24. Bohdi

Chapter twenty-four

Bohdi

A s I wait for Brayden outside Pythons, I can't help but study at the photo I captured from his Instagram story. I couldn't resist, even though I knew I shouldn't. I needed this photo and I hate how many times I've wrapped my hand around my dick since while I stare at the photo, wishing I could dress him in my cum.

He's my nineteen-year-old student. What the fuck is wrong with me?

It might just be my imagination, but I had a dream last night that left me drenched in sweat and unable to fall back asleep. Jace's face was all I could see, a face I hadn't seen in my dreams for a while, expressing his disappointment in me. He's your student, Boh. You're old enough to be his dad.

I found myself in the shower at 4 a.m., pondering whether I was losing my mind or if this could be accepted as normal?

Of course it fucking can't.

Am I gay? No?

Am I bi? I guess?

Do I find other men attractive? No.

But do I find Brayden attractive? Hell yes.

Do I still have an attraction to women? I don't fucking know.

I made a decision this morning, but now I'm unsure if it's the right one. Before I contemplate it further, Brayden enters the vehicle through the passenger door. His aftershave clings to me, making me yearn to nuzzle my nose in his neck and inhale in his entire essence. Sporting gray sweatpants, a white sweatshirt, and a baseball cap pulled low, he always catches my attention. I know what his body looks like under that white t-shirt as I gaze at him. I can't help but feel a flood of heat wash through me.

"Hey sir," he says, pulling his belt on and keeping his face turning toward the window and not at me.

That's weird.

"Brayden." I frown and start to pull away, sensing something is off. The tension feels wrong, like a taut string about to snap. I shift the gear stick with a deliberate motion and engage the parking brake, the click echoing in the silence. My eyes dart around, searching for any sign of what might be causing this unease.

"Are you ready for today?" It's possible that he's slightly anxious about the meeting.

Enthusiastically, he says, "Yep, all ready!" without looking at me. Maybe it's nerves. This could be his typical behavior since I haven't witnessed him being nervous.

We have approximately twenty minutes before the meeting starts, so we need to leave now or we'll be late.

Despite being five minutes into the journey, Brayden continues to ignore me and remains silent. No matter how many times I glance to the side, he keeps his head completely turned toward the window.

"Brayden, are you absolutely certain you're OK?" I question, frowning and stealing quick glances at him during the drive.

"I'm fine, sir."

"I'll believe it when you look at me and say that." Despite his huffing, he refuses to make eye contact with me.

"Brayden," I snap.

He quickly turns his head and shouts. "I'm fine!" Just as I notice the darkness around one side of his face, he swiftly turns his head back to gaze out the window.

I abruptly hit the brakes, making Brayden instinctively grip the dashboard and lunge forward, saved by the seatbelt keeping him in place. The beeping of cars behind me gradually turns into a drumming sound in my ears. My heart is the only sound I hear as anger boils within me.

Someone fucking hurt him.

My sudden stop leaves Brayden staring at me in wide-eyed disbelief.

"Sir?" Brayden wrinkles his forehead at me, but his expression becomes more sympathetic as he observes my anger. "I'm fine," he says again in a softer tone.

I clutch his cheeks, grasping his face in my hand.

"Who the fuck did this to you?" I narrow my eyes, shifting my attention back and forth between his gaze. His eyes cast down.

"Please, drop it. We need to get going. I don't want anything ruining this meeting, Mr. Stiles. Please." The red mist lingers, despite his pleading blue orbs. I struggle to relax, squinting and clenching my teeth. The thought of anyone hurting him, even touching him, causes a strong response from me. Something that will obliterate anything that dares to even look at him the wrong way.

"I'll tell you after the meeting," he whispers. I let go of his cheeks, noticing the red and white imprints my fingers made. I can't speak. I'm too afraid to speak because of what I might say.

I would kill anyone that even tries touching him again.

The thought scares me. I've never felt such an intense need to protect someone as I do for Brayden, and it terrifies me.

The rest of the journey is spent in silence until we reach our destination. Before I can step out of the car, Brayden grips my arm.

"Can we put it aside until later, please? I need your support in there." Upon hearing those words, I found myself sinking back into the seat, with one foot still outside the car. I slump my shoulders and sigh.

"OK, but you promise to tell me after?"

With a forced smile, he assures me, and I nod in response.

The hall is huge. On the left, there's a lengthy table full of refreshments and a variety of sweet and savory snacks. In the center of the hall, there is a wide circle consisting of about twenty chairs. Brayden is already looking down at a table filled with leaflets to the right, picking up one of each. His eyes sweep the hall as he turns toward me, then he walks up beside me, waving the leaflets.

"I got these. Some late-night reading." He chuckles. Smiling, I gesture to him to take the lead. I am here to assist him today, and I encourage him to take the lead. I watch as he walks ahead of me, finds a seat, and acknowledges the person next to him with a smile. As I sit beside him, I scan the room and acknowledge each person with a nod.

Directly across from Brayden and me, a small lady asks, "Is everyone prepared?" Several individuals grab doughnuts from the table and carry them on a plate, moving around and offering them to others. Brayden and I shake our heads, quietly declining, as they move on to the next person. Brayden's leg bounces nervously as we wait for the group to begin. I steal a glance at his face as he keeps his eyes fixed on the woman in front of him.

"Let me begin by saying how much of a pleasure it is to see each and every one of you here today. I can see we have a few new faces." I notice her smile at me and Brayden, recognizing our new presence, but she doesn't request introductions. This brings me some relief, as I'd rather observe before speaking.

"For those who are new, our group aims to promote mutual support, offer advice, and connect us with individuals who can provide assistance. When a family member is struggling with addiction, whether it's drugs, alcohol, or gambling, one thing takes precedence above all else." Pausing, she scans the group as they all murmur "support." Her eyes crease as she smiles broadly at everyone. "The support of family and friends is crucial for holding on. Without it, they'll feel like they have nothing at all."

I take another quick glance at Brayden. And he's laser-focused on the lady, hanging on her every word.

"Nevertheless, it's important to keep yourself in mind, as supporting others can be draining and it's crucial to take care of yourself."

She smiles once more and then raises her hand in the direction to a man on her left. "Let's begin with you, Steven," she says, smiling at the man to her left who just finished his doughnut. "How has your week been so far? Have there been any challenges?"

Steven explained that his son, who initially got hooked on prescription drugs, had a difficult week and realized $100 was missing from his wallet. According to his son, he had no knowledge of it. It's interesting to see everyone in the group nodding as if they've experienced this before, which makes me wonder if Brayden has ever gone through this with Bexley.

The lady smiles at Brayden. "Would you be happy to share why you're here?" Brayden nods and smiles tightly, clearing his throat.

"Hey, I'm Brayden."

Everyone in the group says, "Hey, Brayden."

"My brother, my twin brother," he follows up. "He struggles with drug addiction. All kinds of drugs. He began at fifteen, but he started selling at twelve."

A sinking sensation drops in my stomach. I was unaware that Bexley began selling drugs at such a young age. Shit.

"He's my best friend and I want him back. His childhood was stolen from him, and now his teenage years have been taken away too. I want him to live, not just for me, but for himself. I want him to see the world, I want him to meet someone, have a family. Marry. I want him to witness what real love is." His voice becomes hoarse, and I catch a glimpse of the woman across from me, her eyes glazing over.

"He kept me safe during my childhood. We had, well, have a bad mom. She cared for us until she didn't. During my upbringing, he fulfilled the roles of both my mom and dad. All he ever wanted was a better life for me, and I can't help but feel guilty for what happened to him. He started this because of me and then it took over him." His once upright stance crumbles as he fixes his gaze on the ground, his shoulders sagging. I don't want to cut him off by interrupting him and checking his ok. I want him to be able to fully communicate his thoughts. I think he needs this. He needs to speak to people who understand the struggle he is going through. "He wants to stop." he sighs and then continues. "He knows I'm here today. We are unable to secure the necessary funds for his placement in a reputable rehab center, and the state options are unhelpful. He's trying to stop for me, but I need him to do it for himself more than anything. As far as I'm aware, he has never tried to quit before. I see this as a promising start, but yeah." He shrugs his shoulders.

"I'm at a loss and uncertain about my next move. Despite some recent regrets, I will always stand by him. He's my twin brother, the other part that completes me. I mean nothing without him. I'll stick by his side no matter what. But I can't just watch him slowly kill himself because, to be honest . . . " With a pause, he makes eye contact with the woman, who brushes a tear off her face. "He's killing me along with him."

A man next to him places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and I have to clench my fists to refrain myself from leaning over and flicking his hand away.

I need to get a fucking grip.

As others murmur their admiration, Brayden inhales deeply and smiles at the man next to him, having impressed everyone with his sharing on the first day. Going into that level of detail immediately is not something many people can do, but he was able to. It further emphasizes how much he needed this outlet and to be around like-minded people.

"Can I ask a question?" the lady inquires.

He nods rapidly. "Go for it."

"Your face"—she points to his bruised face and cut lip by mimicking the motion on her own face—"Did he do that?"

Brayden vigorously shakes his head from side to side, saying, "No, no, no. He's never laid a hand on me."

She smiles softly. "Was the involvement of your brother and the drugs related to whoever did that?" He sits in his chair, frowning and fidgeting, his shoulders drooping as the adrenaline fades. His body language reveals everything.

"Yes," he murmurs, his stare fixed on the floor. I guess he doesn't need to tell me who did that. A small part of me was praying it was hockey. Although I would have found out the player and probably hoped he broke his ankle on the ice, but I know now it's not hockey. It's that fucking Karl. I suddenly get up and head to the refreshments, pouring myself a glass of water, secretly craving for something stronger. It's clear that my interaction with Karl has had no effect, and I'm clueless about how to go about this. I can't allow him to harm Brayden. Daxton is already bad enough, but Brayden is crossing the line. I drink two cups of water and then return to my chair, taking a seat. It's as if nobody said a word while I went to get water. I clear my throat.

"Sorry," I mutter.

"Michael can sympathize with you," the lady says to Brayden. She signals toward a man on the other side of the room. With a nod, the man reveals a glimpse of his bare stomach.

"I was stabbed three times by my son's dealers due to his outstanding debt," he grunts.

Jesus Christ.

Brayden's eyes widen as he stares at the three scars on his abdomen.

"The danger of addiction lies in its ability to cause harm not only to the addict themselves but also to those around them," she says with a sad smile.

"Is there anything you wanted to share?" The lady glances at me. Swallowing becomes difficult as a sharp pain stabs my chest. I have the option to inform them about Jace, but I don't feel comfortable discussing it, either with them nor with Brayden. I'm not prepared to share that yet.

I understand all too well the destructive power of drugs and the havoc they can wreak on a family and individuals.

I put on a smile and shake my head.

"No, I'm only here to provide support." I motion toward Brayden beside me.

"How did you find it?" I glance at Brayden, who looks a bit lighter. He smiles broadly at everyone and shakes their hands as we walk past. I'd say today was a win.

"It was great." He smiles. "It felt good getting it off my chest, you know. It was good to hear other people's stories and know that I'm not on my own in this. Michael and Geoff provided me with their contact information, encouraging me to reach out for questions or advice outside of the group."

"Why?" I snap. "Why can't you wait and see them in a group? Why do you need their number? What can they really do to help?" I fire at him. There's no need for him to have men's numbers. I'm here if he needs help. I can help him.

"Uh, I don't know. I suppose if I'm having a bad day with Bex." He shrugs.

"I'm here though, you know that. You can message or call me?"

He smiles "I do. Oh my god, it's been so long since I've had one of these. Do you mind if we stop to get one?" He gestures to the shop in front of us called Candy Shake. With a glowing face, Brayden gazes up at the sign. And there's no way I could say no at this moment.

"Sure." I nod as we walk in. Brayden orders some weird milkshakes. It seems that you can choose any candy you want for these milkshakes, and they blend everything together. I hadn't even heard of half the candy Brayden asked for. I opted to keep my teeth from rotting and didn't get one.

When he gets it, there's a generous amount of ice cream on top, with a multitude of rainbow sprinkles.

"That looks like a sugar rush in a cup." I laugh.

"It's so good!"

"What are those?" I point to the sweets on top.

"Nerds Clusters." He takes one with his teeth and crunches into it, saying. "My favorite."

"I'll take your word for it." I roll my eyes, smirking as we exit the shop. Once we reach the car and get in, he requests me to hold his shake while he fastens the seatbelt. I study at the clusters on top while gripping the drink in my hand.

After fastening his belt, he smirks and teases, "I can tell you're curious to try it."

I'm not going to lie. I give in to temptation and lick the melting ice cream, gathering a few clusters. I notice Brayden's eyes following my tongue as he swallows visibly. The ice cream is enjoyable, but I have to close my eyes when I bite into the cluster.

"Fuck they are sour." I blindly put the cup out in front of me for Brayden to take the cup and he howls out laughing. I open my eyes. "That's gross, Brayden. What the fuck."

My laughter can't mask the persistent sour taste in my mouth. Observing Brayden lick the same spot while never breaking eye contact ignites an instant, undeniable response as my dick begins to swell. I snap my eyes away and turn the engine on, making sure I don't let my gaze meet Brayden's again. I fear if I do, the next image I will get is him licking the ice cream off my dick.

As we approach campus, Brayden, who I need to remember to drop off at Pythons, breaks the silence.

"What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?" I can't shake off the thought of the decision I made earlier, and I'm unsure why I feel awkward telling him. It's true, I do like Brayden, but there are countless factors that continuously yank me out of the imaginary world I seem to inhabit whenever I'm in his presence. He's my student, he's nineteen, I would lose my job and Denny. Oh, and there's this other thing—I have no idea what's going on with me. Is this a moment that has just happened? Is this feeling going to last forever? Will I develop an attraction toward men now? Am I still attracted to women? That's what had me texting Ms. Banksy last night after I had wrapped my hand around my dick and came for probably the tenth time to a picture of Brayden, asking if she fancied dinner and drinks tonight.

"Uhh, I—um, have a date tonight." I quickly utter the remaining words and stay focused on the vehicle in front of me.

"With who?" Brayden's voice isn't angry, but it's not exactly cheerful either. I steal a quick glance at him as he maintains a blank expression while staring at the milkshake.

"Ms. Banksy," I mutter. Without uttering a word, Brayden simply gazes out the window. In a matter of moments, we park outside Pythons.

"Thanks for today. It was appreciated." In a hurry, he gets out of the car, turns, and stoops down to say, "Enjoy your date."

There's clear anger in his eyes. I'm struggling to find the right words to tell him that I'm feeling scattered and need to sort things out. Brayden slams the door with excessive force, causing me to wince. I observe him walking toward a trash can, where he disposes of the nearly full milkshake before walking away with slumped shoulders and a lowered head.

My stomach sinks. A sudden wave of sickness washes over me as I come to terms with the fact that I'm responsible for his sadness. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut?