Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

EASTON- CURRENT DAY

P lease, just leave me alone, I beg silently. The keys jingling in the lock sends an involuntary shiver up my spine. He’s mad. I made him look bad tonight. It wasn’t like I could help it, my violently throbbing head and sick stomach made the call for me. But he’s so worried about looking bad in front of his clients. I didn’t want him to look bad; I swear I didn’t. I doubt me showing up in sunglasses shaking and soaked in sweat from the fever would have made a better impression than him showing up without me.

I feel so fucking awful, I just want to sleep. Squeezing my eyes shut, I start counting backwards from one hundred. As long as he thinks I’m already passed out, I should be okay. Just please?—

“Doll,” he bellows, making me cringe.

Don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t react.

The overhead lights turn on, making a wave of nausea almost take me out. I keep it at bay, but only just. He’s definitely not going to let me pretend to be asleep. The bed dips with his weight as he all but falls into place next to me.

“I know you’re not asleep, doll. Did you miss me tonight?” His words are slurred which means he’s already had a fuck ton to drink.

I roll over slowly, hoping to not aggravate my currently delicate state, and squint in his direction. The light is burning my eyes but he doesn’t notice. “Of course I did,” I answer automatically. I know it’s what he wants to hear, there’s no way I can tell him I was grateful to have a few hours alone. He gives me everything and I can’t sound ungrateful.

“You little fucking liar,” he drawls.

Goddamn it. “Aaron?—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Okay, got it. He’s not even being loud, he doesn’t have to. I know that tone, the one where his words are sharp enough to cut. I’m in trouble.

“Why don’t you appreciate me anymore? I work day and night to provide for your lazy ass. You don’t contribute a dime to this beautiful apartment you just had to have.” He picked out the apartment. He picked out the city, too, but now’s not the time. “All I fucking ask for is a boyfriend to come home to who appreciates the sacrifices I’ve made. Is that too much for you?”

I push myself up and prop my back against the headboard. If he wants my attention, he can have it. It’s not like I was actually asleep or anything. “I do appreciate you,” I insist.

It’s not even a lie. Our life is beautiful. He takes me out to eat at fancy restaurants, buys me spa weekends for my birthday. He saved me when everyone else turned their backs on me, whisked me away to a new city so I could start over and not risk getting hurt by running into my parents.

“That’s a fucking lie and you know it, Easton. I needed you tonight and you couldn’t be bothered. What kind of appreciation is that, huh?”

“I’m sick,” I croak .

That makes him laugh, insincere and brittle. “Yeah, you look so fucking sick.”

If he was here twenty minutes ago when I was puking my guts up, he wouldn’t be saying that. But I have to fix it, he’s all I have.

“Aaron, I’m sorry. Let’s just go to bed,” I offer.

His answer is clipped. “Fine.”

He doesn’t move to get up, so I get up to turn out the light, swaying on my feet from the dizziness muddling my balance. When I miraculously make it back into our plush king bed, I breathe a sigh of relief. I just want to be held and sleep for a week; that’ll make me feel better. Tears spring to my eyes when, after fumbling around in his nightstand for a minute, he settles down and wraps his arm around me.

Exhaustion weighs heavily, and sleep threatens to take me down quickly. My body starts to relax, but then his slick fingers tease my crease and I can’t help but tense up.

“Please, I don’t feel good. I can’t.”

I can hear the shake in my voice, and I know he can too because he chuckles in my ear. “Be quiet, doll,” he soothes.

It has the opposite effect, causing my stomach to roll. “Please,” I choke out. My eyes are damp for some reason, and I’m so cold.

He’s done teasing, he forces one finger in me. I swallow a cry; he hates when I make noise. Aaron is fast, and I don’t feel ready when he rolls away. My body wants to run but I know I can’t. There’s nowhere to go.

When the blunt head of his cock presses against my hole, my only choice is to try and relax. It’ll hurt so much worse if I don’t. Everywhere already aches from the fever; I don’t want to make it worse. The angle is awful, and I’m so focused on keeping the vomit out of my throat, my dick never even gets hard. He isn’t rough, he’s too drunk, and I’m grateful for it. He doesn’t allow clothes in bed, says it’s unsanitary, so when he shudders through his release and finally pulls out and rolls away, my chills get even worse.

My pillow is soaked with tears and my thighs are quickly becoming sticky as they dry, but getting up is more than I’m capable of, so I close my eyes and hope my dreams are better than this.

~~~

The next morning, my alarm going off is like a jackhammer to my skull. I shut it off quickly, so it doesn’t wake my boyfriend sleeping next to me. He doesn’t have to be up for work for an hour so he’ll get mad if I wake him up too soon.

He works so hard; he needs the extra rest.

I still feel woozy as hell with the added benefit of being covered in dry sweat and cum. The fever must have broken at some point during the night, but I’m willing to bet it’s back. Fucking hell. This bug going around is kicking my ass.

Stumbling to the bathroom takes a lot more energy than it should, so I hurry to get the shower on and warmed up. The marble tiles are fucking freezing and I want to feel heat for fuck’s sake. This room sold the apartment when Aaron and I toured it six months ago. It has a rainfall shower head and two detachable ones. My family wasn’t exactly jump roping with the poverty line when I was growing up but I still haven’t gotten used to having this much luxury. There’s a grocery store in the basement of our building—who the hell ever thought of that genius idea.

We never stay in one place for long, but we’re up and down the east coast reliably. I sometimes wish we’d put down some roots so I could go back to school and get a job, but Aaron’s work is unpredictable and he enjoys spoiling me. Having a car would be nice, not that I need one, I guess, when he’s so meticulous about getting us a place in a walkable area and having as many amenities as he can find .

Overall, things are fine. I feel like a different person after I spend an indecent amount of time in the hot water. After I get out, I move quickly to get ready for the day. If his breakfast isn’t ready when he wakes up, both of us are gonna have a bad day.

Dressed, I pad quietly back through the bedroom, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when I see his sleeping form on the far side of the bed. He likes his coffee fresh, so the machine isn’t set to turn on for another fifteen minutes, so while I wait, I start chopping peppers, onions, and mushrooms for Aaron’s eggs.

I hate breakfast, so I only ever make enough for him. I have to take a breather halfway through cooking because my energy levels are still garbage, but I’ll be fine. Once he’s gone to work, I’ll have the day to myself so I can rest. My ass is uncomfortably sore, but that’s not exactly unusual. He’s a really sexually active guy, so what am I supposed to say? No? I can manage a little soreness if it makes him happy.

Just about the time I’m plating up a steaming plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, Aaron comes into the kitchen already dressed in a nice shirt and tie with his suit jacket over his arm. His brown eyes go soft when he sees me. That used to make my heart flutter, I don’t know when it stopped, but suddenly noticing it doesn’t happen anymore makes me feel weird. Unsteady.

“Doll, this looks amazing. Thank you.”

I smile as I lean up and kiss him. He doesn’t seem mad anymore; it’s going to be okay. A fraction of the tension eases out of me.

Aaron Murphy looks good in a suit, I’ll give him that. With his salt and pepper hair and strong jaw, he looks handsome all the time, but he spends a lot of money on good suits and it shows.

I wouldn’t dare bring it up last night unprovoked, but I don’t have to. When he’s about halfway through his breakfast, he looks up at me where I’m perched against the kitchen counter. “Last night was beautiful. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you always show me how you feel about me when I need you to.”

That’s not what you were saying last night , I want to say, but I shut it down. This fucking bug is making me snappy. “I love you,” I say instead. My headache is back, but I try not to let it show. I don’t want to fight again; I’m still so tired.

“I love you too, Easton. My perfect little doll,” he coos.

I’m going to be sick again. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? Should I ask him to make me a doctor’s appointment?

He grabs his to-go mug of coffee sitting next to the mug I’ve only managed a few sips of for myself, pecks me on the cheek, and is out the door before I’ve made up my mind. I barely make it to the sink in time once the door has shut.

Fuck, it’s going to be a long day.

~~~

Several hours later, when I’m conscious again, I peel my eyes open by sheer force of will and check my phone. It’s only mid-morning but the date catches my attention. My brother's birthday is in a week. A pang of longing hits me square in the chest. I don’t think about him often, but when I do, it’s agony. I was so sure that no matter what happened, I’d always have Brady. Him siding with my parents when they disowned me hurt worse than being on the streets at sixteen.

I’d never expected that out of him in a thousand years. It was just so confusing; I thought he knew I was gay. He brought his gay best friend home when I was getting bullied. Sure, I left out some details to avoid actually having to say I’m gay, but he knew. He knew. That’s why he brought Chase with him from Washington. Chase was out. We had a heart-to-heart; he patted me on the cheek and told me it would be okay before sending me inside to break the news to Mom and Dad.

Spoiler alert: it was very much not okay.

I shake my head to get rid of the bad memories. They’re best kept in a lockbox in the back of my mind where I can forget about them. I have Aaron. That’s what matters. He’s my family now.

Being sick is just making me feel weirdly nostalgic. That must be it. Brady may be a homophobic prick, but he used to take good care of me when I wasn’t feeling well. I don’t know how the same person that watched movies, curled up with me all day, completely unconcerned if I was contagious or not, can be the same one that cut me off without a word.

I’m sure I should eat, but I still don't have an appetite. I can’t say for sure if it’s because of the flu I have or because I’ve had a hard time eating for months now, but it’s still enough to annoy me.

Maybe I don’t have the flu. Maybe my body is just rejecting me. All I know is that I’m not well. But nothing is really that different as far as my life goes. We moved to Boston, and there’s no reason for me not to like it here. But that’s as far back as I can remember noticing something felt off.

That explains what possesses me to make a burner Instagram account lying in bed. Aaron suggested I delete my social media when he moved me in so that I didn’t torture myself checking up on people that didn’t care about me, but that seems like exactly the right thing to do with my already shitty mood. He won’t be home for hours, but a tendril of unease makes my skin feel clammy. He’d be so mad if he found out I was doing this, I can hear it now. Is it worth ruining the foundation we’ve built? You’re supposed to trust me to know what’s best for you, doll.

I’ll delete it when I’m done and he’ll never find out. I just have to know. Brady’s username hasn’t changed, so at least that part is easy. He also has a public profile which is new. When I click on the most recent post, I could cry. It looks like he went with his friends to a fucking pride parade. He’s arm in arm with Chase, wearing a rainbow ally shirt. There’s five of them in the picture and none of them are looking at the camera, they’re too busy laughing at each other. He looks so fucking happy.

It doesn’t make any sense. How does he have openly queer friends? Do they know the day I came out was the last day he spoke to me? Was it just because I’m his brother? It’s fine to him if his friends suck dick but not his family? Or even worse. If the problem wasn’t that I’m gay, was his problem with what I did? Me?

I keep scrolling looking for answers. There’s several posts showing off views from his favorite hiking trails, one of him and Chase wearing jeans and dirty shirts taking sledgehammers to some ugly kitchen cabinets. I really wish Chase had gotten less attractive in the last four years but that couldn’t be any less true. He’s filled out more since he was twenty, the T-shirt he’s wearing is stretched tight over his sculpted chest and is thin enough to show the dark outline of tattoos, making my mouth water. He’s still got the same inky black hair and the prettiest pale eyes I’ve ever seen.

I stare at that picture longer than I probably should before I continue my quest for answers. The first real clue into his life I get is when I see him at a charity event wearing a company shirt. I make a mental note of the name but it doesn’t ring a bell.

My throat closes up when I see that a year ago, he bought a house. It doesn’t look like he’s gotten married or even has a steady girlfriend, but missing out on his life fucking stings. I keep going until I see his college graduation photo.

Once again, he’s got an arm around his best friend, both wearing icy blue caps and gowns. His life is filled with amazing achievements, charity work, concerts, and great friends. It doesn’t line up at all.

Aaron showed me what he had to say about me when he just tried to reach out and let Brady know I was safe and off the streets and how to contact me. His words haunt my nightmares. I cried myself sick for days after.

I just want answers.

Aaron should be taking his lunch break soon, I’m half tempted to call him, even if just to hear him say he loves me. But he’ll know something is wrong if I talk to him like this. With last night still fresh, I’d really rather not get into an argument, and that’s what it will devolve into if I can’t get my act together. Instead, I close the app, toss my phone under the pillow and close my eyes. I just need an extra five minutes.

Rough hands grab me by the neck, ripping me from unconsciousness before I can make heads or tails of what’s going on. I try to blink my surroundings into focus, but it comes slowly.

My first thought is maybe the apartment got broken into.

My second is a lot more sobering, but it doesn’t occur to me until the grip tightens and I’m slung out of bed and slam into the hardwood.

Aaron is home.

“What the fuck?” The yell tears from my throat as my vision clears. He’s standing over me with a sneer on his face, breathing heavily. He’s so pissed.

“I don’t know, Easton. Why don’t you tell me? Why don’t you explain to me why I came home to see my boyfriend sullying our bed? Passed out, to boot. No dinner cooking. You tell me what the fuck.”

If the room would stop spinning, I might do just that. Something warm is running down my forehead. When I reach up to touch it, seeing red come back on my fingers makes me flinch. I’ve only made this mistake once before, but I was just cold and feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to lay in bed in my pajamas for once.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out.

What hits me square in the chest is the sudden realization that I’m lying. I’m not sorry, but I know what’s coming and I want to avoid it if I can.

“What are you on?”

I was not prepared for that. “I-I’m not. I swear.”

“I’m so sick of you lying to me!” he yells. As soon as his voice raises, I fold in on myself. Bringing my knees to my chest and locking my arms around them, I try to tune out the screaming. I hate it when he yells. I just want him to run out of things to say already and be done with it.

Because I’m not listening, when he grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet, I’m not expecting it and nearly fall. I don’t get a moment to correct it, he’s already dragging me towards the patio. I dig my heels in as I attempt to peel his fingers from my bicep but he outweighs me, and there’s nothing to stop my socked feet from sliding across the floor. I’m babbling through my broken sobs, begging him to let go, begging him to stop, but it falls on deaf ears.

He tosses me outside like a bag of garbage, causing me to land hard on my shoulder. The concrete digs into my skin, leaving little scrapes, but I ignore it so I can scramble up in a bid to get inside.

“Like hell are you detoxing in my apartment, you little fucking shit,” Aaron snarls as he slams the sliding glass door shut. I use all my strength to pull from my side, but he doesn’t let go and uses his other hand to ensure the lock slides home. I yank and yank, not caring how useless it is.

A scream dies in my throat, and with it, I collapse to the ground. I’m entirely worthless. I’ve never done a damn thing for myself and this is what I deserve for it. I wrecked my perfectly normal family so I could live my truth, but I couldn’t have predicted that the truth would be that I was willing to sacrifice my soul for conditional love.

It’s all I’ve ever given myself, I shouldn’t be so surprised that that’s how everyone else views me too. Adrenaline courses through my body, making my hands shake and my skin feel like it’s going to vibrate off my bones, begging me to fucking do something. I just want to know what I did wrong. Aaron used to be so kind to me, wonderfully sweet and attentive. Featherlight kisses and careful fingers as he undressed me devolved into this. Somewhere along the way, we’d lost that. Those dreamy-eyed looks he’d give me would make my heart skip a beat. It was real; I felt it. I lived it, for fuck’s sake. Everything is broken, and it’s my fault. All I need is another chance, I can be better.

As the sun dips below the high-rises, and the blood dries on my face, the only hope my damaged heart can hold on to is that I’ll do anything to earn his love back.