Page 3 of Enemy

Life always had a way of surprising me in the worst ways imaginable.

“How long till you die?” I ask, because neither of us can move, and quietly waiting for death would be damn awkward. Maybe at least I can agitate him for a while longer.

“Will you… shut… up?” he rasps.

He’s trying to push a chunk of the ceiling off himself, but just like with the slab of metal on top of me, it’s no use. Not only is it too heavy, but we’re both also bleeding out and weak like two rabbits caught in the same snare.

Eventually, he huffs and lets his head fall back to the floor. We’re dying here. He knows it too.

“Help! Here!” Clyde tries when we hear some noise far away, but no one’s coming. And, of course no one would. The guys have no equipment, and this damn place can collapse at any moment. I don’t know if even I would have stormed into a place like this for one of my brothers.

No, I would. Of course I would. There’s a reason they all consider me reckless. But, hey, why not let them know we’re still breathing in here? If Clyde Turner can still scream after the battering he got during the explosion, I can’t do any worse, so I fill my lungs with air and sing, folding my hands into a tube around my mouth.

I remember a sea shanty from my childhood. Its hero isn’t afraid to die in the waves, and if I tune into it hard enough, maybe the anxiety burning at the pit of my stomach will disperse. Predictably, Clyde doesn’t join me.

Time passes, bleeding out of us, and despite wanting to be a nuisance, I give Clyde the peace he asked for. I don’t stop watching him though, not when he’s the only pretty thing in this warehouse full of fire and smoke. The light from the fire raging somewhere nearby gives his eyes an otherworldly glow, and he looks more sad than angry.

Eventually, he turns his head to me with a sigh. “Anything you wish you did before dying?” Clyde asks. This must be him giving in to fate. Welcome to the club.

I glare down my body, at the fragment of the pillar, which keeps me squashed in place and my breathing shallow. Only a miracle can save us at this point, and I’ve never believed in those.

I glance his way, wondering what the purpose of that question is. Neither of us ever cared for the other, and I split his pretty lips on the very night his club accepted him as a prospect. I even caught a glimpse of his dick at the urinals before the mayhem started, and it’s a memory I still return to at times, ten years later.

I meet his gaze, still hungry for his acknowledgement. Too bad he’s such a bastard.

“I—” I start, stalling when true interest passes over his face like the shadow of a fox, and my heart skips a beat. It’s so embarrassing that his attention is all I ever wanted. I’m almost thirty, for fuck’s sake. A part of me wants to make him uncomfortable, to make him regret his club came here to harass us, but halfway through the first syllable, my voice turns sincere, because I’ve lived a lie, and he won’t get to out me anyway. We’re both dying here, so why the hell would I take my secret to the grave?

“I wish I’d fucked you.”

Ah, just saying that gives me a thrill.

His club is even more homophobic than mine, so I expect a barrage of insults. Maybe he'll even manage to spit on me this time. But if I’m dying, I might as well go out with a bang. Who knows when the rest of the ceiling will collapse?

Clyde doesn’t speak. His eyes widen, his ragged breath gets louder, and he stares at me for a while.

“I would have let you,” he whispers, but even with the metal creaking in the wind and the fire making another piece of wood nearby crumble, I hear him loud and clear.

It’s hard to believe I’m not imagining things.

“You—” I trail off, breathless, and all of a sudden I want to feel the warmth of his skin, the smell of his hair against my face. I reach out, straining my aching body, until I inevitably reach the point where the weight on my lower body keeps me away from him. He extends his hand too. Almost shyly. Not for the gun anymore, but for my fingers.

Before we can touch, a high-pitched screech above makes us both look up in time to see falling debris.

And then I’m gone.

Chapter 2

Clyde

Myheadfeelssplitin two. I already know I’m dreaming, but waking up remains a struggle. Debris and dust falls on me like snow, fire glowing somewhere far away as I walk through the endless ruins of this building.

It’s my fault. I set up the bomb. I should have fought tooth and nail to leave.

Someone calls my name, and I open my eyes to see my uncle, Grizzly.

A machine beeps somewhere close. I’m hit by the smell of disinfectant, and pain floods my body. So much pain.

I must be on painkillers though, because the discomfort is behind a wall. I must be in real bad shape if I feel it anyway.