Callum flicked his gaze around the bar, feeling uncomfortable under Ferdi’s sudden scrutiny. Again, few of the men inside seemed untarnished by injury. One face turned toward him whose skin looked worn through, raw as muscle. He caught himself in a breath.
Ferdi squeezed his hand, leaning close to whisper. “It’s polite to show your scars here, at least once.”
Before Callum could ask, Ferdi was across the bar, chatting up some youngster in a white vest with a lopsided smile. It was a look closer to the one Callum was used to seeing in Berlin.
Max placed a beer in front of him as he sat down. As Callum reached for it, Max gently stopped him, reached for the glass himself, and touched its rim. Callum watched the foam agitate a little before Max withdrew.
“Ist besser?” the man asked.
Right. Because his first sip of a drink in this place had near set his throat on fire. “Danke.”
Max grinned at him again, squeezing his thigh. They watched the crowd, soft touch their only communication. But the silence allowed Callum’s mind to wander, back to what he’d seen in the alley. Brownshirt thugs. Blood on the snow. Why this bar had no door. How sick he’d looked in the mirror. The beautiful scarred boy next to him… Always, his thoughts would come back to the man next to him. How? After what he’d just seen and the night he’d had? The promised wonders of the Eldorado barely earned a cameo in his memory.
“Is all right?” Max asked, stroking Callum’s chin.
“Yes, I…” What was he supposed to ask? Where did he get the scars? Why was a women’s place now filled entirely with men? Why did those men allseem to have scars? Why the drinks? Why, why, why… It seemed the most useless word in the English language to him now, and he wasn’t convinced its German equivalent would be much more help.
Did Max believe in monsters?
The crowd cheered as the music switched to a jaunty, big-band number.
“Danse?” Max asked, grabbing his hand.
If ‘why’ was a useless word to him, ‘dance,’ in any language, had to be one of the most terrifying. But as he shuffled around the tiny floor near the now silent piano, where a dozen or so men including Ferdi and his companion each made their own awkward attempt at keeping rhythm, he overcame his nerves, as if some glorious dream had swept over the bizarre events of the past hour or two. Unless those events had been the dream. Frankly, he would have preferred Max, Ferdi, and this place where men danced without care as to what the world thought of them to be real. But who was to say otherwise? He could feel it and taste it. It had a distinct smell and a heat that wrapped around him, not like he belonged, exactly, but like he belonged for now, enough to be seen and felt in a way he hadn’t been since…
Max drew closer as the music slowed. He saw others drift away from the dance floor, retreating to their tables, friends, drinks and lovers… ‘You like Max?’ Ferdi had asked him. In as much as he could like a man he’d just met, yes, he liked Max a lot.
That didn’t put him at ease with the way Ferdi was looking at him. The look was more measured, more thoughtful and curious than the scorn that had sent Ernst from their table in a huff. Ferdi seemed to be studying Callum. Callum had never much liked study in school, and he liked it as a subject even less. It gave him another reason to focus on Max. Max wasn’t studying him. Max just leaned his head against Callum’s, his sweet breath breaking over Callum’s lips until they finally kissed, deep, open, and unbothered in the way Callum had seen his school chums kiss their girls when they thought no-one was looking. He’d barely been able to think about kissing another man like that,and when he had… To hell with thought. This was pure feeling, and it made him want to pull Max closer.
The man’s grin dimpled the scars on his young face, giving him an innocent, roguish charm as his blue eyes stared into Callum’s, golden hair catching the dim light. “I think I’m dreaming.”
It was a foolish, school boy sentiment, but it made Callum pull even closer, as if he was being hugged from the inside. Was this what it was to have a man want you for more than just getting off? This, from a man he barely knew. Hell,didn’tknow. Perhaps they were both dreaming. Dancing together in their dreams. That’s why this felt the way it did. The lights seemed to dim, and Callum realised Max had guided him away from the dance floor to a darker corner of the room to kiss him again, alone and in private. And kiss him, Max did, with longing, as if he were searching for Callum’s deepest secrets, or could even dissolve his shame. But Callum didn’t feel shame now, just the curves of Max’s slim body, as the man opened the top two buttons of his shirt. Were they allowed…? Oh, screw ‘allowed!’ He felt Max’s cool, sweet breath whisp through the hairs of his chest, before the man’s hand slipped into his shirt. He leaned closer for another kiss.
Max paused, frowning for the first time. Was Callum being too eager? Had he caused offense? Been too easy a conquest? Max’s cool hands pawed under his shirt, stroking his flank, his stomach, his chest, as if searching for something. Then, far more abruptly than he’d entered, Max withdrew, staring at Callum with what now, even in darkness, could only be confusion and horror.
“Fleisch?” he asked, the word barely more than a breath. “Bist Fleisch?”
Callum shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Fleisch!” Max’s eyes were wide as Ferdi rushed over to them. “Ist Fleisch!”
Ferdi shushed Max, putting an arm around his shoulders. He shot a rueful look at Callum, who felt all the safety, warmth, and welcome the place had offered evaporate as Ferdi and Max’s eyes bore into him.Fleisch?The word stung like a curse. He shook his head again, but the two men didn’t move. Max stared at him, slack-jawed until at last Ferdi spoke.
“Callum, you have to go!”
He didn’t need to be told twice. But go where? The toilets? It had been his only way in and out of here so far. Ignoring the stares, he retreated without another word, throwing himself through the curtain to find the small room mercifully empty. He let the curtain fall behind him, neared the sink, and waited, staring at his pink, heaving reflection, a great hunkering pile of…Fleisch?Did that mean what it sounded like? He waited. Waited for the music to die down. It only grew louder and louder, until it flooded his ears and he craved the quiet of the closing girl bar. He needed it. Any kind of quiet. His puffy pink face taunted him from the mirror, on the verge of tears. But for what? A dream? This whole bloody night had been a dream! Monsters in the street? Max? The bar? He wanted to wake up, damn it, if he had to bash his head against the damn mirror to do it.
Whether the thought had manifested, or he’d simply gone mad, the pain lasted only a second before Callum lost consciousness, barely tasting his own blood.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Good morning.”
Callum shielded his eyes from the sudden glare as Anne pulled back the curtain. He winced at what felt like the grinding lethargy of a brutal hangover. Anne’s voice, gentle and cheery as she was, wasn’t helping.
“If you can stay awake this time, I’m making some tea.” She squeezed his wrist. “You gave us an awful fright.”
What? Where? Why? None of these questions got past ‘Wh…’ on Callum’s lips.
