Chapter 3 #2
Lucas softened and looked a bit sad, which Gage knew was because they’d drifted so far away from their goofy game nights that had once brought them so much peace and joy.
But it was for the best. Every time they tried to join a new party, someone would be shitty.
Or ableist. They’d refuse to make accommodations for Lucas, or they’d schedule game nights and “forget” to tell them about it.
Fighting for space in the groups that didn’t want them got old fast. But Gage was missing it, and Lucas could tell.
“I will make time for you.”
Gage loved him for that. He adored that Lucas hadn’t set him aside as soon as he fell in love. He’d been a little afraid of that—afraid he might have deserved it. But things carried on like whatever their new normal was going to be.
“Call me if you need me, yeah?” Lucas said as Gage opened the front door of the apartment.
“Will do.” That was a lie. He wouldn’t. He didn’t like interrupting the child-free time Lucas and Frankie got together.
If he needed something, he’d call one of his dads. Or one of his uncles.
Or no one at all.
The one thing Gage hated was having time off. He worked long shifts several days in a row, then had long days off—which most people appreciated. But when it was quiet, his head was loud, and he was struggling to cope. His meds weren’t doing what they used to.
His psychiatrist had moved him to Lexapro, which was doing more for him than his previous medication, but the moment his stimulants wore off, his thoughts were going ten miles a second, and he couldn’t get them to calm down.
Leaving Lucas’s place, he went to the park and jogged the long trail through the woods, which ate up two hours of his time, and then he went shopping for clothes because most of his socks had holes in them, and that took up another hour.
He had lunch. Then he went to the bookstore, the game store, then drove up to the cliffs to stare out at the water and wish he were literally anyone else.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he could no longer ignore his need to be home. He had to sleep, even if sleep came with nightmares and adrenaline spikes that woke him up with waves of nausea.
He knew he wasn’t going to last like this.
Something had to give.
He had an anger inside of him that was starting to feel senseless.
“I need a hobby,” he muttered to himself as he climbed off the picnic bench and made his way to his car.
In theory, a hobby sounded great. In reality, he’d lost his ability to enjoy things.
His therapist said that was the chronic depression talking and that he had to be patient with himself, but for how fucking long?
How long was this going to last?
If forever was a possibility, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to handle that.
Driving himself, he was mostly on autopilot, which was terrifying in itself.
He was scared one of these days he was going to zone out and wake up with his car rammed into a tree.
But he made it to his parking spot, and there were no random dents, so he was pretty sure the drive had been safe and unscathed.
“Fuck,” he murmured as he grabbed his bags and hooked them on one arm. “I need to get a goddamn grip. Though talking to myself is probably not doing me any favors. Oh my God, Gage. Shut up.”
He clenched his jaw so tightly his temples ached, and he opened the door to his building.
His hallway was always relatively quiet.
It was on the second floor, just past the curved staircase.
There were new dings in the wall, which probably meant that the apartment next door had finally been rented by someone, and that was confirmed by the smell of something garlicky and saucy—like pizza—filling the narrow space.
He didn’t feel hungry. He never felt hungry these days. But his stomach growled, reminding him that he’d skipped lunch and dinner.
Shit.
For a quick beat, he wondered if he should introduce himself to the new neighbors.
He’d stopped doing that for a while after the incident, but he didn’t want to be some unfriendly hermit for the rest of his life.
His therapist told him he’d probably be a little more hypervigilant from now on, but that didn’t have to control him.
Or define him.
So fuck it.
He walked over and knocked on the door and waited. Then waited.
Then waited a bit more.
He knocked a second time, but when he didn’t hear footsteps, he figured either he was wrong about the new neighbors or they’d gone out.
Whatever, he’d try again later on.
Slipping into his apartment, he kicked the door shut with his foot, then struggled out of his shoes before throwing his bags on the couch and flopping down face-first. He took a deep breath, then turned his face to the side.
This wasn’t the apartment he’d fucked Fallon in. He’d moved in a month and a half ago. But it was the couch. It no longer held the gentle scent of the other man, but the memories were intense. And they were strong.
Gage could close his eyes and feel the echo of Fallon’s dick against his tongue.
He could feel his ass squeezing around his fingers.
He could taste his kisses—those gentle little licks Fallon was so eager to give.
He could feel what it was like to slip in him for those long, glorious seconds as Fallon came around his cock.
And then what it was like to coat Fallon’s thighs with his release like he’d been marking him as Gage’s.
God. The fact that he was thinking about it after this long was a problem.
Rolling onto his back, he stretched his arms above his head and ignored his raging boner. He didn’t jerk off much at all these days. He couldn’t stand the thought of porn, considering what had happened to him.
He didn’t know how many people had seen the video his assaulters had taken. He wanted to believe none. But it still made him sick to his stomach, so he was left to erotic books and his own imagination.
Unfortunately, his creative brain felt like it had atrophied over the last two years, and that left his balls full and his body frustrated.
“Fuck,” he groaned, rolling up to his feet.
He decided on a shower instead, and he stood under the hot water until his fingers wrinkled and the tops of his feet turned pink.
He felt a little better after scrubbing the day from his skin, but it was still too quiet and too lonely.
He shrugged into his pajamas, then grabbed a bottle of water and stepped out onto his balcony, but even the city sounds didn’t make the feeling any better.
It was very dark now and getting colder as the month inched toward autumn. The air felt good on his overheated skin though, and he leaned against the railing as he peered over onto his neighbor’s balcony.
The place was dark, which probably meant he was imagining things, but then—after a second—he saw movement. A flashlight that clicked on, then off.
His heart jumped in his chest, and he pressed himself against the wall, peering over again to see what he could see. There was another click of the flashlight, and then he heard something loud—like a box was hitting the floor.
Oh fuck! What if his new neighbors had gone out, and now they were getting robbed?
Without thinking, Gage rushed in through his back door, grabbing the aluminum ogre’s club he’d gotten at the game shop, and darted out his front door. Taking a deep breath, he stepped to the next door over and pressed his ear to the wood.
THUD! BAM!
His heart began to pound in his chest. When he tested the knob, it turned all the way, and then the door slipped forward. It wasn’t locked. He inhaled deeply, held his breath, then shoved the door all the way open and let out a sharp cry.
“Don’t fucking move!”
He was immediately blinded by a flashlight, and the intruder started to scream at the top of their lungs. As he attempted to shield his eyes, something smacked into his forehead so hard his head swam, and he hit the floor.
The club skittered away, and then he was hit again. Whatever it was made a loud smacking sound, and his world tilted sideways.
And then it was silent.
Or had he just lost his hearing from the head injury? His retinas were bright with a burn from the flashlight, and he tried to blink through it until he heard a very small, very familiar voice say his name.
“Oh my God. Gage?”