Chapter 4 #2
I can still hear the way he said my name, drawing it out, like he knew exactly what it would do to me. How quickly my breathing had shifted, how easily I’d given him the sounds he wanted. I hate myself for it. I hate that I didn’t block his number the moment I got that picture.
Instead, I closed my eyes and let his words pour into me until I was lost.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. Not with him. Not with anyone.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, hoping the water will wash it away, but it doesn’t.
Every time I blink, I see his mouth. Every time I run my hands through my hair, I feel the ghost of his touch, even though he wasn’t here.
He didn’t need to be. He was already under my skin, and last night proved it.
The guilt twists sharp in my chest. My father’s voice slithers up from the past like it always does when I feel something I shouldn’t. Weak. Filthy. Wrong.
I lean against the cool tile, forehead pressed hard against it, trying to drown out the memory of Phoenix whispering exactly what he’d do if he were here. Trying to fight the heat creeping back into my gut at the thought of it.
I can’t stop thinking about him. That’s the problem. Even as I tell myself it was a mistake, even as I promise I won’t let it happen again, my mind drifts back to the sound of his laughter, the sharp edge of his confidence, the way he spoke like he already owned me.
And God help me, part of me liked it.
That’s the part I can’t forgive myself for—the small, hidden part that wanted to be told what to do, that ached under his words like it had been waiting for them.
By the time I leave the shower, I’m exhausted.
I dress mechanically, try to eat something, fail.
The day stretches ahead of me like a punishment.
Every little thing reminds me of him—the buzz of my phone on the counter, the smell of leather when I pull on my jacket, even the smirk of a stranger passing on the street. My brain twists them all into Phoenix.
I hate how much I want to hear from him again.
The phone sits heavy in my pocket as I go through the motions of my day. I catch myself checking it every few minutes, convincing myself it’s just habit. But it isn’t. It’s him. It’s waiting to see if he’ll reach out. If he’ll push again, test the boundaries I swore to keep.
He will. I know he will. And worse… I’m excited for him to do it.
The truth gnaws at me; last night wasn’t Phoenix forcing his way in. I opened the door. I stood there, bare, and let him in. My defenses didn’t crumble. I lowered them. I wanted to hear him. Wanted to give him that power, even if it left me shaking after.
I run a hand over my face, disgust crawling up my throat. How did I get here? How did I go from silence, from walls built high enough to keep anyone out, to letting him whisper me undone through a phone line?
It shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. Too much.
And now, even when I try to focus, I can’t stop imagining what it would be like if he were here in person. If those words came with his hands pinning me down. If that heat in his voice burned right against my skin.
I clench my fists, trying to banish the image, but it lingers. My body doesn’t care about my guilt. It remembers the pleasure first.
Maybe that’s what terrifies me most. That for the first time in years, someone has slipped past my guard, and instead of shutting it down, I let him stay.
No matter what I do, I can’t push Phoenix out of my head.
I make coffee, pace the apartment, open a book, close it again without reading more than a page.
Everything is noise compared to the memory of last night.
the sound of his voice, the way he laughed low when I couldn’t hold back a sound of my own.
I told myself I wouldn’t think about it. But the harder I try not to, the stronger it digs in. His words, his tone—it’s all still there, carved into me like something permanent.
The guilt doesn’t ease up, either. It grows.
I keep flashing back to my father’s hand across my face, his spit-laced voice telling me what I was, what I wasn’t.
A man who lets himself be touched like that isn’t a man at all.
My chest tightens just remembering it, a sour shame that makes me curl my fists until my nails dig into skin.
And yet.
Even with the shame pressing down, a pulse of heat runs through me when I replay the moment Phoenix said my name like a promise. Like he knew me better than I knew myself.
I hate that he was right.
By evening, I’m too wound up to sit still. I end up pacing again, staring at my phone. I don’t text him. God knows I want to. But I can’t. Not when my head feels this fractured.
Instead, I open another app and tap the contact I’ve avoided all week. Silas.
The screen goes black for a moment before his face fills it. Dark hair, heavy brows, a voice that carries the weight of command even before he speaks.
“Leander,” he says, like the name alone is a question.
I force a steady smile. “Hey, Si.”
He narrows his eyes, reading me too easily. He always has. “You look troubled.”
“Nah, I’m fine.” The lie sounds paper-thin, so I add, “Just thinking.”
His silence stretches, heavy. Finally, he leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Well, don’t leave me on the edge of my seat…” He laughs, trying to hide the worry already creasing his forehead.
I hesitate. The truth rises hot and shameful on my tongue, but I bite it back. I can’t tell him about Phoenix, not like this. Silas knows me better than anyone; he’d know that boy is fucking trouble from just his name on my mouth.
So I deflect. “Well, I was thinking about… people. About whether I should try letting someone in. Dating, maybe.”
That gets his attention. His eyebrows lift a fraction, then draw together. “So I bring it up last week and you say ‘that’s not what I’m focused on.’ And now you’re thinking about it?”
Because someone already broke through, I almost say. Because I can’t stop thinking about the sound of his voice while I…
I scoff. “Yeah, I’m thinking about it.”
“You’ve been a loner all this time. Why now?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m tired of being alone.”
Silas studies me for a long, piercing moment. Then he shakes his head slowly. “So, who is he?”
“I didn’t say there was anyone, Si.”
He squints at me. “Yeah, but I can see that lovesick puppy glint in your eyes.”
“I do not have a lovesick puppy look—”
“Yeah, you do.”
Oh my god, I want to strangle him. “Can we just focus?”
“I just wanna know who the guy is.” He chuckles.
“I never said there was a guy.”
“You know I’ve never cared about you being gay, Lee. I know Dad said all that BS but—”
My father’s voice suddenly shouts through my brain, startling me. The venom in it still sharp enough to sting years later.
Silas says it so casually, but the words strike deeper than he realizes. My throat tightens, memory unspooling before I can stop it.
I’m fifteen again, sitting at the kitchen table with a calculus textbook open, pencil tapping nervously against the page.
My father comes in, heavy boots on the linoleum, smelling of bourbon and motor oil.
He doesn’t ask how school was. He doesn’t ask if I need help.
His eyes land on the phone in my hand, where a friend—a boy—had just texted me something stupid and harmless: a smiley face, a dumb joke about a video game.
He sees it, and his lip curls.
“You’re not one of those, are you?” His voice is a growl, already accusing.
My stomach drops. “What?”
“You know what I mean.” He steps closer, grabs the phone right out of my hand. His thumb scrolls, his face darkens. He doesn’t find anything incriminating—because there’s nothing to find—but it doesn’t matter. He shoves the phone back at me, disgust carved into every line of his face.
“Christ,” he spits, pacing the small kitchen like he can’t stand to be near me. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna turn into one of those fairy boys.” His hand slams against the counter, making the dishes rattle. “Not under my roof.”
I remember trying to swallow, trying to make myself small. “I’m not—”
“Better not be.” He cuts me off, sharp as a knife. His eyes bore into mine, and what I see there makes my chest ache even now: not just anger, but something colder. Disappointment.
“If I ever hear you’re running around with some man,” he snarls, “you’ll regret it. You’ll remember who made you.”
He storms out, leaving the smell of bourbon hanging thick in the air, leaving me frozen at the table with my pulse in my ears.
That night, I deleted half my contacts, threw my phone across the room just to hear it break.
I lay awake staring at the ceiling, hating myself for how badly my chest ached—not just from fear, but from the shame of wanting something I’d just been told was filthy.
Even now, years later, I can still feel that moment branded into me, like a scar you can’t scrub off.
“Not what I was trying to say.” I say it rougher than I expected.
Silas is quiet. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs.
“Sorry. Sorry, I misread the situation. Tell me again.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to bring myself back to the present. “I just wanted to ask how you know when it’s the right time to get out there.”
Silas sits back in his chair, contemplating. “Well, I would tell you there’s never really a perfect time.”
“That’s helpful.”
“No, no—I mean that your person could come at any time. Any place. You just have to take a chance, little brother.”
I nod, rolling his words over in my head.
“But you gotta be careful who you give your heart to. There are dangerous people out there, Leander. People who look like friends but are not. They’ll draw you close, whisper sweet things, then devour you from the inside.”
The words hit too close. My gut twists, because it sounds exactly like Phoenix—how he slid past every guard I built, how he coaxed out things I swore I’d never give.
I keep my face calm—or try to. “You think I shouldn’t trust anyone?”
“No, idiot. I think you just need to guard yourself carefully. Especially you.” His eyes flash with conviction. “Wolves circle men like you. Strong enough to resist, but fragile if you stumble. One wrong step, and you’re theirs.”
The back of my neck prickles. I shift in my chair, forcing a laugh that feels brittle. “You make it sound like everyone’s out to get me.”
Silas doesn’t laugh. “Not everyone. Just the ones who know how to find the cracks.”
Cracks. My mind flashes back to Phoenix’s hand under the table, creeping higher up my thigh where no one else could see. To the way I didn’t stop him. To last night, when I answered the phone instead of letting it ring. He’s already found the cracks and is trying to make them bigger.
I school my face, nodding as if I’m only half listening. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“See that you do.” Silas leans closer to the camera, his voice dropping lower. “You’ve carried burdens others can’t understand. Don’t let some charming dickhead snake undo you. Promise me.”
The word snake curls like smoke in my chest. I think of Phoenix’s smile, sly and knowing, the way he watches me like he’s already planning the next move. A snake fits him too well.
But the worst part is how much I want to let him coil around me anyway.
I force a nod. “I promise.”
Silas studies me another beat before sitting back. His expression softens slightly, though the weight never leaves his eyes. “Good. Keep me updated.”
The call ends, leaving the apartment too quiet.
I stare at my reflection in the black screen. My jaw tight, my pulse heavy. My brother sees me as someone in need of protection, someone vulnerable to predators. And maybe he’s right.
But even as the shame claws at me, another thought slips through, dark and undeniable—
If Phoenix is one of those dangerous people Silas warned about, why do I want him anyway?
The question lingers long after I set the phone down, long into the night, until the quiet hum of the city outside feels like Phoenix whispering my name all over again.
I roll onto the couch, phone face-down on the table, but sleep won’t come. My body is restless, my skin alive with memory. His hand under the table. His voice in my ear. The sharp thrill of giving in when I swore I wouldn’t.
Dangerous, Silas called it. And maybe it is. Maybe Phoenix will burn me down to ash if I let him.
But lying there in the dark, I realize something terrifying:
I don’t care.