‘Told you he was subby,’ Rex says, still resolutely ploughing Xander like a champ.
‘Rex, this isXander,’ I say, confident Xander is too high to react. ‘As inthe Xander we’ve all been talking about.’
‘No shit?’ Rex says, vaguely surprised. ‘He said his name was Alex. I had no idea.’ He speeds up, undeterred and possibly reinvigorated. ‘Guess this just became a hate fuck, then.’
That term lodges in my brain, and tips the scales.
I join in.
I flop my dick out and ram it down Xander’s throat. Within two strokes, I am taking out all my rage on this cunt I hate. I callhim a faggot. I hit his face like the daddy at Steam Works hit my face. I choke him on my cock so hard he pukes on the table.
Xander wipes his mouth, begging me to hit him again. I punch him on his upper arm. He flinches, but moans and begs me to do it again. He wants to be punished so badly.
I get a savage grin on my face and do it again.
As I brutalise Xander, I look into his distant, zoned-out eyes and realise he is the extreme version of me. He is what I am destined to turn into now. I couldn’t resolve my light side and my dark side, and now I’m fully split in two. I’m going to end up like Xander. Polished and militantly perfect in public and a self-destructive slut in the dark.
Xander passes me a bottle of amyl. I’ve already spent a whole day at Steam Works frying my brains, but I hit it harder than ever before and start to fully zone out.
‘You still with us, Zeke?’ Rex asks, noticing I’ve spaced out. ‘Wanna go at his arse?’
Rex and I swap positions. Xander’s arse is loose. He’s clearly no prude.
‘You fucking phony,’ I tell him. ‘You pretend to be good but you’re a cum slut.’
Xander agrees enthusiastically. I know the next time I see him in public he won’t look me in the eye.
I take turns punishing Xander’s arse and my own brain. I wonder if too much amyl could kill me, and I decide to find out. I do what you’re not meant to do: I shove the bottle into my mouth instead of my nose, and breathe in deep.
Everything spins. My vision is black and my hearing is blurry. I can’t think.
‘Yes, finally,’ I hear my voice echo down a tunnel. ‘Fucking die.’
Xander is moaning; Rex is fucking his mouth. I am still inside Xander but no longer thrusting; my hips become as flaccid as my popper-softened dick.
My phone is vibrating. I can see the screen lighting up on the table but I can’t read the name of the caller. My vision is spotted with dark circles.
Fucking die.
There’s a knock at the door. More knocks. Banging, even. Or is it my brain falling out of my head? No, the door is banging. Someone’s calling my name. It’s not Rex or Xander. Is it Hammer’s voice?
I’m aware of pulling out of Xander, but I don’t make it to the door.
As I’m trying to pull my pants on, I knock the open bottle of amyl over.
Right onto my face.
I’m aware of a splash of moisture followed by a sudden burning all over my lips, my tongue, and in my nostrils.
My heart starts to race, beating so fast it vibrates out of control. My face is clammy like I’m about to throw up. I feel dizzy. My vision narrows.
Rex calls my name. Someone at the door calls my name.
Then my racing heart suddenly slows. It thuds once, heavily, in my chest.
And then stops.
23
