood around my mouth and down my chin.
“He’s doin’ whatta man’s supposed to do.” He turns the knife over in his hand, the blade catching the light.
I don’t understand what that means. I just need to know if Bren’s alright.
It’s nighttime, I think. The curtains are closed, and a lamp is on. How long was I out? It must have been hours. Shit, I think I’m going to puke.
I gag, but nothing comes up. I need to find Bren.
Then I hear moaning. A girl’s voice. What the fuck? Is this a nightmare?
“Who’s… What’s goin’…” I ask, the pain inside my head pounding against my skull like a bass drum.
Bruce laughs with a satisfied chuckle, and I gag again. “Brendan is getting his dick wet in that cute little slut Tiffany.”
No! Bren wouldn’t do that. He just wouldn’t. He’s gay and he loves me.
I throw up on the floor. The smell is rancid, the sour acidic taste putrid in my mouth.
“Stupid fuckin’ fag. You’ll be cleanin’ that up.” Bruce stands and walks over to me, bringing the knife to my throat. I dare not move. He’s fucking crazy and I wouldn’t put it past him to actually kill me. Bren has told me he’s almost certain Bruce murdered a guy who stole product from him.
Bruce leans forward, wrinkled, ruddy skin in my face. “If I ever catch ya around Brendan again, I’m gonna cut off your fuckin’ dick and then slit ya throat. Ya understand?”
I nod the tiniest amount, the tip of the knife grazing my throat.
“Good, now clean up this vomit and get the fuck outta my house.”
Bruce walks down the long hall towards Bren’s bedroom and stops.
He pushes the door slightly ajar and stares inside.
What a fucking pervert. I don’t want to believe Bren would cheat on me, and my heart burns with the sting of betrayal.
Tiffany has been chasing Bren, and I know she would’ve come running the moment he called her.
The thought of him sticking his dick inside her brings bile racing back up into my throat. I swallow it down.
Standing shakily, I head into the kitchen, grabbing some paper towel and disinfectant from under the sink.
I almost pass out cleaning the vomit, but I get it done.
I want to see Bren, need to see him, and I will.
But right now, I can’t be here. I can’t see him emerge from his bedroom with Tiffany.
I can’t look him in eye right after he’s fucked her.
On unsteady legs I get myself to the front door and outside, the cold night air making me more alert.
I know Bren must be injured too because there’s no way Bruce let him off without a beating.
When I get home, I’ll call him. We’ll work this out.
I’ll try to forgive him for fucking her.
Because there ain’t a thing Bruce can say or do that will stop me from seeing Bren.
The evil old bastard can go fuck himself.