6. Daemon

M y whole body is trembling and I can’t stop it. My heart is thundering in my chest, my breaths are coming in short pants, and my hands are shaking. And the cause? Archer Fucking Gray. Rain pelts my body, as I stumble down the sidewalk in the direction of home, with that phantom touch of his hand still burning into my skin. Why does he always seem to find me? I left practice as quick as I could earlier because I needed to get away from him, because I’ve seen nothing but him since that fucking party last night, and I wanted some fucking freedom from the invisible noose he put around my neck.

Four times I jerked off last night, four fucking times. And every single time I tried to imagine something else, literally anything else, all I could hear was his goddamn moan. I pictured the way his head was tilted towards me as that girl sucked his cock, I saw his body flexing as he thrust into Georgia, and I remembered those fucking smirking blue eyes, as he moaned my name.

Fuck.

That fucking moan. It’s haunted me for over three fucking years, and no matter what I do or where I go, I can’t seem to escape it, escape him .

It’s why I went to that damn cafe in the first place, somewhere I have been going since freshman year, and have never once seen anybody from FU. Brenda, the owner, is a sweet little old lady who makes the most incredible cakes, and she has a couple of great workers, none of whom mind when I take up a booth all afternoon to sketch. So I thought heading there was a better option than going back to Hockey Row, but clearly I was wrong, because he still found me.

And not just him, but his little sister too, a girl who seems both smart and beautiful, and has probably never endured a day of pain in her life. She seemed confident and free, just like her brother in every way, and I was both enthralled by how happy she was, and disgusted by how nice she was being to me. She didn’t seem put off by my quiet nature, and definitely didn’t care that I’m not one of her brother’s fanboys, so why couldn’t I just stay sitting there and answer her question?

Why can’t I just be fucking normal?

I’m soaked through by the time I make it back to the house, my cock once again rock hard thanks to my fucking teammate, and I burst through the door so hard that I almost take it off its hinges. Josh startles from where he is sitting in the living room, jumping to his feet at the sight of me, looking concerned, but I shake my head at him and stalk straight up to my room without a word.

I barely take the time to strip out of my wet hoodie, tossing it to the floor with my t-shirt, before looking down at the offensive tent in my fucking pants. My dick is weeping behind my zipper, and it makes me fucking sick. Now, I’ll be the first to admit I love sex. Having it, watching it, reading about it, I love it all, and I don’t really have a preference. I find both women and men attractive, physically, emotionally, and intellectually, but none of that should translate to my fucking teammate.

It’s been months since I fucked anyone, over the casualness of it all and not really being interested in anything more, yet for the last twenty-four hours, my dick has decided to take an interest in the one person I fucking hate. I hate him, I hate him so fucking much, yet that one uttered moan of my name is playing on repeat in my mind.

Forbes . Not Daemon, it’s never Daemon, but why do I wish it was?

The thought is maddening, still I am unable to resist unbuckling my jeans and fisting my cock. I storm to my bed, throwing myself down with my back against the headboard, and then I am stroking myself roughly. Jacking myself slowly from root to tip and watching as pre-cum spills across my head, in a display so erotic that it has me groaning from the sheer relief. I roll my thumb over my blunt head, spreading the liquid down my shaft, and I do it all while thinking of Archer Gray.

His name is like a fucking beacon of light in my mind, and I recall the way it felt to smash him back into his locker, how roughly he grabbed my arm, and how he moaned my fucking name. All of it lighting me up from the inside out, and before long I am thrusting into my hand, chasing my release, but needing more than I can ever give myself.

Just as I have that thought, my bedroom door bursts open, my best friend walking in with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Josh opens his mouth but then freezes as he takes me in, fucking my fist like a man gone mad, and his eyes go wide. “Fuck, sorry,” he mumbles, turning and leaving as quickly as he came, but the shock and thrill is enough to remind me.

I am transported right back to last night, to the way the lean muscles of Archer’s body flexed with every thrust, to how his eyes held mine, as his hands held her . To how he fucked her, but moaned for me, and that’s all it takes to have me spilling across my hand and stomach to thoughts of my fucking teammate. Again .

My chest is heaving with panted breaths as I come down from the high of my orgasm, and I reach for some tissues from my nightstand to clean up the mess I made. It’s only when I lay back that I realize I am no longer shaking. The world doesn’t feel like it’s slipping from beneath my feet, and I am once again calm and collected.

Not wanting to dig into the reason why, I jump from my bed and head for a shower, getting changed into some warm clothes, before I slowly make my way down to the kitchen.

Josh is sitting at the counter, sipping from a tumbler in his hand, and when I take a seat across from him, his eyes slowly meet mine. He opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it. “I told you that you’d catch me jerking off one day,” I tease lightly, and he huffs a laugh, finishing his drink, and pouring himself another. “I mean, I always knew you wanted to see my dick, but maybe you really do need to start knocking,” I add, and he shakes his head, pushing the bottle across the counter towards me.

“At least I know you haven’t actually taken up the monastery,” he claps back, shaking his head with a smirk, as I tip back some of the amber liquid. “But I’m going to need some serious therapy to erase the memory of your dick from my brain.”

“Oh yeah? Get a good look did you?” I ask, cocking a brow, and he almost chokes on his drink.

“That’s not what I meant,” he starts, stumbling over his words a little, until I smirk, and he curses me out.

“Will my chicken parmesan be enough to clean your dirty mind?” If there is one way to my best friend’s heart, it’s to feed him carbs.

“With your homemade garlic bread?” he questions instantly in delight, and I roll my eyes, but still nod all the same.

“You know I love you and your dick, Forbes,” he claims, watching as I jump up and check the fridge to make sure we have what I need.

“Yeah, well I’m not feeding you my dick,” I snap back, loading the counter with all the ingredients. “Now fuck off, you know the kitchen is my quiet place.”

Of course he obeys instantly, not wanting to threaten the offering of me feeding him. The chicken parm, not my dick. And then I get to work making dinner. Of course both Levi and Landon come bother me at some point to make sure I am cooking enough for everyone, but I throw them out too, not wanting them to ruin the peace cooking brings me.

By the time I have cooked, eaten, and then cleaned up, I haven’t thought of Archer once, and finally feeling back to myself, I head upstairs to finish off my sketch from earlier. Yet when I make it back to my room and pick up my phone that I discarded earlier, I note a bunch of notifications and decide to flick through them first. Most of them are the same as always, but it’s the new follower request on Instagram that has me pausing and hovering over it.

@RarelyRora

Rora? Isn’t that the nickname Archer used for his sister earlier?

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from clicking on her profile to get a better look, and sure enough in that small profile icon is a picture of the girl who introduced herself to me as Aurora Gray. My finger automatically moves to press the delete button, so used to avoiding anyone with the name Gray, but I hesitate. I mean, is it really her fault that her brother is an asshole? And besides, I don’t post much on social media anyway, only the odd piece of work I have done in class, so would it really be so bad to confirm her request?

I accept it before I can talk myself out of it, and then I request to follow her back, telling myself that’s the normal societal thing to do, and that it won’t matter anyway because I barely even use the app, but she accepts instantly and her pictures flood my feed and I can’t look away. There is art everywhere. From drawings of her own, to famous paintings she has visited in museums, and I find myself endlessly scrolling, taking in the privileges her life has allowed her.

Is this what it’s like when you grow up in a happy and safe home?

There is picture after picture of everything from her family and friends, to vacations and parties, and I examine every single one like they are some sort of puzzle to the Gray way of life. Archer is heavily featured throughout her page, from pictures she has clearly taken at our games, to shots of them in the city, and what I can only presume is their home, and all of them are flooded with likes and gushing comments. There is also the odd shot here and there of another boy who, though he doesn’t look anything like Archer, I know instantly is the brother that Aurora mentioned, just from the way he presents himself. They don’t seem as close as Aurora and Archer do, but I suppose that’s to be expected with step-siblings, not that I have any experience in that area.

I scroll and scroll, telling myself I am only looking to see if I can spot any more art, and I am rewarded when I stumble across a half-complete pencil drawn portrait that she has titled ‘Arch in progress’. It looks to be around eighty percent done, but it’s clear as day that it’s her brother, and I am so blown away by her talent that I can’t help but double tap the picture to like it. Only to realize my mistake and quickly double tap it again to take it away, but it’s too late, the damage is done.

Not even sixty seconds later my inbox pings with a new direct message, and I know even before I swipe who it’s going to be, and I open it reluctantly.

@RarelyRora : I knew you’d appreciate good artistic talent when you saw it

@RarelyRora : From one aspiring artist to another, thanks for the follow back. I hope I didn’t ruin your vibe too much when I interrupted you earlier

I contemplate not responding, but the thought makes me feel like an asshole. I mean she’s just a kid, and I remember having no one to talk about my art with when I was that age.

@D.Forbes : No problem at all. You’re very talented.

@RarelyRora : Thank you! My mom says art flows through my bones the way ice flows through Archer’s

At the mention of her brother I grimace, reminding myself it’s not her fault she is related to an asshole. She is probably nothing like him.

@RarelyRora : Well come on Forbes you know the rules, you’ve seen my art, now show me yours

Okay I take that back, maybe she is exactly like him.

@D.Forbes : I don’t really show people my art, but there is some stuff on my profile

I decide that’s my best defense, and when she starts typing and then stops, I think maybe I have worked my way out of it, but then she starts typing again.

@RarelyRora : I don’t want to see that academic bullshit, show me something real

@RarelyRora : I dare you

Yep, she is definitely related to Archer Gray.

@RarelyRora : I promise I won’t show anyone. Scouts honor.

@Rarely2Rora : **Image**

The photograph is of her hand, showing three fingers raised to emphasize her point, and I can’t help but laugh. She’s annoying and persistent just like her brother, but still I find my eyes straying over to my bookcase where I keep all of my used sketchbooks. Then, before I can second guess myself, I am on my feet and grabbing one, knowing instantly what I want to show her. I move back to my bed, flipping through the pages, until I find the sketch I am looking for, and then I snap a picture and send it before I can stop myself.

@D.Forbes : **Image**

She sees the picture instantly but no response comes, not right away anyway, and my fingers itch to take it back. To hide the part of myself I don’t show anyone, and I’m not really sure why I decided to show someone now.

Why now? Why her?

When her response finally comes it brings a lump to the back of my throat.

@RarelyRora : Daemon wow…

@RarelyRora : I have no words, that is absolutely incredible

@RarelyRora : And completely criminal that you don’t show anyone

@RarelyRora : Who is that?

A question I knew I was opening myself up to when I sent the picture, and for the first time in years I don’t feel a sense of dread. Not when I was expecting it, not when I orchestrated it, and as I type my three word response, my heart thunders inside of my chest.

@D.Forbes : My little brother

If I expected any kind of information-digging response to my words, I don’t get it. In fact, she just tells me again how talented I am, and then moves on. Then for the next two hours we talk about nothing but art, discussing preference, techniques, our favorite artists, and then she shares some stuff she is working on, and I end up showing her what I was half way through at the coffee shop. Then I live life vicariously through Aurora Gray, as she tells me all the amazing stories of the places she has been and the things she has seen, and by the time we say goodnight, we have exchanged numbers with the promise of me to keep her updated on what I am working on.

A promise that feels easy to keep, since she is practically a stranger. Yet still, as I turn out my lights I tell myself I won’t break it, while also making another promise. To stay the hell away from the other Gray who has always been a fucking thorn in my side, and is now becoming a constant thought in my head.