Page 45

Blustery, fast-moving clouds pile atop each other like clumps of charcoal, pierced from below by snow-capped mountain peaks.

Lodgepole pines shudder and sway, flinging sleet across Dylan's windshield from their branches.

Slushy, half-melted snow collected along the roadside like dollops of dirty whipped cream.

The weather forces him to take it slow, but eventually, the rural outskirts give to Anchorage, Alaska's largest city.

The second time in my life I come to Alaska without any belongings. My phone discarded in some dumpster in LA, all my clothes left in that shitty apartment on Figueroa Street, feeling hopeless about my future.

But I'm entrusting myself to Dylan. He had a plan. We were not going back anywhere near Wake Forest but we are going to be hiding in plain sight. It made sense to take shelter in a big city like Anchorage, especially if there was a perfect hiding spot like the one Dylan had in mind for us.

The gallery that belonged to Dylan's mom now had a new owner, Ravi, her old friend who Dylan trusted like his own family.

He knew about this place since he was a young boy when his mother used to take him to work, and he would end up exploring unused spaces of the building.

We arrive in the middle of the night, like the worst of outlaws, meet Ravi in some back alley, and he leads us through the back door to an empty loft upstairs from the gallery.

It was mainly used for storage of every possible piece of old gallery furniture, frames, boxes and even some equipment like an old pottery wheel that Dylan said very possibly belonged to his mother.

If I wasn't going through withdrawal I would appreciate everything about this organized mess.

Ravi explains that sometimes he crushes here when there is a late-night event and he's too lazy to go to his hotel. That explains a small bed and a basic bathroom.

As soon as we settle into our new normal, Dylan begins contacting some people, maybe lawyers and my uncle, I think, but everything is a little hazy and days become a blur between passing out from exhaustion of constantly throwing up and sweating buckets.

It's a bit humiliating as the toilet in this loft doesn't allow much privacy but Dylan doesn't even bat an eye at it, he's there to hold my hand or pass me the tissues or just say words of comfort.

On a particularly bad night, I cling to him while he whispers in my ear you got this, you're going to get better, you can do this, you're the strongest person I know. And it all means the world to me. Those softly spoken words calm every depressing thought and leave my mind quiet.

Still groggy in the morning with a churning stomach and restless limbs I shuffle to the area of the loft that we call the kitchen.

Dylan is already up, calling a bunch of people and doing some research on his laptop.

After one especially long phone conversation, Dylan hangs up and watches me silently.

Knowingly. "They're onto him. My lawyer will call me back with more information but he's convinced that Valentine Black will be behind bars. "

"That can't be it," I say blankly. Dylan and the lawyers believe the matter resolved, or on its way to being so but I know the reality. "He's done it before. He ended up in jail in Ohio but got out after three months. That doesn't mean shit to him."

And then within hours, the LA Police Bureau is contacting me. They are sending a couple of their men to protect Dylan and me while there is an ongoing organized search for Valentine Black.

Later that same day Dylan's lawyer informs him on the phone that he spoke to his friend at the D.A. "On the off chance the LAPD think they don't have enough of a case to charge him, they will need your help in getting him. It doesn't mean you will have to go officially against him."

"That means..." my mind is suddenly racing.

"It means they'll protect you if you give them valuable inside information that can put that man behind bars forever."

"Yeah, witness protection. A new identity."

"Hey. Whatever it takes." I shiver when Dylan's hands rub my shoulders. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," I dismiss him.

"Mhm... Come on. Let's get you in bed. I'll make some tea."

I walk on autopilot, lost in my thoughts while Dylan stays in the kitchen.

There's this tea Dylan found that helps with heroin withdrawal and I've been taking it, more to please him because I don't think it actually helps.

It's early evening, but we've been going a long time, and we were both up before the sun this morning.

It's the end of March and days average nearly fourteen hours of light throughout but we can't see any of it.

We're literally locked up. Going to get our own food is a privilege reserved for Dylan at certain times of the day or when Ravi is working in the gallery.

Sunshine and fresh air are privileges. Not even Dylan's father knows he's in town, and my uncle Paul is in contact with Dylan, but he hasn't told him about our location.

It's all been an exercise in patience and in moments like this I'm scrambling to find my footing.

"I need you, baby," I whisper as Dylan sits next to me on the bed.

We hadn't had sex since that time in Los Angeles, and I didn't really want it in a state like this.

But I wanted him. I'm tired and raw and the most vulnerable I've ever been.

I'm almost sure I can't even get hard, and Dylan wouldn't even consider fucking me in these circumstances but all I know is that I need him.

"Talk to me. I'll do whatever, as long as it makes you feel better."

"All I know is I crave having your body next to mine," I say as tremors rack my body. I begin stripping him and touch everywhere I can. I can't really stop. If he is close, there is an unavoidable magnetic pull drawing us together. Then I ease his dick out of his pants and he closes his eyes.

"Please," I plead as I gently cup his balls. "I'd like to have something to do that keeps me from thinking about all the shit going on in our lives."

He reaches for me and lifts up my chin with his fingers, studying my face. "This matters to you, doesn't it?"

I nod and his eyes drill into me, intent. "Then let's take a little nap and you can warm my cock, baby. Suckle on me while you sleep, yeah?"

He hasn't even finished speaking, and my body already feels relief. I don't know what kind of sorcery this is. It's like I can feel my blood pressure relax and my mind starts to clear.

He props some pillows behind his back and sits up, and I curl up by his side.

His long, thick dick is soft now: but I like it like this too.

It's fucking pretty, the way he's pretty.

It's unlike anyone else's I've ever seen, just perfect.

And he always smells good. Even when he's been working and is a little musky, I like the natural scent of his skin.

I like the hair on his thighs, I like the trail of hair under his belly button and the light hair on his chest. I open my mouth and he puts his dick into it, and I sigh with happiness.

"That's it. That's perfect. You're perfect."

Dylan's praise fills me up inside in ways I never imagined.

I wouldn't have thought I was starved to hear things like that.

For validation. But Dylan's words make me feel like I am good.

Like I can please him. Like this is important, and like together we can make something beautiful, we can survive anything that's thrown at us.

He also makes me feel like I can't do this wrong, like if something isn't right, he'll correct me gently instead of resenting or judging me.

His velvety skin feels amazing against my tongue and lips. I pull off enough to whisper thank you. I suckle on him, and he groans, running his fingers through my hair.

I sigh happily, and we fall silent. Eventually, I fall asleep, and later when I wake up I take his cock back in my mouth and suck some more. The night is long though. And although being close to Dylan this way helps, my mind still hasn't healed yet.