Gabe
Oh, I wonder who that could be?
I stumble out of bed and open the front door, and, sure enough, Jason is standing there with—
Angelique?
Jason doesn’t even look at me. Because he can’t look at anything.
He can barely focus, and his lids flutter with how drunk he is.
I take a step back, and Jason stumbles into the trailer, making a beeline for the bathroom. Angelique saunters in after him, looking around the trailer with her one eye.
I’ve only met Angelique a handful of times with Torren, but she’s always been nice to me.
She takes a seat on the sofa and says, “Jason was just telling me about his stepbrother, but I had no idea it was you, baby boy.”
My stomach clenches just thinking about why she’s here. Jason’s a mess; he clearly got into a fight, and Angelique—
Well, let’s just say Angelique looks like she has an agenda for the evening.
There’s a crash in the bathroom, and I rush over to find half of the medicine cabinet on the floor and Jason washing the blood off his face. He’s had a black eye since the day he arrived, so I have no idea how hurt he really is, but there’s definitely a fresh cut above his brow.
He glances at me sheepishly, almost like he’s embarrassed.
Without thinking, I close the distance between us and inspect his brow.
“Gabe, don’t—”
“Shh.”
I soak a washcloth in warm water, then clean Jason’s cut. He watches me the entire time, studying me as I pick the Band-Aids box off the floor and place one over his cut.
He grabs my wrist and moves it away from his face. “Don’t do this,” he whispers. “Don’t care about me.”
His eyes can barely focus as he says it. My mouth falls open, desperate to ask why, but I slam it shut.
Jason shakes his head, then pushes past me, but his foot gets caught on the doorframe, and he falls, crashing to the ground and making the entire trailer shake.
“You okay, babe?” Angelique asks.
Jason slurs his words, attempting to brush it off, but as he tries to get up, he stumbles again, landing on the ground in a heap.
I go to help him up, but he bats me away with his arm. “Go to bed, Gabe,” he bellows.
Angelique approaches, and I see her expression.
Her mood has changed entirely.
That lascivious gaze from before has morphed into resignation.
“Come on, sugar,” she sighs as we both help Jason to his feet and lead him to the couch.
He plops down, groaning while rubbing his hands over his face.
“Come here,” he urges with his arms stretched out toward Angelique, but she pushes them down by his wrists and kisses his forehead.
“Get some sleep, hotshot.” She slinks to the front door and opens it.
“W-wait,” Jason yells. “You’re leaving?”
Angelique stops, looks over her shoulder, and says, “Yeah, honey. You don’t need sex. You need water and a good night’s sleep.”
Jason tries to get up, but falls onto the couch again. “Don’t go,” he groans. “Let’s fuck!”
Angelique sings, “Goodnight, baby,” as she exits.
When the door closes behind her, Jason glares at me. “Way to cock-block, asshole.”
I clench my fists at my sides.
The only one who cock-blocked you is YOU, you drunk motherfuc—
“Go to bed,” he barks. “I need sleep.”
I rush back to my room, shaking with rage, but beyond grateful that Angelique left. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to lie in here and listen to them fucking. It’s not logical at all, but I think I’d walk out there and pull her off him…
Which is a sign that I’m truly losing my mind.
My body lands on the bed with a thud, and I clench my eyes shut. I can still hear him in there, stumbling around, probably trying to turn off the light or something.
Well, fuck him.
Let him struggle. I’d be helping him if he weren’t the biggest dickhead on the planet, so let him reap what he’s sowed.
My breath is ragged as I toss and turn, wrapping myself in the comforter to form a cocoon around me.
I just need to sleep.
I close my eyes, focusing on the breeze outside.
Jason’s stopped clomping all over the trailer, and there’s finally peace.
I sigh with relief, grateful that it’s finally quiet and I can get some—
“Ughhhh…”
What the?
“Ughhhh…”
Is that a woman?
“Yes! Oh, fuck yes, eat my fucking pussy!”
Oh. My. God.
He’s watching porn.
And the volume?
DEAFENING.
Can I catch a fucking break?
It couldn’t be louder. The sound travels from the living room through the seam of my bedroom door and stabs my eardrums like a pickaxe.
It goes on and on. The sounds of really bad porn blaring throughout the trailer and knowing that it’s Jason out there makes me—
“Oh…”
No.
“Fuck,” he groans.
I can hear him. Dear god, I can fucking hear him.
This is a nightmare. I wish I could spontaneously combust so that—
“Gaaaaabe…”
I freeze.
My body is cold, and I can’t catch my breath.
“Gaaaabe…” he says again.
Is he saying?
No, he’s not. I’m imagining it—wishing for it. Yearning for him to call out for me so that—
“Gaaaabe…”
Okay, maybe I’m not imagining it.
For a moment, I panic. I don’t know why, but something feels off—
Is this actually happening?
He says it again.
I can’t stop myself. Rising from my bed, I tiptoe to the door and crack it open to see—
Him.
Jason’s on the sofa, glancing down at the phone leaning against the pillow with hooded eyelids, one hand rubbing his chest, and the other stroking his cock.
His cock…
My mouth waters staring at his length. It’s big. Thick. The veins on his shaft swell, and even his balls are big.
Desire pools at the base of my stomach, and I crack the door open a little more because I need to see.
Is this creepy?
Yes, but he’s the one moaning my name, right?
He’s completely naked on the couch, his chiseled body highlighted by the phone screen and the warm lighting of the single lamp still on.
Sweat slicks his chest, and his feet flex as he pumps his dick.
I never knew jerking off could look this hot…
My eyes travel down to see the tent forming in my shorts.
I’m hot.
Boiling.
Breathless.
And so fucking horny.
I open the door a little more and creep out of my bedroom, still close enough that I’m hidden, but far enough that I have a better view of him touching himself.
He spits on his hand to slick his cock, and I have to grab the doorframe to keep from falling over.
That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
My hand lands on the bulge in my pants, and I squeeze, eliciting a gasp as I rest my head against the doorframe.
Then my eyes travel up to Jason’s abs. I drink in his big chest. His biceps flex as he plays with himself.
I need to see the look on his gorgeous face, so my eyes travel north to see—
Oh, fuck!
I freeze—panic smashing that warm glow at the base of my stomach like a sledgehammer.
He’s staring at me.
I croak because my throat is so tight I can’t even gasp.
Run.
I almost dart away, but he says, “No. Stay right there.”
His expression—
He’s not angry. Not in the slightest.
His face is a twisted mess of lust and agony as he stares at me.
He bites his lower lip.
And that’s what undoes me.
Slowly.
Carefully.
I free my cock from my shorts—
And he nods.
He fucking nods.
Urging me with his eyes to keep going.
And I do—stroking my length while we lock eyes with each other.
He groans, and I cover my mouth to suppress my own moan. His eyes trail down to my cock, and the wicked smirk that appears sends a jolt of electricity through my veins.
He’s grunting.
Moaning.
I match his technique, releasing a wad of spit onto my hands to slick my cock, and Jason strokes himself harder.
It’s like we’re communicating.
I lift my shirt with one hand, revealing my torso, while the other beats my dick, and Jason responds by sinking deeper into the couch, his legs widening so he can rub his nuts while he jerks off.
We’re so far away from each other, yet I swear I can feel the heat of his breath on my mouth.
I want to cross the distance and join him.
Not to jerk off…
I want Jason to wreck me. Punish me. Push his dick inside me and show no mercy.
I want it to hurt.
He comes on a roar, ropes of cum painting his chest, and it’s precisely what I need to tip me over the edge.
I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle my wailing as cum shoots out of me with a force I’ve never felt before, and I almost keel over. My breathing is heavy as I squeeze every last drop out of me.
Then I look at him.
And that’s when I gasp.
Because I see the look of horror on his face.
His expression is all I need to know that he’s freaking out—hating what just happened.
“What are you doing?” he screams. “Are you fucking watching me? You fucking freak!”
He throws a pillow, but I dart back into my bedroom and slam the door.
I hear him scream, “Why can’t you get out of my life, you sick fucking perv!”
Tears want to fall, but I won’t let them.
Not for him.
I’m so stupid.
For a moment, I thought we’d found each other again.
I collapse onto the bed and look at the ceiling, covered in sweat, with a churning pain in my gut.
My mind races—
I wish I could scream.
Instead, I turn on the light next to my bed and grab my sketch pad and pencil.
In moments like this, I draw. When my mind can’t stay quiet—when the memories of the past threaten to break me apart, or the pain of the present feels like it’ll pull me under—
I draw.