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The sky was a lifeless dome of swirling cotton, the same stark white as everything beneath it. It was drowning the world under a howling plague of white-winged locusts, blinding swarms that slowed my pace to a rumbling crawl. I’d found the highway somehow, heading south and east toward campus, on autopilot. I checked my rearview mirror every few miles for the flashing doom of red-blue lights, ready to drag me down like a weary antelope, but they never appeared. I should have felt terror at the very thought of it, should have been choking on my own nerves, but I wasn’t feeling anything at all. Half a dozen hours came and went as I drove through them, beyond them, but they were just as meaningless as the terror, the pain, and every grim possibility I had shut away inside. There was only the road, empty and frozen, and all things safe and warm at the end of it. I knew I’d be okay, once I reached the end of that road…
The flurries had receded by the time I reached the dorms and parked my car. It was a shadowy Sunday afternoon, cold and miserable and devoid of human life, as if the world were dead under a blanket of nuclear ash instead of inches of snow. This was good. Even through the bleary haze of my brain, I knew I didn’t want to be seen. I stepped out into the biting cold, held the laptop against my chest, took a deep breath…and then I put my head down and walked fast toward my dorm, feeling naked. I was limping under the pain of my broken toe, bleary from the massive headache throbbing along my spine, every last bruise as vivid and screaming as the touch of his scratchy boxers, which clung to my aching nethers like mold. I knew I was in some kind of shock, too drained to pretend otherwise, just as I knew my sorry state would invite all kinds of questions I didn’t want to answer.
I got inside and up the stairs without running into anyone, relieved to find an empty hallway at the top. I was breathing ragged through my nose as I unlocked the door to my room, finally ready to crumple into a corner…but a pair of voices rose as it swung open, and I found myself in the presence of other human beings.
Kevin was at his desk, headphones loose around his neck, leaning back in the chair he’d swiveled to face the door. Jennifer was standing only a few feet away, nodding and smiling as Kevin’s voice snagged in his throat, conversation dying as they turned their heads to greet me.
Their eyes widened. Casual boredom instantly stiffened into confusion – followed quickly by shock. Kevin’s chair creaked as he sat up straight, like he might rise to his feet. Jennifer’s slender hand fluttered inches from her soft, dark lips, and she gasped…and now their mouths were opening, trying to form questions they didn’t know how to ask…but nothing came out. Only silence. My ears were ringing, skin itching and tingling, and I began to sweat.
“Mike?” Jennifer’s voice was delicate, unsure. She was bundled against the cold, brown curls gathered under a favorite wool hat, as beautiful as she’d been the last time I’d seen her…but in that moment, she was a stranger to me. “Are you…?”
I grinned the same way I always grinned around her, the instinctive twitch of muscle memory – but it only made her flinch, when it should have made her swoon. “Hey, Jenn.” My voice was crunchy, and it made my throat hurt. “Long day. Call you later?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I just nodded to them as if it were any other day, tossed the laptop on my bed, and walked straight into the bathroom. Shut the door, locked it, and then I was alone. The silence bled into soft, careful murmurs on the other side of the door, so I got the shower running to drown them out.
I leaned against the counter, feeling very heavy, staring down into the clear white bowl of the sink. I wanted to fall into it the perfect black drain at the bottom, wanted to die. My breath was shaking deep down in my lungs…and then it was my shoulders, my arms, my legs. I was actually afraid to look at myself in the mirror, but I pretended my nerves were pulleys and levers, my neck the machine they controlled. Pretended it wasn’t my real face I’d see…just the face he’d forced me to wear.
I was a wreck. A big, ugly bruise spread across one side my neck where his knee had crushed into it, yellow at the edges and purple-brown at the core. My short black hair was a sweaty thicket, most of it smeared to one side, and the stubble of the last few days clung to my face like dirt. Red bands of raw skin marked each wrist where the cuffs had dug into them for so long, and my jacket hung off my shoulders like an old tarp…but my eyes were the worst. The flesh around them was saggy and gray, setting them deep in their sockets. They were bloodshot from lack of sleep, blue and empty, crystallized…
I blinked. The mirror was fogging up, and the shower would only stay hot for so long. I dumped my jacket and striped myself naked, mechanical and quick. I stuffed his shirt and boxers into the trashcan under the sink…and my jeans and socks as well, gaziantep escort when I noticed the little dried flecks of jizz on them, and couldn’t figure out where they’d come from. I almost stumbled into the shower, narrow and scummy with plastic walls…but the water was searing hot, purifying my skin. I smothered my lungs under the steam and covered every last inch of myself in layers of soap, body wash, shampoo…
I almost cried out when I pushed more soap up into my puffy, ravaged asshole. It sent a burning lance of rancid pain along a tight, splitting wound in the channel of my ass – his parting gift to me. I bit my lip and pushed through it, worked the soap even deeper, tears leaking steadily even though I had no energy to cry. It cleared my brain, at the very least.
The showerhead sputtered, beckoning me. I leaned into the torrent, let it drench me from scalp to toes…until I was sure every last flake and particle of him had swirled down the drain…and then I started all over again. I stayed in the shower until it the water began to cool, and stood dripping for an empty moment after I turned it off. I carefully dried myself with a towel that seemed too heavy, wincing at each little bloom of ache, every creaking swell of soreness awakened by even the smallest, most routine locomotion…God…I felt like I’d barely survived a train wreck…
A polite knock on the door set my nerves on edge, ready to fight or die – but it was only Kevin.
“You okay, Mike?” he called softly through the door. I almost answered him…but my throat still hurt, and I didn’t know what to say either way. “Jennifer took off, so…hey dude, just uh – just so you know? She was here looking for you, said she’d been texting you. Just dropped by, that’s all – er – that’s why she was here.” He laughed, but it was forced. Nervous. “Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, that’s all. I know you two were…well, anyway…”
I was shaving my face in front of the mirror as he rambled on, trying to focus on the straight razor in my wavering hands as it stripped the lather and stubble away from my skin, wishing he’d leave me alone.
He knocked again, short and sharp. “Dude, seriously. Just say something, so I know you aren’t passed out in there – okay man?” His voice was clear and steady now, finally saying what he was thinking.
“I’m good,” I croaked. The lie was a reflex, nothing more. I splashed the lather off my face, inspected the job I’d done. No cuts, no rough spots, jaw shaved clean…couldn’t do anything about my eyes, though, except sleep. Maybe. I was exhausted in every way, body and mind…but sleep seemed like an alien thing, a memory of a past life.
In my rush to shut myself in the bathroom, I hadn’t grabbed any fresh clothes. The thought of fishing the tainted rags out of the trash made my skin crawl, out of the question, so I just wrapped a towel around my waist. It was only a few feet to the bed and the warm, heavy blankets. No big deal.
I opened the door to find Kevin standing beside his desk, between me and the bed. He was a thin, sinewy blond track star dressed in lazy Sunday clothes, long sleeved thermal tight against the toned muscles of his lean runner’s frame. He was tapping his fingers against each leg, like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like he’d been waiting. His eyes lifted to meet mine, easy and green, and I was too tired to look away. His brow was furrowed, concerned, face caught between a wince and a hesitant smile…only to grimace at the sight of my body, naked apart from the towel. “Holy shit, dude…!”
I looked down at myself. He’d already seen the bulbous bruise on my neck, but I’d forgotten just how bad the rest of it was. His eyes were wide again, crawling over every inch of it – the plethora of smaller bruises and scrapes, the painful imprints of knuckles and open hands…my ruddy, swollen nipples, growing erect in the drafty air…
I let my eyes fall to the floor under a dull rush of shame, face burning, hating him for seeing me blush. I turned my body away from him as I strode past, but that only revealed the rest of the aching marks along my shoulders, my back. He wasn’t saying anything, and I didn’t want him to. I just wanted to get into something clean, go to sleep, and never wake up.
I held the towel against my waist and tried to open my underwear drawer with my free hand, tired of feeling so goddamned naked. My fingers were shaking, though, and my muscles felt like wet cardboard. It was becoming an ordeal.
Stop watching me, for fuck’s sake…
His hand was there, pulling the drawer open for me. His heat was there too, inches from my skin, and it shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.
I backed away with an angry grunt. He was half a head shorter than me, and I outweighed him by at least twenty pounds, but he was making me feel like a child. “What?” I barked. I thought it would push him away, make a point – but my voice was just as thin and shaky as the rest of me, and it set my neck to throbbing again. I rubbed it, barely able to turn my head, worried the impossible stiffness would never go away. He was watching me. Studying me.
“I’m fine, alright?” I let out an exasperated sigh, shoulders sagging, as if it were an apology. “I’ve just got the motherfucker of all headaches, and I’m tired as hell…so I’m gonna lie down for a bit. Forget it.”
He was there again, inches from me…and his hand was on my forehead, holding me still, and his eyes were looking deep into mine…but they were clinical, searching. The urgent, sexless intimacy of it made me go cold inside. “You feel dizzy or anything? Like you’re gonna throw up? You were swaying, kinda…”
I remembered then he wasn’t just some idiot track star, that he was also pre-med. No wonder he was suddenly so interested in me, talking to me more in the last ten minutes than he had the entire time we’d been rooming together. He was wired to analyze wounds, to figure them out, and that day I was nothing if not a wound.
I actually had a reason to like him, for once…but I couldn’t let him keep probing. I put a hand on his chest and slowly pushed – heartbeat quickening under my palm – until he got the message, and took a few steps back. “Not dizzy, not sick. I never hit my head, so stop freaking out.” I lifted my right foot, let him see. The pinky toe was swollen, purple and bruised. “Caught my foot on something and it hurts like a bitch, that’s all. Just limping.”
He nodded, not at all convinced…and he flinched when he saw my bare calf, the deep purple bruises where the cop had tried to bite through my jeans. I put my foot down and shifted it to the side, aggravated with him now, air tight in my throat. I couldn’t look at him.
“What happened, man?” He was hovering at the foot of my bed between me and my dresser, more nervous than he wanted to be, but only because he truly wanted to know. He was trying to catch my eyes again, to inject me with the gravity of his words, but I just stared at the rug between my feet. “I mean…you don’t have to tell me what happened, but if somebody…mugged you or whatever, we should call the cops. Your neck, I mean…dude. Seriously.”
I glanced at him. He grimaced with genuine sympathy when I met his eyes, easing me into his careful, friendly voice. “Somebody beat the shit out of you, dude. You can’t just sleep that off. At least let me drive you to the clinic, okay? Let somebody take look at you…” He was close again, touching me again, gently turning my head to the side – but firmly as well, making my injured neck spasm a little, and I yelped between clenched teeth. His eyes were all over the deeply bruised flesh, seeing everything. “Did somebody…?” They swept over the rest of me, connecting the dots where he found them, and his hand was soft and warm. “Mike, I’m seriously taking you to the hospital. This is pretty damned bad.”
The thought of being further examined by anyone – especially someone who really knew what they were doing, who would know exactly what had happened to me in seconds – it lit a fire in my brain, a bad one, and then I only cared about one thing in the entire world.
I bashed his hand aside and pushed him away from me – hard. It caught him by surprise, and he almost fell on his ass. “Stop fucking touching me!” I snapped, and it was real this time – and I was stalking toward him now, every muscle ready to hurt. He had a confused look on his face, like he didn’t understand, but I knew I could make him. I pushed him again, harder, and he stumbled back against my desk, sending papers flying. I kicked a towel away from my ankles, barely aware of it, didn’t care – and then I was inches from his face, twisting the collar of his shirt in both of my fists. I was delirious, choking on my own anger, hating my own fear – clawing my way back into macho mode. “Seriously, Kevin. Fuck. Off. I’m not your fucking patient, and you’re not a fucking doctor. Got it? I can handle my own shit, so just drop it already – and don’t fucking tell anybody, yeah?” I knew my voice sounded wheezy and strained, and the more I spoke the worse it felt – but I didn’t care. I glared as hard as I could down into his big green eyes, and made him believe I was an animal. “Not one goddamned word, or I’ll -“
He was fast. His arms shot up from below and split my own apart, tore them away from his shirt like a pair of toothpicks – and then he was free of me. Now I was the one stumbling backward, quickly reminded of the frail state of my body, that I’d just wasted that last meager bit of my strength. It didn’t matter how desperate or angry I felt, didn’t matter that I was taller and more muscular than him. I was in no condition to be picking fights.
He wasn’t worried about my health anymore, at least. He was just furious. He pushed me as hard as I’d pushed him, and my wobbly legs couldn’t take it. I collapsed, falling backward – and my wounded ass roared to life when it slammed down onto the hard edge of my bed frame, bruised cheeks and everything between. I bellowed, twisting my spine away from the sudden agony inside me – but he was there again, touching me again, but it wasn’t soft or kind. He was shoving me down onto my back, almost choking me – twisting my arm away from my body when I made a feeble, flailing attempt to punch him, just short of excruciating pain – and I was suddenly, horribly aware that my towel had long since fallen off my hips. I was naked under him, and his hands were on me, controlling me, and…
He was panting, leaning into me, using every last pound of his body weight to keep me restrained, his knees braced against the bed frame on either side of my thighs. He was nimble, spry, obviously far more well-versed in physical confrontation than I’d ever been. Both of us were panting, wild-eyed – he from anger, me from my frantic need to cover myself. I’d twisted my hips away from him, using up every last shred of energy to keep him from bearing down any further.
“You done?” he shouted down at me, deep and booming. Like a man. “Huh? Chill the FUCK out!” His hot breath washed over my skin, making the bruise on my throat tingle to the bone. His mouth was clenching hard with effort, face red and beginning to sweat, his bright eyes daring me to keep fighting. “Relax, goddamnit,” he snarled, twisting my arm a bit more, a promise of pain that shoved a groan through my teeth. “Gonna stay right here until you do, you fucking asshole…got all fucking day…” I knew he meant every word he said, but I couldn’t do it. My tense, straining limbs were the only thing holding his body away from my swelling crotch, my…
I trembled violently all over, and groaned in a way that was almost a sob…and then my muscles finally gave out, defeated. He scowled at the sudden collapse of the body beneath him, far more compliance than he’d demanded, or expected – and then he was sinking into me, against me, hearts hammering into one another –
His narrow eyes grew wider than ever, and the hard lines of his face melted into glossy, childlike shock. My lewdly engorged sex was trapped between my stomach and his groin, throbbing and hot from his navel to his balls. I turned my face away from his and whimpered like a man, deep and gravelly but weak all the same, a pitiful sound of pure humiliation…but then I felt him.
His cock flexed against my hip…and it was nearly as hard as mine, quickly catching up…now slowly throbbing along with me, our heartbeats leveling out under our shallow, husky panting, the only sounds in the room…
He wasn’t moving. He was no longer pinning me down, had left my arms free and slack at my sides, but I was in no condition to push him off me. Even if I wanted to. I felt a single tear leak out of my eye…and I pressed that side of my face deeper into the blanket until it was gone, making sure he didn’t see. He smelled like cotton, and simple white soap…
He was moving…but only his upper half. He propped himself up on his forearms, elbows sinking into the bed on either side of me. He kept his hot crotch snug against mine, as if he were afraid to break the spell, and the little glimmers of friction only got me harder. I was staring at the locked door beyond the head of the bed, the indie band poster on the wall beside it…the pillow and the blanket…anything but him…though I knew his eyes were on me, as they’d been the whole time.
I felt his breath again, delicate and warm and heavy, as his lips traced my throat, my jawline…exploratory, barely touching me. “So you like it like that, huh?” he murmured. His voice was breathless, hideously close to my ear, and I shivered all over. “Getting beat up turns you on…that it? Big tough guy like you…?”
I wriggled against him, too exhausted for anything else. My body was yearning for sex, insatiable even now – especially now – and my mind was too far gone to resist. It would be easy to let it happen, to let him handle everything, and I knew it would feel amazing…at least, I wanted it to feel that way…the way he’d made me feel…
“Did you piss off some roughnecks with your bullshit attitude? Huh? Thought you were too good to get your ass handed to you, like you’re better than everybody else? Look at me.” His hand clamped over my jaw and forced my face off the blanket, made me look at him. His eyes were narrow, but his pupils were wide. Ravenous. He was drugged on me, just like the Chief had been. Just like I was. “You liked getting taught a lesson? Huh? That why you’re so…”
When had I started quivering all over? How long had I been sluggishly grinding my hips up into him, trapped between his thin, steely thighs…softly moaning for him, deep and weak and barely there?
It didn’t matter. He was doing the same, matching my slow, aching rhythm…but much harder, vital and hungry, crushing my injured ass down into the creaking bed with each greedy, savory thrust of his hips. He was so light and limber on top of me, yet sinewy and strong…funneling all his weight down into his clumsy, eager groin like a horny kid on prom night…nothing like the Chief…but it didn’t matter. It was enough. I was barely conscious either way, floating above it all…letting it happen…
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