5. Seeking Solace

As much as I hated to admit it, I needed Amir. Damn it, why do I have to make everything sound gay? Whenever I asked myself this, my mind would supply images that not only made it worse it made my pants feel a little tighter.

This time though, I needed Amir to help me with a script... I could get so far, but I almost always without fail got stuck. When I reached a sticking point, Amir could always push me past it; he was a brilliant script writer, something surprising considering he hardly ever sat down or still for five minutes at once.

He was at his desk earlier chattering about something nonsensical, I could hardly decipher and hardly cared to, then I had gotten up to go to the bathroom; when I returned, he was gone. Story of my god damn life.

I had asked around where he may have disappeared to, but I was either met with a shrug or a blank stare. Nobody had seen, nobody had cared. This fact scared me, Amir was like a small child most of the time, he could easily have gotten lost or kidnapped on a daily basis and no one would have noticed. Except for myself.

I decided since I could be given no answers, I would look in the obvious places: kitchen, bathroom, Ricky's office, kitchen again, outside the office, lobby... He wasn't in any of these places, nor were there any obvious signs that he had been there. On my way back to my desk, I spotted Pat. He looked nervous, and paced in front of the closet.

I approached him, "Hey, Cassels." I called to him; he turned, saw me and turned a shade paler.

He grinned a bit wider than normal, he cleared his throat anxiously, "Hey Jake." he answered.

I tried to mask the distrust I felt at Pat's obvious strange behavior, "You seen Amir?" I asked, eyeing him catiously.

Pat laughed nervously, "No, I haven't seen him at all. Ha, why would I know where Amir is?" he laughed loudly, grinned, frowned, frowned deeper, then grinned again.

Definitely suspicious...

I raised an eyebrow, wiped my hands on my jeans then placed them firmly at my hips, "Pat, where the hell is Amir?" I asked more aggressively this time.

Pat looked increasingly guilty as each second ticked by, he sighed then finally spoke, "He's in the closet." he admitted softly, frowning deeply.

I felt as if I had been kicked in the chest, I was so overcome with rage I could not breathe. When I was able to regain my voice I nearly growled when I spoke, "What the fuck?" I demanded, "You know Amir is terrified of the dark, why the hell wouuld you do that?" I asked, voice deep and dangerous.

He looked scared, even paler, "It was Jeff and Streeter's idea..." he offered lamely as an excuse. This time when I punched him, he went down; and I felt no remorse.

I stepped around him and opened the closet door, light flooded in and landed on Amir's curled up form in the corner. I could see his face was pink and wet from the tears, his Buddy Holly glasses fogged and speckled from his tears. His chest seemed to rise and cave deeply as breathed, nearly hyperventilating.

I went to him.

He gripped onto me, burying his face in my chest. I allowed it. He needed this, I told myself as I felt his tears soak through my shirt. Part of me needed this too.