Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I wasn’t trusted alone anymore. Not by Crescent, and not by me, either, honestly. After what he came home to yesterday, I understood. It hurt all the same, though. It wasn’t because it felt like a betrayal, but because it reminded me of what had haunted me not too long ago.
When I woke up in the mornings, it was always a gamble.
Would I remember where I was, or would I cower and panic because the man who was usually sleeping next to me was suddenly gone?
If he was up already, that meant I’d slept in.
I wasn’t allowed to sleep in. That was in the house rules.
The rules I’d lived by every fucking day of my fucking life for so fucking long.
Was it normal to be angry this early in? I wasn’t sure, and it scared me. Terrified me, really.
Sarah was almost here to babysit me. It was comforting to know I wouldn’t be alone, even though it was with someone I barely knew. Either way, she had saved me that day. I guess I could be grateful for that.
While I was alone for the moment, I decided to scroll through TikTok.
It was easy to find entertainment somewhere I’d never tried to before.
My feed was flooded with cat videos and Gordon Ramsay TV show clips.
Even the one with that dude came up—Price from Crescent Planes.
I still chuckled when I thought about the irony.
Soon enough, or maybe too soon, there was a knock at the door. Not just any knock—it had a pattern to it.
One. Two three. Four. Five Six. Seven. Eight.
Sarah and Crescent had come up with it; it was like our own little form of Morse code, so we’d know if it was safe to open the door or not.
I opened it slowly, moving to the side for Sarah to come in. She wore a big smile today, though her gaze still stopped on the healing bruises on my face. “Thanks for coming. I hate to bother you over this.”
“Oh, hush. It isn’t a bother.” She set her purse down to the side before following me to the living room. “You’re healing up pretty good.”
It should’ve come off as a compliment. To any normal person, it would’ve.
For me, for some reason, it dug into me somewhere I hadn’t known existed.
A new, cavernous space nestled between my gut and heart.
So new, and already so damaged. It burned as it settled, the smoke rising into my throat and choking me.
Elio Hampton wasn’t supposed to be healed. What did that even mean? What the fuck kind of purpose did I have if I wasn’t covered in the physical, visual disappointment of a man I’d driven to the edge?
Ignoring it all for the time being, I shuffled my feet into the kitchen while she took a seat. “Want something to eat or drink?”
“Nah, I’m fine. I had breakfast before I came over. Which, speaking of, have you eaten yet?”
I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the idea of being free and able to eat when I wanted to.
When food was set down in front of me, all of my survival instincts came out at once and demanded I shovel it all in as quickly as I could.
I’d yet to cook for myself, though. After cooking for Jude for so long, it became foreign to think I, too, needed food. “No, actually.”
Sarah made her way into the kitchen with me. “Let’s get you something, then. I may only be a waitress, but I can cook a mean bacon and eggs. You need to eat with your meds, you know.”
“I know that. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” The lie had my face reddening.
I flinched when she patted my back unexpectedly, earning a muttered “sorry” from her. “Go take a seat. Find something good to watch, and we’ll get this sorted for you.”
Watching TV with me had to be at least a little bit boring. It was weird for me, but I didn’t have much else to do. “We can do something else if you want.”
“I don’t mind, Elio. Really. But we can talk about it if you want later. For now, just let me cook.”
Crescent making something for me and Sarah making something for me were two very different things in my mind. If I thought I’d do it myself, I would’ve told her not to.
Being banished to the living room, I kept myself occupied by flipping through the live channels. There wasn’t all that much going on this early in the morning, but I did come across one thing.
I stared at the title, almost frozen in place. One Piece reruns were on—this episode was five hundred eighty-six. The last episode I ever watched with Crescent. Fuck. That was right before I told him we had to stop being friends. Right before I let Jude ruin everything.
My eyes started to burn, tears creeping into the corners.
The title was blurry now. A pan was sizzling in the background as I lost myself in memories I didn’t want to remember.
The room smelled like bacon, and while that’d usually have my stomach growling in excitement, it’d been replaced with nausea.
I pressed play. It let me start it from the beginning, the nostalgic theme song I’d missed so much blasting through the speakers. Underneath it, I could almost hear Crescent singing along. He couldn’t pronounce any of the words, but he sure as hell always tried.
Sarah interrupted me, calling out from the kitchen. “Breakfast is served! Do you have any juice I can bring with it?”
“Uh, yeah. Should have some orange juice. I can get it, though.”
I was halfway off the couch when she responded. “No, no. I’ve got it.”
She brought me a plate of three eggs, four slices of bacon, and a whole glass of orange juice.
My stomach may not have wanted it very much, but my brain desperately did.
I took it from her, though not before watching her face for any indication I wasn’t supposed to.
It was reflex, I guessed. A learned behavior from years of being treated like a dog, waiting in the down position for the demand of another trick.
The first bite was fucking heavenly. I wanted to savor it. But I couldn’t. Instead of neatly cutting the eggs up into pieces with the fork, I shoveled them onto it whole. Instead of taking my time eating the bacon, I shoved three pieces in my mouth at once.
I almost choked a couple of times, actually. Thank god she’d thought to bring me orange juice, or I might’ve been a goner.
“What’s this?” She pointed at the TV, probably trying to make some sort of conversation to avoid the sounds of me slurping up my meal.
I used to be so anal about eating and how others ate around me, too. Forcing a swallow, I choked through a few measly, half-bitten words. “One Piece. It’s an anime Cres and I used to watch and read the manga of.”
For what it was worth, Sarah was nice. She simply hummed in response and didn’t ask any more questions. We existed together, taking up space to pass the time. After years of social isolation, it was odd, but it was… nice. Maybe even a little bit freeing.
Apparently, we were going clothes shopping. When Crescent got back, he’d proudly announced the idea, despite my fear and hesitation about it.
He said it was highly unlikely we’d run into Jude at a clothing store that was an hour away. I wasn’t so sure, but maybe that was just the fear and trauma talking.
Being outside the apartment was both exciting and scary.
I’d been cooped up in there for so long, I’d started to get antsy.
When I got antsy, or if I needed to run away, I’d go to the park and sit with the daisies.
At the park, I didn’t have to worry too much about people or how to exist in the real world.
I just sat off to the side, looking like some weird guy who was oddly obsessed with the flowers.
Here, where it seemed like there were hundreds of people walking around, I was just some guy. Some guy, stumbling around, constantly looking left and right for invisible danger, clinging to some other guy. It didn’t sit right with me. Being a part of society in this way.
I had been hidden away, locked into a suffocating house with my obituary etched into the wood of the porch and my blood splattered over the doorknob. That fucking doorknob.
“Come on, Sunshine.” Crescent nudged me along, guiding me into a smaller store.
The nickname still gave me flutters in my stomach, no matter how many times he said it. I refused to think too hard about it. The store had maybe four people in it, two of them looking like they worked there.
With so many options to peruse, I found myself getting overwhelmed.
I didn’t know what I liked or what I didn’t anymore.
Back when we were teenagers, I just threw graphic T-shirts on and called it a day.
Now, though, as a grown man? I didn’t know what worked and what didn’t.
What was appropriate at my age? What was socially acceptable?
I said yes to a few plain shirts, tried on a million jeans, let Crescent throw some shorts into the cart, but I didn’t know if I actually liked any of them. We went down aisle after aisle, and I was too uncertain to say anything about any of it.
Until we passed the sleepwear, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a mannequin with a poster hanging beside it.
On the poster, a man stood with his head held up high, a bright smile on his face.
He wore what looked like a simple black shirt and a gold chain around his neck.
Except the shirt rested above his stomach, flowing with probably fake wind from the photographers.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it, or the mannequin wearing the same outfit.
Crescent had stopped when I did, unbeknownst to me. “Do you want to go look for it?”
I startled a bit, whipping my head around to face him directly. “What?”
“The shirt you’re staring at, silly. It’s okay if you do.”
Looking back at the poster, I shrugged. I did, but I wasn’t so used to getting something I truly wanted anymore. Crescent being so willing to get it for me felt wrong, almost. Like I was taking advantage of a kindness I hadn’t deserved.