Chapter 35
Oliver
My laptop is open on the coffee table, a home renovation show playing in the background as I move around the kitchen, preparing a slice of toast and a mug of tea.
Darius left barely two hours ago and already the place feels lonely and I’m counting down the minutes until I can see him again.
There are little parts of him all over my flat that make it feel more like a home than it ever has.
A fleece blanket – blue with penguins – lays in a heap on the sofa.
One of his lace thongs on the floor next to my bed.
His shampoo in my shower. And in the kitchen, a twin box of Jaffa Cakes sits atop the microwave, half already eaten.
There’s a pan soaking in the sink from the steak Darius fried earlier in the day, and half a bottle of wine on the sideboard. All reminders that he should be here with me.
Sighing, I take my tea and toast over to the coffee table, placing them next to the laptop.
Then I sink down onto the sofa, leaning forward to eat while watching the show.
It’s an episode I’ve seen, so I skip ahead to the next one.
In this episode, a young couple has left their city life for a slower pace near the seaside.
The cottage they’ve bought is dilapidated, the window panes wind-beaten and peeling, and the garden overgrown with weeds.
I smile as I bite into my buttered toast. It’s the kind of place I can see in our future, when the time comes and all of this business with Floyd and Darius’s father is over.
Before I left the kitchen, I took one Jaffa Cake out of the box.
It sits on the side of my plate, a tiny orange and chocolate flavoured treat that makes my stomach twist when I bring it to my lips.
On my therapist’s suggestion, I’ve been working at my exposure to sweet foods.
Small quantities. Little bites. Changing what I associate it with.
Swapping the negative experiences with more positive ones.
I take a measured breath, hold on the inhale and then breathe it out.
Then I take a bite, the tangy orange hitting my tongue.
I follow the bite with a sip of tea to wash it down before taking another.
I hate that my pulse races and my skin heats all over this tiny biscuit in my hand.
I remind myself that Alister isn’t here.
This isn’t about him. Isn’t a ‘reward’ from him.
It’s me choosing to enjoy a fucking biscuit with my tea.
I take another bite, then another, and soon enough, the biscuit is gone.
It settles like a stone in my gut, but I ignore the feeling and focus on the show, sipping at my strongly brewed drink.
My phone sits on the coffee table and though it’s on loud so I know there are no messages waiting, I check it anyway.
The background image is one taken at the club last night.
Darius kissing my cheek, both of us gleaming with sweat beneath harsh purple lights.
There’s another one in my photo roll of him in his tiny yellow thong and matching harness, on his knees on my bed.
I don’t need to open it to picture it perfectly or to remember the delicious moments that followed.
I’m locking my phone when there’s a knock on my front door. Leaving the device on the sofa, I throw on a t-shirt, then open up.
“Darius? Shit, what happened?”
There’s a man standing on the doorstep, his arm around Darius’s waist and my boyfriend’s arm over his shoulder. Darius’s head lolls to the side, his eyes scrunching in pain.
“He got in my cab, told me your flat number and then fell silent, staring out of the window. He stumbled out of the car and couldn’t get up the stairs without help. One of your neighbours was coming out and they let us in the front door.”
“Jesus, D.” I take him from the man, wrapping an arm around him and resting his head on my chest. I run a hand down his back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breaths beneath my palm.
“Don’t think he’s drunk,” the guy says.
“He’s not.”
“Do’ya think we should take him to a hospital?”
“No,” Darius mumbles. “Need to lie down. No hospital.”
The cab driver frowns, and I turn Darius away from him, my protective instincts in overdrive.
“Thank you for getting him here. I’ll take care of him. Give me a second and I’ll grab you some cash.”
The cab driver waves his hand. “No need. Paid on the app. Hope he’s going to be okay.”
Me too.
The guy doesn’t wait around, hurrying back down the stairs to where I presume his car is waiting on the curb.
My arms wrapped around Darius, I lead him towards my bed, but he stops me, a hand on my chest and I edge away from him, dipping my head to bring us eye to eye.
It’s then that I get a good look at him.
Swollen lip. Blood on his chin. His wrist cradled against his chest, still in the neoprene splint he had on earlier in the day.
My heart aches, anger curling around me like smoke. Someone did this to him, and I have no doubt who it was.
I will fucking kill the guy.
“What happened, baby?” I ask, gently taking his chin between two fingers. Inspecting his face, I don’t see any other injuries. “Come lie down with me.”
Darius shakes his head. “Can I shower first, please?”
“Of course.” I kiss his temple and then with my arm still around him, I guide him into the bathroom, sitting him down on the toilet lid. Then I start the shower. Darius stands, wobbling on his feet, but he holds out a hand when I try to help him.
“I’m okay,” he mumbles. “Can you get me some painkillers, please?”
“Sure. And I’ll grab some clean towels. Do you need me to help you with the shower?”
He shakes his head and I reluctantly walk out of the room, leaving the door partly open.
I get a bottle of water out of the fridge, take two paracetamol out of the drawer next to my bed, and a clean towel from my cupboard, then head back into the bathroom, my heart sinking to my feet as I catch sight of Darius.
“Baby.” I drop everything to the floor, hurrying over to the shower, where Darius is sitting against the wall, his head down, buried between his folded arms. There’s a deep purple bruise blooming across his side, and his body is shaking with the force of his sobs.
Not caring that I’m fully dressed, I climb under the spray, falling to my knees in front of him.
Careful not to cause him any more pain than what I’m sure he’s already in, I wrap my arms around his waist and gently nudge him forward.
He comes easily, climbing into my lap and I kiss his temple, warm water trailing down the both of us.
My shower is not big, so I end up with my back against the opposite wall.
Darius doesn’t talk. He holds onto me, his lips pressed to my neck as he cries, and I hold him back, stroking his hair and whispering how much I love him.
When the water turns cold, I reach behind me and flick it off.
“Let’s go to bed, angel.”
“Okay.”
I stand, reaching out a hand for Darius, which he takes, wincing when he straightens up, holding his wrist tightly to his chest. The anger simmering in my blood like an undercurrent surges forward when I get a good look at him.
His stomach and ribs are covered in bruises.
Deep, shocking purple blotches marring his pale flesh.
I blow out a breath, reaching for him with gentle hands. Too scared to speak, in case he hears the anger in my voice, I wordlessly help him out of the shower, wrap him in a towel and kiss his forehead.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
Hands on Darius’s cheeks, I tip his head up and press my mouth to his, peppering soft kisses over his swollen, torn lip.
“I love you.”
Wet, salty tears run down his cheeks, and I kiss them away. I’m still in soaking wet clothing, so I kiss him once more, then tell him to climb into bed while I get undressed. He leaves the room, his movements slow, pain clear in the way he’s holding his body.
Once he’s out of the room, I grip the edges of the basin until my knuckles turn white.
I need to shake off these feelings before I go out there to him, but all I can think of is storming out of here and ripping that fucker to shreds.
Only knowing how much Darius needs me right now keeps me from following through.
For now.
“Fuck!” I growl, ripping off my wet t-shirt and shorts. I wrap myself in a towel, then take a few breaths to calm my boiling blood. When I’m sure I have myself under control, I pick up the discarded painkillers and water and leave the bathroom.
Crossing the space to the corner of the flat set up as my bedroom, I stop only to retrieve my phone, then stand at the edge of the bed.
Darius is curled onto his side, his back to me, vulnerable and tense, the covers of the bed pulled up to his chin. The mattress dips under my weight as I settle onto the bed behind him.
“Can I hold you?”
He nods, wet blond hair fanned out like a halo on the pillow.
I slide one arm beneath him, hating the way he flinches when my arm brushes his side. “Sorry.” I move slower until he’s firmly in my arms.
“S’okay.”
“I think you need to go to the hospital, D.”
“No. Please. I just want to sleep. I’m okay. It’s not serious.” There’s a subtle tremble in his body, like he’s fighting off cold, or maybe a crash of adrenaline.
“It could be serious, baby. You don’t know what damage he’s done.”
“Not tonight. I promise, I’m fine.”
“We also need to call the police.”
“Ollie, please. Not now. I’m so tired.” His voice is firm, his plea clear.
I don’t like it, but I choose to respect his request for the time being. But I also won’t sleep so that I can monitor him until I’m certain he’s okay.
Kissing the back of his neck, I say, “You can’t go back to him.”
He’s quiet for a moment, the silence loud in my small flat.