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I stop, hiss out a breath and look down at my swollen cock. My fingers tighten around it. “Erin…”
God, I wish things had gone differently. I can almost see her shining eyes, her smile. I can almost smell her sweetness next to me.
This is sick. I should stop. But I can’t. Besides, I’m not hurting her this way; I’m only hurting myself.
Bracing one-handed against the wall, I begin thrusting into my fist, faster and faster, my hips snapping. My head is bent forward, and the warm water hits my back and sends wet strands of hair into my face. My gaze snags on the tattoo decorating my chest and the word etched there.
This is a brief distraction. I can’t hide from myself for long. I can’t forget. I have to… Have to forget. I groan as my cock jerks in my hand, and my balls draw up tight.
Oh God. I shut my eyes and give in to the bursts of pleasure blasting through my body. For some endless moments, my mind blanks out completely, and it’s pure bliss. No thoughts. No memories. No past.
I come to, still braced against the cracked tiles, and turn into the spray to wash my body clean.
If only wiping the slate of my past were so easy.
***
Many things are changing. I realize this as I step out of the shower, and my body still vibrates with tension. Jacking off usually calms me down, but this time I find my hands still shaking.
So I do the other thing that gets me through the day: punish my body. I do crunches and push-ups and sit-ups until my muscles scream and sweat drips off my body. I keep at it until black dots crowd my vision, then hop back into the shower and wash the sweat off.
After that, I finally get out. I have to buy stuff—food, shampoo, fucking toilet paper—and I still have no clue about a job to keep me afloat.
Throwing on my jeans and a T-shirt, I grab my jacket and head out. Of course it’s not as simple as that. I close the windows, check the hot plate at the corner of the studio, step out and lock the apartment door—then unlock it and get inside again, rechecking the hot plate and the window latches. I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs. Have I forgotten something else?
Dammit, get your shit together.
I need… I grab the pendant at my neck, rub my thumb over it. Erin, Erin, Erin. The sound of her name in my mind calms me down. I let the pendant drop back inside my T-shirt, cool against my chest, and zip my leather jacket up.
What a fucking shitload of a day.
I skip down the stairs and step out into the icy wind. I think I’ve seen a mom-and-pop shop not far from my building, so I shove my hands into my pockets and head that way. A commission for a web design is waiting on my laptop, and I need to get cracking on it before the customer loses her patience, but my mind is too scattered for that right now.
Images of the marked teddy bear, the torn certificate and Ash’s shocked face fill my head—and then older images, from that damn basement, Dad’s twisted face, the pain and the blood…
Fuck. So much for getting my shit together.
I quicken my pace, almost jogging down the sidewalk, as if running away will erase the visuals, wipe the inside of my head clean. The pendant thumps against my breastbone, a counter beat to my heart. The wind whistles in my ears. I’m running full-out, my boots slapping the cracked concrete.
Then I hear my name. Someone is shouting behind me, telling me to stop.
Slowing down to a walk, I stumble sideways and lean against the façade of a building, trying to catch my breath.
“Man, are you okay?” The voice is bass, the guy tall and moving with the grace of a fighter or dancer, his shoulder-length blond hair catching the morning light. “You’re Tyler, right?”
“Yeah. And who’re you?”
“I’m Rafe. Friend of Zane’s and Asher’s.” He leans over, braces his hands on his knees and groans. “Man, you’re like your brother, running like you got hell’s dogs snapping at your ass.”
I let this sink in. “You go running with Asher?”
He nods. “These past two weeks. I’m telling you, man, he runs like the wind. He’s unbeatable.”
A rush of pride goes through me. My little bro is unbeatable. I like the sound of that.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Rafe says, extending his hand. I grab it, and we shake. “Zen-man and I saw you running past Damage Control. Zane’s doing an ink job and couldn’t come after you, so...”
I shake my head, then run my fingers through my sweaty hair. “There was no need. I was just letting out some steam.”
