He pulls it out of his pocket, looks at it, and freezes. He doesn’t move or blink. He just keeps staring at the thing, a subtle tremble in his fingers.
I grab his shoulder.
“Yosh, you alright?”
“Yeah… I’m sorry.” His voice comes out rough. “I’ve— I’ve got to go.”
He sprints back into the treatment room, scrubs his hands before snatching his wallet and keys off the desk.
Ten seconds later, he's gone.
I stand there for God knows how long, staring ahead like I’m running on two and a half brain cells.
Then I glance down at my cock, painfully hard, pointing straight at the ceiling.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe through it.
Are you kidding me? Two times. Two times I blinked and he was out. He just fucking left.
Should I wait for him? What the hell am I supposed to do now?
We didn’t even kiss.
Welcome to the tragic circus that is Tom McKenna.
Right. Don’t be dramatic. Stay calm.
I open my eyes wide.
Screw that. I’m not waiting around for him. If he won’t finish what he started, I will.
In his bed. With my swampy arse on his perfectly folded, organic sheets. And I’m not holding back on any of the filth he planted in my head.
Dinner’s been a solo act for the past week, but tonight, my girl Stella is joining me.
I know her from the scene back home. Most nights she’s in the VIP at Joan’s club, snorting white gold off a key in plain sight. Discretion always magically disappears after that first blow.
She got here on Saturday and casually reminded me we once spent the night together. Six, maybe seven months ago.
I nodded like I remembered. I don’t.
Still, a familiar face is a familiar face, and right now I’ll take the distraction.
The day took a terrible turn.
There was a massive chain-reaction crash on the ring this morning. A bus flipped over and several vehicles caught fire. Wedon’t know much about what happened, everyone is constantly checking the news.
Apparently, someone from HR was on that bus. Samira’s mom too.
It’s why Yosh had to leave. They pulled all medical staff to the hospital the moment the call came in. The long table for fancy doctors has too many empty seats.
I texted Yosh earlier to check in on him, but he hasn’t replied. Not that I really expected him to, given the circumstances. I’m not a religious man, but tonight I said my prayers anyway.
Stella, on the other hand, is as bubbly as ever.
“Look, sweetie.” She nudges my shoulder, pointing to the fancy table. “That’s Terrence. He teaches me all sorts of stuff.”
Of course I remember the arsehole who threw me into isolation last week. I’m pretty sure he would’ve strapped me into a straitjacket if my hands hadn’t been so busted.
