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13

Brendon

I don’t know how many shots I’ve had, but I feel fucking good. My body moves to the beat of the music blaring through the house. I don’t remember which one because I don’t care, and it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but the hum in my veins and the blank space in my head. No past, no future, just this moment and the next.

My head is clear. The fear of earlier, the feeling of being trapped and abused is gone thanks the liquor, and I can enjoy the sway of bodies. In here, I can get lost in the movement.

A warm body presses up against my back, a hand on my hip, and I smile. It’s not the man I want touching me, he’s not comfortable in public yet, but that’s okay for now.

The stranger grinds against my ass, his hand sliding under my shirt, and it steals my breath. I shouldn’t let him touch me like this, but I’m damn near desperate for someone to want me. Paul talks a big game but hasn’t done anything more than we’ve been doing. Kissing, handjobs, a couple of blowies, but nothing more. Orgasms are great but damn it, I want to fuck.

A smaller, curvier body slides against my front, and I pop my eyes open. The girl is a curly blonde, smiling up at me like I hung the damn moon. Fucking Nikki. I’ve been avoiding her the last week, but I should have figured she would find me here.

Reaching for the side of my neck, she presses her mouth to mine. She moans, but it doesn’t feel right. It’s probably better for people to see me or Paul with someone, especially since I’m so touchy with him, but I hate this. She’s a pretty girl, a bit intense, but she’s not Paul. I want Paul. I crave the way he gives me orders and uses me to feel good. He makes the constant buzzing in my head stop.

He deserves better than me. I’m a mess, annoying, need reassurance all the damn time, moody, and loud. He’s not even here, and I miss him. How lame is that? I live with him but having him gone for an hour is too much?

I pull back from her lips and kiss her forehead, hoping she doesn’t get pissed off. She sways with me and whoever is still against my back. It feels good to be touched, but it’s not right. It’s not who I want.

Fuck.

Why am I so weak?

My happy mood fades, the comfort of touch morphs into too much, it’s too hot, and the music hurts my ears. I need to get out of here.

Pushing my way through the crowd without a word to anyone, I get blocked and pushed around while the walls close in and the panic rises. I need to get out. It’s too loud. Too hot. Too much.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

My breathing is coming too fast as my pulse spikes, the alcohol that was making me happy and loose now makes me paranoid and edgy. My body is vibrating under my skin, and I just want to scream to make it all stop.

Pain slices through me in an instant, stealing my breath and shutting down my brain as quick as a blink. Someone elbowed me in the nasty bruise that has turned purple from tonight’s game, but the panic is gone.

What the fuck?

Just like that, the overwhelming stimulation is quiet, and I can almost breathe again. I cover my side in case I get bumped again, and I make it outside to the cool winter air and suck in a deep breath. The sun is down, but the night isn’t dark like back home. We’re too close to the city to see the stars, and that makes my chest ache. I miss the stars. We lived on the outskirts of Muskegon, where the city lights didn’t wash out the night sky. Sometimes we even saw the aurora borealis. It was rare but beautiful. Something about it made me feel tiny, like when people stand at the edge of the ocean.

Leaning against a tree that has lost all its leaves, I lift my face to the sky and close my eyes, just breathing in the night air.

Do I really want to be here? In this big city, at this big college, working toward the unknown? I miss home. My family. The familiar streets.

Nothing out here is familiar or comforting. I just want to go home.

A tear slips from the corner of my eye, and I let it fall. Maybe it would be better for me to just transfer home. I’m sure I could get into a college there and play hockey.

I slide down the trunk of the tree, the rough bark scratching at my back as my shirt rides up, but I don’t care. The bite of pain clears my head a little.

I’m so damn tired. Tired of fighting myself. Tired of not being enough. Tired of wanting things I can’t have.

I thought I was over that shit with Chad, had moved on. Since I have sex regularly, cuddle and freely touch Paul, I thought I was past it, but tonight proves I’m just as weak as I was when it happened. Paul deserves better than me and my baggage.

I close my eyes again and rest my head on the tree, quickly falling asleep.

* * *

My eyes pop open with vomit shooting out of my mouth. I empty my stomach on the grass under a tree, gasping for breath and trying to remember where I am and how I got here. Why am I sleeping outside? It’s still dark, and I have no idea how long I’ve been out here, but I’m freezing.

Once my stomach stops trying to force its way out of my mouth, I sit back and look around with one eye half opened. My head is throbbing like someone is using it as a bass drum. Fuuuck.

Slowly, I make it to my feet and head toward the dorms. The cold air prickling at my goose bump-covered skin. Did I have a jacket or hoodie? I don’t know.

I stumble my way across campus, the longest fucking walk of my life, and thank whoever is listening that I have my keycard to get into the dorms. The warmth of the dorm building makes me shiver more.

When I get to the door, I pat my pockets and grumble when I don’t find my keys. Fuck. Paul will be pissed if I wake him up. I try the door, hoping to get lucky and almost sag in relief when it opens, but that relief is quickly gone when I see Paul standing in the middle of our room, arms crossed, and angry.

I close the door and lean back against it. The alcohol is still in my system, making my head a little fuzzy still.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Paul’s tone is quiet. It’s so much worse than yelling.

“The party.” I shrug and reach for a hoodie hanging on the back of my desk chair. Not only am I cold but I feel vulnerable, like I need a shield to protect me from my best friend. I hate that feeling. All I want is to be wrapped around him, safe.

Why can’t he just hug me? I don’t think he’s ever looked at me like he is now, in this moment. Like he hates me. He’s been frustrated with me, sure, we’ve argued, but he’s never been this angry at me. It’s soul-crushing.

“Why? I called you and you didn’t answer,” Paul demands, his frustration wrapped around him like a cloud, suffocating me. He strides forward and stands so fucking close I can feel his breath on my face.

“I didn’t hear it,” I snap, too tired and exposed to de-escalate the situation.

I shove him back, but he grabs my hoodie and pulls me flush against him.

“When I call or text, I need you to respond,” he grits out, looking me in the eye. His fierce green eyes vibrate with emotion that I can’t read. The look on his face changes when he looks me over. Did I puke on myself or something? “Why are you putting more clothes on?”

His touch is too much, and I shove him away from me. The panic from earlier overtakes me, and I’m left with the need to scream.

“Don’t touch me!” The words are loud in my head, but I don’t know if I managed to say them out loud. Immediately, the hands that were on me are gone, and I almost sob with relief. I’m vaguely aware of tears streaming down my face, and my body burns. The band around my ribs constricts, and I can’t breathe.

Backing up away from him, the only thing I can focus on is being alone. Alone is safer.

“Go away,” I snap, my body vibrating with the war in my head spinning out of control. “You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”

Hurt splashes across his face, and I want to punch myself for it. I’m garbage. I deserve to be alone where I can’t fuck up anyone else. My damage is hurting those around me now.

“Spoiler alert, I basically am your boyfriend.” Paul’s shoulders tighten as he prepares for me to hurt him badly. “Do you not want to do this anymore? Whatever this is?”

It would be so easy to lie to him and tell him yes so he goes away. I just need a fucking minute to get my head together, but he won’t stop.

I stumble back, hitting a solid surface and slide down into a ball on the floor. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I bury my face in my legs and rock back and forth.

You’re okay. Breathe.

“Brendon.” That’s Paul.

Paul won’t hurt you.

His anger has faded, and I know if I look up at him, it’ll be pity in his fucking face. God, I’m such a fucking mess. Who the fuck is going to want to deal with this shit?

Something brushes the back of my hand, and I flinch. There’s a shuffling sound, and I peek up over my knees to see Paul sitting on the floor with his legs on either side of mine like a barricade while he watches me.

“You’re okay.” His eyes meet mine, filled with determination and pain while I’m falling the fuck apart. I hate myself for how weak I am.

“I don’t—” My words are cracked and pitiful, but he hears them. “I don’t want to stop.”

A flittering memory from last night flashes in my head. Nikki kissed me. Fuck.

“Wait.” Paul tenses at my words. “Nikki was there. I think she kissed me.”

He grits his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping, but he nods. I can see his need to touch me simmering below the surface, but he holds back.

“You’re mine. No one touches you but me. Do you understand?” Paul’s voice is warm but hard like he’s trying to keep himself under control.

I nod and drop my forehead back to my arms so I don’t have to see him anymore.