Page 33 of Never Forget

It felt like he was trusting me with pieces of himself that I don’t think he lets anyone else be privy to.

I think I saw the real Naz yesterday. A broken-down, raw version that didn’t require games or masks to get to. The rockstar who prefers quiet mornings on the lake and likes to escape into a good book. The man who carries guilt and responsibility that was never his to carry. The boy who still desperately wants approval from the people he cares about most, even though he knows he might never get it.

Another door closes, and a second later, I hear the shower running. I open my eyes. The trailer is still dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the windows overlooking the lake. It’s not quite sunrise, which means his shower is likely to be quick because if I know him at all, I know he’ll want to be sitting outside watching the sun come up over the lake.

With a groan, I push myself off the floor and stretch. It takes a moment to locate my sleep shorts halfway across the room, but once I do, I pull them on before I start my search.

The trailer is small enough that it doesn’t take much to check the common areas. I already looked through the main living room yesterday while Naz was outside and I was installing the cell booster. Cooking and then cleaning up after dinner afforded me the opportunity to snoop around the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place.

My eyes drift to the hallway and Naz’s bedroom. His door is closed, but I didn’t hear a lock click, so I should be able to sneak in just fine. The shower continues running, but I know I don’t have much time.

“Sorry, pet,” I whisper as I let myself into his private space.

The room isn’t particularly interesting at first glance. It’s neat and organized, exactly what I’d expect from Naz. It’s sparsely decorated, the bed covers and curtains a basic blue ombre, although I know his favorite color is red.

Books sit stacked on the nightstand, a charger cable attached to what I know is his e-reader next to a small lamp. There are a few clothes draped over the back of a chair, but even those are neat, like they were placed there intentionally.

Quietly, I start my search. I open every drawer, move every book and item on the small wall shelf, grateful that the room seems to have been dusted recently so I don’t leave any tracks.

Only once do I pause my search, momentarily distracted by the contents of a small case under the nightstand. It’s about the size of a large shoebox, black canvas, and has a lock mechanism for the zippers, which isn’t engaged. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this case in his luggage, it fits inside the large duffle bag he takes between hotels. Some of the contents inside are familiar, most notably the thin red leather collar I first put on him almost six months ago. Just touching the soft leather is enough to get me boned up. This collar was my way of giving him a nonverbal signal that he needed something from me—something a little more intense than our usual play. There’s a matching leash coiled and tucked on one side of the box. Beneath that is a small assortment of sex toys: a thin teal colored vibrator, a larger purple silicone dildo with a suction cup on the bottom, three butt plugs in various sizes, a fleshlight, and a black silicone cock ring still in the package.

Well, damn.

He’s definitely used a butt plug for me before, but the rest of this must be what he uses when he’s on his own. My cock twitches at the thought.

Yeah, there is no chance I’m going to be able to ignore this. I’ll need to figure out how to make him show me what’s in this box on his own volition. Make him show me how he touches and fucks himself when I’m not around.

The sound of Naz moving around in the shower drags my head out of the gutter and reminds me that I have very little time and this is not what I’m supposed to be looking for.

Returning to the task at hand, I dig through the closet, careful not to leave anything out of place. I run my fingers over the door and window frames, then turn my attention to the light fixture over the bed. It takes two tries to figure out which switch is for the fan and which is for the light.

The bed creaks when I step on it, and I freeze momentarily before continuing on my mission. I open the light fixture and unscrew all the light bulbs, running my fingers over every surface that I can’t see.

The shower cuts off, and my heart skips a beat. Shit.

In quick, quiet movements, I reattach the bulbs and the glass casing for the light fixture. I tense as I step down from the bed as slowly as possible, but I’m not able to mitigate the creak of the bedframe.

The bathroom door handle turns, and I know I’m in trouble. The covers are all askew, and I’m just standing here like an idiot. For one horrifying second, I picture trying to explain why I’m standing on his bed inspecting the light fixture.

I’m pretty sure that conversation ends with me sleeping in the lake.

In the split second between the door opening and Naz sticking his head out, I dive onto the bed, arranging my body into a relaxed pose.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“Waiting for you to finish showering. I figured there probably isn’t room in there for both of us, which I am assuming is why you didn’t invite me in the first place,” I say casually, letting my face spread into the wide, toothy grin I know he loves to hate.

“You’ll be lucky if there’s room for you in there at all,” he snarks. “Oh and I used all the hot water,” he says matter-of-factly before gesturing for me to go ahead.

I take the out and jump up, letting my body get a little unnecessarily close as I skirt by him before closing the door behind me.

My pulse is still beating double time as I use the toilet and step into the shower. He didn’t lie about me barely fitting in the tiny phonebooth-style shower. There still is some hot water, but it doesn’t last very long before the spray gets cooler. It’s enough that I’m able to wash all the important stuff, most notably scrubbing the dried cum from the hair on my lower stomach and groin. More importantly, it gives me some time alone to think.

The last week or so has been a mindfuck.

I don’t know what to do.

Part of me wants to reach out to Cory and let him know what’s going on, but what if that makes things worse? He and the rest of the security team already stood up for me when I was questioned about my whereabouts during the bomb threat. If it hadn’t been for them vouching for me, I feel positive the label would have fired me just as a precaution. I wouldn't have blamed them, which is why I know that adding another suspicious black mark to my file is likely to change their minds.