第29章
ASHAMED
Watching my best friend drown is…new.
Devon struggles with many things. His PTSD from his abusive dad, his lack of self-worth, and deep insecurity when it comes to relationships. I’ve seen it all in bits and pieces over the years, and I’ve tried to be there when he really needs me.
These past few months, he’s been a shell eighty percent of the time, and the other twenty percent, he’s been a fucking dick. Snappy and rude. Irritable and uninterested in anything.
It’s not like him.
And it all points to a breakup.
But, as far as I know, he’s not seeing anyone or hasn’t, I should say. Hell, I don’t think he’s been with anyone past a single night since Shannon. That woman did a number on him, and even though he never mentions her or their relationship, I know she is a big reason why he doesn’t date.
I fucking know Devon, sometimes better than he knows himself.
And it goes beyond the little shit that most friends know about each other. I know things no one has any right to.
Like how he struggles every day to not become his father. How he craves physical touch but is so worried about people getting creeped out that he ends up cuddling with his pillow at night.
Devon fixates on things until they become his entire personality.
When I first met him, he could barely play his damn bass. I had to teach him proper chord progressions and how to pluck the strings without shredding his fingertips.
I know that whenever he’s stressed, the nightmares are worse.
I know that whenever he hurts someone accidentally, he carries immense guilt as if he did it on purpose. And I also know that he’s been in love with me for years. Maybe giving him the cold shoulder has finally broken him. Denying him and shoving him away was the final straw.
It’s for his own good, though.
He deserves the world and then some.
While I can do nothing about his feelings towards me, I can still buck up and be his best friend. Because I’ll always be that, no matter what.
I let myself into his apartment, not bothering to knock or wait. It becomes even clearer to me that he’s neck deep in the trenches. His place is a disaster. It stinks like old food and balls.
Suppressing the urge to gag, I step over piles of dirty clothes and empty Gatorade bottles.
Holy fuck.
Devon is on his couch, shirtless, his usually neon green hair a dull puke green. He hasn’t dyed it since before we left for Chicago. His roots are overgrown, and so is the scruff on his chin. He looks like absolute shit. And that’s saying something for Devon. He’s got to try to look bad.
“Hey,” he grumbles, not looking at me, and pops what looks like a Skittle in his mouth.
Look, I’m a guy. I know men get ripe. But Devon smells like… “Get the fuck up,” I growl.
Those big puppy eyes find mine. “Why?”
“Because you smell like pure shit, Dev. Get the fuck up.”
The grease on his scalp is shimmering. “Don’t fuckin’ judge me. I’m allowed to smell like shit in my own house.”
“I’m not saying it again,” I warn, setting my things on the only clean surface in this place—the edge of his coffee table. There are wads of stiff-looking socks wedged under the foot of the couch.
This is bad. Beyond bad.
“I’m such an idiot,” he whispers.
Pinching the bridge of my nose and fighting tooth and nail not to gag again, I take a few grounding breaths and brace for impact. Without any warning or grace, I grab his arms and tug him to his feet. “Come on,” I tell him, guiding him by the shoulders directly to the bathroom.
It’s not so bad in here, but why would it be? I don’t think he’s showered in a week.
Kicking the door shut with my foot, I shove him to the sink and point at his toothbrush. “Start scrubbing.”
He sniffles and obeys. He rinses the bristles, applies toothpaste, then rinses them again.
While he brushes, I start the shower. After Shannon dumped him, I stayed in this apartment for a while.
That’s probably why things escalated between us.
I was nursing his broken heart. When the temperature is how he likes it, I pull the curtain closed and watch him expectantly.
I hate this version of him: lost, fragile, letting go. Devon gives everything when he cares, and when his heart is crushed, he disappears. I wish there were a gentler way, but I have to be forceful.
That’s what he needs from me.
“Who was it?” I ask when he half-assed combs through his hair.
“No one,” he mutters and tosses the comb into the sink.
Rolling my eyes, I sniff one of his towels, regretting it instantly. They smell like an old dog. “For fuck’s sake,” I growl, rip it off the rack, and toss it on the floor.
“I just don’t care anymore, Michael. Like, what’s the point?”
“Sure sounds like it was someone,” I pry. My eyes search his for long seconds. “Is it Lex?”
He scoffs. “Fuck no. Lex is a piece of shit.” Shoving past me, he tugs down his lounge shorts—sans underwear—and gives me an eyeful of ass before hopping in the shower and sliding the curtain shut.
I gather up his dirty laundry and leave him to shower, jaw clenching so hard I’m sure I’ll break a few teeth.
I’ve taken out the trash, wiped down counters, washed and dried his clothes, and he’s still in the bathroom. There’s no way he still has hot water, not that he ever uses too much anyway, but still. Something isn’t right.
I steel myself, have my usual mental pep talk, and enter. The curtain is shut, water is running, but there isn’t a puff of steam in here. It’s just…wet. Just as I’m about to open my mouth, I hear a small whimper.
My heart lurches, stomach twists.
This is your best friend in the entire world, and he needs you right now. Suck it the fuck up, Michael.
I pull back the curtain and kneel beside the tub.
He’s got his knees pulled to his chest, eyes puffy and red, his hair clinging to his cheeks and shoulders.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Devon like this—broken heart on his sleeve.
Just a mess. Much like last time, I have to pick up the pieces and put them back together.
“You gotta tell me what happened, Dev,” I say softly. I push his hair behind his pierced ear. “Come on.”
He looks so small next to me, folded up and shivering. "I'm tired of being alone," he stammers, voice cracking. "Everything I touch, I ruin. Even you."
“You don’t make everything worse.”
“Yes, I do. It’s why you can barely look at me right now.”
Swallowing, I force myself to meet his eyes.
They really are beautiful eyes. Neither blue nor green, but a mix of both with tiny brown flecks encircling his pupils.
Thick, dark lashes frame them, and his deep-set, dark eyebrows cast a perfect shadow over them.
It means nothing that I’ve always loved them. Anyone can appreciate nice eyes.
He pierces me with his words. "I fucking miss you," he says, voice trembling, desperation laid bare. "I miss who we used to be. Us."
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“It wasn’t even my fault, but it feels like it anyway. I’d never do that to you, Michael. I’d never fucking cross that line without your consent.”
My heart thuds faster, harder. “Let’s not talk about that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Are we ever going to? It’s been a year. A year of this…fucked up feeling and not knowing how to act around you.”
“We already talked about it. I was drunk, Devon.” My voice is nowhere near as hard or as firm as I need it to be. I need him to believe that. “I didn’t know what I was doing, much less who I was doing it with.”
His big fucking puppy eyes hold me prisoner. “You’re so full of shit.”
“God damn it! I don’t want to argue about this again. I’m sick and tired of it haunting me every day!”
“Then fucking go!” He yells, the flash of his tongue ring glinting in the light. “Fucking get out of my bathroom and go.”
“This is why things are so screwed up between us,” I growl. “You’re just as bad as I am. Pushing me out. Keeping shit from me. Lying to my god damn face!”
“I have never lied to you,” his voice thunders off the walls.
I lean forward, breathing his air, so fucking mad at him and myself, I can’t stand it. “You’re doing it right now.”
His nostrils flare, and he shoves me. I fall backward and land hard. “Do you seriously want to fight me fucking naked?” I demand.
“Scared, Mikey?” he sneers, stepping out. Water runs down his chest and abs, pooling above his pierced cock.
Anger ignites, and I shove off the floor. “I’m not doing this. Put some fucking pants on.”
“Get out of my bathroom,” he counters.
“Get your act together,” I warn.
“Or what?” he sneers, baring his teeth.
I grab the back of his neck, seething, and shove our foreheads together. “Do not make me hit you again.”
“Do it. I know you want to. Maybe hitting me will help you forget that you tongue fucked my throat and humped me into the fucking wall.”
“Fuck you, Devon,” I snarl before crushing our lips together.
I hate this part of me. The part I pretend isn’t even there. The part that fucking roars in triumph that his mouth is back on mine.
God, I can’t fucking stand it.
Forcing my tongue down his throat, I shove him against the wall.
He hits it with a sickening thud, but I keep going.
Keep kissing him because if I stop now, I’ll lose my mind.
I secure both of his wrists and slam them above his head, sucking and licking into his mouth.
He moans when I tug his bottom lip with my teeth.
The part of me that loves this is quickly squashed by the part that hates it. I hate who I am with every fiber in me. This carnal fucking need to have Devon—to claim and possess him. To ruin him for everything and everyone, just like he’s done to me.
His hard cock stabs at my stomach, while my own is painfully pinned in my pants.
I’m cracking, splitting open at the seams. Tearing my lips away, I flip him around, holding his hands at the base of his spine and frantically freeing my cock.
“Michael,” he says, shocked and maybe even a little afraid.
Good.
Fuck him for doing this to me.
“Don’t move,” I growl, keeping one hand on his wrists and swiping the lube off his counter.
“Michael.” His voice rises in pitch when I smear my leaking cockhead through his crease.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Thankfully, he listens.
My hand is shaking so hard, I’m struggling to get the lid open. I end up using my teeth, squirting a generous amount down his crack and spreading it over my dick. The only sounds are our shared heavy breaths and the squelch of lube between his tight cheeks.
Fuck. Fuck!
“It’s okay,” Devon whispers. “It’s okay. I want it.”
“I don’t,” I snarl and push against his entrance.
He bears down, but it’s still too fucking tight. I’ll hurt him. Fuck it. I’m going to hurt him.
“Deep breath,” I order, and he obeys immediately. Then I thrust. Devon yelps, his cheeks clenching as I invade his body with zero prep. But I’m fucking lost. Terrified. So keyed up, I can’t seem to make myself stop.
I want this.
I hate this.
Pushing deeper inside him, keeping him impaled, I rest my forehead against his shoulder blade and bite my lip. It feels so fucking dirty. So fucking good. Right wrong wrong right.
“Michael,” he cries. “You gotta move so it stops hurting me.”
He may as well have shot me point-blank. The haze disappears. I look down and see my cock halfway in his ass. He’s shivering uncontrollably, restrained.
Monster.
I pull out too fast, and he yelps in pain. I slump against the counter, seeing the slick of lube coating my dick.
You fucked him.
You fucked him.
You didn’t ask. You didn’t make sure he was good. You don’t know the first thing about fucking a man, and you fucked Devon.
“Hey. Hey. It’s fine. I’m alright.”
Tucking my dick back into my pants, I shake my head.
Can’t look.
Can’t look at him.
“Please. Let’s talk. Please don’t fucking go like this. Don’t leave me, Michael.”
I’m out the door before he can even finish saying my name.