“I had my wild uni days. Kissed a few frogs, and a few princes, too. But,” Quin hesitated before something in his expression resolved and he continued, “I was in a long-term relationship for most of my twenties. It ended earlier this year. It’s part of why I moved up here. New start, and all that.”
“Who was he?”
“Not someone who matters enough to discuss right now, unless you need me to explain.”
Kit burned with jealousy at the idea of Quin with someone else. Quin was right, though. The interrogation could happen another time.
“I’d rather get back to more kissing now,” Kit said decisively.
Quin obliged. And then obliged him some more. And then obliged Kit again, even as he was leaving the house. By the time Quin eventually left, Kit’s lips felt swollen, and he had the beginnings of beard burn on his face.
It was worth it. Quin was worth it. When Kit slid into bed early that morning, he curled under the sheets and fell asleep with a smile on his face. He hadn’t stopped smiling all night, even as he lay there looking on his phone for tips on caring for his new cactus. He’d been in such a good mood he’d also ended up sending off a few emails to Shaun, Rake, and DJ, who he’d been ignoring for weeks.
Kit didn’t feed that night. Quin had offered before he left, but Kit hadn’t wanted to ruin the evening. He was running so high on his emotions that he might have lost himself to the taste.
It didn’t matter. Kit didn’t need blood when he had Quin’s kisses to sustain him.
Waking up wet and naked in the bathtub was not something that Kit had predicted. He came to abrupt consciousness as his body expelled the bathwater he’d swallowed, leaving him shaking with the force of the expulsion. Disgust and confusion warred inside of him. He didn’t know whether to scream or to cry.
It took a few long moments before he decided on both, releasing an animalistic wail before sobbing until his tears ran dry. He didn’t know how much time passed until he was all cried out.
He rose on wobbly legs, holding onto the sides of the bath to keep himself from crashing back down. Frigid water dripped down his body and pooled around his feet as he reached for the towel, wetting the bathroom floor. He made slow work of drying himself off, rubbing his skin so hard that it turned pink from the friction.
After brushing his teeth to rid himself of the taste of the bathwater, he climbed right back into bed. The empty space stretched out as he lay in the middle, looking up at the ceiling.
He didn’t want to interrogate what had happened, but it couldn’t have been a coincidence that his sleeping mind did what he’d remembered Lawrence having done to him. It was a form of self-flagellation he hadn’t thought himself capable of. But this was just another night—in an endless string of nights—where he’d woken up with his nightmares having become a reality.
That was if he could even call them nightmares. Every one of them occurred in the bright light of day.
Kit traced a finger around his right wrist, where the redness had faded thanks to Quin’s blood. Quin’s expression upon seeing the marks, one of indignant rage, had made Kit’s insides twist. A secret part of Kit revelled in Quin’s anger. The beast beneath the man had shown itself, and all because Quin thought that someone had hurt Kit.
Kit hadn’t wanted Quin to see what he’d done to himself. It wasn’t only tiresome to be one’s own worst enemy. It was also embarrassing.
Drowning himself might be a new low. It had been one of Lawrence’s favourite punishments; watching Kit thrash as his body rejected the water he inhaled. It had been effective in the early days, right after Lawrence had recreated him, as Kit’s body hadn’t realised that he’d survive it.
Kit thought back to what he’d been dreaming before he’d awoken. He could have sworn he’d felt harsh fingers knotted in his hair, pushing his head down. He wondered, not for the first time, if his dreams were more than dreams. Echoes of a previous life, perhaps, manifesting every worst experience he’d ever had.
He knew one thing for certain, however. Reliving them night after night was going to drive him insane.
TWELVE
Quin
“So,tell me about life up north,” Sage singsonged down the phone.
Quin had been putting off talking properly to Sage for a few weeks. They’d messaged back and forth, as usual, but hadn’t spoken. Ever since he and Kit had been getting closer, Quin had been bursting at the seams to tell his cousin all about it. But he hadn’t wanted to jinx it by speaking too soon. He was determined to play it cool and keep things under the radar.
“I’m seeing someone,” he blurted out.
“Quince!” Sage screeched at a decibel that rivalled a dog whistle.
Quin had to pull the phone from his ear and put it on the coffee table on speakerphone instead.
“Tell meeverything,” Sage said at a far more acceptable noise level.
“He’s—” Quin broke off, not sure how to go about describing Kit. “Older,” was the first descriptor that came to mind, for some unknown reason.
“Older?” Sage repeated. “That’s unexpected, but each to their own.”
