I open the top drawer to look for a pen and find a plain, empty, unused envelope lying right there. Only one, and apparently no other envelopes anywhere in his desk.
Ready.
Waiting.
You havegotto be kidding me.
My anger blooms larger and hotter by the second, approaching full-on rage, at this rate. I pull out my wallet to get the change and the receipt, because, see, heknowsthis about me. How many times did we have friendly little battles about me paying my own way? He wanted to spoil me rotten and likely would have paid for everything, all the time, if I didn’t put money in his wallet, or hide it in his laptop case, or in some other way force him to take it.
Paying for groceries was easy because I’d make sure I usually did the shopping and refused to take his money for them. So that was one way in which I could chip in. Or paying utility bills myself before he could. But going out to eat, he wouldn’t let me pay for my own meal unless we were out with people who didn’t know we were an item, or who thought we were just roommates.
I jam the money and receipt into the envelope and lick it, sealing it. Then I grab a pencil from his drawer and sketch a hand flipping a bird on the front.
I leave it in the top drawer.
Drawing facing up, of course.
I’m standing to leave when I catch sight of the picture on the wall.
Ourpicture.
It’s still exactly where I remember it hanging. The one taken the night of Shae’s first inauguration.
I slump back into Leo’s chair and stare at the picture. I can still feel Leo’s hand against the top of my head, rubbing my scalp as he ruffled my hair.
The way his fingers clamped around the back of my neck.
The way his hand clamped around my left wrist, around the bracelet.
I have my picture over at Elliot’s, tucked into a drawer in the bedroom that’s supposedly mine, because I’m still trying to find my emotional footing. I couldn’t have it sitting out at my apartment because I cried every time I looked at it.
Believe me, I tried.
There were more than a few nights in the early days when I fell asleep holding it in my arms.
Finally, I drag myself out of his chair and lock the doorknob from the inside before pulling it closed behind me. Then I head downstairs to Elliot’s office and lock myself in, turn on the TV, and curl up on his sofa.
Fuck it.If I have to, I can spend the whole night here. I keep a change of clothes here and can shower in Elliot’s bathroom—
No. Elliot won’t sleep well if I’m not there. He hasn’t had to sleep alone in nearly a month.
I can’t do that to him. Even he has said that these past few weeks have been the best he’s slept in years. Everyone says he looks younger.
Well,hell, he’s actuallysleepinga full night for a fricking change. Of course he looks younger. His PTSD and nightmares mean it’s difficult for him to get good sleep. He’s almost as light of a sleeper as I am. Not sleeping alone has helped him get better sleep.
So has getting laid on a regular basis, I’m sure.
Around 10:30, I’m dozing with my phone on my chest when it rings.
I don’t even look when I answer it, because I know who it is. “Yeah?”
The steely edge of the sadist’s low rumble purrs through the phone. “Whereareyou,boy? Comeplaaaaywith me.”
I ignore his second comment. “None of your business.”
“You and I both know itismy business, don’t we? Come home. Now. We need to talk.”
I reach down and adjust my throbbing cock.Fuck, the man can make me hard just with his voice, and how could I have forgottenthatlittle factoid? “We are not talking tonight, Leo. Please get out of my house because I’m tired, and I want to go to bed. We had an early morning and a stressful fucking day. And wedamnsure aren’t doing this at work, either. I want to talk to Elliot before I talk to you.”
