Page 21 of Mutual Desire (The Awakening #1)

The Confession

Damien woke up in bed alone.

His hand drifted to the other side, hoping to find Craig there. The cold sheets greeted him instead. A sigh escaped his lips, his eyes half-lidded from the restless night. Sleep had toyed with him. Each time he closed his eyes, he was dragged back into the storm of last night’s conversation with Nabokov. He kept waking up, as if convinced it had all been some feverish dream. But it hadn’t been.

It was real. Too real.

He had ended whatever twisted connection he had with Nabokov. At least, that’s what Damien told himself. Nabokov was on a plane to Ireland, gone for ten days—ten blissful days that Damien could use to patch his shattered life back together.

The ache in his body refused to let him stay in bed. He dragged himself into the bathroom, emptying his bladder while his sleep-deprived mind remained a fog. He splashed cold water over his face, hoping to jolt himself out of his exhaustion. The water chilled his skin, but it didn’t reach the heaviness inside him. When he stepped into the kitchen, wearing one of Craig’s t-shirts, he found his boyfriend sitting at the table.

Craig sat hunched over a bowl of cereal, surrounded by scattered sheets of paper. His focus remained glued to his work, completely ignoring Damien’s entrance. Damien stopped in the doorway, unsure whether to speak or retreat.

“Hey,” Damien whispered, voice tentative.

Craig barely looked up. His dispassionate eyes met Damien’s for a fleeting second before returning to his papers. He spooned another bite of cereal into his mouth, chewing slowly, as if Damien weren’t even there.

The cold indifference hit Damien harder than any argument could have. He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay calm. Craig wasn’t usually like this. They rarely fought. If anything, Craig was steady, a rock. But now? There was something... unfamiliar in his detachment.

“How long have you been awake?” Damien asked, his voice soft.

Craig kept his gaze on the papers. “Not long,” he mumbled, his tone flat.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Damien shifted awkwardly on his feet, trying to think of something—anything—that could thaw the ice forming between them. But every word felt too big, too dangerous. He stayed rooted to the spot, paralyzed by guilt and uncertainty.

Craig’s coldness felt... wrong. This wasn’t just about the missed calls. Damien could sense it—the way Craig’s silence carried weight, like a judge waiting for a confession.

Damien swallowed hard, weighing his options. He could come clean, tell Craig the truth—but that was a bridge he wasn’t ready to cross. Instead, he clung to the flimsy lie he’d crafted, hoping Craig might forgive him in time.

He took a step forward. “Craig... can we talk?”

Craig stood and went to set his bowl down in the sink with deliberate calm, his back now turned to Damien.

“Aren’t we talking?” His voice was clipped, mechanical, and it grated against Damien’s nerves.

“Don’t act like a smart ass with me, Craig.” Damien’s voice dropped into something low and sharp, tinged with frustration.

Craig slowly turned to face him, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze remained cool, unreadable. “Just get to the point, Damien. I have things to do.”

The words stung, sharp as a slap. Damien clenched his fists, struggling to keep his emotions in check. The unspoken tension between them was unbearable—like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall. He needed to say something, anything, to stop this free fall.

“About the other night...” Damien hesitated, watching Craig’s face closely for any flicker of emotion. There was none.“I didn’t answer your calls because... I didn’t know how to confront you.”

Craig’s brow furrowed slightly, the first sign of reaction. “Confront me? About what?”

Damien hesitated. This was his chance—to either come clean or let the lie continue to fester. He took a deep breath, knowing there was no perfect way out of this.

“There’s this... guy,” Damien murmured, barely able to meet Craig’s gaze. “He’s been pursuing me for a while.”

Craig’s expression remained neutral, and Damien couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. He dropped his eyes, shame washing over him like a tidal wave.

“At first, I didn't think anything of it. I thought...I didn’t think it would go any further.” His voice faltered. “But one time, we met and... he—he kissed me.”

Silence followed, thick and unbearable. Damien shifted uneasily, waiting for Craig to say something, anything. But Craig’s face was unreadable—a mask that gave nothing away.

Damien pressed on, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt. “I kissed him back... because I liked it.”

Craig’s lips thinned into a line, his eyes darkening. Damien knew he had crossed an invisible line, but he couldn’t stop now. The truth clawed its way out of him, raw and unfiltered.

“We met again. And... it went further. I—” Damien exhaled shakily. “He jerked me off.”

Craig’s entire body tensed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the counter. The silence that followed was suffocating, and Damien wished he could disappear, dissolve into nothing. But there was no escaping this now. He had lit the match, and now he had to watch everything burn.

“At least you had a blast,” Craig said bitterly, his voice dripping with venom.

The words struck Damien like a punch to the gut. Craig’s cold, scornful smile was worse than any anger Damien could have anticipated. Without another word, Craig turned on his heel and left the kitchen, leaving Damien standing alone in the wreckage of their relationship.

Craig headed straight for the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a quiet finality.

The silence that followed was deafening. Damien stood frozen, his chest tight with guilt. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words got caught in his throat. He could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom, the sound of Craig retreating further and further into himself, and it felt like the walls were closing in on him.

The tears came suddenly, hot and silent, burning his cheeks as he stood frozen in place. He didn’t know why he was crying—whether it was guilt, shame, or the unbearable weight of losing Craig. Maybe it was everything all at once.

He wiped his face roughly, taking a deep breath to steady himself. But the ache in his chest refused to go away.

With heavy steps, Damien made his way to Craig’s room. He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing the sheets—the same ones where he and Craig had shared so many moments, so many memories, now tainted with the weight of his betrayal.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—it was hard to tell when Craig finally emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist. He didn’t look at Damien. He moved as if Damien weren’t even there, pulling clothes from the closet with a cold, mechanical efficiency.

Damien watched him, his heart sinking lower with each passing second. He took a tentative step forward, hoping to bridge the distance between them, but Craig remained oblivious to his presence.

“Craig,” Damien whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please.”

Craig didn’t respond. He continued dressing as if Damien weren’t standing in the room, his back to him, his every movement a clear dismissal.

“Please, don’t do this. Can’t we just talk?” Damien tried again, but his words hung in the air, unanswered.

Craig was already walking out of the bedroom without a backward glance. Damien followed, heart pounding, but Craig was already at the front door, slipping into his shoes with methodical precision, his expression still frozen in place. Without a word, he grabbed his keys and stepped outside.

Damien’s heart shattered as he watched Craig leave, completely hopeless. He couldn’t even call after him—he was too numb, too lost in the weight of what he’d done. Alone now, Damien stood in the quiet apartment, the emptiness around him a mirror of the emptiness inside. His hands trembled as he went back in the bedroom and picked up his phone from the nightstand. He dialed without thinking, desperate for a lifeline. Dimitri answered after a few rings.

“Hey, D.” Dimitri’s familiar voice was a balm against the storm inside him.

Damien swallowed hard. “I told him everything,” he whispered, his throat raw.

A beat of silence followed, heavy with understanding.

“You really did it?” Dimitri finally asked, his voice soft with disbelief.

“Yes.” Damien’s voice cracked, barely able to speak through the lump in his throat. Another long pause stretched between them.

“I’m sorry, man,” Dimitri said. “You’ll get through this. I’m here for you.”

Damien closed his eyes. “I don’t know how,” he murmured, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him.

“Come by later. Me and my beers are waiting.”

Damien managed a small, broken laugh. “Thanks, Dim.”

“Anytime, Dam,” Dimitri said quietly. “You’ll get through this.”

As soon as the call ended, the tears began to flow again. Damien pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to stop the flood, but it was useless. The weight of everything—Craig, Nabokov, the lies—was too much. He let them fall, helpless against the tide of his own regret.

He knew he had made a mess of things. And the worst part? Nabokov was getting exactly what he wanted.