47 | Nate
Nate
Returning to our hometown brings out so many memories I have pushed away.
Even though I had the perfect childhood and family, and I have no bad memories exactly, the good ones haunt me as much as the bad ones would.
A sense of guilt for what I have become over the years of being away rushes through me as we step into the house.
It feels as if I’ve thrown away every chance my parents gave me at a decent life.
I had a good education and money. Instead of doing something with my life, I chose the path of being a serial killer.
I wonder if my parents are disappointed in me. I bet they are.
I can’t think of a reality where they are looking down on me from heaven—or whatever the afterlife really is—and thinking, "Yes, that’s exactly what we wanted for our son.
" I think they are probably thinking I wasted everything they offered me so graciously. And they are right. But when you love someone as much as I love him, you don’t think twice before following them into the wreckage that is their life.
You don’t think twice when they propose a game that isn’t really one.
And you certainly don’t judge them when one night of harmless fun turns into a murder spree that lasts a decade, with you alongside them.
And they don’t judge you when your body count goes higher with every town you visit with them.
That’s how family works, after all. You accept each other.
No conditions. No “buts” to weigh that acceptance.
It’s just that: accepting your loved ones for who they are.
For us, what we are is murderers.
Liam had already headed upstairs while we were taking the suitcases out of our van.
We stored the bikes and the vans in the garage as soon as we finished.
After we took care of almost everything, Mike went to his bedroom to shower and rest. I had to bring the last of our things inside, but now I crave a hot shower, a drink, and possibly some food from my favorite burger place. God, I missed that place.
I walk into my room, fully hoping to enjoy some moments of silence.
I walk into the bathroom, turn on the shower, shed my clothes, and drop them on the floor.
The moment my feet step into the shower, the bathroom door opens, and Mike, with a towel wrapped around his waist, enters with a smirk on his face.
“Hey, pretty boy, would you like to join me?” I ask, and we both know that is exactly why he is here.
He doesn’t say anything; he just drops the towel from around his waist next to my clothes and steps into the shower.
I wrap one hand around his neck, pulling him close as my lips crash into his, and our tongues play that sweet game of dominance, swirling in a possessive kiss.
This man has always been the focus of my existence since we were kids, back when he was a skinny, fragile boy getting into fights—since I had to fight for him to stay alive, back when we didn’t need blood or violence to be happy, just to survive.
The good days, when milkshakes and burgers were enough to make our nights better, and sneaking kisses in dark alleys was the only thrill we needed.
I miss those times. But in reality, I have always known: he is everything I ever needed.
Everything I will ever need. Everyone else is just noise when it comes to him.
He is a priority. He is life. I love him with everything in me, and I would kill a thousand times more if it meant I could see him smile.
I know he has trouble expressing his feelings, and I don’t demand it of him, but this kiss right now...
this is everything I need him to say. Everything he needs to say.
This kiss is like breathing in air and watching the sunset.
Happiness and hope, all in one moment. It’s everything every romance book ever tells you about.
It’s like smelling the fresh notes of summer and taking a bite of a good dessert.
It’s that sort of happiness you only find in moments that last mere seconds.
We both break the kiss and smile at the same time.
I know he is thinking the same thing; I know him too well.
We have been playing this game since we were teens, hiding from everyone.
We were even hiding from ourselves. It’s hard to admit your desires when the world tells you that you shouldn't have them in the first place.
I turn to the side and grab the bottle of shampoo, squeezing some onto my hand.
“Turn around. I want to wash your hair.” I would like nothing more than to fuck him right now, but at this moment, after hours of traveling and hundreds of emotions—memories from our past haunting him for returning—I know he needs this more than sex.
He needs to feel loved, and I love taking care of him as much as I enjoy every other moment with him.
I want him to relax against my hands, to feel the love in my touch.
I want him to feel like he belongs here, as much as I know he does, even if his instincts are telling him to run, to hide, to protect himself.
Because that’s not him anymore. That’s the boy he used to be.
He turns his back to me and leans backward, letting me reach his hair. We are about the same height, but his posture gives me the right angle to lather his hair with shampoo and massage his scalp.
He moans in approval, putting a smile on my face. I kiss his shoulder, then grab the shower gel next. I wash him, and he turns back to face me to return the favor. Even though this isn't sex and is the simplest gesture of affection, it means more to me than anything else we have done.
Being back here, being like this—it makes me feel like I am seventeen again. Like the boy in front of me is the one who needs saving, and I am the one who will do anything and everything for him to survive.
When we finish cleaning up, we both get dressed.
Liam has now found his way down to the living room, clearly not sober, but I ignore that.
It’s late, and even though the kitchen is fully stocked with food, none of us is willing to prepare anything.
And I would hate to make the staff do it since they have already done so much.
So, despite the guys' protests, I convince everyone to walk into town with me, in hopes of getting some of those burgers I’ve missed so much.
With protests following every step, we head out the door and leave the house.
We start walking toward the town, for once wanting to experience the simplicity of walking somewhere instead of taking our motorcycles.
Nothing has changed in this town during the time we have been away.
Everything is the same, and as we pass Mike’s house—broken, abandoned, and still in his name—I see him pause.
His eyes linger on the old house that is falling apart, since he has done nothing to maintain it in the slightest. Both of them have ignored their family homes.
Liam’s house is almost non-existent now; what remains of it after the fire stands two streets down from this one.
This house, which once held every happy memory of Mike’s childhood and was simultaneously the foundation of his childhood terrors, is now decorated with graffiti calling him a murderer, since the rumors in this town are worse than the ghosts haunting it.
Even though it’s not a lie, it stings a little to read the words painted in red.
The forensic exam on his father’s car showed that someone had tampered with the brakes.
When the fire started in the middle of the night in Liam’s house, both boys barely made it out while everyone else burned alive.
Rumors had it that Mike was responsible for both the car accident and the fire.
It was insane to think about since he was just a child in both situations; however, it was the truth. And I can’t blame them for thinking it.
The boys never intended for anyone other than Liam’s father to die the night the house burned to the ground, but they were young and under the impression that they would have enough time to get everyone out once the fire started.
The house was made mostly of wood and was old; the flames took it so fast that they could barely escape themselves before facing the same fate as the rest.
My family took them in that same night. I already knew what was happening and woke up my father to take them to the station to help both of them fight any accusations against their names.
We already had a lawyer on standby who was called immediately, and everyone was paid more than enough so that both boys walked out clean.
Everything was already arranged for them to join my family.
My parents had been planning to move us to our family’s house in New York the moment everything cleared, which is exactly what they did.
They made sure to give those boys the same opportunities I had for the few years they still had a chance to be shaped into decent human beings.
Sadly, some horrors never leave you.