Chapter Nine Hades Golden Chariot

Hades Golden Chariot

Jesse groaned.

Then, hanging over the edge of the bowl and with a violent heave, he flushed the chain, watching his discarded stomach contents swirl around before disappearing down the drain. The stench filled his nostrils, and he fought back another wave of nausea, grateful he hadn’t eaten at the luncheon. He then tore off a handful of toilet paper, wiping his sweaty face and mouth, using his shirt to clean his fogged up glasses and putting them back on with shaky hands. Collapsing against the cubicle wall, he berated himself with every curse word imaginable. The word that stuck, though, was prick.

Stupid fucking prick.

Downing an entire bottle of ouzo, then inhaling poppers amid his emotional fallout, was beyond idiotic. The immediate high might have allowed him to forget, numb the pain of loss and dance away the regret, but his comedown was rancid. Reality had crashed him back to earth, and his head pounded with the humiliation. Demetrios had rejected him. Had spoken of the last time. The time Jesse had tried so very hard to forget.

Slamming his head on the partition, pain shot through his temple, but a loud bang from the neighbouring cubicle interrupted his self-loathing.

“Sorry!” Jesse winced. Bloke might be Greek. Fuck, what was the word in Greek? “Sygnómi?”

“Fuck off,” came the harsh reply in a northern British accent.

Nightclub men’s rooms in Greece were as friendly as they were back home then. If this had been his beloved West Five in Ealing, he might have had a different reaction, but whilst Void proclaimed it was LGBT friendly on the surface, straight drunk men in toilets weren’t known for their tolerance in any country.

Jesse waited for the next toilet to him to flush, the man stepping out to wash his hands, door opening to pump in the music from outside, then he hauled himself up. He swayed unsteadily, blinking at the glittery stars in his vision. Bracing himself against the wall, he counted to five in case he was going to hurl again. He didn’t. So with shaky legs, he unlocked the door. A couple of men bolted in from the main bar, laughing and speaking in an unfamiliar language before heading over to the urinals. Jesse staggered to the sinks, washed his hands, splashed cold water on his face, and stared at his reflection in the steamed up mirror.

No bloody wonder Demetrios had turned him down.

He closed his eyes and hung his head, defeated and ashamed.

“I want to know you want me, and not just someone.”

The men from the urinal stood either side of him, still yapping away in their mother tongue over his head, then left.

How could Jesse want anyone else but Demetrios?

Fuck. What a mess.

Getting himself together, he wiped down his shirt, tucking it back into his trousers, and took a deep breath. He had to find Demetrios. He needed to explain. To tell him all the things he’d never said. To beg him to take him home and maybe they could just…sleep? He wanted his arms around him like they’d used to be. He wanted him to whisper things in his ear, the way he had before. Surrounded by a sea of strangers, all Jesse wanted, needed, was his stepbrother.

Slamming through the doors, he collided with a mass of sweaty bodies.

“Jesus.”

It had filled up since he’d been throwing up and he could barely see in front of his face for swarms of people. Bashed from either side, he toppled into another bloke, making him spill his drink over the girl he was dancing with.

“Sorry.” Jesse held up his hand in apology, then repeated the word in Greek. Or at least the word he thought was right. The last thing he needed was a punch in the face.

Avoiding that outcome, he squirmed through the mob toward the edge of the dancefloor. He doubted Demetrios would wait for him there, but he couldn’t make out anything other than a sea of heads bobbing up and down in time to the beat, anyway. He looped the edge of the dancefloor. Demetrios wasn’t there. Maybe he, too, was trying to find him. He should stay in one place, and the only place he could think of was at the bar where they’d had their first drink. So he went there.

Having always found it difficult to get served at a busy bar, Jesse was as invisible there as he was at home. Unable to attract the attention of any bar staff, he waited. Eventually, a serving girl at his place took pity on him.

“What can I get you?” she called over the bar and the increasing volume of a dance track.

“Tap water.”

The girl rolled her eyes, returning with the glass and dumping it in front of him. Jesse remained where he was, refusing to move to allow those trying to order something they had to pay for, in the futile hope that Demetrios would have the same idea and find him.

God, he hoped he’d find him.

After a while of sipping on water and receiving eyefuls of contempt from those trying to get to the bar, he fished out his phone. He hadn’t called or texted Demetrios in years. He might not have the same number. But he had to try. Twisting around to face the front, propping up the bar, he flicked through his contacts. Why he hadn’t deleted Demetrios’ contact wasn’t something he would dwell on. His messages remained clogging up memory, too. His phone and his own. Often scrolling through them when he was sad and alone, he’d never been able to delete Demetrios.

Finding the contact, he hit call.

No ringing. Straight to voicemail and Demetrios, murmuring in Greek to leave a message.

“Hey!” Jesse pressed a finger into his ear to drown out the thumping music as he spoke into the phone. “Um…I’m at the bar. In Void. Lost you. Hope you get this!” He hung up, went into messages and typed the same thing out. As he hit send, it joined the speech bubbles from the last conversation they’d had.

Eight years ago.

Please talk to me Jess. I miss you xx

Jesse tucked his phone away, remorse and regret crawling over his skin at how he’d ghosted the best man to have ever been in his life.

While he waited, the queue for drinks dwindled as the hardcore clubbers hit the dancefloor until closing. Jesse remained where he was. He shot his head up at every passing figure, believing it could be Demetrios who’d explain away his continued absence with something flippant and Jesse wouldn’t care what it was, because he just wanted to see him. Be with him.

He didn’t show.

Elias did.

He emerged from the crowd in all his elegant beauty, leather bound thighs, mesh top revealing a nipple piercing, and leaned into his ear. “You’re alone.”

Jesse downed his water, placing the glass on the bar behind him. “Lost Dem.”

“Oh.” Elias propped an elbow on the bar, gazing out at the dance floor. He had a look on his face that Jesse didn’t like. One that said he knew something and Jesse didn’t.

“Have you seen him?” God, please, don’t say you’ve been fucking backstage. Please. Images of Demetrios and Elias going at it making Jesse want to throw up all over again.

Elias waited a moment, then dipped toward him. “He left.”

Jesse flinched. “He what? When?”

“A while back.” Elias bit his lip in an insincere wince. “He does that.”

“Does what?”

“Leaves. When he’s…found someone he likes.”

“He left with someone else?”

Elias clicked his fingers to a server. “Let me get you a drink.”

Jesse shook his head, unable to speak.

“Come on.” Elias squeezed his arm. “If Demetrios is off having fun, maybe we should too, eh?” He licked his top teeth and winked as a fluorescent strobe light darted their way, highlighting a bruise on Elias’ eye beneath the black liner.

“What happened to your eye?”

Elias dabbed the back of his hand to the bump. “The downside to being a dancer in this place. Man took offense to his girlfriend checking me out.” He chuckled. “I used to have Deme to warn them off, but…well, I don’t now.”

“Oh.” Jesse wasn’t sure he believed him, but nor did he care that much about who had hit him. It was the thought that Demetrios had once been jealous of others around this man that caused his gut to sink. That Demetrios had protected Elias. That he’d been so entangled in him, he used his fists to warn off others. It was thrilling to think of Demetrios like that.

No one had ever done that for him.

“Security took the man out. He’ll be spending a night in the cells.” Elias twisted again, facing the bar, bending on his elbows and shunting his arse squeezed into tight black leather out. “How about that drink?”

Jesse adjusted his glasses. “No. I better go…” He nudged his thumb over his shoulder.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I…” don’t want to drink with a man Demetrios slept with. Especially one who was confident and sleek and was, no doubt, a demon between the bedsheets. None of those things Jesse could call himself. “Bye,” he said because he had ingrained politeness from his grammar school days even if the way he said it sounded a lot like ‘fuck off’.

“Your loss.”

Maybe it was, but Jesse took a couple of steps away from Elias, then stopped and twisted back. “Did you mean what you said?”

“About having a bit of fun? Sure.” He swivelled around, elbows helping prop him up against the bar behind him, and swaying his hips. “Can film it if you like, send it to Dem.”

“No. I meant about him being in love with someone else when you were together.”

Elias laughed. Not amused. More shielding himself from the pain. He might be all bravado on the surface, but hurt feelings festered inside.

Jesse knew all about that.

“Demetrios believes in fairytales,” Elias said. “That’s all it is. A fairytale from his youth.” He stood, his flirting replaced with the stiff attitude of a man scorned. “Reality is very different. Believe me.” He sashayed away and if he’d had long hair, he’d have been flicking it over his shoulder.

Jesse left the club.

How he found his way back to the Kallis Apartments, he’d never know. Maybe it was his internal tracking system from all those years he’d spent in and out of the area. Maybe his mother’s ghost guided him, ensuring he got back safely. But more likely because it was in the perfect spot, beside the dip of the golden sandy beach stretching out for miles, with its iconic blue and white stature. When he arrived, he found the front door unlocked and he let himself in.

It was dark, so he crept up the stairs to the first floor. Demetrios’ bedroom door was ajar. He held his breath as he wandered over, peeping through the gap. Bed made. Not slept in. A few clothes scattered the floor. Pairs of shoes stacked neatly on a shoe rack. There was nothing at all to suggest he’d come home. Jesse’s gut sank. He hadn’t believed Elias when he’d said he’d seen Demetrios leave with someone else. He’d hoped, maybe foolishly, that Demetrios had come here, thinking he had, and he’d be waiting for him.

He wasn’t.

Jesse crept over to his room, collapsed on the bed, and his desperate loneliness had him reaching for his phone. Nothing from Demetrios. Nothing from anyone. He checked if Castor was online, despite him not being the one he wanted to talk to as it always led to sexting, and that felt wrong somehow. Because all he wanted was Demetrios.

Castor wasn’t online, taking the conflicted decision away from him, anyway. He sent a ‘hey’, regardless. Because he was so damn needy and so miserable, alone on the night of his mother’s funeral.

No reply.

He fell asleep amidst tears.