Once you leave, you have to admit that everything's over between you and Brendan.
He is my problem, because my husband's still infatuated with him. He's still in love.
Doug's words ring in your ears, loud and angry and vicious. You can still see that expression on his face, the hurt and the disappointment there.
The knowledge that you and you alone had caused it.
What a fucking mess you've made of everything.
You had to get out of the deli, away from the stifling words and the accusations. His name had hovered around the room, unwanted but impossible to escape from.
Brendan.
Even when you tried to forget about him, Doug would bring him up time and time again, a reminder of your past. A past that hadn't included Doug, but had instead been full of afternoon fucks at Chez Chez, of nights spent having to consciously lock your hands in place to stop from pawing at Brendan in public. Days apart spent missing him, of nursing bruises, wondering how on earth you'd fallen in love with a man who you didn't know whether to kiss or kill.
It is like an ugly stain, a constant blight on your marriage.
You feel like a drink. Now. The stronger the better. But you don't want to sit alone at The Dog, buried in some darkened corner while everyone around you is with friends, family. Part of a couple.
What you really want to do is speak to Amy. To rest your head against her shoulder, curl up on the sofa with a blanket, and wait for that feeling to take over. The feeling that she's going to make everything better.
But you know that's impossible. She's gone, and the home you used to share together belongs to you and Doug now.
And what would she say, if you told her what you'd argued about? You can imagine her horrified reaction, her brandishing you an idiot for even thinking about going back to Brendan.
Not that you're...you're not considering that. You know how crazy that would be, to even entertain the idea.
You and Brendan will never walk down the street hand in hand. You'll never be like you are with Doug, able to build a life together. Brendan will never move in with you.
But imagining he might still does something funny to your body. Almost like it is coming out of a long period of hibernation, and everything starts working again. Everything comes alive.
You hate that he can do that to you. That the mere thought of him can make you want to forget what he did to you.
You want to scream at the thoughts in your head right now. You wish you had been able to look Doug in the eye back there, and tell him that he's being ridiculous, that of course he's wrong. That you'd stopped loving Brendan a long time ago. That you'll move to America.
Because it's not leaving the business, and it's not taking the kids away from school. It's not leaving your friends, because you can count on your hand how many of those you have.
It's something much bigger than that, and it's been brewing in you for a while now, dark festering thoughts which were planted in your head even on your wedding day.
When the guests had been asked if anyone had any reason why you shouldn't get married, you had looked around for a moment like the mere idea was ridiculous, a smile on your face.
You'd had no idea where the image had come from, the one that showed Brendan bursting into the venue unannounced, a panicked expression on his face, saying something ridiculous like he wanted you. Ridiculous because after all this time, he couldn't really want you, could he? Just you. Like he'd been waiting for you all this last year.
But he hadn't come, and you'd thought that was it. You and Doug, forever now. Then you'd woken up in a hospital bed, your memory barely still intact about that day, only sure of one thing. You wanted to see him. His presence had an effect on you that you knew it had no right to have. He calmed you. Even though he used to do things which would terrify you, he was suddenly that person who you drew comfort from.
Every day that you were in hospital you would stare at the door, and every shadow was Brendan. Every person who wasn't him was an eternal disappointment, a strike to your chest.
At night when you couldn't sleep, you pictured him walking into the room, still with that usual swagger of his, if not a little dented from him seeing you covered in marks of the crash. He would sit down beside you and manage to smile despite everything, and you'd gather courage from that. He'd make some joke about both of you ending up in hospital far too much lately, and you'd laugh, although it wouldn't really be funny.
You realised with startling clarity that you'd got used to his company. When he'd come out of hospital you'd started to get comfortable with having him around. Going to visit him in the flat, equipped with jam sandwiches, his favourite. Letting him stay at your place, and wondering if he was lying awake at night like you were.
You would have said that it felt like the old days at the club, but it wasn't like that at all. It was different now. He treated you like an equal, and when you were talking he looked at you like he was trying to soak it all in, hear every word that you had to say.
Then he just disappeared. You wondered if it had been too much for him, seeing you at the hospital with tubes everywhere. Maybe he realised that he didn't want you like that, depending on him, vulnerable. And Doug had been there, hadn't he? He'd been the one at your side when you woke up, the one who'd taken care of the kids, who had called Amy to tell her what had happened. That's what real love was, wasn't it? Loving someone even when they're at their worst.
You know that Brendan is prepared to leave you. That he's selling the flat, that he wants to move on, whatever that means. Move on to what? Another place? Other men who aren't you? You can barely swallow the thought.
For almost a year you would have been relieved if he'd left. You practically wanted to show him the door yourself. Everything you did - getting your own business, doing online dating, being with Doug - it was all to get away from him. To carve your own life which could be untouched by his manipulation. You hadn't expected this to happen. For you to start falling again.
You want to kick something, to smash it into pieces. Throw a glass against the wall, tear your own hair out, anything to get rid of this feeling.
You feel angry at him for keeping away. For not trying to get you on your own to ask you how you really are. For not sitting by your side at the hospital, bringing you grapes, eating them all himself, and putting his legs up on the bed, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You bet he's holed up in that club, not work keeping him away, but his own selfish pride. You could leave him to stew there forever, play him at his own game. Decide that if he isn't going to come and find you, then you sure as hell aren't going to go looking for him, crawling back like you always do. You'll let him leave town forever if that's what he wants to do.
You realise you're clenching your fists so tightly that your knuckles have whitened, looking like they're straining to get out.
You look at your phone, debating whether to leave a message on his machine.
Hi, it's Ste. I just called to say that you've ruined my life, so I hope you're happy. You make me feel all these things, make me want you around again, every day, all day, and then you tell me you're leaving. Well I just want you know that I won't be crying after you, or missing you, or fighting to keep you here. I'm moving to America with Doug, and he's everything I've ever wanted, everything you could never be. Or wouldn't be.
Your fingers hover over Brendan's name. It would be so easy to make that call, to be able to say it all to a machine that couldn't talk back. One reply from that deep Irish voice and you know that would be it. You'd be back at the start again, needing to hang onto him with your words, taking that leap of faith that you couldn't afford to take.
Brendan would always be a risk.
Your phone rings, and you nearly jump out of your skin. It couldn't be...could it?
The screen flashes with Doug's name, and you don't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. It's been less than ten minutes since you left the deli, and already he's on your tail, when all you want is peace. A chance to breathe, to get away from it all. His questions. The way he looks at you like he resents what he knows you want.
How can he seem to know what you want better than you do?
You debate going back to see him. To apologise, although you're not entirely sure what for. Apologising would be like admitting you'd done something wrong, and you can't do that. That would open up a whole other Pandora's box.
Your eyes are drawn to that damn club that you'd barely been able to take your eyes off before. You walk closer to it, and your hand seems to move of its own accord before you've even made a decision. You grip the railing and begin to walk up the steps, coming in through the balcony entrance.
Before you push the door open you look out at the village, and wonder if this is what Brendan does while you're working. If he glances down at Carter and Hay. Sometimes you thinks you can almost sense him doing it, feel the power of his gaze, the intensity of it.
You don't expect the door to be open, but it swings back for you, like the man inside knew you were coming.
He's sitting at the bar, hunched over a drink. It's not like him to be drinking this early, and you look around for Cheryl, for someone who can take him out of this mood that you can immediately tell he's in. It looks like you're alone in here with him though, and the thought sparks a frisson of fear inside you. It feels like a long time since you've been in a room with him like this, away from the prying outside world. It's so quiet that it's almost eery, and you wait for him to break it, but he stares down at his glass like it contains all the answers in the world.
"Hiya." The word sounds feeble on your lips, and you wish you could say something with more meaning, that carried more weight.
You think about the message you were going to leave him, and how that's predictably vanished into nothing now. You can't summon up the ability to get angry with him. Not when he appears before you looking so broken.
"What are you doing here?" He doesn't even look up from his drink.
Not exactly the reception you'd hoped for.
"Shouldn't you be at the deli? Haven't you got the Carters to entertain?"
So he does watch you. The idea should unnerve you, Brendan spying on you from afar where you can't see him, but you feel a thrill that he still cares.
"They've gone home."
Brendan grunts, and you can barely meet his eyes. He's doing everything to avoid yours.
You take the chance of moving closer to him, and draw out the stool beside him. You see him raise his shoulders, and see the tension there. You fight the voice in your head that says that he doesn't want to be around you. His discomfort comes off him in waves.
You find that you don't know what to do with your body. You switch between crossing your arms and laying them out on the bar in front of you.
You want Brendan to admonish you.
"Jesus Steven, will you stop fidgeting?"
It used to be annoying, his teasing, but now it would be welcome to your ears.
You can't help but notice that he looks gorgeous. Of course he does, he's Brendan Brady, but there's something different about today. Or maybe you see him differently now. You notice how his suit clings to his muscles, how his moustache looks thick and almost fluffy. You're consumed with the desire to reach out a hand and stroke it, to feel the bristles swipe across your finger. He looks tired, circles gathering under his eyes, but even they suit him. You like him a little rough, you realise. You'll take him in any form you can get.
You wish you'd had time to look in the mirror before you'd come here. Suddenly you feel out of place, aware of the creases in your deli uniform, the messiness of your hair. It's not something you usually give a second thought to. You don't usually have cause to impress anyone.
"How have you been?"
Brendan runs his hand over the glass, and you wonder if he won't answer you for a second.
"You know me, Steven. I always get on with things."
You want to tell him that he looks close to falling apart, but you don't.
"How was seeing the parents in law?"
He has the look of someone who is forcing himself to ask these questions.
Like a form of self harm.
"It wasn't that great actually," you admit. "Doug's dad...he's ill."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
He sounds genuine. None of the snide comments that you were expecting.
"Do you think he'll be okay?"
"We're not sure. Hopefully."
You realise you've just managed to have a conversation about Doug without it ending in bitterness. There has to be a catch somewhere, but Brendan seems determined to not let anything show.
"What about you...how have things been? Have you thought about where you're going to go?"
You've just broached the topic that you most wanted to avoid, and you want to kick yourself.
Brendan shrugs non committedly. "I've looked at a few places. Thought about going back to Ireland."
"Dublin?"
"Yeah. Be closer to Declan and Paddy, you know."
It makes perfect sense. And yet none of this makes any sense at all.
"Well that's...nice."
He looks at you properly for the first time then, and you wonder if he's seen right through your not so flawlessly constructed mask.
His eyes are so blue, and so sad that you want to comfort him.
"Cheryl will miss you," you blurt out, and it sounds so desperate that you immediately wish you could take it back.
You are grateful that Brendan doesn't laugh at you.
"She's a big girl. She'll be okay."
"But she loves you."
"She can come and visit. She'll love seeing the kids. Things aren't like before with Lynsey. We had her funeral. Chez is stronger now. She can be without me."
You struggle frantically for some other line of argument.
"What about the club. Joel. He'll need you when he comes out of prison."
Brendan snorts. "Joel doesn't need me, Steven. Trust me, the kid's safer without me. Everyone is."
You are tired of hearing this. You want to firmly shake the martyr out of him, to tell him that sometimes being safe doesn't mean being happy.
But the big words don't come easy.
"You have a whole life here, Brendan. You can't just give it up."
"Why not? What do I have to stick around here for?"
The answer fights painfully to escape from your heart. You try to tell him with your eyes what you can't say out loud.
But the opposite of what you want to say comes out.
"I'm leaving too."
Brendan's hands still on his glass.
"What?"
"I'm going to America with Doug."
Brendan swallows, and you notice how white he's grown. He's practically transparent.
"For a holiday?"
You know that's not what he believes.
"No. To live there."
He looks down at the table.
"Doug's parents...they've offered us some money. A lot of money. We could start our own business there."
"You have a business here."
"I know, but it's a great opportunity. They say they have great schools over there too, for the kids. Doug could be closer to his dad, to help him."
Brendan nods mechanically.
"Sounds perfect."
Yeah. Perfect.
"Looks like we're both moving on then." Your voice rises unnaturally.
"Right."
"Soon we'll be gone from this place forever. All the memories."
You sound like Doug right now, but your words aren't designed to hurt. You are merely voicing out loud your biggest fear. That all this will cease to exist soon, and you and Brendan will be on other sides of the world. You can imagine his face fading from your mind in time, the contours of it, the look of it when he smiles. His voice will vanish from your imagination even quicker, so that his accent loses its distinctiveness to you. He will just become someone locked in your past.
"Brendan."
He doesn't answer you, and part of you hopes to God that he's not listening, because you're about to wreck everything.
"Ask me to stay."
He's heard you only too clearly. Those blue eyes pierce yours, and there's fear behind them too. Fear, and something like hope.
"What?"
You take a deep breath, and prepare for everything to change.
"I want you to ask me to stay."
You aren't sure you've heard him clearly.
You know that every part of Steven feels and sounds like a dream. Even in that deli uniform of his he still looks a vision, all soft, fluffy golden hair and skinny legs. Those blue eyes framed under the longest lashes. You can barely take your eyes off him, and it still feels like a miracle that he would voluntarily come to you after everything you've done to him.
Now he wants you to ask him to stay, and it is like a promise. A promise that he could want you.
You want to hold onto it for dear life, but it's not like you to not question a good thing that's come into your life.
"You're married."
It's still strange to think it, that Steven is legally bound to someone, that the ring on his finger ties him to Douglas. That he made those vows to honour and obey him, although the words obey and Steven don't go together, should not go together. It is the opposite of the person he is, how free and gutsy and downright rebellious he can be.
You imagine an invisible cord that you wish you could cut that would separate Steven and Douglas. You'd cut your own cord to Steven in an instant if you could, to severe that tie that keeps you from being unable to stop loving him. Then you'd stitch it back together piece by piece when you realise that you can't live without the boy.
"I know."
You feel a surge of satisfaction when you note the sadness in Steven's voice. You wish you could be upset for him, that you could comfort him over his failed relationship, to tell him that he should go back to Douglas and try to fix things, but that ugly, demonic part of you wants to laugh in triumph that you have him here beside you, that you will always have him in a way that Douglas never could.
You don't doubt that Douglas loves him. That's the thing about the boy, he's too fucking delicious for his own good. You fail to see how anyone could not want him. If Steven was yours, you'd be looking over your shoulder half the time, trying to ward off any competition. Just to be in his presence is like being part of something, something intimate. For him to smile at you makes you feel like you're king of the world.
"Then how can you ask me to do that?"
The boy keeps fidgeting, unable to sit still for longer than a second.
"Because...I don't know," he sighs. "Because I want you to."
"That's not enough."
Since when did Steven Hay telling you he wants you to be in his life not become enough? Since when did you you become in a position to deny him anything?
But you have been here before, haven't you? Feeling so close to something, then being stripped of it at the last hurdle. Thinking that you might get this boy back, then watching him with Douglas, their arms around each other, their lips moving together in a way that makes you ache.
It is getting harder and harder to lose him.
Steven stares at you, and he is so painfully beautiful that it almost knocks the wind out of you. You want to sweep your hands through his hair, to take him into the office and claim him in a way that you haven't done for over a year.
You miss him so much that it is difficult to look at him. Being without him these past few weeks has been like a slow form of torture. You have relied on updates from Cheryl to get you through each day. You've asked about him so much that she has snapped after a while, demanding for you to call him if you're so interested.
But you have made a deal. If God would let him live, then you'd leave him alone. You have always known that he'd be better off without you, that he would have been free from so much danger if your paths had never crossed. He never would have been under threat from Danny, or had a gun aimed at his head by Walker. His body would have been untouched by you, both in pleasure and in pain.
You will never forgive yourself for the damage you have caused him, but you are trying to make it right, to stay away from him for good.
But you can't lie to yourself and say that the sight of him doesn't make you feel something right in your core, where no one else has ever touched, has never even managed to scratch the surface of.
"Brendan."
"I think you should go to America."
"But I -"
"Please, just go. You'll have a better life over there, okay? You said it yourself. You can start a new business, the kids will love it."
"What about me?"
He looks so vulnerable sitting beside you, younger than his twenty two years even. Sometimes you forget the age gap between you, because his maturity can seem greater than your own. There's the part of Steven that is hyperactive and childlike, but there is a part of him that is able to take care of you better than you can take care of yourself. You saw that after you came out of hospital, his ability to be there for you.
"You'll survive, Steven. You always do."
He looks angry then, passionately so. You knew it was only a matter of time till you pissed him off. Maybe it's for the best. It could be easier if he hates you.
"I don't want to just survive, Bren!"
Bren. It rolls off his tongue, and you're reminded of how he used to call you that, when you were alone together sometimes. You hadn't realised how much you'd longed to hear him call you that again. You're only realising the meaning of so many things now.
"I want to do more than just...I don't know, get on with things every day. I want to be happy."
"Maybe happiness is overrated."
You're not entirely sure. You've had very little experience of that particularly emotion, and every time you've felt it, you've been with this boy.
"That's what I said about love, isn't it? On the day of my wedding. And do you remember what you told me?"
Of course you do.
"No. Not really."
"Love is a leap of faith. If you find something that you want, no matter how scared you are, you've got to figure that it's going to work out. That you're not going to end up in flames."
He's recited it word for word. You can barely believe it.
"I should of listened to you that day."
"You did," you affirm. "You married Douglas, didn't you?"
"That's not what I mean. I should of listened to you. You were going to tell me something."
"Yeah, and I told you. I wanted to say congratulations."
Steven scoffs. "Really? You were so desperate to talk to me just so you could tell me congratulations, for getting married to a guy who you can't stand?"
"I don't hate Douglas."
"No?"
No. I just hate anyone who gets to be with you when I can't.
"He's your husband."
"That's not a proper answer. Do you want to know how often I think about what you were really going to say to me? Every day, Brendan. Every day in that hospital, and every day since I came out."
"Please, don't." Your voice sounds weak.
It's strange hearing everything you'd ever wanted to hear, and to suddenly want to run away from the reality of it.
"Are you saying you want me to leave? That you want to leave me?"
"That's the whole point of me going, Steven. To try and get away from this."
"Away from me?" His eyes fall so heavily that you feel the sudden need to scoop him up in your arms.
"No. Maybe..." you admit.
He looks even more wounded. He has to know that you don't mean it like that, surely? That there's no one else you'd want to spend your life with, but you have to let him go, before it kills you both.
"Steven, you know we can't keep on doing this. Being this way around each other. What would Douglas say if he knew you were here now, saying these things to me?"
"Oh, so suddenly you care about what Doug thinks? You know what Brendan, now is a really awful time to have morals."
You almost laugh at that. Is he actually telling you to disregard his marriage, to revert to type and be that person again, the man who makes the wrong decisions, who fucks everything and everyone up?
"I think you should go, before you do something you regret."
He shakes his head, fighting against it like he always does, because Steven's a fighter till the very end.
"What if this isn't something that I'm going to regret? Maybe that's the problem. It's everything else that I regret. Marrying Doug..."
"Don't say that. If you say that, you can't take it back," you warn.
He nibbles on his bottom lip, and you can't help but stare at it, at how full his mouth is, the way it always looked after you kissed him, bee stung, red and plump. You think he sees you looking then, and he stops biting.
"I don't know what to do."
It's as you thought. The boy is confused. He isn't ready, will never be ready for what you two could have together. It's better this way. He will be safer with Douglas, where you can't get to him anymore.
"Go home. Go back to where you should be."
You turn your back on him, hoping that when you turn around again he'll be gone, that you can get back to your drink and silence.
But God, you will feel his absence like you always do.
"Do you ever..." his voice comes to you quietly, like he has debated over what to say, like he isn't sure if he should be saying it at all.
"Do you ever think about the way things could have been?"
Every day. All day.
"What's the point? It'll never be that way."
"It could be."
You feel a pair of hands on you then, turning you around to face the boy in front of you, his eyes misty with tears. You remember the way he used to look when he would cry, the moisture clinging to his lashes, coating them so that he looked like a fallen angel.
You don't want him to cry anymore.
"I used to think about our future together," he continues.
There were days when you wouldn't think of anything else.
"You, me and the kids. A family."
The kind of family that you'd never really had.
"I wanted that for us, Brendan. Maybe I was an idiot for wanting it, but you can't stop yourself from feeling that way, can you? Sometimes I think I've been hiding out this entire time with Doug, because...because I'm terrified of telling you...I still love you."
The weight of those words drowns you.
"I know you still love me too."
You make an attempt at humour. "You're a cocky bastard, aren't you?"
You expect him to look affronted, but he barely blinks.
"Are you saying I'm wrong?"
You sigh, because what you're about to say really doesn't change a thing.
"Of course I love you, Steven."
He smiles, and looks confident for the first time since he walked through the door. You don't want to crush that, but why change the habit of a lifetime?
"Well then that's it, isn't it?"
So naive, after all this time.
"We can be together."
You can barely believe his innocence. "That's not it. What are you going to do, just erase Douglas from your life? Pretend that you don't have to see him everyday at work? Get a divorce at twenty two?"
"No, but...I want to be with you."
Like it's that simple.
"So if that's what it takes, then I'll tell Doug. I don't want to hurt him."
"That is exactly what you'd be doing."
You can't say you've always cared about the Yank's feelings in the past. There have been a handful of times when you'd have loved nothing better than to rub his face in you and Steven getting back together. But not now. You know what it's like to lose him, to see him with someone else. You're not sure you would want anyone else to suffer through that kind of pain.
"So what am I meant to do - just continue being this way? Try to forget that I feel something for you?"
"You won't have to worry about that when we're in opposite sides of the country."
The tears are back in his eyes then, and also a heavy dose of frustration, bursting from every pore.
"Brendan, will you just listen to me? I've just told you that I love you, that I want to be with you. Do you know how terrifying that is? I'm not just going to say that if I'm not sure. Not when it could cost me everything."
"You could always just walk out of here, pretend you never said anything."
He shakes his head angrily. You respect his defiance if nothing else.
"No, I don't want to do that!"
"Let me guess - you and Douglas have had another fight, and you didn't have anyone else to go to?" You wave your hand in the air like you're trying to sweep away the entire conversation. "It'll blow over, you two will be fine."
"You're not listening to anything I'm saying, are you?"
You're about to protest when he steps closer to you. Dangerously close. You want to take a step back, but you can smell the aftershave on him, and it draws you nearer. He's applied just the right amount so that you can still smell the muskiness and warmth of his own scent.
"I'm not here because I'm lonely, Brendan. Or because me and Doug have had another fight, although both of those are true. But I'm lonely because I don't have you, and we had another fight because of you. So listen to me when I tell you I love you, won't you? Don't put it down to me being weak or out of my mind. Just trust it for once in your life. Believe that you could have a good thing."
His mouth is so close to your own, and the temptation to touch it becomes too much. You try to resist the full temptation, and settle for stroking his lips with your fingers, tentatively at first, not sure if you are allowed. He quickly melts into the touch, and it's like no time at all has passed, like you've been doing this ever since that summer's day last year, when you told him you loved him and he looked at you like you had given him the world.
Everything since then has been painful and more messy than you would care to remember, but it still all comes down to this boy in front of you, and how perfect he is to you.
"Kiss me."
He has never had to ask for that before. You have always set the rules, taken what you wanted from him.
Passion laces his voice, and you are reminded of him spread out on your bed, legs wide open in preparation, glazed eyes and that smile which was mirrored on your own face.
You never wanted anyone more than Steven when he was like that, like a gift for you to unwrap.
Truthfully, you'd take him in any form.
Your ability to push him away, to keep the deal that you made with a God that you're not sure you always believe in, is coming under serious threat. It is crumbling to ash in your hands, and is instead filled with the silk of his skin, the satiny touch of him as you touch his face, feeling that old familiar feeling run through your bones. The feeling of being complete at last, if only momentarily before the sun comes up again.
He is the one who captures your lips, but you are not lying to yourself that you don't want it too. In your rush to taste each other your lips clash awkwardly, your noses bumping. It is still the best kiss you've had since you last felt his lips against you in this very club, before you read his letter, before you found out that you were not his choice at all, but a scam.
You are certain now of his feelings towards you, that he wants you with a fierce intensity. His mouth immediately opens up like it always used to, and his tongue searches for yours. It is not the kind of kiss that is suited to a picnic and a stroll in the park. It is hungry and probing, a preamble to sex.
You know Steven is thinking it too, because his hands untuck your shirt from your trousers, and snake under the material, warming the skin there. All your senses feel like they're on fire. You haven't felt this level of arousal in a long time.
When you and Steven both break away for air it is to share a lingering smile, but it feels like too long apart, too long not spent taking advantage of his body. You want to spread him out on the leather sofa and fuck him till he sees stars, till you hear him calling out your name, begging you to go faster, harder, to give him everything. Nothing is more of a turn on than Steven in the throes of passion.
His hands move round to the belt of your trousers, and you curse yourself that you wore such an unnecessary thing, something which keeps him from getting to you.
You gently remove his hands and take it off yourself, and it falls to the floor with a loud clanging noise.
"Take me to bed Brendan, please," he breathes against your lips, and you back his frame towards the sofa, knowing that it's not a bed, but hoping that it'll do.
You land on him so that you're straddling his thighs, and he grins up at you from below, that suggestive smile that makes your balls tingle.
You could hitch up on the sofa, remove your boxers and make him suck you off like this, thrusting into him from above. But it's not enough contact for you. You want to be able to be level with his eyes, to see every expression that he makes. You need to see that he's enjoying this too.
A blowjob isn't going to do it. That's for other times, long, lazy afternoons spent shut away from the daylight, curtains drawn in his flat, you flat on your back, Steven's head bobbing up and down, swallowing you to the root.
Fuck. You are already imagining a future with him after a couple of kisses and minimal groping. He makes you get like this, thinking that anything's possible.
You are going back on everything that you'd agreed to, everything that you'd put in place to protect him. He has complete trust and devotion in his eyes, to the extent that he has never had before, and it scares you to death.
He loves you.
Despite everything you have done, he is still here with you, fighting for you, willing to give up his husband for you, to rock the boat of his comfortable life.
You are not worth it, and you don't deserve it.
You want to hit it out of him, to get rid of that love that he has inside him, to destroy the very foundation of it.
The desire becomes so strong that it is not just a fantasy in your head anymore. You are hitting him, and you can almost taste the blood on your fingertips.
He staggers away from you on the sofa, and falls to the floor by the bar.
His lip is bleeding. You used to go for his ribs. Maybe it was for maximum impact, the area that would hurt the most. The area where no one could see the injuries unless he was stripped naked, and Steven was only yours to do that to.
The blood is a shock to you, worse somehow than bruises.
It doesn't come close to the shock that is written all over his face. That faith in you, gone just like that.
"Brendan..."
It sounds like a question.
Brendan, how could you do this to me?
How could you do this to me again?
You want to tell him that this is nothing, nothing compared to the way you would have hurt him if you'd fucked him on the sofa, if you'd given him the perfect vision that he wanted. What would happen six days or six weeks or six years from now if you'd lost your temper and hadn't been able to stop, or if Walker had come back and seen that Steven was an even bigger part of your life now?
You cannot take that risk, and you know he wouldn't let you go otherwise.
But it still hurts to look at him.
You think you hear him croak out something that sounds a lot like why, but he doesn't stress the point, and for that you're relieved. To explain why would be the biggest task of all. It is easier for him to hate you.
You hear him get to his feet and make his way out of the club. You are alone again.
You let out the breath that you didn't even know you were holding. Your legs feel like dead weights as you walk over to the bathroom, and turn on the taps of the sink. You avoid your own face in the mirror as you rinse the blood off your hands. There isn't much, but it turns the water red nonetheless.
You feel very, very cold, and your hands shake. You rest your hands against the mirror and a thin layer of sweat is left there when you remove them, leaving its mark on the glass.
Still you face down, unable to look at your reflection, your eyes.
You feel strongly like retching, and can't swallow it down. You rush to the toilet and manage to get the lid open before you spill your guts everywhere. The smell of vomit surrounds you, and soon you are bringing up nothing but your own saliva, trying to force it all out.
You never knew that tears could feel hot, but the ones that trail down your cheeks sting. It has been a while since you've cried properly like this, and the bathroom becomes blurry around you until you can barely see anything at all.
You wonder where Steven is now. If he has gone back to Douglas, if he is already calling the police on you. You had resolved to never go back to prison, but right now it seems almost like a relief, because at least you wouldn't have to see him anymore.
Steven had looked too frozen for tears, but you imagine them streaming from his face when he lies in bed that night, thinking that he was right about you all along, that you've let him down, wrecked everything.
Even when you try to forget him he is still in your mind, and your fingers move to your lips, still able to taste the sweetness of his mouth against yours.