“You know what would make it even better?” I ask as I walk forward, forcing Benji to walk backward.
Benji arches a curious eyebrow. “What?”
I lean forward to whisper in his ear, smiling when a shiver rolls through him at the touch of my lips to his overheated skin. “Fuck me in the bathroom, hand over my mouth so no one can hear me scream.”
“Whatever you want,” Benji agrees quietly.
I return to myself bit by bit as Benji shoves me against the wall, covers my mouth with his hand, and takes me so hard my toes lift off the floor with each torturous thrust. In these charged moments, I belong to myself, and Benji belongs to me. My pleasure and his pleasure blend together until the world spinsonly for us, only for the soft gasps, the bites that almost break skin.
Afterward Benji leans against the wall, eyes closed as he pants through his release. I carefully tug up my pants, grateful for the twinge in my ass when I lean against the sink to slap at my cheek. As I take a rare glance at myself in the mirror, I see my eyes are dull and lifeless, hair flat, and I don’t recognize myself at all anymore. There’s solace in knowing everyone thinks they know me, but no one really does. Not even myself.
9
BENJI
NOVEMBER 2027
Nolan sleeps like the dead. It’s almost terrifying. His back barely moves, eyelashes perfectly still, mouth closed tightly as he sleeps away the cobwebs of the show from last night. One month on tour has taught me that being a rockstar is definitely not as fun as they make it look in the movies. If Nolan isn’t sleeping, practicing, or playing for crowded arenas, then he’s begging me to fuck him until he falls into a deep, deadly sort of sleep.
I’m still learning how to strike the perfect balance with him. It seems the longer the tour goes on, the more sullen he appears. He’s also getting more difficult to handle, his emotions volatile, his want for borderline violent sex increasing at a rate that kind of terrifies me. I mean, sex is sex, but with Nolan it has this edge to it that makes me wonder if he really wants it, or if he’s just going through the motions. Sometimes it feels like I’m just a tool to increase whatever pain he’s simmering in.
Only our dates make me feel like maybe this isn’t the worst idea known to mankind. When I take him to some tourist trap in whatever city we’re in, when I make him laugh despite the exhaustion radiating off of him, when he’s quiet and pliant inmy arms at night after a fuck that steals my breath, I wonder what it would be like to keep him. While the tour is grueling and mostly miserable, I like spending time with Nolan. I like the way his brain works and his derisive commentary on just about everything.
But after a month, I still can’t get a read on how he feels about me. Every emotion Nolan has is carefully hidden behind steel walls that are impossible to permeate. Impossible to climb. I only see what he wants me to see and nothing more.
An incoming call from my mom lights up my phone, shaking me from my reverie. Not wanting to wake Nolan, I roll out of bed and pad toward the balcony that overlooks Milan, Italy. Afternoon has the streets bustling below, the scent of food from nearby restaurants wafting up to the balcony.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Where’s my world traveler today?” Mom asks.
“Milan.”
Mom sighs wistfully. “We spent a few weeks in Italy before you were born. Loved it there. I prefer the Amalfi coast.” Mom’s voice dips down into a whisper. “The nightlife there was bonkers.”
“Why are you whispering?” Mama’s shout echoes through the line. I can’t help but grin. They’re kooky and weird but they’re my moms. I miss them so much it hurts.
“Well, I didn’t particularly want you to hear.”
“Why?” Mama says with an accusing lilt to her voice.
“Oh, here we go,” Mom mutters.
“No fighting! It’s afternoon here, so it must be early there. Everything alright?”
“Oh, yes,” Mama says, having obviously commandeered the phone from Mom. “Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”
“Probably not. My travel plans won’t bring me home until next year.”
“What?” Mom asks in confusion. “You won’t be home for Christmas?”
Oh, here comes the guilt. “Probably not until your birthday, Mama.”
“Oh.”
The phone goes deadly silent. “Sorry, guys.”
“It’s okay!” Mom says because she’s always the one to save face, the one to fix any sort of problem. “You’ll just have to meet the new additions to the family when you come back home. Everyone misses you.”
