Chapter 12
August
The second the car door was shut, Niko began his interrogation. “Dude, what? Why are you freaking out?”
August peeled onto the street, sweeping his sleeve over his mouth to get rid of the sticky substance that tasted like apples.
“Nothing—it’s nothing.” August knew he was speaking because he could hear his voice, but he couldn’t take control of the words. Everything felt floaty and echoey, as if he were out of alignment with his skeleton.
“Family emergency?” Niko tried again. “Personal emergency?”
The engine roared when August stepped harder on the gas pedal, and Niko yelped in surprise as the car lurched.
He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to go home and go to bed and not think about Quinn Harlow or how his lips tasted like candy apples that matched the green of his eyes.
What had he been thinking? Why did he kiss him? Nothing made sense anymore.
August didn’t remember parking in his garage or getting out of the car. He didn’t remember answering any of the thousand questions Niko asked him.
He didn’t even remember to take his damn shoes off before he fell onto his bed and buried his face into his pillow.
Kissing Quinn wasn’t logical. August wasn’t attracted to him, and he wasn’t into guys. He had moved past that part of his life when he realized it wasn’t for him, and yeah, he could have handled the situation better back then, but still…
Pain jabbed into the space behind his eyes, and August groaned, pressing harder into the pillow like he could soothe it by applying pressure.
His stomach was doing flips, and if it weren’t for the clean scent of his blankets, he would have thought he was on a ship, riding out a storm that was pummeling the ocean.
He didn’t like guys. He had no problem with his friends being gay, but that wasn’t him.
Kissing Quinn should have felt mechanical. It should have felt like nothing.
So, why did it fucking set his soul on fire?
Memories of his night with Quinn crept forward, and August lifted his head from his pillow only so he could bite the heel of his palm until the skin threatened to break.
His mother would be furious if she knew he had kissed a man. His father—
August’s back muscles tensed, and the painful burn that felt like a whip lash was so intense, it was like welcoming home an old friend.
But this pain wasn’t his friend—it was his father’s belt against his bare skin, and agony burning through his nerve endings.
August screamed and bit harder, his teeth breaking through the skin deeply enough that his mouth filled with the copper taste of blood. Quinn’s words played on repeat, taunting him with thoughts he had locked away in the darkest corners of his mind.
“And then you said you loved me.”
His memories were spotty, but there was no denying the truth of what he said. August couldn’t understand why he would have forgotten something like that, but he couldn’t connect who he was in the past with who he was now.
Teenage August wasn’t who he was. It was just a phase. Quinn hadn’t meant anything to him. If he had, then he wouldn’t have forgotten him and moved on. See? No reason to panic because he was still straight, and he still played hockey, and he still knew who he was.
Besides, thinking about Quinn was painful. Not in the emotional sense, but physically, it made his back burn and his stomach revolt against life. It would be better to wipe the night’s events from his mind just like he had when his father found out he had kissed a boy—
Agony erupted behind his eyes, and August’s ears were filled with a high-pitched ringing that blocked every sensation and turned his vision white.
Through the ringing, his father’s voice grew in volume, quiet at first until it was booming like a drum.
“Are you telling me you had sex with a boy?!”
“I did. His name is Quinn. You know the Harlows, Dad. I think you would like him.”
“You think I would like a homosexual? If the Harlows had any common sense, they would beat that child until he straightened up, which is what I’m going to do to you.”
“Dad—”
“Shirt off. Hands behind your back. Get on your knees.”
“Dear, remember not to draw blood like last time, or the coach will start asking questions again.”
“Don’t tell me what to do with my son. He knows the rules of this house, and I will not have a sinner living under my roof.”
Pain so deep that August could feel it carving into his soul.
And then—
“Eddie! No!”
…
“August—call an ambulance! What if it’s his heart—”
“August!”
“August!”
“Hey, Gusty! What the fuck, man?”
The sudden rush of vomit coming up his throat was what finally knocked him back into his body. August flipped off the bed, half-crawling as he hurried to the bathroom, making it as far as his polished bathtub before he emptied the contents of his stomach with one awful retch.
Tears and snot quickly joined the splatter of vomit dripping from his chin, and August only had enough time to suck in a lungful of oxygen before he was gagging again.
The ringing was dying down, leaving his body shaking and feeling weak, but the piercing pressure in his head remained. August didn’t know how much longer he could take it without begging Niko to call him an ambulance, but he wouldn’t be able to ask for one until his stomach stopped spasming.
By the time it ended, August’s teeth were chattering, and he was acutely aware that he was sobbing so loudly that it was causing his already sore throat to ache. He slumped to the floor, hugging his arms to his chest, as if he could forcefully keep himself from falling apart.
The sound of water running and the hum of words he couldn’t understand finished off what was left of the ringing, providing relief so desperately needed that he almost felt high from it.
August couldn’t move, so he lay where he was, teeth chattering and sobs dying into short breaths that were easier to take. The longer he listened to the humming, the less his head felt like it was being cracked open.
And after what felt like a lifetime, it settled into a dull throb.
“What…language is that?”
August had yet to open his eyes, but he heard the lack of sound when Niko went motionless. It was quiet for so long he worried he had hallucinated the presence of his roommate, but then a warm cloth began roughly wiping his face, making him shout in surprise.
“It’s a lullaby my grandmother used to sing to me,” said Niko, pinning August to the floor so he could clean him up without a fight. “You didn’t tell me you suffered from migraines.”
Niko hadn’t answered his question, and August didn’t want to start a fight that he was in no shape to finish, so he surrendered.
Niko could have left him to deal with shit on his own now that he had regained the ability to think, but August was glad he didn’t. It felt weird to be cared for like this, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He knew he looked stupid with his face burning from embarrassment, but Niko didn’t say anything.
No words were exchanged as Niko helped roll August onto his back and shoved a folded-up towel under his head. He placed a cold cloth over his eyes before he could open them, and then removed August’s shoes and undressed him out of his constricting suit.
The trauma of the event was passing, and August could feel the cold sweat soaking his clothes, making them cling to his chilled skin. The shaking didn’t stop, not even after Niko helped him lift his head to take a drink of water and swallow some Advil.
It wasn’t until Niko was finished tidying and was sitting on the floor beside August that he spoke again.
“No wonder you wanted to leave. I know migraines can hit out of nowhere, but damn.”
August swallowed past the bitter taste in his mouth, cringing so hard that shivers erupted over his body. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
Niko snorted and gently patted the cloth covering his eyes. “If you heard your friend crying and ran into the room to see him thrashing in pain, I think you would have reacted the same way. I almost called an ambulance—I still might if that bite on your hand is as deep as I think it is.”
As if responding to Niko’s words, his palm began burning, drawing a hiss from him.
August wanted to laugh, but if he used any more of his energy, he would be liable to have a heart attack.
Ha! Heart attack.
He was reeling from what happened, so when words began leaving his mouth without his permission, he was powerless to stop them.
“I killed my father,” August whispered.
The silence was heavy. August’s heartbeat was thudding hard enough to rattle his teeth. The longer it stretched, the faster his pulse pounded, until the jittery, buzzing sensation became too much, and a laugh slipped out before he could stop it.
He didn’t care if Niko was there, or if he had been an illusion the entire time; he needed to talk about it before the truth filled his lungs and he choked on it.
“He had a bad heart, and I knew how to piss him off. I guess I took it too far when I told the culty, religious asshole that I had fucked a guy, and the stress brought on by him beating me with his belt, sent him straight into cardiac arrest.”
August giggled as he readjusted the facecloth, flipping it to the colder side and sighing with relief.
“My mom, the horrid bitch, told me to call for help, but I didn’t. I stayed on my knees like a good boy because that was the last order my father had given me. I didn’t raise a finger to save him; I just watched him die like the pathetic piece of shit he was.”
He swallowed, and his throat burned from damage and overuse.
“Why did I forget that? It makes no fucking sense—it’s like the memories weren’t there until I saw him, and then my fucking world imploded. You think someone would remember killing their father, but I guess I really am a forgetful idiot. I’m such an idiot!”