Or no one at all.
The one thing Gage hated was having time off. He worked long shifts several days in a row, then had long days off—which mostpeople appreciated. But when it was quiet, his head was loud, and he was struggling to cope. His meds weren’t doing what they used to.
His psychiatrist had moved him to Lexapro, which was doing more for him than his previous medication, but the moment his stimulants wore off, his thoughts were going ten miles a second, and he couldn’t get them to calm down.
Leaving Lucas’s place, he went to the park and jogged the long trail through the woods, which ate up two hours of his time, and then he went shopping for clothes because most of his socks had holes in them, and that took up another hour.
He had lunch. Then he went to the bookstore, the game store, then drove up to the cliffs to stare out at the water and wish he were literally anyone else.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he could no longer ignore his need to be home. He had to sleep, even if sleep came with nightmares and adrenaline spikes that woke him up with waves of nausea.
He knew he wasn’t going to last like this.
Something had to give.
He had an anger inside of him that was starting to feel senseless.
“I need a hobby,” he muttered to himself as he climbed off the picnic bench and made his way to his car. In theory, a hobby sounded great. In reality, he’d lost his ability to enjoy things. His therapist said that was the chronic depression talking and that he had to be patient with himself, but for how fucking long?
How long was this going to last?
If forever was a possibility, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to handle that.
Driving himself, he was mostly on autopilot, which was terrifying in itself. He was scared one of these days he was going to zone out and wake up with his car rammed into a tree. But hemade it to his parking spot, and there were no random dents, so he was pretty sure the drive had been safe and unscathed.
“Fuck,” he murmured as he grabbed his bags and hooked them on one arm. “I need to get a goddamn grip. Though talking to myself is probably not doing me any favors. Oh my God, Gage. Shut up.”
He clenched his jaw so tightly his temples ached, and he opened the door to his building.
His hallway was always relatively quiet. It was on the second floor, just past the curved staircase. There were new dings in the wall, which probably meant that the apartment next door had finally been rented by someone, and that was confirmed by the smell of something garlicky and saucy—like pizza—filling the narrow space.
He didn’t feel hungry. He never felt hungry these days. But his stomach growled, reminding him that he’d skipped lunch and dinner.
Shit.
For a quick beat, he wondered if he should introduce himself to the new neighbors. He’d stopped doing that for a while afterthe incident, but he didn’t want to be some unfriendly hermit for the rest of his life. His therapist told him he’d probably be a little more hypervigilant from now on, but that didn’t have to control him.
Or define him.
So fuck it.
He walked over and knocked on the door and waited. Then waited.
Then waited a bit more.
He knocked a second time, but when he didn’t hear footsteps, he figured either he was wrong about the new neighbors or they’d gone out.
Whatever, he’d try again later on.
Slipping into his apartment, he kicked the door shut with his foot, then struggled out of his shoes before throwing his bags on the couch and flopping down face-first. He took a deep breath, then turned his face to the side.
This wasn’t the apartment he’d fucked Fallon in. He’d moved in a month and a half ago. But itwasthe couch. It no longer held the gentle scent of the other man, but the memories were intense. And they were strong.
Gage could close his eyes and feel the echo of Fallon’s dick against his tongue. He could feel his ass squeezing around his fingers. He could taste his kisses—those gentle little licks Fallon was so eager to give. He could feel what it was like to slip in him for those long, glorious seconds as Fallon came around his cock. And then what it was like to coat Fallon’s thighs with his release like he’d been marking him as Gage’s.
God. The fact that he was thinking about it after this long was a problem.
Rolling onto his back, he stretched his arms above his head and ignored his raging boner. He didn’t jerk off much at all these days. He couldn’t stand the thought of porn, considering what had happened to him.
