4. Ezekiel
4
Ezekiel
Zeke
I’m a professor of anthropology
N o matter how many times I stared at it, it didn’t go away.
I dropped my head into my hands. Why the fuck had I said that? I didn’t know anything about anthropology. I only knew the term because it had been one of Benji’s hyper fixations about five years ago.
And as for me being a teacher…the idea was laughable. I couldn’t deal with the antics of the twins, let alone lecture halls full of students.
The truth was that I’d panicked. I’d been so focused on what Sam had revealed that I’d let my guard slip. First with the decades comment, and then when I tried to cover it up by hinting that my interest in those things was related to my job.
I wasn’t lying—I did know about how society had changed over time, but not because I was particularly interested in it. Because I was there . That was one of the side effects of being older than Jesus; you tended to notice how rapidly shit could change.
I couldn’t tell Sam that, not if I wanted him to continue talking to me.
And I did. I shouldn’t, but I did.
It’s not like Sam will ever meet you and find out you’ve lied.
That was true. It didn’t matter how much I enjoyed talking with Sam, it wouldn’t go any further than this. Not when I had a mate waiting for me somewhere.
Poor bloke, whoever he was.
I sighed and rubbed a hand over the scruff coating my jaw. Unlike Micah and Rami, I didn’t bother to shave every day. It wasn’t that I was leaning into the current beard trend in the hopes of attracting a bedfellow, but because I couldn’t be bothered.
I’d learned there was little I could do to change myself to be more appealing to a one-night stand. My looks weren’t the problem. It was when I opened my mouth that I sent blokes running. The combination of my grumpy nature, and knack of never knowing when to stop asking about something, didn’t see me getting laid very often.
Hopefully my…ornery nature would be something my mate found endearing. Either that, or maybe I’d learn to rein it in a bit.
I chuckled at the thought. Yeah, couldn’t see that happening to be honest. It was probably for the best that I hadn’t met him yet. Maybe another few centuries under my belt would have me finally letting go of my father’s lessons.
Today wasn’t that day though. My mood had grown darker with every hour that Sam didn’t log on to the game. It was ridiculous that he had the power to influence me in this way.
And even more ridiculous that I knew that, but was unable to stop it.
My temper had been boiling under the surface all day, climbing higher with every snarky comment from my brethren. We were as close as siblings, and like siblings, they enjoyed spending their free time winding me up.
I knew they did it intentionally because my reaction would be over the top. I also knew how often money changed hands as bets were placed on who would shove me over the edge, and when.
I was careful to never let go of the monster completely. Losing control of yourself fully as an arch was catastrophic for anyone who happened to be in your vicinity. Your power would unleash itself on whoever was close by, regardless of whether they were the enemy or not. As much as my father had pushed my temper, he’d also taught me the importance of when to stop and just how much control could be relinquished before you stepped past the point of no return.
Didn’t stop me from wishing the fucker hadn’t taught me anything at all.
I might have never approached my limits, but that didn’t mean my temper wasn’t too much sometimes. I’d tried to be better about it since officially stepping into the role of Micah’s second, I really had.
But today, with Sam’s silence, the monster had grown louder.
I’d held it together until dinner. After all these centuries, Rami and I were the only ones capable of assembling an edible meal. When we were both home, we generally cooked together. Tonight we’d decided on sausage casserole, mashed potatoes, and veg.
It was a shame the twins had decided on being little shits.
Their needling had led to an explosion I certainly wasn’t proud of. I’d managed to destroy three chairs and the table.
Oh, and murder both the twins. Not permanently, of course. I was pissed, not evil.
As always though, I hadn’t approached the limits of my temper. There was always a point where my monster would stop, a line it wouldn’t cross.
I hoped to fuck that line would never be erased.
Micah had rightfully read me the riot act before sending me to ‘cool off.’ Shame filling me, I’d sat in my room silently, waiting for the notification to come through telling me Sam was finally online.
I would’ve waited all night if necessary. There was an itch under my skin, a need to speak to him. I didn’t know what it was about our conversations, but they brought me a calm I’d never experienced before. While I was talking to Sam, I didn’t think about anything but him.
I probably shouldn’t have said anything about myself to Sam. Our friendship was supposed to be an online one only—our everyday lives weren’t supposed to come into it.
Don’t get me wrong, if there were any hope for us to pursue something, I’d have been laying on the charm as thick as possible. Sam was special. I didn’t need to see his face to know that.
But he wasn’t mine and he never would be. If he was my fated mate, I would’ve known by now. There was no way we could’ve been living in the same city but for me not to have felt a pull towards him. Micah and Nox had felt physically drawn to each other. They hadn’t been able to resist seeking each other out.
I hadn’t felt that. Even being in the same city as Sam, there was nothing tugging me to his location.
My eyes flicked back to the screen to see he’d responded.
Sam
okay, I kind of wish you hadn’t told me that
I frowned. There was nothing offensive or wrong with being a professor…right?
Naturally, I couldn’t let the comment go.
Zeke
why?
Sam
I can’t say. It’s too embarrassing.
A slow smirk worked its way over my face.
Zeke
oh now you have to tell me
Sam
promise you won’t laugh?
I swear on my life
Considering one of the Seraphim killed me on a weekly basis, that wasn’t actually worth a lot. My immortality, that I’d swear on, but again, that would have required more of an explanation than I could give.
Sam
I kind of have a teacher/student fantasy.
Fuuuuck. I had to pull on my jeans to alleviate some of the pressure on my rapidly stiffening cock. I didn’t even know what Sam looked like, but suddenly I was full of all sorts of ideas.
Ideas such as bending a faceless man over my desk, him wearing only thigh-high socks. Spanking his pretty rear until it was red and warm to touch. Forcing him to his knees and telling him to suck my cock if he wanted a better grade.
Sam
forget I said that
My grin turned wolfish. Like fuck was that happening.
Zeke
well, I’m certainly not laughing
…because it’s so ridiculous?
no. because it’s hot as fuck.
I chewed on my lip. An actual professor probably wouldn’t have these sorts of fantasies, and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t share them.
Zeke
not that I’d want to do anything like that with my actual students, of course
Sam
but you like the idea of doing it with me?
My eyes widened as I sucked a breath in, my cock hard and throbbing in my pants. What the fuck was I supposed to say to that?
Sam
fuck, I’m sorry
ignore me
it’s been a long day
I’ll be online tomorrow
maybe
The messages came through in rapid succession, not leaving me enough time to think, let alone to respond. Before I could kick my brain into gear, Sam’s icon changed colour.
He’d gone offline.
He’d left me.
Fuck.
A fter stewing on it for several more hours and rereading our conversation a humiliating number of times, I still didn’t know what to do. Should I send him a message telling him not to worry? Blame myself for the inappropriate tone the conversation had taken? Flirt back so he wouldn’t feel awkward?
The final one was what my gut suggested. After all, I’d already crossed that line earlier in the chat. But was blurring it further a good idea? The last thing I wanted to do was lead Sam on.
The only thing I was sure about was wanting to know more about OCD. I knew embarrassingly little about it, so I hadn’t known how to react when Sam told me. I didn’t want to accidentally say or do something that might upset or offend him.
Not something I was usually concerned about, but Sam…how I felt about him was different. I cared how he felt, which in itself was a mindfuck.
I could deal with all the other stuff later. Learning more about what he’d told me was priority number one.
And for that, I needed Benji.
Despite the late hour, I found him in the library. Like most supes, we didn’t need much sleep to survive. All around the compound, my sensitive hearing picked up on movement. The twins were alive again and in the gym. Rami and Noah were watching TV in one of the many living rooms. Breann and Grace were in the swimming pool, lazily flirting.
As for Micah and Nox? I tried not to listen to what they were up to. I’d asked them to be quieter, even going so far as to hand out ear plugs at one of our meetings. It hadn’t worked. If anything, it seemed to have spurred Nox on to see just how loud he could make Micah scream.
The audacity of it made me roll my eyes. If I had a mate, I’d never be so inconsiderate of the others. There was no type of sex that could make me forget others might be listening.
Benji was sat beside the fireplace, his legs over the arm of his chair. His ash blonde hair fell over his forehead as his eyes raced over the text. Of all of us, Benji was the smallest, but the most deadly. Not just with his powers and fighting skills, but with his words. Benji’s intelligence level exceeded that of the rest of us combined. It had got us out of more sticky situations than I cared to count, most recently when Heaven tried to pass judgement on Micah and Nox.
All of us had played a role that day, but there was no denying that Benji’s had been the most pivotal. Without his knowledge of the judicial system and how best to manipulate it to our advantage, there could’ve been a very different outcome.
An outcome I couldn’t bear to think about, even weeks later.
I rapped my knuckles on the doorframe and waited impatiently for Benji to look up. I knew better than to rush him though; Benji did things on his own schedule and there was nothing you could do to change that.
It felt like an eternity before he finally closed his book and his blue eyes met mine, but in reality it was only a few minutes. “What do you want?”
Some might have interpreted Benji’s manner as rude, but it was far from it. It was just how he spoke. “I have some questions about OCD, and I figured you were the right one to ask.”
Interest flared in Benji’s eyes as he gestured at the wingback chair opposite him. “Sit.”
I lowered myself down, the ancient leather supple under me. “Do you know about it?”
Benji waved his hand in a so-so gesture. “I know some, but I can find out more if needed. What do you want to know?”
This was another reason why I’d chosen Benji over everyone else. He wouldn’t ask why I wanted to know, he’d just answer my questions. “Well, to start, what is it?”
“OCD stands for obsessive compulsive disorder,” Benji began. “It’s a mental health condition. People who have it often experience uncomfortable intrusive thoughts.”
“Doesn’t everyone have intrusive thoughts?” Even as an angel, I’d experienced them. Quiet whispers suggesting I pull my wings in mid-flight, causing me to careen to the ground, to see what would happen if I let myself just completely shatter into pieces.
Benji hummed. “They do, but not in the same way as people with OCD. With this condition, you’re likely to obsess over the thoughts. They’re also usually darker and more unsettling than what the average person might experience. They play on the individual’s fears, suggesting they want to do or are capable of acts they wouldn’t ever actually do.”
“Such as what?”
“Such as hurting or assaulting someone. Things in that vein, usually.”
Something soured in my gut. Was this the kind of stuff Sam was wrestling with? “So it’s just about the thoughts?”
“No. These thoughts often cause extreme distress and anxiety for them, which leads to compulsions. Acts the person will do to try and mitigate the thought.”
“Like, as a workaround or a superstition?”
“Yes, but on a more extreme level.” Benji tapped his fingers on the chair rhythmically. “Their OCD tells them that if they do a specific thing, their intrusive thought won’t happen.”
I rubbed a hand over my forehead, wishing it would click into place for me faster. It was just so outside of how my brain was, I didn’t know how to process it.
And for some reason, I had to know. I had to understand this. “Can you give me some examples?”
Once again, Benji didn’t ask why before responding. “If they see a knife left out on the side, their OCD might tell them that they will stab someone with it. Because of that, the person might insist that knives are always kept out of sight, or that another person in the household is responsible for them. Another example could be a mother with a small child. She could have the thought that she is going to throw her child down the stairs, so she sits and bumps down the steps on her bottom, holding the child closer than usual. Or perhaps insists someone else should be responsible for carrying them down.”
“People with OCD really doubt themselves that much?”
Benji nodded. “It’s actually called the doubting disease in some circles. OCD can make you question everything about yourself—your morals, ethics, self-worth, even your sexuality. Because they spend so long trying to sort through which thoughts are theirs, and which are the OCD, sufferers can become confused. Often they ask for reassurance from others around them. This, in turn, doesn’t help in the long run, as it gives their OCD more power.”
“So if someone I loved was suffering with OCD and they asked for reassurance, I’m supposed to not give it to them?”
“It’s not as black and white as that,” Benji said baldly. “If their anxiety is high, the short-term relief of the reassurance will help them. It’s not a good long-term strategy though.”
My mind was racing with all the information that Benji was giving me. Did Sam have loved ones he could ask for reassurance? Did his compulsions affect his day-to-day life? From what he’d said about not having the post office collect his parcels, I was going to assume they did. “Is there a cure?”
“A cure?” Benji raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like a scraped knee, Ezekiel. The brain is a complex organ. Mental health is something that’s rarely perfect for anyone. It’s something that has to be managed over time.”
My frustration had the monster growling, but I took a deep breath. Benji could and would beat my arse if necessary. “Can it be treated then?”
“I believe a combination of medication and specialised therapy is required. Even with that though, it’ll never go away. There’s a lot of debate as to whether it should be classed as a neurodivergent condition, due to how it affects the brain.”
“Neurodivergent like autism?”
Benji nodded. “There are several areas that fall under the ND umbrella—autism, ADHD, Tourette’s, dyslexia, and dyspraxia among them. OCD is one that is frequently being added to the list by some practitioners.”
When discussion had started around neurodivergent conditions earlier in the century, specifically autism, Benji had suspected it applied to him. It hadn’t changed his behaviour or how he processed things, but he seemed happier now he had a label. It wasn’t that anything was wrong with his brain, it was just different.
“So his brain works differently to a neurotypical person?”
Benji tilted his head. “Whose brain?”
I cursed internally. Benji might not ask questions, but even he wouldn’t let something like that pass. “It doesn’t matter.”
Benji smirked, like he knew something I didn’t. I mean, it was accurate. Benji knew many things I didn’t, hence why I was here. “Yes, his —whoever he is—brain will work differently to yours. Things that seem perfectly logical and reasonable to you may be unfathomable to him. If he’s having a bad day, his emotional side may take precedence.”
He paused, staring at me like I was part of a new study he was fascinated by. “Would you like me to learn more about it? Look up strategies that might help?”
I found myself nodding without even realising I’d come to that decision. “Thanks, Benji.”
“Any time.” He picked his book up; a clear signal that the conversation was over for him now. That was fine, he’d given me more than enough to think about.
I was almost to the door when he spoke again. “Oh, Ez?”
I glanced back over my shoulder to see he hadn’t even raised his eyes from the text. “Yeah?”
“Let me know when you’ve realised this man does matter.” Benji’s voice was distracted, his brow furrowed. “We can talk more then.”