From Best To Bested

Chapter Seventeen

Rustling in the room startled Roman awake. His entire body ached. His head felt like he’d been hit with a hammer several times over. The light stung his eyes when Ezra moved from serving as a buffer shadow rifling at the desk to crossing over to the doorframe.

“You heading to breakfast?” Roman’s throat still throbbed from last night. “I’ll join you.”

He performed for hours, he serviced, and remembered… He remembered more than he realized as he squeezed his head in a futile effort to fight off the pulsing pain.

Ezra stared with a raised brow, questioning Roman, confused by something Roman had done. He couldn’t quite place it yet.

“You already missed lunch,” he said, edge in his voice. “Just sleep away the day, I don’t give a fuck.”

Roman stared, completely dumbfounded. How had he lost so much time?

After Ezra left, Roman lay in bed, trying to piece together last night. He knew what had happened. He recalled so much with ease but desperately held down the memories beneath the floorboards of his mind. He needed pieces, bits at a time, not the eruption of ecstasy turned sour. Mostly, Roman wanted to see if he’d missed something with Ezra’s mood.

“Swallow,” Jake had said. He’d said it a lot and for a lot of different reasons.

Ezra hadn’t looked mad, not like he did now. Not like he did when storming out of the room, leaving Roman alone, so Roman tried to figure out if he’d done something to upset Ezra. His mouth was so dry now that his tongue ran along the inside of his cheeks with a scaly texture. Not a drop of moisture left.

“Oh, he likes it,” Jake had whispered. “Don’t you, you fucker?”

He seemed to slither from one end of the room to the other, following Roman as he made his way through partners. More of the crew had shown up than expected. Not at first. It was Roman and Ezra and Jake. Roman was happy they were happy. Then it was Roman and Jake and two men. He remembered Jake insisting on another kiss. Remembered chanting. Encouragement. Roman shook away the thoughts.

Jake wanted to have fun. Jake wanted Roman to be fun. Roman wanted Ezra to have fun. Ezra kept insisting Roman could help everyone have fun. But whenever Roman looked at Ezra, in the flashes of sweat and kisses and grunting and sex and everything else, Roman couldn’t recall once finding Ezra happy. His eyes were angry. They were trained on Roman, and he kept trying to make him happy. Kept listening to his suggestions. Jake’s suggestions. The room spun. Everyone laughed. Roman laughed. Maybe.

If he did, that might explain why his teeth ached so much. Not the same as his throat, which had been reamed raw, or his jaw, which had been stretched wide for what must’ve been forever.

Roman lay in bed, ignoring the loud flashes of memories that clawed at his head, the same way hands clawed at his flesh. He couldn’t get the images of hands raking over his skin, slapping him, squeezing him, caressing him. He didn’t want to remember everything he’d done, everything he’d agreed to, everything he craved while the room swirled and Roman’s mind danced free.

When Roman finally had the energy to stand, he made it to the other side of the room and saw his mortifying reflection. Bloodshot eyes. Red marks on his face. A permanent marker had been used to fill in around his eyes to make Roman look like a raccoon. He recalled that moment. Not specifically with his eyes but the marker itself. Someone had written something somewhere else; he wasn’t sure where now. He’d laughed it off, though, and playfully told them to stop.

Roman huffed, exhausted at the idea of how long it’d take to wash off.

He supposed the marker was better than the bruises on his neck. At one point, Jake had wrapped an arm around his throat, holding him close, pinning Roman in place as he bucked behind him, both panting in union with the rough thrusts. When Roman whimpered, Jake only rutted harder into him, strengthening his chokehold. But Roman didn’t think the grip was that tight. He’d been in worse headlocks during actual fights. Hell, he’d lost his title thanks to a chokehold. No, opening his unbuttoned shirt revealed the source and reason for the bruising.

“Bruise me/Use me Daddy” was written across his chest in marker and served as a welcome invitation last night. It wasn’t the only thing scrawled across his abdomen. Words written in various handwriting covered him everywhere his eyes flitted, and he knew there was so much more written on the parts of his body not exposed in front of the mirror.

‘Cum Slut.’ ‘Cheap Toy.’ ‘Hole For Rent.’ ‘Good Boy.’ And so much more he ignored after he read ‘bitch’ written below his ‘Bested’ tattoo as if to cement where he’d ended up full circle, much in the way Jake always promised.

“Take it, take it all,” Jake had panted, breath eating away at the back of Roman’s ear, the hot heat of his breath on Roman’s face, the loud command from across the room as Roman worked. Everywhere he went, Jake commanded him.

The worst part was Roman had said yes. He held onto that stretched truth, ignoring the twine of reality quickly unraveling. He allowed this. It only happened because he allowed it. That was what this was, what he repeated, so he didn’t choke on his own breath.

“Fuck,” Roman groaned as the night’s events surfaced one unwanted fragment at a time.

He couldn’t stay here. His skin was clammy, his body was sore, his insides burned, and he was a complete and utter wreck. Roman grabbed his things and headed to the showers, hoping no one would be using them at this time of day.

As he undressed in the showers, he got a closer look at his body and his fun night. Welts, bruises, and more phrases trailed in every direction of his torso, arms, and legs. Roman’s ribs hurt when he lifted his arms to adjust the shower nozzle. It was like he’d been punched in his sides. A lot.

The cold water was too much, so he waited for the warm to finally run through. He rinsed and washed and scrubbed and did it all again and again, taking his body one layer at a time. He must’ve scrubbed his face ten times over before moving to his chest, before tackling his arms one by one. Nothing felt clean enough. He didn’t even want to work his way past his waist. He knew what waited for him. He knew what he’d done.

Carefully, he rubbed his butt and winced when his hand went over a fresh sore. Not a sore. He craned his neck and caught a faint glimpse at his new tattoo.

A tattoo of tally marks ran across the right upper cheek of Roman’s butt, and his chest nearly fell through the floor. It came back in waves. With each flash, the sharp sting.

“It’ll be fun, sweetness,” Jake had insisted. “Gotta ink you up. Way to remember the party.”

One for every guy. Roman held his breath. He touched the tender skin and bit his lip from the hot pain radiating off the tattoo. They were black tallies, seven in total, and pooled with as much dried blood as they were with ink.

The last tally was further off. He remembered adding the seventh for Ezra. Even though Ezra wasn’t in the mood to celebrate, wasn’t in the mood for fun, he’d had fun with Roman many times before. They all had. They all would. Jake kept telling Roman about how much fun they were all having. Roman agreed. Roman kissed Jake again and again to inhale more fun.

Each tally was more jagged than straight; somehow, they’d added the ink while still moving around, still using Roman, still having fun. Roman remembered the tattoo started on the bed. At some point, he was standing and complaining about it. Then Roman was bent over Ezra’s chair, face buried in the cushions, finishing the tattoo, only Ezra wasn’t there anymore. He’d come and gone, from what Roman recalled, or maybe he’d just moved around the room. It was so crowded inside, and Jake seemed to take up all the space, standing everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Every time a memory of sex surfaced, every time he remembered a new voice, a new order, a new encouraging request, Roman’s stomach twisted into tighter knots. He wanted to hurl. Wanted to throw up everything left over from last night, throw up what remnants of the pills bubbling in his stomach remained. He raced out of the shower and over to the sink, but when he started dry heaving, the memories of puking up his guts last night returned.

Roman had said yes to Jake. All he thought was how it’d make Ezra happy. Roman had agreed to two of Jake’s friends. Because what was the big deal of having fun with a few friends? Ezra always wanted Roman to treat his friends well. Somewhere along the way, though, somehow Roman had accepted more.

More fun.

More men.

More sex.

He’d tried everything with everyone, and the flash of Jake’s kisses came crawling back to him. The pills he’d passed, the little song he’d hummed about swallowing a drop of fun before swallowing a lot of loads. Roman couldn’t remember how many men he’d blown. He hoped the number didn’t fair much higher than what they’d tattooed on his ass.

“It’s a party,” Jake hissed, kissed, missed Roman’s lips more times than not. “You having fun, sweetness?”

Roman didn’t say yes. It hurt to speak; his throat was as sore then as now. Most of the time, when someone asked, he couldn’t exactly answer that given second, occupied, busy, helping someone get off.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Roman.” Levi’s voice hit like a battering ram, bulldozing through the last shreds of stability Roman had left.

He wobbled, gripping the sink, and almost certain he’d fall face-first into it.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Roman could barely force the word out.

“Who did this?” Levi approached. “Was it Ezra? That sick fuck has gone too far.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Roman tried to swallow the words. He couldn’t explain it to Levi, couldn’t explain he did this to himself, that he’d allowed it to happen. Levi wouldn’t understand.

“Who did this to you?” Levi stared, silently waiting for a reply.

Roman couldn’t answer. He wouldn’t answer. He was tired and ashamed and guilty of letting things get a little too fun.

Levi didn’t wait silently much longer. He continued badgering Roman with questions he didn’t have answers to. It kept stirring up memories, kept knocking Roman’s thoughts around in all the wrong ways, kept making the room spin, until finally, Roman couldn’t stand anymore.

He didn’t remember Levi catching him, but he’d fallen so much last night the pain was a familiar one. Someone had caught him, carried him, called out to him. But Roman was too tired to look, to answer.

When he’d finally rested enough, he woke up inside the infirmary with a nurse standing beside him and Levi sitting far off, eyes locked on Roman with this unblinking stare.

“Tox screen came back,” she said, and Roman couldn’t tell if she looked annoyed or offended or something else altogether. “Had quite a lot…”

As she trailed off, he couldn’t grasp the number of drugs he’d done. He remembered Jake’s kiss. He remembered the chalky pills he shared. He remembered Jake insisting he swallow. That might’ve been another memory, though. He didn’t remember any other drugs. Any other party favors. Just more kisses.

Levi’s puppy-dog blue eyes at the opposite end of the room hurt more than anything last night. More than any fight in the arena. More than any trauma Roman had long since buried. He felt like he’d betrayed Levi, partying it up and nearly overdosing after everything Levi had done to get clean, to fix his life. And Roman shouldn’t feel guilty when he didn’t even remember taking half of the drugs in his system, accepting them, but the nurse’s glower and warning lecture about overdosing made Roman believe he might actually have a problem.

“You’re pretty banged up. We did our best treating the cuts and scrapes.” She paused for a long minute, the longest minute of Roman’s life, as she looked down at him, on him. Both. “And tended to the tattoo.”

“Thank you,” Roman forced out.

“We’d also like to run…”

When the word of kits came up, internal injuries, bleeding, Roman shook his head in protest before clawing his way out of the bed. The nurse didn’t argue with him on the matter, didn’t ask again, didn’t fight a battle she’d probably been told ‘no’ to a million times before. And Roman didn’t need anything. Nothing had happened. He’d tried to have fun. He’d had too much fun. That was it.

Levi cut Roman off as he grabbed his things and got dressed.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Going back to my room,” Roman said. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“You are not going back there,” Levi said with such demand in his voice Roman had to lower his head, sheepish and shaky, in order to respond.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

That fucking hit hard. It knocked the wind right out of Roman. Nearly dropped him to the floor. This all came back to the fact Roman had choices. Choices that led him here. Choices he had to live with. But he couldn’t remember the last time in his life he had a real choice. Every choice offered felt like a trap, another prison, a deceit waiting to watch him fall and beat him down harder than even last night. Roman hated his so-called choices. Hated his options. Hated his life.

“You have choices,” Roman snarled, resenting how free and healthy and strong and capable Levi had become. Roman kept wilting and withering, and Levi continued improving.

Roman wondered if he was the obstacle in his friend’s life, the thing holding Levi back. Maybe it had nothing to do with Ezra giving him a bit of protection, nothing to do with Roman’s sacrifice. Maybe Levi was just meant to do well, and Roman was destined to fail.

Burying the thoughts, Roman bolted ahead and made his way into the hallway, away from ears and watchful eyes.

“We can get your room changed,” Levi insisted, following Roman out of the infirmary. “Get you sent to my cellblock, room with me. My cellmate hates me. Old guy. Hates everyone. He’s funny, though.”

“Yeah, the warden’s definitely gonna sign off on a room change,” Roman said with a bit more sarcasm than he believed he had left in him. “And what happens if I move?”

Roman didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to point out how last night would just happen again and again, only it’d be worse. It wouldn’t be fun. Christ, how he clung to last night being fun gone a bit too far. It was the only thing that held the band to his sanity. If what he thought had happened actually happened, happened under Ezra’s protection, happened after so many months of service, of loyalty, of commitment—no! Ezra wouldn’t have allowed it. Ezra protected Roman, and Roman served Ezra. It was a balance. It kept Roman safe. It was the only thing that kept Roman safe now. What happened last night was Roman’s idea. Roman encouraged it, suggested it, said yes to it. Roman caused this.

“It was just a little partying too hard,” Roman said, shoving past Levi. “Some of us can actually have fun without ODing.”

Regret stabbed Roman the second the words left his lips, the second he twisted his own pain into something that’d hurt Levi.

“I didn’t mean that,” Roman said, unable to look at Levi’s face. “I just got a little too wild is all.”

“You got too wild, or that piece of shit made you?”

“I did this,” Roman insisted. “I said yes. I wanted this.”

Levi grabbed ahold of Roman and pulled him close. The tight grip made his wrists throb.

“This is what you wanted?” Levi showed Roman his bruised arms, and then he touched his neck ever so gently, turning Roman’s head. “And that? You said yes to getting choked out?”

He hadn’t said yes to everything. But he hadn’t said no. He never said no. But he knew he had a choice. Ezra always gave him a choice. Roman clung to that almost as hard as Levi clung to Roman’s wrist.

Roman shook his head and pulled away from Levi. He was confusing things, confusing Roman.

“Sup, pretty pink princess.” Jake breezed down the empty hallway, practically materializing from nowhere.

Roman knew this wasn’t random. He’d fucked Jake last night—well, been fucked by him—and now he’d shown up to the infirmary. This was a warning many men got if they thought something happened that hadn’t happened.

“I had so much fun last night,” Jake said with a swagger. “I’ve spent years dreaming of what we could do together; I had no idea it’d be this fun.”

Fun.

Roman hunched, quelling Jake’s voice, silencing the memories his happiness carried. The light lilt in his voice, the joy in his raspy whisper, it carried a tidal wave of memories Roman didn’t want to piece together.

“Show me what a good bitch you are,” Jake’s venomous voice rang loudly in Roman’s thoughts. “Show me how much you like it.”

Heavy, sweaty bodies one after another in such a haze the only thing Roman could truly track was the sound of slapping skin and his muffled whimpers. Then came the gentle smacks. Lips pressed to his. Lips pressed to his neck. Lips whispering in his ear.

“The things you’ve learned with the champion,” Jake had said. “The things I can still teach you.”

“Get. The fuck. Away from him.” The bass in Levi’s voice dropped to absolute gravel as he growled out each word slowly and threateningly.

“Oh, bestie boyfriend has a temper.” Jake took the attitude the same way he took everything, as an open invitation to taunt and provoke. “I remember you used to be so nice and quiet.”

“Not anymore.” Levi snarled, fists clenched and body an instant from attacking. “Back. The fuck. Away.”

“And if I don’t?” Jake tilted his head, enticed by Levi.

Levi didn’t respond, merely fumed with each breath, chest and biceps flexed, ready for a confrontation.

Curiously, Jake poked Roman’s face. Before he could even attempt something else, Levi snatched Jake by the wrist and throat and slammed him against the wall. When Jake resisted, Levi headbutted him, sending a splash of fresh red to the bandages over Jake’s nose, and twisted his arm further back. It was only when Jake gurgled and gasped and his legs gave out to the fight that Levi released him.

With a helping shove, Levi pushed Jake to the ground and pressed his foot over one of Jake’s hands. Roman hadn’t noticed at first, but Jake was reaching for something pocketed, a blade most likely, and Levi put a quick and painful stop to it.

“Don’t ever go near Roman again,” Levi said. “Don’t look at him. Don’t talk to him. Don’t even breathe the same fucking air as him.”

“But we were breathing the same fucking air while I fucked him for hours,” Jake said with a laugh. “Can’t expect me to give up on that pretty pink princess after he let me wreck that pretty pink hole.”

Levi pressed his foot further until Roman could hear Jake’s hand crack. He shouted and raged, but all Levi did was lean forward and punch Jake until he silenced his own outbursts.

“You’re feistier than I remember.” Jake pointed a finger with his free hand. “I considered bending you over once upon a time. I like ‘em big and dumb, but meek boys bore me. You didn’t have any fight in you, and railing the fight outta a guy is half the fun. Just ask sweetness over there.”

Levi looked down on Jake, still crushing his hand, still debating whether to attack him. Roman could see it in his eyes, so furious and unlike Levi. Roman hated himself for letting Levi sink this low, throw away all his kind thoughts and turn violent. Especially for someone like Roman.

“Might have to revisit this romance.” Jake gestured to himself and Levi as if they were having a moment instead of mutual threats. “I wonder if you’ll cry as much as your boyfriend.”

Roman froze when Jake’s eyes turned to him, a viper’s stare, a gaze so venomous it nearly made Roman collapse.

“I spent so much effort trying to get you, and to my surprise, you just handed that ass right over,” Jake said with a laugh. “I’m gonna treat you well, though. Especially since the champion’s bored with you. Don’t you worry, I’ll never get bored with you, sweetness. Got a whole lotta guys who’ll never get bored with you either.”

“Shut up,” Levi commanded.

“Seriously,” Jake said, looking up at Levi. “This fire is hot. I can’t wait till the champion revokes his protection on you, too. The both of ya can be tally butt buddies.” Jake turned to Roman, feeding off the shame that oozed from Roman. “Gonna show your little boyfriend here your new art?”

With that, Levi had enough and punched Jake in the face.

“Stop laughing,” he demanded, furious fists hitting Jake again and again.

Jake didn’t stop laughing. It was a haunting reminder of last night. Roman couldn’t take it. Couldn’t believe what Jake had said about Ezra. He couldn’t believe any of it.

“Wait,” Levi shouted, chasing after Roman and abandoning a cackling Jake.

Roman didn’t stop; he couldn’t stop. He had to find Ezra. He had to fix this.

When Roman reached the champion’s suite, he waited outside, trying to catch his breath. Ezra rustled with things inside, and Roman wasn’t ready to face him.

He replayed Jake’s words, Jake’s kisses, everything else Jake did with him.

“There a reason you’re just standing there?” The edge in Ezra’s voice hadn’t lessened.

Roman shook his head and slowly made his way inside.

“If you’re gonna party hard, maybe don’t go running to the infirmary because you can’t hold your what-ever-the-fucks you were popping,” Ezra said it so annoyed, so matter-of-factly as if he’d watched the events unfold and saw a completely different night, as if he hadn’t taken and encouraged the pills to begin with, like all this was some inconvenience brought down on Ezra.

Roman hadn’t been partying for the sake of it. It was for Ezra, right? It was to patch things up. He hadn’t said no to the kisses and candy that came with it because… Roman didn’t know anymore.

“I didn’t wanna upset you,” Roman said. “That’s why I hung out with Jake. I’d messed things up with you two, so I thought—”

“I told you to make things right,” Ezra interrupted. “Told you to be nice. I didn’t tell you to fuck him. Didn’t tell you to fuck his whole crew. That was all you.”

It wasn’t. He hadn’t. Roman remembered Ezra’s voice, his encouragement. No. Now the night didn’t make sense.

“I didn’t fuck everyone.” Roman sank in the shame of clarifying that fact.

“Might as well have,” Ezra scoffed. “Look, if that’s what you’re into, whatever. You do you.”

“What?” Roman trembled. “No… I don’t… I’m not... That’s not what I want.”

“Maybe Jake’s right.” Ezra shrugged, making his way to the door. “Maybe you two have more in common than I realize. Maybe this whole forcing your friendship is a waste of my time, your time. Maybe you’d be happy with Jake.”

“No.” Roman rushed over to the door. “It’s not a waste. It’s not forced. You’re the best person I know.”

Roman didn’t understand what was happening, what he’d done wrong. Ezra was mad at him for something he suggested; he always had a say in Roman’s choices. He helped Roman make the right choices.

“I gotta think, Roman,” Ezra said, taking his leave and abandoning Roman in the cell.

He’d called him by his name, which he never did. He always used a pet name. Roman sat alone for hours dwelling on that fact, dwelling on how Ezra would likely stay gone until light’s out.

Getting ready for bed, Roman changed his clothes, tended to the new tattoo, and tried to wipe away what remained of the permanent marker drawn on him. When he caught sight of letters written on his lower back, Roman turned more to the mirror and almost broke out into tears at what he read.

“Property of Jake the Snake Finnegan and Crew, Inc.”

It was spelled out like Roman was some type of fucking product. A fuckable product. One that Jake would pass around to anyone and everyone. One that he’d already enjoyed passing around. One Ezra had grown sick of because Roman never did anything right.

Roman had offended Ezra, and he didn’t know how to fix this situation. He didn’t know how to undo this mess, a mess he’d caused.

Roman fell to the floor and cried. He cried in a way he never allowed himself to cry. He cried like he had before his father beat it out of him. He cried like he had after murdering Stacy. He cried like he had when they brought down his sentence, and the rest of his life ended.

It hadn’t dawned on him how awful it’d be. His incarceration. How exhausting and painful and grueling every second would be. It hadn’t been awful, not like now, not while he kept his head above water. But he floundered once, just once, and now he just kept sinking, kept drowning, kept falling deeper and deeper, losing pieces of himself along the way. Those parts of Roman floated up, lost to the current like the air bubbles he’d never get back.

Roman sobbed, alone in his cell with no answers to the problems he faced, no way out, no way to fix them.