Chapter 1

One

Ezra

A s soon as I send him away, I sit on the edge of the bed and press my hand to my eyes. A tear spills out. I look down at myself, where I’m still hard, and that makes me feel so much worse. I try to get air into my lungs, but they’re locked.

Oh, fuck.

Did I hurt him?

I have to go say something to him.

Or you could just go back to the trestle bridge where you belong.

I feel numb as I get up and step toward the bathroom. Like I’m in a padded room with Haldol in my veins.

Where you belong.

As I’m reaching for the bathroom door, I hear the shower come on.

Just walk in there .

I play the words through my head: “Miller? Hey…I’m sorry.”

I can’t say it, though. I can’t let him know about me.

It’s so sick that I ever did this with him. I’m like…some kind of addict. I can’t get control of myself. He comes into my bed and something in me—I don’t know—just snaps.

It’s because I stopped taking the Amitriptyline. It made me feel like a zombie, and all that stuff made my dick numb, but that’s what I deserve. I should’ve never gone off that. My goal was to mess with him. My goal was to taste him. Because I’m weak. I’m selfish, and I know it.

I should go back on the pills, so the nightmares will stop.

I should go back to the trestle bridge.

I lean my forehead against the bathroom door, pulling air in through my nose and blowing slowly out my mouth. I listen to his shower, try to calm myself by picturing him.

Miller .

When he looks at me, I can tell he’s trying to figure me out. When I suck his dick, his hand rubs my hair—almost never pulls. He doesn’t get offended when I won’t swallow his load. He tries to pull out in time so he doesn’t come in my mouth.

I smear his cum all over him and send him away almost every night. It’s been something like ten nights now. He comes in here, lets me push him around, and showers alone when I make him leave. After I’ve told him that he’s a faggot or some other fucked up shit.

I try the bathroom doorknob, find it unlocked.

Miller. How does that make sense, man?

I push the door open slowly, feeling a fresh wave of guilt for invading his space while he’s in the shower. Now I’m in here, though, I’m inhaling his Dial-scented steam.

I’m going to tell him sorry, then go.

Right as I open my mouth to say something, I hear a weird sound. It’s like…gasping? I think of drowning. He’s not drowning in the shower, is he? No way.

“Miller? ”

There’s no answer.

“Hey, Mills?”

I hear another soft gasp. My chest is so tight, I can’t stop myself from pulling the blue shower curtain back. I find him on the tub’s floor, crumpled on his side. He’s choking on the water, and his body’s jerking rhythmically.

Holy shit!

I can’t move or even think straight for a second. In horror, I’m stumbling into the shower with him, crouching over him and reaching for his face. His whole body’s jerking.

I lay a hand over his forehead, use my other one to cup the back of his dark, wet head. “Miller? Fuck! You gotta stop!” My body’s blocking shower water from his face now, but his eyes are rolling back, and it’s still going.

“Miller! Dammit!”

His torso, straddled by my trembling legs, gives a final jerk, then he goes so limp he’s gotta be dead.

“Miller! Please… ” I grip his face, searching for some sign of life. Something in my chest cracks as I notice there’s a line of blood right at the corner of his lip. His eyelids, which were trembling just a second ago—like in a dream—have gone completely still now, cracked half open.

“Mills!” I lay his head down and shake his shoulders, holding my breath as I wait for him to wake up. But he doesn’t. I shake him again. “MILLER? Wake up!”

My brain starts to haze out as an awful, tight pain grips just under my throat. “Fucking shit, fuck! SHIT!” I’m up on my feet, jerking the shower curtain, half falling out of the tub. I throw my arm across the countertop, sending everything flying. I hear a crash a half second before I realize I’m throwing things . I can’t stop. Something shatters—aftershave—and I’m crouching down on my knees, one palm pressed against the bathroom floor. Everything’s blurring together.

I start to breathe too fast—the smell is overwhelming. I think: I might pass out , but I remember Miller’s in the shower. I don’t want him in there alone.

I stand, dizzy as fuck, and pull the shower curtain open, blink down at him through my blurry eyes, and that’s when I hear rasping. His chest’s moving.

He’s breathing! It sounds wet and rough, but—

Fuck!

Miller coughs and then starts gagging. I’m weak with relief as I climb back into the tub and kneel over him.

Focus, Ezra. Fucking focus. It’s not Alton.

I shift my weight so some of the shower water runs down my arm. Then I cup my shaking hand and use the little stream to rinse his shoulder and his throat. I’m washing his cheek, still struggling to get deep breaths, when his eyelids slit open.

“Ez?” His lips don’t even move. The sound comes from in between his teeth. His eyes open more, and they look dazed and bloodshot.

Holy shit, I can’t believe this is real…

“Hey there, Millsy.” I cup his cheek with my hand, which still trembles.

He looks around the shower, his face pale and blank.

“Hey, man,” I rasp. “Do you remember getting in here?”

His tongue laps at his lower lip, and that’s when his face crumples. “Ow.” He holds his mouth, and a little line of dark blood drips between his fingers.

“Jesus, did you bite your tongue?”

His hand covers his face, and he starts breathing louder. Is he choking? I realize he’s crying, and it fucking breaks me.

“Oh, fuck. Miller. It’s okay.” I lean down to try to hug him, but I can’t get my arms around him from this angle. I put a hand on his forehead. “It’s okay. I’m gonna help you get up, okay? We’ll stand up and wash off. Then I’ll get you in bed. You’ll feel better. ”

I’m so full of shit. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I look down at Miller, holding his face, breathing all unsteady, and I feel like I might throw up. But he’s nodding.

“Okay, Millsy. You think you can hold your head up?” I lift him slow and careful, making sure one of my hands that goes behind his back is cupped around the base of his head. Turns out he can hold his head up on his own, but he looks dazed as I get him sitting.

He holds his mouth.

“Is it a lot of blood? Just spit it out. It’ll go down the drain.”

His eyes squeeze shut. He covers his face with both hands, hunches his shoulders like he’s cold or something.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” My voice is a soft rasp.

He wipes at his chin. He’s wincing.

“You have seizures, Miller? Have you ever had a seizure before?”

His eyes find mine, almost like he’s just realizing I’m here. He looks so damn tired.

“Hey.” I can’t keep myself from brushing his damp hair up off his forehead. “You know where we are?”

He covers his face again, looking down, and he rasps, “In the shower. Dickface.” His lips twitch, and he moves his hand off his eyes, giving me the most exhausted fuck-off look I’ve ever seen in my life. I feel giddy—like some drug just hit me hard.

I hear myself laugh. “Okay, twinky winky. Lemme get you up. I’ll sling you over my shoulder like one of those bags of feed we lift at practice.”

I’m just messing with him. I get into a good crouch and then wrap my arms under his arms, leaning him forward like I’m gonna put him over my shoulder, but there’s no need to. He gets onto his knees, and I’m able to help him stand. Then he’s leaning on me. He’s trying to get his balance as I hold him, but he’s still shaking .

Shower water hits him in the face, and his grip on me tightens.

“Turn your head away from it so you don’t get it in your mouth.”

“Really?” The word is groaned, but I can feel the smart-ass attitude behind it. And then he’s gulping the steam, panting in a way that makes me think maybe he’s freaked out.

“It’s okay, Mills. Let me wash you off, okay? Just hold onto me. I’m not skinny anymore. You notice that? I’m on the gain train now. I’ve gotcha.”

He seems mostly clean, but I wash his shoulder and his side and neck again. I run my palm over one of his hard hipbones. It feels wrong touching his dick, so I’m not going to, but I rub my hand over his abs. If they’re messy, that’s my fault for smearing cum all over them.

When I’m pretty sure he’s clean, I brave a glance back up at his face. He looks like someone in a dark room when the lights just got turned on.

“You think you can step over the side of the tub?”

He nods, looking wide-eyed and dazed.

“I can help you.”

I do, and we make it. He left a clean towel draped over the shower’s rod, so I’ve got that to help him dry with. Only I don’t know if I can dry him. He’s like… really shaking.

Jesus .

I wrap the thing around his shoulders as well as I can without letting go of his arm. “Let’s walk to my bed, okay? Or your bed?”

Why the fuck am I asking him questions?

“My bed,” I decide.

Dammit, I wish I could pick him up, but he’s a big guy. I could do it, but it would be a rough ride for him because it’d be a strain on me, so I just walk him into my room…lead him to the bed. I try to ease him down, but it’s a fail. He falls face-first, la nding with a bounce. He draws his shoulders in and scoots so that he’s vertical on the bed, and I climb up beside him.

Jesus, DG.

I lay the towel over him and pull my sheet up…then the duvet, until he’s covered to his shoulders. I drag my pillow to him, thumb his temple gently. “Lift your head up, Mills. I’ve got a pillow for ya.”

He does, and I wiggle the pillow under his cheek. I brush the wet hair off his forehead again.

“I’m gonna call my dad. Do you feel okay right now?” He nods, even though he’s got his eyes shut. “Hang in there, DG.”

I’m too afraid to leave the room, so I call from the armchair by the door.

My dad sounds alarmed when I tell him, and he hands the phone to Suzanne.

“What happened?” she asks, and I tell her that I heard him choking from my room. That he was in the shower.

“Oh no,” she says softly. She sounds pretty devastated, which makes my throat feel tight all over again.

“I don’t know how long it went for,” I say. “I got in there and it stopped, and he got sick, like choking up some water, I think. And then I got him out and walked him to my bed.”

She asks if he’s coherent.

“Yeah. He knew who I was and he tried to make a joke.”

“Oh, poor Joshua. We thought we were over this, but evidently not…”

I hear my dad murmur something sympathetic.

They end up telling me Miller has motherfucking epilepsy. It’s the childhood kind that people outgrow. It started when he was a little kid and happened last when he was in sixth grade. His mom is shocked that it happened tonight.

“Do you know if he… did anything?” she asks. “Anything strange? Did he drink alcohol?”

I can barely breathe past my tight throat as I tell her that I don’t think he did.

There’s a brief discussion about Suzanne coming home, but Carl seems to nudge her toward staying with him. They’re in Charlotte, North Carolina, and they’ve planned to be away until this coming Thursday. In the end, it’s decided that Suzanne is going to contact the on-call person with DG’s neurologist’s office and see what they think.

“Do two things,” Suzanne tells me.

She tells me to get a pulse-ox monitor, which monitors the amount of oxygen in a person’s blood, from the drawer of the kitchen desk and put it on his finger.

“Text me what the numbers are, and keep on checking.”

She tells me what they should be—because she doesn’t know I know about these sorts of things—and I reassure her that I’ll watch out for him.

“Also,” she says, “you can’t let him drive. Not anywhere. I don’t think he would, but wrestle his keys from him if you have to. Will you do that?”

“Sure thing.”

She still sounds worried when they hang up. DG is still sleeping, and he’s breathing; I check that before I jog downstairs to get the pulse ox.

Geez, he has this at his house. He has his own personal one—a small, finger-sized kind. I don’t like it. Fuck, I fucking hate it when I put it on his finger and his eyelids lift open.

“You okay?” I rasp. “You want some water?”

He falls right back to sleep. I’m relieved to see the numbers look okay. I text his mom, and she agrees.

‘Just check it every hour for a few, please’

‘I will. I’ll text after each time.’

Normal moms, I assume, care about their kids a lot, and want to know if they’re okay. I don’t want to leave her hanging.

‘I’ll watch him all night. It’s not a problem. I’m not even tired. ’

‘That’s so sweet of you, Ezra.’

The hell it is.

I set the phone down and go back to my bed. It’s pretty low to the ground, so I have to crouch down on my knees beside if I want to look at him up-close. He seems okay. Just sleeping. I notice he’s barely moved and figure he’s worn out from the effort of the seizure. That shit can make you pretty tired, from what I know of it. He’ll probably sleep all night, and he might still be tired tomorrow.

I tuck the covers around him again and brush the hair off his forehead again, just because I like to feel the warmth of his skin. My throat tightens when I think of how I sent him out of my room. He was pissed off at me. Did I hurt his arm when I grabbed it? I want to look, to check for bruises, but it’s tucked under the covers. I don’t want to wake him.

I go around the bed and sit on the opposite edge, cover my face with my hands. I’ve been fucking with him. Christ. I just…toy with him. Because he’s such a good boy. Because he seems so perfect.

I wanted to break him.

I should go down to the bridge and tie a rope around my feet and fucking jump off. What if this is my fault? I upset him. I’ve been…hurting him. Every night. Yeah, I suck his dick and make him come, but it’s all twisted up and shitty. I make sure it’s shitty for him. So he can’t enjoy it.

I can’t move for what feels like a long time. As I sink into it. As I breathe it in and choke on it. As I ache under the weight of my own sadism and hurt from knowing I hurt him. I hurt his arm, I hurt his feelings, and I’m so damn scared he’ll die or something.

I don’t know what to do.

I think of another Ezra who might cuddle up to him now. Maybe the same one who would have treated him nice and been his friend—told him, if nothing else, that I’m an ally. That I’ll keep his secret. That it’s all good.

But I don’t think I know that person. Maybe in the past…

But not now.