#Chapter3
Yup. Because age was the issue, right? Not the fact that the junk that dangled between his legs was the same kind that was between my own?
/"Oh./" He shook his head. /"No. I dunno why. Was thinking a lot older than that. It - it was - /" He trailed off.
Every time I blinked, his image would distort. Sometimes he'd seem nearer. Others further away. Other times just a mess of pixels. The same question from earlier came back to haunt me: Why Blake?
There were a lot of answers to that question; I had no idea what the answer was.
Maybe because he was gay. Or because I knew he wouldn't freak out the way my friends would have.
Or maybe, the snide voice in the back of my head injected, it's because he's your best friend and you knew he wouldn't judge you?
That voice got stomped into submission real fucking quick.
/"He didn't make you do anything you didn't want to, right?/" Blake checked eventually. /"I know you said you were both drunk, but you agreed, right?/"
Like a car hitting a brick wall at sixty miles an hour, the impact of his words was jarring. Had my every attempt to deny the reality of the situation disintegrating.
He hadn't. There were a lot of fuzzy moments, but I recalled agreeing to it. Pushing, even. I hadn't thought I'd drunk that much, but clearly I had because there was no fucking way I'd have acted the way I had sober. No damn way.
/"The sex wasn't the worst part, B,/" I whispered. The spinning had started up again. Dizziness had kicked back in.
/"What was?/"
I didn't remember what we talked about at the bar. Didn't remember leaving and going back to his place. I remembered being at his place. Remember . . . the thing we did. But there was more.
There was more . . . and even though I was drunker than I thought . . . was it drunk enough to justify?
/"You know you can tell me anything, Isaac./" Soft. Gentle. All the things I knew the backstabbing, brother-shagging bastard wasn't.
So why did I feel like I could tell him?
/"He had me call him Daddy,/" I blurted out. Silence followed. I watched a broad variety of emotions take turns dominating his expression before it closed off, schooling itself.
/"Come again?/"
Heat rose to my cheeks. Had my eyes dropping to the floor. Anger had taken a backseat, but it was still there, vibrating through my system like a live wire. That anger, it was as familiar to me as my own face in the mirror; it never truly left me.
/"We were - he wanted me to call him Daddy./" I couldn't remember how that had come up. Had it been before the sex? After the sex? During?
Fuuuuck! I was never drinking again!
/"And did you?/"
Tears pricked my eyes. Had my throat closing up. /"I think I did,/" I whispered at last. /"What's he done to me? He's turned me into a fucking freak like him./"
Because screwing another guy wasn't enough. We had to add freaky shit? The freak was adequately named, it seemed. But if that was the case, where did that leave me?
Rising from the chair like smoke, Blake winced, stretched so hard that the bones in his back popped, before shaking his head. He'd grown over the summer. He used to be shorter than me, but now we stood at the same six foot one. But he was broader. The outdoor work had paid off and his shoulders were twice the size they had once been, arching off into a solid set, and his body had toned up. His shadow grew, getting bigger and bigger until it stood as tall and proud as a king's.
/"You're not a freak, Eyes./" He closed the distance between us. Placed a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.
/"Don't touch me,/" I sneered.
He gritted his teeth but removed his hand. Slid to the other side of the couch. /"You're not a freak,/" he repeated. /"And maybe he isn't, either. You're both old enough to make your own choices. I mean, it sounded like you were both too drunk to make any choices, but shit happens. I mean, it could be worse. I'd rather be with somebody who had a Daddy kink than an armpit fetish./"
/"An armpit fetish? Da' fuck is that?/"
/"It's exactly what it sounds like - woah! Eyes, I swear to god, don't you puke on my floor./"
Too. Late.
Bursting free in streams of hot nastiness, any attempt of making it to the bathroom was in vain. A moan escaped my lips. Hands and knees smacked against the hardwood.
/"Guess you're staying here for the night,/" Blake sighed. /"Try and get up and go to the bathroom. I'll get you some clothes. Suppose I'll have to clean that up, too./"
/"I need to go home, B,/" I choked out, spitting, trying to rid myself of the vile taste. /"I need a shower. I need to get the feel of him off me./"
For a moment, I was back out on the streets. Confused. Lost. Disoriented. I'd woken up in the freaks bed, his arms around me and a whole lot of regret birthing. I'd bolted. Ran like Hell itself was on my ass. It hadn't mattered that it was raining or I had no idea where I was. I had just needed to get away.
/"Shower here. Your mom would kill me if I let you go out at this time in this state. Oz too./"
I wasn't drunk now. That had passed, for the most part. Drunk was easy. It was sobering up that was the bitch. It was the hangover kicking in whilst still awake. It was the transition between being clueless to 'oh fuck'.
Instead of answering, I puked again.