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The bouncer smiled knowingly, probably suspecting where I’d been all weekend or even seeing me head out with Henry the last time I was here. I didn’t think he was a gossip, though; he didn’t seem the type. But if he knew, that meant most of Henry’s staff had seen us leave together and made their assumptions. Correct assumptions, but still.
“Yeah, sure, man. I’ll go grab it for you. You have the ticket?”
I produced it from the back pocket of my skintight black jeans, and soon, my jacket was on and I was on my way to the nearest bus stop.
It took me longer than I’d hoped to get home, and I was still sopping wet under my leather jacket. The rain had picked up along the way, adding to my melancholy and general lack of warmth, inside and out.
I slumped to my couch, still in my wet clothes, and dropped my head into my hands. Tears I’d pushed down the whole way here burned at the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill now that I was alone.
I knew I wasn’t worthy of a relationship, worthy of love. I wasn’t worth being someone’s top priority. I was only worth being ogled—or jerked off to, if we were being crude—and discarded once someone was done with me.
Clearly a long weekend with me had been enough for Henry. Despite what he’d told me, what I could’ve sworn he felt every time he looked at me, he’d dumped me for someone else. Or he would have if I’d given him the chance.
I didn’t realize I was crying until a salty drop splatted to the hardwood between my feet. As soon as I saw it, blurry as it was, I couldn’t stop the sobs from tearing through my chest. Curling into a ball on the couch, I cried until I didn’t have any more tears, pain and fear and anguish and loneliness wracking my body, rending my heart.
If this was how opening my heart to someone ended, the loneliness before seemed a much better alternative.
***
I managed to get out of my soaked clothes and warm up in a bath before listlessly munching on whatever scraps of food I could find in my pantry.
As I ate my sad boy dinner, my phone chimed again. Henry had been texting and calling since I’d left, and I’d ignored his messages after reading the first one begging me to text him back. He didn’t want me—why was he trying so goddamn hard?
I muted my phone and turned it upside down on the couch beside me.
I’d planned a live stream for early tomorrow morning, hoping to catch my international followers at a reasonable time, so I cleaned up my dinner, such that it was, and headed to bed early, hoping a good night’s rest would buoy my spirits and take care of the bags under my eyes and my general sallow expression. One look in the mirror before I climbed into bed said I’d need it.
But I slept restlessly, waking up every few hours after sleeping next to a cozy warm body for three nights. That and knowing I’d never have that again kept me from getting any real rest.
I sighed as I stared into my bathroom mirror at four forty-five the next morning after brushing my teeth and taming my head of hair. Today was gonna be a concealer kind of day.
The live stream went . . . well, it was okay, but my tips were lower than usual. Early morning streams didn’t do as well in general—I didn’t have nearly as many international fans as I did in the US—but I usually brought in a decent amount of tips.
Even given all that, they were still on the lighter side today. I didn’t really need the money, but it sucked, nonetheless.
The stream itself was pretty tame, just me using my open-ended cock sleeve to get off—gotta get that cum shot, especially for solo work—so cleanup didn’t take long. I didn’t even have to change my sheets, which was good, because after last night, I needed a nap. I crashed into bed, my phone still sitting ignored on the couch. I hadn’t checked it since last night.
I woke up to a knock on my door. The shadows were long in my bedroom, indicating the sun was on its way down. It was December, though, so that meant it was probably only like three in the afternoon. But still—I’d slept awhile. I supposed waiting until utter exhaustion demanded sleep would do that.
The knock sounded again, and I tugged a zippered hoodie over my T-shirt and sweats and stumbled out of my bedroom, fighting the zipper. Another knock sounded as I crossed my living room, so I shouted “I’m coming!” in my most annoyed voice possible. I didn’t think Henry had my address, but who else could it be? Who else knew I was wallowing? Who else had been trying to contact me? I’d let Cameron know I got home okay yesterday, though I didn’t explain where I’d been. Come to think of it, he’d probably had follow-up questions that I’d ignored.
I yanked open the door, swinging it wide, a tongue lashing ready for whomever had dared interrupt my midday sleep.
But when I opened the door, the words died on my lips.
Chapter twenty-four
Henry
Igrowled to the empty kitchen after I hung up with Carl, tossing the phone onto the white quartz countertop then glancing up at the ceiling. I couldn’t hear the shower from here, given that it was three stories above me, but I suspected Tris would be done soon. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain this.
Fuck.
Carl had asked me to bring my truck to help him transport the furniture he’d just bought for his new apartment—and I’d given in because I’d felt I couldn’t say no.
Why did I always let him guilt me into helping him? He could just pay for delivery. If he could afford the furniture, he could fucking afford the delivery fee.
I trudged up the back stairs to my bedroom, taking my time so I could figure out what to say to Tristan. I’d promised to stay the whole weekend with him, but surely he’d understand that a friend needed my help? I’d do the same if it was Cameron or Sam or Nate or Anson or Ethan or Ben or Timothy or Carter or Jack or whomever. I’d do the same for anyone who needed me.
