Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: Part 7 of the "Rumors" Series.
Pairings: Brian/OMC
Category: Angst, Drama
Rating: NC-17
Date: July 18, 2003
Summary: Still caught in the middle between Hammer and Troy, Brian becomes "Master of the Pit" in Hammer's absence.
Spoilers: None
Warnings:
Author’s Note: Don't miss the link to Brian's portfolio of ideas for an ad campaign for Rumors.
Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), “Man Alone With Himself,” aphorism 569, “Self-Sufficiency,” (1878).
He was still asleep, on his back... snoring gently as his chest rose and fell. His eyes moved beneath the thin skin of his lids; he still dreamed the erotic dream, from the appearance of his cock. I slipped out of bed quietly to let him sleep. No need to awaken him because of my compulsive internal clock... let him sleep. I looked back once to survey the body stretched-out on the bed... sinuous, muscular, powerfully masculine... never vulnerable, even in sleep.
I stopped in the bathroom to relieve myself, then strolled naked into the living room. The curtains were drawn and the house was silent. I was hungry and craved a cup of coffee, but a quick tour of the kitchen found only beer and mustard in the refrigerator...and no coffee in the cupboards. It was like a motel room... free of signs of prior human habitation. He obviously didn't eat here.
I was no snoop... but my curiosity overcame me. The second bedroom. I opened the door carefully because it seemed to stick tight, and I needed to lift the doorknob to free the door in its frame. Yes, there was a Nautilus apparatus which brushed the low ceiling... a mattress on the floor... a Grateful Dead poster on the wall... a cluttered desk... a pile of tee-shirts in the corner. And then I saw it in the partially opened closet... a leather jacket and chaps, too small for Hammer or me to wear... almost new, but smelling of mild sweat and new leather when I pulled it closer to my nose. A leather collar, like mine, encircled the hook of the hanger. It had been Nicky's, I guessed, ...held for his return, then enshrined permanently when his return was impossible. I touched the leather as Hammer probably had done...sensing the lack of its occupant and mourning a loss that only he could totally feel.
I left the room as I had found it... devoid of life, but reeking of memories.
He awoke 5 hours later, looking groggy ...and older than I had remembered. I had entertained myself looking at 4-year-old motorcycle magazines... nothing newer that three years ago. He strolled slowly into the living room, scratching his chest slowly.
"Get dressed," he rasped. "I'll buy your breakfast before I take you back to your lover-boy."
I started to contradict him, but he had turned and left the room. My jeans were still in the corner where I had left them, so I slipped into them, then found my socks and boots. My shirt was back at Rumors.
He returned, looking disheveled... long hair uncombed. "Here, put this on," he said, tossing me a black muscle shirt. "No shirt...no service... especially on a Sunday morning." He frowned as I slipped it on as if he were sorry that I'd covered up the torso he wanted to stroke again... but he turned and headed for the door, indicating that I should precede him to the cycle.
....................................
We pulled into Rumors parking lot shortly before noon. The heat rising from the black asphalt elevated the tension of the moment. With the possibility of Troy watching from one of the upstairs windows, Hammer was silent as I dismounted and stood waiting for a goodbye. He looked at me icily...a long, piercing stare as if he were memorizing every detail... and then the motor roared and he sped off without saying goodbye. I watched to see if he would look back...but he didn't. And I stood in the heat until the sound of the chopper faded into silence. There had been no comment about the night before during breakfast... no "see ya later"... no mention of the hot-fucks... just cruel silence. I began to think that I had disappointed him. Perhaps I had said something wrong. Maybe I pestered him too much...wanted him too much. The heat of the asphalt finally permeated the soles of my boots; it was time to go inside.
Troy was at the kitchen table reading the paper while he sipped his coffee. "A hard night?" he queried without looking up.
"It was OK," I replied. He didn't really want the details, although he couldn't refrain from asking.
"Get changed," he continued. "We've got lots to do upstairs...and I want to get a couple of hours of work out of you before you head back to State College. OK?"
"Sure," I said. "I don't need to leave until after dinner. That is, if you plan to feed me."
He looked up, smiling. "The steaks are in the refrigerator. A growing boy needs his protein."
I went to the bedroom and began to strip off the tight muscle shirt. The bed was already made... and there was a folded piece of paper on my pillow. A single sheet in Troy's handwriting:
Wanting you.
Wanting to press you
Against my torso
Like wet clay
Molding you to my shape,
Warming you
With my hot skin,
Positioning you
To fit around me
Like a tight fist
On a lover's shaft.
Devouring you
Like eating a sweet pear.
Scalding you
With my saliva.
Painting you
With new-erupted cum.
Marking you
With suck-marks
And sharp teeth.
Ravaging you
With force
That takes your breath away.
Crushing you with my love,
Its weight
Pressing out your juices,
Like whey from curd.
Lifting you up
And pressing you down
Simultaneously.
Engulfing you
In my embrace.
Then hold you
As you tremble in my arms.
Enraptured by the moment.
Loose nerve-ends sparking.
Eyes rolled-back,
Mouth slack...
Fully taken
Beyond the limit
Of human experience.
I will hold you
Until you return to me,
Renewed,
Remade,
Mine again.
"What's this?" I said, not knowing quite how to respond to its directness.
"Just the result of one of those times when the feelings get so powerful, I need an outlet. A little Jim Beam helps, too.” He seemed embarrassed now. “When the steam pressure valve hits the red zone, that's when I pick up the pen and paper. It's not that good...but I haven't written for quite a while. But it felt good... to finally say it."
"No one has ever done anything like this for me before," I said, glancing down at it again. "It's very powerful."
"Just your run-of-the-mill queer love-poem," he replied, sitting next to me on the bed. "I sorta felt like Shakespeare writing sonnets to his young, male lover...wondering if the young man ever read them... and then wondering whether anyone will ever read any of my poems in a few hundred years.” He paused, then gestured toward the desk. “When I die, you can publish them. They're stuffed in a big envelope in the bottom drawer over there... just so you know."
"So you wrote poetry for him?" I asked as he covered my hand with his.
"Yes. On those nights when he didn't come home. When I missed him... like I was starting to miss you. It's sappy,...I know. But it's cheaper than a shrink."
"Don't do this," I said, pulling my hand from under his and covering his with mine. "I told you. I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready...and I don't want to hurt you. You're a nice guy and all that... and I'm grateful for what you've done for me. But I can't be phony. I can't feel something that I don't feel. And I won't lie to you. I've explained all this before."
"I know," he said. "But I can't avoid saying it... just like you can't avoid saying what you just did. It's better to just say it and get it over with. Then we can get to work."
I felt my lips tighten...and my tongue escaped for one of those nervous lip-licks that took the place of a reply. This time it was better to say nothing. I arose and pulled him to his feet. "Let's go," I said.
.......................................
The third floor project, "The Labyrinth," as we had begun to call it, was coming along fine. It would be ready to open in a few more weeks at the rate we were going. We still needed to paint all the walls black and to lay some black carpeting in some areas, but the major construction work was finished. Its complexity was impressive. I kept walking through the maze trying to memorize its features in daylight so I could traverse it in darkness. But even in daylight, it was tricky.
"You'll need a rescue team... to search for lost guys and return them to civilization," I said jokingly.
"I get lost in there myself...and I designed the damned thing. There's one place where you can go in circles for hours if you're not careful. I hope we haven't created a monster. Maybe we need a map on the wall in a few locations... and some emergency flashlights."
"With crossed penises to indicate 'You Are Here?' Maybe you need just a little bit of light in a few places...just so guys can get their bearings. Also, so you can check-out whether you're fucking a troll or a treasure," I said with a chuckle.
"That defeats the whole purpose... for trolls like me," he said. "The anonymity is the allure here. There should be a sign over the entrance that says 'All Ye Who Enter Here... Fuck Your Brains Out.'" We laughed, knowing the sign would be superfluous; these guys wouldn't need an invitation or instructions. "And you, of all people, don't need to worry about getting lost. You're gonna find a favorite spot somewhere in the middle, like the Minotaur, and let everyone come to you, the Lord of the Labyrinth. I know you..." He put his hand on my sweaty shoulder and leaned forward to kiss me softly with salty lips. "How about a quick one?" he said. "Before supper? All this talk has got my testosterone in an uproar."
............................................
I spent the week totally immersed in developing an ad campaign for "Rumors." I had checked-out some of the porn magazines that Troy showed me...Jock, Obsessions, Iniquity, Torso, All-Man, Hot-Male-Review, Drummer, Mach...to get an idea about format, content, and titillation... the "Sproing-factor" John (the professor I wrote about in “Requiem”) had called it, describing the imaginary sound a cock makes when it springs to attention. He had taught me how to use sensuality, usually subliminally, to attract attention to an ad. This time, it wouldn't be subliminal. I chose the art-work carefully so that each example had an eye-catching "feature" that would provide the visual equivalence of a sharp nipple-pinch. I had a good, trained eye for that sort of thing. My "portfolio" was ready to show to Troy on my next visit to Altoona.
I got a late start on Friday, so Rumors was already open and busy when I arrived. Most of the regulars acknowledged my entrance and a few newcomers showed interest, too. I stepped behind the bar where Troy was already working feverishly to keep up with the demand for drinks. He gave me a wink from the other end of the bar, then delivered four beer mugs to guys crowded around the cash register. As I put on the collar, he came closer and murmured, "He hasn't been here...all week. Someone says he's been working on a job down in Wolfsburg...maybe not coming home at nights. We'll see if he shows up. You're stayin', aren't ya?"
"Sure," I said. "And wait ‘til you see what I’ve got. I brought some ad layouts to show you. I’m kinda proud of them."
"I can't look now," he said. "...these guys are sucking beers like drowning men suck sea water. But later..."
"I'll just circulate," I said with a grin.
"A new way of saying 'fuck-my-balls-dry'?" His laughter was interrupted by cries for more drinks. "Keep your panties on, Myrtle," he shouted to one of the offenders.
I walked through the theater where two guys were competing to suck a guy standing in the row behind them. Their moans blended with the fuck-sounds from the video showing on the big screen. But there was no one for me there.
Downstairs the action was already hot-and-heavy. The Pit was crowded and the orgy room was overflowing. Without Hammer's presence, I was the acknowledged alpha-dog in the Pit, so men made way for me and encouraged me to join them. I had developed my own little "posse" over the last few weeks... guys who were hangers-on... guys who liked to watch...guys who hoped to be chosen... and guys who wanted a second chance. I could pretty much have anyone I wanted... and it was a feeling of desirability and power.
I was getting sucked by one guy, in-preparation for fucking another, when I noticed that the gaze of several guys had turned toward the door. I looked over my shoulder to find an absolutely gorgeous, young guy with an orange tanktop draped over his shoulder... black wavy hair...a swimmer's body...a face almost too pretty for a man. He looked underage, but I was sure Troy checked his ID. That was one sure way of getting closed-down, and I knew Troy wouldn’t risk it.
"Are you Brian?" he said directly to me.
I nodded as I pulled my cock out of the disappointed mouth and turned to face him.
His eyes scanned down my torso involuntarily. "The bartender said I'd find you in the basement. I'm new here... and I asked the bartender where the action was... and he sent me down here to find you. But you look like you're busy..." He turned to leave.
"No, wait," I said. "There's always room for one more." A few guys moved toward him as if they were anticipating my directions. "Hold on. I'll give you the five-dollar tour." There was an audible moan from the room when they realized I didn't plan to share him. "There's plenty of time for THAT," I said to the group. "I'll be back." I put my hand behind his neck and turned him toward the door. "And so will he," I added as we departed.
"I'm Tim," he said. "Tim Rector."
"We don't usually use names here," I said. "But since you already know mine, I'll call you 'Tim.'" He grinned in the dim light...perfect teeth, the smile of a movie star, and a sparkle in his eyes that made the rest of the patrons look like tired whores in-contrast.
We made our way to the stairs through the crowded hall. "Do you usually walk around that way... naked?" He asked.
I had become so accustomed to being naked among guys... sorta like the gym locker room...that his question surprised me. "Well, I can fuck with my pants on...but they sure limit my mobility," I said matter-of-factly.
"I like how you think," he said over his shoulder as we climbed the stairs. His ass swayed tantalizingly inches from my face.
I gave him the tour...and everywhere we went, the action was intense and sustained. Even in the bar... where a naked youngman was on his knees sucking off a guy on a bar stool. As Tim watched, I turned to Troy.
"You like my little gift?" he said with a smile. "A token of my affection. As soon as he walked in, I knew you'd want him. He's your type...the smooth athlete."
"Thanks," I said. "Maybe we can share him later?"
"Don't wait for me," he replied. "There's still two hours to closing-time. If there's still any left by then..." He grinned again, thinking about the possibility.
We walked through the theater. "He's really nice," Tim whispered over the moans on the screen. "Does he own this place?"
"That's Troy," I answered. "Yeah, he owns it. He's the one who remodeled this old warehouse and started the business. And now I'm helping him fix-up the third floor into something really cool. Wanta see it?"
"Sure," he said. "What is it?"
"A labyrinth," I replied. He looked puzzled. "A maze...a huge bunch of passageways. You find your way in the dark... and who knows what might happen to you?" I raised an eyebrow suggestively.
"With you there to protect me..." he began.
"That's not what I had in-mind," I interrupted. I found the key to the freight elevator where I knew Troy hid it. The motor growled into obedience.
The scissor-doors opened at the entrance to the Labyrinth close to the stairs that regular patrons would use. It's dim light barely penetrated the darkness as we stepped into the void. I had seen it this way only once before... when Troy and I had explored it to see how it felt in the dark. But both of us got lost anyway. Since then, I'd learned the way.
When the heavy doors of the freight elevator had closed like a giant mouth, we stood in total darkness. Our voices echoed in the vast space above the labyrinth; you could tell that it was large...and empty. Tim reached for me, knowing I was there but reassuring himself. His hand on my arm turned into a caress over my shoulder, then down my back. He stepped closer and our hips touched. He leaned forward and kissed the ridge of my shoulder. I slipped my thumb in the back of his jeans and pulled him away.
"Yes, we'll do that," I said. "But first, you'll have to work for it. You'll have to find me in the maze." I touched his chest and brushed the tank-top off his shoulder onto the floor. "When you do, the Minotaur has a reward for you," I said.
"Will you help me if I get lost?" he asked softly.
"I'll whistle if I think you're getting totally off-track...but, once you find me, I'll know the way out...so don't worry." My fingers moved up to brush over his lips. He kissed them quickly before them moved to his neck.
I stepped away toward the first passageway. "Let me hear those jeans and shoes hit the floor," I said. "I want you stripped and ready."
"I'm ready," he said with a laugh. "My inner thighs are shaking like Jello and my teeth are chattering. This is really cool."
I stepped into the passageway, feeling along the wall with my left hand and holding my right in front of me to avoid running into the sharp left turn in just a few more steps. I heard his jeans hit the floor somewhere behind me. At the turn, I switched hands...right against the wall, left in front...past one left turn and two rights to a sharp turn...on and on...remembering the tricks and pitfalls...finding familiar landmarks like the sloping ramp, the small orgy room...and then finding my favorite spot, a small room with a raised platform in the middle, just the right height for doggie-style fucking. I left out a soft whistle through my teeth.
"I'm coming," he said in the distance.
"No talking," I said. "Just knock if you get frustrated and need another whistle. No talking at all...even when you find me."
I heard him resume his exploration of the maze...the sliding of his hands...the occasional bump against a corner or a wall...the gentle creak of the wooden floor below. (Note to Troy: we need some kind of recorded sound to mask the sounds of movement in the maze...either music or the sounds of guys fucking...or both.)
Eventually, I heard a thump and a frustrated knocking. I whistled once... and he resumed in a new direction. My cock stiffened as he approached. I could feel my own heart beating in my pulse-points. I was like the predator waiting for the prey... the rapist hiding in the dark... the evil presence about to be released.
His steps came closer...the soft shuffle of bare feet on the painted wood... fingernails on taut plywood... the labored breathing of the frightened prey. He knocked again...but he was too close. I remained silent as I stretched my arm forward at chest level. I felt his presence, his warmth, before I actually touched him. My fingers brushed his outstretched forearm and he recoiled. I moved forward quickly and engulfed him in my arms. He was almost feverish... hot skin with cool, moist sweat... he fought against me briefly, almost a reflex, then sank into my arms in capitulation.
"You give-up too easily," I whispered hoarsely as my hand slid down his torso and gripped his hard cock and balls in my fist. He tried to pull back, but I squeezed until he gasped in sharp pain. He fought against me then...hands on my chest, arching himself away from my grip around his waist with my other arm. I turned him around in my arms...my forearm over his throat, his back against my chest, …then I licked the fear-sweat from the back of his neck. He struggled again as he felt my hard cock against the small of his back. I wrapped one calf around his legs and twisted him off-balance onto the carpet-covered platform. He caught himself with outstretched arms. I pressed one of knees onto the platform.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" I whispered behind his ear. "This is what you all want."
I felt his head nod "Yes" against my cheek.
"I'm new at this," he began.
"All the better," I murmured. "Raping boy-ass is my specialty." I felt him tense in my grasp. The realization had hit that he was getting what he wanted...what he needed...but he had no control over it.
With my forearm over his shoulder blades, holding him down, I prepared his ass with two fingers... probing and twisting to open him up and to lube him with my saliva. He twisted as my fingers hit the second knuckle.
"Just stay still and I won't hurt you," I said, using the line Hammer had used on me.
I kissed and licked down the centerline of his spine to the soft, hairless concavity just above the beginning of his ass-crack. He rocked slowly back and forth, probably rubbing his cock-head against the soft carpeting. My tongue explored further...eating the ass I would fuck. He was perfectly cleaned...probably douched before he left home...just the soft skin and residual muskiness of sweaty boy-ass. I drove my tongue into him to show him how it felt. He tensed, then rocked back against my face asking for more.
I pressed his knees farther apart then and reached through to grip his cock. Folding it backwards slowly, I alternated between hole and cock-tip with my tongue, making him moan softly.
I rose again and draped my chest over his back again. "Tell me what you want, boy. Beg for it." My cock swayed between his inner thighs touching one, then the other.
"I want you to fuck me," he said. "Fuck me."
"Louder, boy. Tell me how much you want it."
"I want you inside me...all the way," he began.... "I want you to slam it into me ...show me what guys like you can do... hurt me..."
"I'll take you fast...and it won't hurt too much," I said. "I want to feel you cum," I added. "Get it hard.
He supported himself with one arm while reaching down to jack himself with the other. As I moved in the darkness to press my cock into him, I felt the towel that Troy and I had used to wipe the sweat of hard labor from our bodies as we worked. I lifted it to his face.
"My knee," he said. "It hurts...the edge..."
I pressed the towel under his knee as an impact pad. He'd need it shortly.
I worked my cock into his crack, letting his anatomy guide it to the opening...a hot, quivering "well" with a target in its center...the "glory spot"...the "pucker-hole." As soon as it was lodged in his opening, I reached for his hair and grabbed a handful, arching his back as I shoved it in. He gasped to inhale, then yelled as I impaled him with seven inches. He was as tight as a fist gripping a tree branch on the edge of a cliff. So tight, he could probably have hung upside-down suspended on my shaft.
I straightened-up then and gripped his slim hips in my hands...mostly to gauge the position of his ass in the blackness. Then I pumped in and out with increasing force and depth. His moan filled the small chamber.
"Now...now...now..." he repeated as each thrust slipped a few centimeters deeper. “ Oooh….oooh…oooooh!” My thighs were slapping his ass on the in-stroke. His hole gaped open on the out-stroke, from the feel of it. Changing pace...changing depth...switching from full strokes to short jabs...changing the angle...I fucked his ass every way I knew. He was moaning now with each thrust... just like the sounds in the movie theater below, I imagined.
I felt him reach for his own cock again...jacking it in-rhythm with my thrusts.
"Gonna...gonna shoot," he grunted between moans.
"Before you do," I said, "Roll over."
He sank to the carpet as I lifted his left leg and used it to twist his entire body, still impaled on my shaft, until he was on his back...legs waving against my chest...hand pressed against my chest. I rocked into him with full hip-thrusts, feeling my thighs slap against his ass-cheeks. He was clutching me… clawing at my shoulders to pull me into him. I crawled onto the low platform as I fit my shoulders between his knees. He gasped at the change-of-angle because it brought my cock-tip in direct contact with his prostate.
“God, I love it!” he cried. His fist beat against my abs as he jacked himself full-stroke. “Fuck me…fuck me….” His voice trailed-off to a loud moan as his body tense before shooting. As the cum-spurts struck my chest, his body recoiled, driving me backwards. My cock slipped entirely out of him before I could thrust forward again full-depth. My cum exploded into the condom as the head surged to new depths. He screamed and shot again; I could feel the spasming tightness on my swollen shaft. I collapsed onto him and found his Adam’s apple with my wide-open mouth, sucking and licking his neck from his jugular notch to his chin as we convulsed together, coming down from the sexual high. He almost purred as I made my cock throb gently inside him a few more times.
"That was incredible," he finally managed to say. "The anticipation...the surprise...the overpowering...the whatever-you-call-it...'fucking' isn't powerful enough to describe what just happened." He was still breathing heavily and combing his fingers through the wet hair of my temples. I brushed the hair off his damp forehead.
"It was good for me, too," I said. "Great, even." I paused to get my breath. "The first fuck of many in this place, I'll bet." His cum-drenched fingers trailed over my back as if to say “Count me in.”
............................
"Where ya been all night?" Troy said as I joined the last stragglers coming back to the bar at closing time. "I came downstairs to watch you work that boy over, but they said you left and never came back. And you never left the bar...so I wondered where you holed-up." He smiled at his own unintentional pun.
"I took that guy upstairs," I said. Then seeing his surprise, I added "Not to the Quarters. I wouldn't do that. I took him to the Labyrinth. Sorta 'initiated' it...with a little boy-ass action ...and a shower of cum-spray."
"Well, I'd planned to christen it with champagne," he said without smiling. "And I'd planned that the first fuck would be us...up there next weekend when it's all finished. I guess you jumped the gun on me." He looked disappointed. "But....it was my own damned fault. When I saw that boy, I knew he was for you...and you did what you wanted to do with him. I shouldn't expect anything else."
"Let's go to bed," I said. "I think I can make it up to you...and we can look at the fucking ad-previews in the morning."
He nodded and turned toward the stairs.
..........................
"Whaddaya think?" I said, waving the pages in front of his nose as he tried to stir his coffee. He was a more discriminating critic than I had imagined. He looked at each of the five proposals and told me what he liked...and what he didn't like about each one. And we discussed alternatives.
"Not my face," I said. "It'd be just my luck to apply for a job with someone who had a porn magazine in his left, lower desk drawer with a picture of ME on the back cover. I might get hired for the wrong reason," I said with a smirk.
"If they ever saw your ass, they'd hire you in a split-second," he said, reaching around to pat me softly. "Seeing is believing."
"Let me re-work the ones you like," I said as I picked up the pages. "And I'll have them ready for you to send off to magazines next weekend. Or...we can do some photography next weekend when I come back."
"You're making me look forward to weekends,...that's for sure," he said, mussing my hair. "Now let's see what kind of damage you and Pretty-boy did upstairs. Do I need to bring a mop?"
.......................
We worked for several hours that afternoon...cutting a few glory-holes...building a few more platforms for the larger "rooms"...sanding some rough places in the floor that might give guys splinters. We shouted back and forth to each other from various locations in the labyrinth as we worked on separate projects. The afternoon went by quickly...and soon it was time to re-stock the bar and get ready for a busy Saturday night.
"You look tired. Go upstairs and take a short nap before the doors open," Troy said. "We want you in prime form tonight. Who knows? Maybe Pretty-boy will be back for more."
"No," I replied as I turned. "Done him."
.......................
I awoke with a start. The thump of the loud music rose from the floor. Things were under-way. Rumors had opened. I looked at the clock. 10:30!! Troy didn't come up to wake me. I got dressed, partially, and went downstairs two-at-a-time.
"There you are," he said. "Sorry,...I've been so busy here, I didn't have a chance to come upstairs to give you the Prince-Charming kiss to awaken you."
As I reached under the bar to retrieve the collar, Hammer strode into the bar from the backroom. Apparently he had arrived early and had already been downstairs. Tim was in-tow behind him, gripped by the front of his white undershirt with a tight fist. Hammer was pulling him toward the door. I stepped from behind the bar to meet them in the middle of the crowded floor.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey, yourself."
"Want to share him," I said, walking beside him as he approached the door.
"No way," he growled.
"What about ME," I said raising my voice.
"I've had you," he said. "Enough for me." He exited, filling the doorway and leaving no room for me to follow him.
I was astonished . How could he do this? I followed Tim out the door. Hammer shoved him against the brick wall and said "Stay right here. Don't go anywhere," and we walked together farther into the parking lot away from the crowd gathered around the door.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "What did I do? What did I say."
"It's nothing you did," he began. "It's not you. It's me. When I start caring about someone the smallest bit, it's time to move on. Love 'em and lose 'em...that's the story of my life."
"This one-time-thing is bullshit," I shouted, enraged. "And you had me twice. You can't even fucking COUNT."
He shoved me backward against the hood of a car, then motioned for Tim to join him. I stood helplessly as they mounted Hammer’s bike and sped away.
“He’s drunk,” Troy said as I returned to the bar. “Don’t pay much attention to what he says.” But Troy couldn’t look at me when he said it, because he wasn’t sure it was true.
I went upstairs for awhile... to lie on the bed and to think. But eventually the lure of the backroom on a Saturday night helped me forget what had happened. I knew Hammer wouldn’t be back that night, so I took my place as his rightful heir and fucked-away the anger until closing time.
.....................................
If you care about people, you don’t humiliate them in public. You don’t ignore them or send them away. You don’t suddenly turn to ice and forget the past.
But maybe you do. Perhaps rejection leaves a deep scar that never heals completely.