Page 10 of Should the Sky Fall

There’s pressure against his entrance, blunt and dry.

“If you don’t, I’ll make sure to remind you of your place.”

Dawson closes his eyes, a few tears spilling free. White-hot pain flares through his pelvis when Cal forces his way in, so intense he can’t breathe. Cal pulls out before thrusting back in, crueler and harder than before. He lets go of Dawson’s hair to grip the back of his neck, keeping him immobilized. Dawson’s bruised cheek is still pressed against the counter, but he barely feels it. Every nerve in his body is focused on the point where Cal is forcing his way inside him, reducing him to ugly sobbing and hopeless pleas.

He didn’t know it could hurt this bad. He’s always struggled to relax during sex, needing thorough, patient prep before he felt confident enough to allow anything inside his body. Cal isn’t a patient man, and over the years, Dawson has learned to make do with as little as possible.

This is something utterly different.

His perception of time becomes distorted, making it impossible to tell how long this hell lasts.

When Cal thrusts in a few more times before he finally stills, Dawson’s body doesn’t feel like his own anymore. He can feel Cal’s release spilling inside him, and the sensation has bile rising in his throat. He’s never minded before, but knowing he’ll be carrying proof of what just happened inside him makes him want to shed his skin. He’s never felt so disgusting, so humiliated in his life.

Cal’s front covers his back. “I own you, Dawson. You better remember that, unless you want another reminder.”

With that, he pulls out and steps away, leaving Dawson there like a filthy thing he used.

Even with nothing restraining him anymore, Dawson continues to lie there, sobbing quietly as come runs down his bare thighs.

An unidentifiable time later, he finds the strength to pull himself up, tug up his jeans, and stumble to the bathroom. He’s aching to step under a scorching hot shower and wash everything away, but his stomach has other ideas. He collapses onto the floor and has the presence of mind to grip the edge of the toilet before his body purges out the little he managed to eat this morning.

Flushing the toilet, he makes it to the sink on unsteady legs to rinse his mouth. He doesn’t dare to look in the mirror. He slides back to the floor, leaning against the cabinets under the sink. A morbid part of him wants to laugh at how familiar this feels. He remembers sitting here just like this only a few weeks ago, after Cal drank himself stupid and beat the shit out of him because Dawson confided in him that he’d like to try and get a job.

He hadn’t gone to the hospital the next day. He never does. Even drunk, Cal is always mindful not to do ‘too much damage’. Using Dawson as a punching bag isn’t something he gets off on; control is. It’s something that became apparent to Dawson over the years, something that he, disturbingly enough, always found comfort in. Comfort in knowing that Cal would never go too far, would never cross the line.

Until now.

His pocket vibrates. He contemplates not checking the message, but then remembers that he promised Olivia to text her when he got back. If he doesn’t reply, she’ll call him.

Pulling the phone out, he checks the thumbnail.Get back OK?

He laughs. The sound feels wrong and ugly on his tongue. He stares at the message until the letters begin to blur.

“Soon.”

His head snaps up. He looks around the large, sterile-looking bathroom. What the…

He strains his ears, checking if Cal is at the door, but hears nothing. He must be losing his mind.

Returning his attention to the message, he stares at it some more. As if in a trance, he watches his fingers type out one word and press send.

Dawson:Fine.

He drops the phone to the floor, staring blankly ahead. His throat burns with the remnants of stomach acid, and Cal’s come is drying on his skin. He should get up, take a shower, check if he’s bleeding.

For some reason, it’s that thought that has him reaching for the phone again.

Dawson:About what you said…

Chapter 3

Dawsoncheckstheclockfor the millionth time, getting progressively more nervous.

“What time did you say the asshole should be back again?”

Dawson huffs, half in annoyance, half in amusement. Leave it to his best friend to make him smile while he’s sick with nerves.

“About half an hour ago.” He licks his lips, guilt simmering under his skin. “You don’t have to stay.” As if asking Kieran to stay by his side like a guard dog when he presents Cal with divorce papers isn’t humiliating enough, he’s wasting his time, too.