6. Five

I bolted awake suddenly, heart pounding as the remnants of a nightmare slipped away like fog. The sickly red glow of the alarm clock told me I had less than an hour before my shift at McHappy’s.

“Shit,” I muttered, throwing off the sweat-soaked sheets and scrambling to find something clean to wear in the disaster zone that was my room.

Discarded clothes, crumpled sketchbooks, and empty beer cans cluttered every surface. I grabbed a white tank top that didn't smell too rank and tugged on the least-stained up pair of uniform pants I could find. My work visor was nowhere to be found. I'd have to borrow Hal’s again and hope the manager didn't notice.

Stumbling out into the narrow hallway, I nearly collided with Ketchup coming out of the bathroom, a cloud of weed smoke and cheap hair gel trailing behind him. He grunted something that might've been a good morning before shuffling back to the room he shared with Cherry.

In the grimy kitchen, I yanked open the fridge, hoping there might be a slice of pizza or some leftover Chinese food I could grab for breakfast. No such luck. Nothing but a half-empty jar of pickle juice and some moldy hot dog buns. There were a few packages of ramen in the cupboard, but I knew better than to touch Hal's stash. Looks like I’d be surviving on ketchup packets and stale fries again—my gourmet breakfast of champions.

As I reached for my nametag, buried under a pile of crumpled receipts and old napkin sketches, my mind drifted back to the coffee shop yesterday. Shepherd had sat across from me, all chiseled jawline and tailored suit, looking like he'd stepped out of a high-end magazine. And there I was, in my fraying hoodie and scuffed sneakers, trying not to gape at the price of his watch.

He'd sipped his espresso, dark eyes never leaving mine, as he'd laid out his proposition to be my mentor and my dom.

I'd nearly choked on my Americano. A guy like him, polished and confident, and a screw-up like me? It felt absurd, like a fantasy I had no right to entertain. But there was something in the way he looked at me, something hungry and intense, that made my skin prickle with a strange mix of fear and anticipation.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the memory as I shrugged on my uniform shirt and tucked it in. I couldn't afford to get distracted, not when I was already cutting it close on my share of rent this month. Shepherd and his world of fancy suits and BDSM dungeons would have to wait.

I patted my pockets, hoping I'd stashed a crumpled five or a few ones somewhere, but they were empty. Figures. I was flat broke until payday. Looks like I'd be hoofing it to work again.

As I stepped out onto the porch, I noticed a neon orange piece of paper hanging from the doorknob. Great, what now? I snatched it off and scanned the bold text.

NOTICE OF WATER SHUTOFF

Service will be discontinued in 3 days due to non-payment.

A $75 reconnection fee will be charged to restore service.

Fuck. I crumpled the notice into a tight ball and stuffed it into my pocket. I'd have to tell Hal and figure out how we were going to scrounge up the cash, since it was our turn this month to cover the water. Maybe hit up Greasy Pete and see if he had any odd jobs that paid under the table.

Outside, the air was thick and muggy, the asphalt already shimmering with heat even though it was barely past dawn. I started walking, my sneakers scuffing against the cracked sidewalk. The route to McHappy's took me past boarded-up storefronts and weed-choked vacant lots, the only signs of life a few mangy dogs picking through the overflowing dumpsters.

As I walked, my thoughts drifted back to Shepherd's offer. I tried to push Shepherd's words out of my mind, but they kept circling back like vultures drawn to carrion.

A part of me recoiled at the thought of being controlled, of giving up my autonomy to some rich, dominant asshole in a suit, especially after all those years in the cult. But another part, a part I tried hard to ignore, was thrilled at the idea. Deep down, I’d always craved rigid structure and strong guidance, a yearning I couldn't shake even after leaving the cult. So much of the time I felt lost, adrift, without any lifelines. What would it be like to surrender, to let go of the constant struggle and obey? To have someone else take charge, take care of me in ways I couldn't seem to manage on my own?

I imagined kneeling at Shepherd's feet, his strong hand fisted in my hair, holding me in place. My breath quickened, and my cock started to harden. Fuck. I couldn't be getting turned on by this shit. Not now, when I could barely keep the lights on and the water running.

But even as I tried to redirect my thoughts to overdue utility bills and empty cupboards, Shepherd's dark eyes haunted me, promising things I didn't dare put a name to. Things I knew I couldn't have, and didn’t deserve.

I was so lost in my own head, I didn't notice the tent set up on the corner until I nearly stumbled over one of the ropes anchoring it to the sidewalk.

I jerked back, my heart leaping into my throat as I took in the white canvas tent emblazoned with the all too familiar logo—a shepherd's staff crossed with a sword.

The Children of the Light. Fuck, what were they doing here, in my neighborhood?

A folding table was set up in front, stacked with paper plates of sandwiches and a large cooler, no doubt filled with bottled water and juice boxes. A chalkboard sign propped next to it read “Food and comfort for lost souls. All welcome in the Light.”

A shudder ran through me, bile creeping up my throat as buried memories clawed their way back to the surface. Endless hours of prayer, the scent of decay, the isolation. And worst of all, the revival nights where I was ordered to...

“Elias? Is that you?”

A middle-aged woman with graying hair emerged from the tent, her face lighting up in recognition. Sister Mary Catherine. The one who'd pinned my wrists to the mattress during my first revival, shushing me gently even as I begged her to stop.

I spun on my heel, ready to bolt, but found my path blocked by a teenage boy in a white button-down. His eyes widened as he took me in. “Elias? Wow, you look... different.” His gaze flicked to my tattoos and up to my white hair.

I fought down the rising panic, forcing myself to meet the boy's curious stare. It was little Jeremiah, except he wasn't so little anymore. He'd grown at least a foot since I'd last seen him, his face losing the roundness of childhood.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice strained. I glanced around, half expecting to see Father Ezekiel emerge from the shadows.

“We're doing the Lord's work, bringing His light to those struggling in darkness,” Sister Mary Catherine said, coming to stand beside Jeremiah. Her eyes raked over me, taking in my rumpled uniform and ink-stained fingers. “It looks like you could use some of that light yourself, Elias. We've missed you in the caravan.”

I swallowed hard, tasting bile. “I'm not going back. Ever.”

“Oh sweetie,” she said gently, but there was steel beneath the sweetness. “Father Ezekiel still cares for you deeply, Elias. We all do. The Children are your family. We'll always be here for you when you're ready to come home.”

Home. I almost laughed. That place had been a prison, a nightmare I'd barely escaped. But I bit my tongue, knowing it was useless to argue with true believers.

“I have to get to work,” I muttered, trying to step around them.

Jeremiah moved to block me. “Wait,” Jeremiah said, his voice cracking slightly. “Elias, please. Talk to us for a minute.” His eyes were wide and pleading, reminding me painfully of the scrawny kid who used to follow me around the campgrounds like a lost puppy.

I hesitated, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. I didn't want to have anything to do with the Children of the Light ever again. But Jeremiah had been the closest thing I'd had to a little brother back in those days.

Sister Mary Catherine seized on my moment of indecision, her voice dripping with concern. “We're worried about you, Elias. Living out here on your own, in sin, struggling to make ends meet. This isn't the life God wants for you.”

“What God wants doesn't matter to me anymore,” I snapped. “And neither does what Father Ezekiel wants.”

Hurt flashed across Jeremiah's face, and I felt a pang of guilt. But I couldn't let myself get sucked back in, not even by the memories of the scared, lonely kid I'd once been.

“The Children aren't my family,” I said, my jaw tight. “They never were. A real family doesn't force you to be something you're not. Doesn't try to break you when you don't fit their mold.”

Sister Mary Catherine's eyes narrowed. “We only wanted to help you, Elias. To save you.”

“I didn't need saving from being gay. That's how God made me, and nothing you or Father Ezekiel did could change that.”

Her lips pursed, disapproval radiating from her. “The desires of the flesh lead only to ruin. You know that, Elias. We taught you better.”

“You taught me to hate myself,” I shot back. “To believe I was dirty and sinful for existing. Well, I'm done with those lies. I'm done with the Children, and I'm done with this conversation.”

I pushed past them, my pulse pounding in my ears. I half-expected them to grab me, to try to physically drag me back like they had the first time I'd run away. Instead, they watched me go, Sister Mary Catherine shaking her head sadly.

“You'll be in our prayers, Elias!” she called after me. “We'll be waiting when you're ready to repent and return to the fold!”

I flipped her off over my shoulder and kept walking, not looking back. Even as I walked away, a sense of their eyes lingered on my back, crawling under my skin like a reminder that they were always watching.

The rest of the walk to work passed in a blur, my mind churning with the unexpected confrontation. Seeing them again, the people who'd made my life a living hell for five years, shook me more than I wanted to admit.

I burst into the fluorescent hellhole, flying past bewildered customers, only to find my manager, Brett, waiting, fury glinting in his beady eyes. He seized my arm roughly, hauling me to the back room.

“You're late again, Baker,” Brett sneered, his fingers digging painfully into my bicep as he shoved me into the dingy back office. The room was cramped and cluttered, the desk overflowing with greasy fast food wrappers and sticky notes scrawled with illegible chicken scratch. A flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across Brett's pockmarked face.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he steamrolled over me. “Spare me your excuses. I've heard 'em all before. You millennials, always whining about your mental health and your toxic work environments. Well, guess what? This is the real world, snowflake. You don't get participation trophies for showing up.”

Anger simmered on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down. I needed this job, shitty as it was. So I stood there, head bowed, jaw clenched, enduring Brett’s tirade like another inescapable ritual.

“You know, back when I was your age, I was juggling two jobs, grinding from dawn till midnight, pulling myself up by my bootstraps just to survive. You kids today don’t know the meaning of hard work. I never complained, never made excuses. I showed up on time, did what I was told, and was grateful for the opportunity. That's what's wrong with your generation. No work ethic, no respect. You think the world owes you something just for existing.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. I clenched my fists, the urge to tell Brett exactly where he could shove his bootstraps bubbling to the surface. But I couldn’t—every ounce of self-control I had was focused on holding my tongue.

Brett's eyes narrowed, his fleshy lips curling into a sneer. “This is the third time this month you've been late, Baker. I've given you chance after chance, but you don't seem to get it. McHappy's has no room for slackers who can't be bothered to show up on time.”

My stomach plummeted as the realization hit me. He was going to fire me. Panic clawed at my throat, my hands trembling at my sides. I couldn't lose this job. I had rent to pay, bills piling up. Without this paycheck, meager as it was, I'd be out on the streets again in no time.

“Brett, please,” I heard myself say, hating how desperate I sounded. “I need this job. Give me another chance.”

“Save it, Baker. You’re done.” He leaned forward, his face twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. “You're fired, Baker. Effective immediately. I want you out of that uniform and off my property in the next five minutes, or I'm calling the cops and having you arrested for trespassing.”

My vision blurred as hot, angry tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. The rage boiled in my blood, a primal urge to scream, to lash out and punch him square in the face, to kick him right in his tiny fucking dick. But I swallowed it down, knowing it wouldn’t change a damn thing. It wouldn’t get me my job back or secure another for me, and I’d be right back where I started.

I spun on my heel and stormed out of Brett's office, slamming the door behind me so hard the thin walls shook. Blinking back furious tears, I ripped off my grease-stained McHappy's shirt and threw it in the overflowing trash can on my way out the back door. I wouldn't give that prick the satisfaction of seeing me break down.

Outside, in the dingy alley, I crumpled against the gritty brick wall, the rough surface digging into my back as my legs threatened to give out beneath me. My breath came in ragged gasps as reality crashed into me. I was jobless, teetering on the brink of homelessness, with no prospects in sight. Despair and hopelessness clawed at my insides, threatening to swallow me whole.

A sob ripped its way out of my throat, my chest heaving with the force of it. I leaned against the graffiti-covered brick wall, sliding down until my ass hit the filthy pavement.

I buried my face in my hands, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. The gritty asphalt dug into my ass, the stench of rotting garbage filling my nostrils, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was how utterly fucked I was.

I don't know how long I sat there in that filthy alley, sobbing until my throat was raw and my eyes burned. The sun climbed higher, the air growing thick and heavy, but I couldn't bring myself to move. What was the point? I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I was well and truly on my own.

Eventually, the tears ran dry, leaving me feeling hollowed out and numb. I pushed myself to my feet, my legs unsteady beneath me. I couldn't stay here, wallowing in my own misery. I had to keep moving, even if I didn't know where I was going.

I stumbled out of the alley, my feet carrying me aimlessly down the cracked sidewalk. The streets were starting to fill with people rushing to work, their faces pinched and harried. I kept my head down, not wanting to see the pity or disgust in their eyes if they bothered to notice me at all.

I walked for hours, the sun beating down on the back of my neck, my stomach gnawing with hunger. I couldn't go back to the apartment, not with Sister Mary Catherine and the Children lurking on the corner. The thought of facing them again, of seeing that mix of condescension and concern in their eyes, made my skin crawl.

But I had nowhere else to go. Cherry would be at the tattoo shop by now, and I couldn't bear the thought of showing up there and having to explain to my roommates how I’d been fired.

My feet carried me through the sweltering streets, past boarded-up storefronts and weed-choked lots, until I found myself standing outside The Playground. The neon sign was dark, the metal grate still pulled down over the entrance. Of course it wasn't open yet. It had to be barely past noon.

I stood there, staring at the industrial metal door, my hand raised to knock. This was a mistake. Shepherd wouldn't want to see me like this, a pathetic mess who couldn't even keep a fast food job. He had better things to do than deal with my problems.

But where else could I go? The apartment wasn't safe, not with the Children sniffing around. And I couldn't face Cherry, couldn't let her see how far I'd fallen.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I popped my last hard candy into my mouth and rapped my knuckles against the door, the sound echoing down the empty street.

For a long moment, nothing happened. I was about to turn away when I heard the scrape of a deadbolt and the door cracked open.

A woman appeared, her pink hair pulled back in a messy bun, ink smudged on her cheek like a badge of creativity. Her eyes widened when she saw me. “Can I help you, sweetie?”

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place. What was I doing here, showing up at Shepherd's BDSM club in the middle of the day like some kind of desperate stalker?

“I, um... I'm looking for Shepherd,” I stammered out, my voice rough from crying. “Is he here?”

The woman's gaze softened as she took in my red-rimmed eyes and the dried tear tracks on my cheeks. “Oh honey, you look like you've had a rough day. Why don't you come inside and we'll get you sorted out, okay?”

She opened the door wider, ushering me into the dim interior of the club. I hesitated for a moment before stepping over the threshold, the cool air hitting my skin like a balm after the oppressive heat outside.

“I'm Life, by the way,” the woman said as she led me down a narrow hallway, her platform boots clicking against the polished concrete floor. “I run this place with Shepherd.”

I mumbled out my own name, but it sounded weak and thready to my own ears. I felt like a husk of myself, hollowed out by desperation and despair.

Life guided me into a small office, the walls lined with bookshelves crammed with titles like The New Topping Book and Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns . She gestured for me to take a seat on the plush velvet couch.

I sank onto the couch, the luxurious fabric enveloping me like a comforting hug. Life bustled around the small office, her movements graceful and efficient despite her towering heels.

“Let me get you something to drink, sweetie. You look like you could use it.” She pulled open a mini fridge tucked under the desk, rummaging through the contents. “We've got water, juice, soda... I think there might even be some iced tea in here somewhere.”

My throat felt like sandpaper, my tongue thick and heavy in my mouth. “Water's fine.”

Life handed me an icy bottle, the cold plastic a shock against my overheated skin. I twisted off the cap with shaking hands, the water sloshing over my fingers as I brought it to my lips. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat as I gulped it down greedily.

“Easy there, tiger,” Life said with a gentle laugh. “Don't want you making yourself sick.” She perched on the edge of the desk, watching me with concern in her warm brown eyes. “When's the last time you ate something? You're looking a little peaky.”

I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. The truth was, I couldn't remember. Yesterday, maybe? Everything was a blur.

Life must have seen the answer on my face, because she nodded and pulled open one of the desk drawers. “I've got some protein bars in here. They're not gourmet, but they'll do in a pinch.” She tossed a couple onto the couch beside me. “Eat up. I can't have you passing out on my watch.”

I picked up one of the bars, my fingers fumbling with the shiny wrapper. Chocolate Peanut Butter. The scent hit me as soon as I tore it open, rich and sweet. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me how long it had been since I'd had anything substantial.

I devoured the first bar in three bites, barely tasting it. The second I ate more slowly, savoring the way the chocolate melted on my tongue, the chunky peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth. It wasn't much, but it took the edge off the gnawing emptiness in my gut.

Life watched me eat, her perfectly shaped eyebrows drawn together in a slight frown. “Poor dear. How do you know Shepherd?”

I swallowed the last bite of the protein bar, my tongue darting out to lick a smear of chocolate from the corner of my mouth. Life's question hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken implications.

How did I know Shepherd? It was a loaded question, one I wasn't sure how to answer. The truth was, I barely knew him at all. We'd met only once, over coffee, where he'd offered to be my mentor, my dom. An offer I'd been too overwhelmed and confused to accept in the moment.

But now, sitting here in his club, surrounded by the trappings of his world, I realized that Shepherd was the closest thing I had to a lifeline. A tenuous connection, yes, but the only one I had left.

I took a deep breath, meeting Life's curious gaze. “He... he offered to help me.”

Understanding dawned on Life's face, followed by a flicker of something that might have been concern. She pulled out her cell phone, hit a button, and put it to her ear. “Shepherd? It’s Life. No, the paperwork is fine. I’ve got a young man here looking for you by the name of…” She covered the phone and leaned forward. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

I swallowed, cheeks warming. “Eli.”

“Eli is here looking for you,” she continued, speaking into the phone. “The poor boy looks like he’s walked through a war zone to get here.” Life listened for a moment, then nodded. “Will do. See you soon.” She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Shepherd's on his way. He said to make you comfortable and he'll be here as soon as he can.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “Don't you worry, honey. We'll get this all sorted out.”

I slumped back against the couch cushions, relief and exhaustion hitting me like a tidal wave. Shepherd was coming. He would know what to do, how to fix this mess I'd gotten myself into.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, my eyelids suddenly feeling impossibly heavy. The stress of the day, the lack of sleep and food, it was all catching up to me at once.

Life's expression softened. “Why don't you rest for a bit? I'll wake you when Shepherd gets here.”

I wanted to protest, to insist I was fine, but she got up and pulled a blanket down from a shelf, gently draping it over me. She smiled and patted my cheek. The move reminded me so much of how my mom used to be before I came out, before everything went wrong. I started to tear up, but closed my eyes before I could cry and drifted off to sleep.