A part of this chapter is very much drug-minded and hallucinogenic. I hope it makes sense, I really do.
And WARNING: I have had to change this to a definite 'M'. This is not a nice chapter. And it's all from a drugged-up POV
XOXOXOX
Everything is spiralling out of control. His mind is screaming, and his chest is in agony, and his body moves from hot to cold and hot to cold. When he stands, the world shakes, and when he sits it's like he's upside down and hanging from the ceiling and he has to stand again. There's adrenaline running through his body but it's battling the vast dank pull of deadness and numbness and nothingness.
He doesn't want to remember, but he's remembering – he can't help it. Because this is what Brendan has pushed him to.
"I was fucking Simon Walker."
He tries to ignore the pain that radiated off Brendan; the sight of him in pain is joining all the jumbled images of Ste's own pain, and Walker's pain, and Amy's pain, and Leah's pain. Months of pain, months of agony – and then nothing. And this is how he preferred it, with nothing. But then Brendan… Brendan…
Images come into his head fast and then disappear and fizzle out. And as much as he doesn't want to remember, he also can't help trying to bring those images back, simply because it's frustrating to lose them. Pulling them back is like an act of internal self-destruction. The drugs are playing devils advocate with his consciousness, and he thinks that if maybe he could keep a firm grip on just one of those memories, he might be able to deal with it and bury it again.
Walker's above him, bare-chested, and he's testing him. Testing his reliability. Not trusting him. And his lack of trust mixed with the sinful lust in his eyes is daunting. Scary and intimidating.
But Ste needs it. He needs it right now.
He has to do this.
Ste slumps against the table. There's a bit of paper there – an estate agent listing with some suave modern property on it, and Brendan's mobile number scrawled at the top. Ste rips a piece off of the paper, rolls it up. He hastily compiles a line of coke and it's sloppy and all over the place, but he doesn't care. He hoovers it up. Snorts desperately, feels it dampen the back of his throat.
He wants to forget. He can't do this again. He can't go through it again.
"I was fucking Simon Walker."
His heart hammers. Walker hooks two fingers inside Ste's mouth and uses the precarious clasp to pull him closer. Ste looks up at him, trying to guess his next move. Has he clocked him? If he has he'll kill him, like he almost killed himself.
Walker spits, and Ste can't help but flinch as he catches the flem in his mouth.
But after that, Walker's smiling. He pushes his two fingers deeper into Ste's throat, stopping JUST before he reaches that point of making Ste gag.
"You're pretty, you know that?" He whispers silkily. "I can see what Brendan likes about you."
The mention of his lover… or ex-lover… or ex-abuser… or current abuser… or whatever the fuck Brendan is… stirs determination in Ste.
He sucks Walker's fingers to the tip, releasing them from his mouth with a wet 'pop'.
"Don't talk about Brendan." He rasps, and starts unbuckling Walker's trousers; his fly conveniently positioned right in Ste's face.
Walker's smile widens.
The coke isn't doing anything.
Ste struggles as he gropes around the floor for the belt and the needle. His hands are shaking manically with the adrenaline, or something. But everything is still so crystal clear. Too much. The pulsating in his head is the same throughout all his veins, like even his heartbeat is tormenting him with its vividness.
He tightens the belt. Leans his head back against the sofa and shuts his eyes and breathes out and pushes the needle in and winces as it hits the right spot and pleasure overcomes him. That's better. That feels so much better. All the pain drains from him in a slow-burning wash of gratification.
"Fuck." He sighs out, as everything drifts peacefully out of focus. He shuts his eyes and lets the drugs do their work on him.
XOXOXOXOX
The door slams against the wall as Andy bursts into the flat. Ste jerks out of his stupor. It's dark outside now. He has no idea how long he's been slumped here like this, the belt still fastened around his arm. He tugs it off forcibly, but his fingers are lazy and it takes a great deal of effort.
"Hiya," He calls out lazily, as Andy bangs his way into the room.
He scrutinises Ste for just a second, before giving him a somewhat unimpressed, "Had a busy day, 'ave ya?"
"Mmm."
Ste's eyes rest upon Brendan's estate-agency listing. He takes it and shoves it in his pocket – only aware right now of it's existence contaminating his life here, with his boyfriend.
"Andy," His voice comes out slow and whiny, "Will you take me to bed?"
"You wanna fuck?"
"No, I wanna sleep."
Andy scoffs, "Take yourself to bed then, you fuckin' waster."
Ste can hear the tap running somewhere in the distance, but he can barely muster the energy to turn his head and see what Andy's doing. It takes all of his concentration to heave himself to his feet. So much concentration that he barely hears what Andy's saying when he starts talking about 'Gordon' and 'eleven o'clock' and 'big stash'.
"Uh-huh." Ste mumbles, because he knows Andy hates it when he doesn't listen, "Night then."
He catches a brief glimpse of Andy rolling his eyes. But it might just be his slightly blurred vision.
XOXOXOXXO
He wakes up with a start. Because Simon Walker is at the end of his bed. Ste's sure of it. He can't see him properly – he's like a bulging, dark, eerie shadow, but he's there – so very fucking there.
"I don't like people playing games with me 'Steven'."
"Andy!" Ste calls out desperately – but his voicebox is gone. Like it's been strangled out of him while he was sleeping. And he's panicking but he can hardly move, even though he wants to run. It's like he's plastered to this bed – frozen solid to it, because he feels cold – so fucking cold.
He can't see it, but he can feel it when Simon Walker unzips his trousers, and Ste's mouth is full of him and it's like he's choking on the taste he doesn't want. He feels it now; like his mouth is full and he can't breathe because of it.
Shit, he can't breathe.
"Andy!" He calls again, but again no sound comes out and this is fucking frustrating. And the lurid spirit of Simon Walker still hovers intensely at the end of his bed. His sordid past coming back to infect his present.
"But you're in love with Brendan Brady," He whispers softly, "And I fucking hate Brendan Brady. So how can I trust that this isn't your revenge, hm?"
Ste forms a knowing smile.
"Sucking your cock? Some revenge."
Walkers eyes flash dangerously. So Ste tries another tactic.
"Well if you hate Brendan Brady as much as you say you do… how can I trust that this isn't your revenge?"
Walker's smile widens. He looks sadistic. Mad. Fucking thrilled.
Ste can feel that smile all over him now. He can feel Simon Walker's breath on his face and on his neck, and it feels really hot there even though the rest of his body is cold. He can feel his breath all over his skin, covering it in goose-bumps. It's like his breath wraps him in a strangled claustrophobic hold that Ste can't escape. It burns him.
He feels like the bed is rocking. Like he's falling.
The mattress is really damp underneath him; soggy with his own sweat.
"Andy!" His voice is gone. It's really gone – it's not there, like he doesn't even exist. Like he might be dead.
He doesn't want to die.
His breathing feels so slow, even as he works himself up into a panic. His breathing can't match the rate of his hammering heartbeat, and it's like suffocation.
He's going to die, if he's not dead already.
He's going to die, and all he's going to hear is the panting of Simon Walker, which increases in his head to become louder and faster until it just blurs into a scream – just a scream, which he can't even relate to a man or a woman or a child, or the scream of the steam-kettle that cried out just before Terry threw it at him.
"ANDY!" He's tearing at his own throat with the effort to make a noise. And he starts to wonder whether it's his sweat that he's soaking in, or his blood. What if it's his blood? What if something's happened?
His skin torn apart by vultures like Terry and Simon Walker and Andrew Fischer and Brendan Brady. Ripped from him till there's nothing left inside.
He's never going to see Brendan Brady again, if he's dead.
It's a heat-sinking blow he's had to slowly come to terms with before. It's vastly reminiscent of his lowest rock-bottom state.
Now he's got to do it again. Like this. Through his bitter, bad-tasting hatred.
Because he's definitely dying. He can feel it in the tremor of his bones. That'll kill him, if he doesn't run out of breath first.
"Andy!"
"Shhhhh," Andy's voice whispers through the darkness, "Shhhh, it's okay baby, I'm here."
"Andy…I don't…" He swallows, tries to get the words out but his mouth feels full and groggy and sticky, and he can hardly talk, "I don't… feel well."
"No, you're okay. I've got ya."
"I don't feel well," He breathes again. Because he's desperate for Andy to understand. If he can get Andy to understand then maybe Andy can help him and he won't die. Andy needs to know he's going to die.
"You're fine, you're just really fucking high!" Andy says, and then laughs.
He shouldn't be laughing – he doesn't understand. Why won't he understand? Ste hears a strangled, pitiful noise escape from his own mouth. Like the wail of a wild animal trapped in a cage. Like the sad howl of a slaughtered owl.
"Woah, fuckin' hell!" Laughs another voice, "No wonder you're so low on stash, mate!"
Who's that? Ste feels his heart in his throat as he contemplates for a split second that it's really Simon Walker… that he's really here.
But no… no… that can't possibly be true.
"Baby," Andy whispers in his ear, and his breath feels hot like Walker's. He flinches away from it, cos it's uncomfortable. It burns.
"Baby," Andy breathes, "Gordon's here to see you – remember?"
"W… what?"
"He's bought his stash." Andy's voice is faint, but Ste can still detect the softness in it that he only uses when trying to coax Ste into something. "D'you want a bit, to loosen up?"
"No, Andy I don't feel well." He whimpers
"You're just tripping, baby. It's okay."
He's not tripping. He knows he's not – he's dying. Really, truly.
His body comes alive with goose-bumps as Andy pulls the duvet cover off him. He feels naked and vulnerable and he's not ready yet. He can't face it. Not while his body is still reeling from images of Simon Walker; shivering to the bone from manic recollections.
"Not tonight," He mumbles, but it's barely audible. His voice just comes out slurred and quiet, despite all his efforts to make an impact. "Not tonight. I don't feel well. I'll… just give me some time… to get better."
He's soaking. Now even his own sweat makes him feel suffocated.
"You're fine, Ste." Andy sighs, exasperated. Irritated. "C'mon baby, don't do this tonight."
He kisses Ste on the forehead in something that's supposed to represent support and compassion, but doesn't.
Ste feels his heart-rate quicken to frightening rate as Andy pulls his jogging bottoms off him. He can't do this; not tonight. It's not a case of being stubborn or tired or principled. This isn't like usual nights where he might cause a fuss, before reluctantly doing as he's told.
He can't tonight. Can't… can't… not like this. Never like this.
He can't die with his mouth full… with a stranger inside him.
"Andy, stop." He whines
"Listen," Andy hisses low in his ear, quiet enough to stop Gordon from overhearing, "You've eaten up about half my fuckin' stash today; the least you can do is help me get some back."
"I'm sorry, I can't."
Andy backs away. Ste hears him speak apologetically to Gordon; "He's tripping balls."
Gordon laughs… a harsh snort of amusement. "S'alright mate, I'm used to it. You should see the state of the Mrs."
And then Ste can feel the bed shift as Gordon puts his weight on it, and he knows this is his last chance to let them know he's serious – that something is horribly wrong with him. That he needs help, and he's scared and could they just please…
"Stop." He whimpers.
But it's too late. Gordon is already kneeling on top of him, knees either side of Ste's torso, so Ste can't even see anything else anymore apart from the mans crotch.
He's been with Gordon before, two times. He's less of a mate of Andy's, and more of a dealer, but the two still share general banter and occasionally Ste's mouth. He's not as bad as some other of Andy's mates, because he's more laid back and less turned-on by humiliation. He just fancies Ste, according to Andy, and that's all there is too it.
Not tonight though. Please not tonight. He's so scared.
"C'mon, open up." Gordon says softly.
His hard cock nudges persistently against Ste's mouth.
"I don't feel well," He tries one more time. But the men can't even be listening to him, because the moment he speaks, Gordon pushes his erection into his mouth, silencing him. The taste of salty pre-cum overcomes him, and he has to breathe through his nose, as if his breathing wasn't already slow and difficult enough.
Gordon thrusts in and out of his mouth as though nothing is wrong.
His legs are lifted by Andy, and he can feel Andy's fingers trying to get inside him.
And tastes and sensations merge in his mind until he can't comprehend anything anymore… until he's not sure who's doing what, until nothing separates this penetration from Simon Walkers, and his whole world is rocking and he thinks he's going to be sick but he daren't. He's choking and tears sting harshly in his eyes, and voices blur until they could be anyone's.
"Good boy. That feels nice."
"Fuuuuuck, Brady sure knows how to pick 'em."
"Ye loike that, Steven?"
Everything is a surreal blur, and now he's ready to die.
He wants to die.
He wants the drugs to kill him. Here, now, doing this.
It would be a poignant end for him.
XOXOXOXOXO
The room is dark and ghostly quiet when he next opens his eyes. He's not sure whether he drifted off, or whether he saw it through to the end but doesn't remember. He's quite skilful at blanking things out, so either is possible.
He's left alone now though.
His body is still naked. Still cold, but plastered in sweat. The bedding is soaked.
His heart rate has slowed right down. He can barely feel it even… just the occasional thud at every random lengthy period of time.
He can hear voices laughing and chatting away in the living room. Andy and Gordon, definitely. He must have only been passed out an hour, max. Maybe he fainted on them, and they stopped. But somehow he doesn't think they would have.
But his mind feels decidedly more clear in this brief moment than it's done for the last few hours. He doesn't have to think it though much when he reaches with trembling fingers for his jogging bottoms and rummages in the pocket.
He just wants to talk to someone. That's all.
He wants someone to tell him that he's going to be okay. Because he sure as hell can't convince himself.
He dials the number with surprising determination, and listens as it rings once… twice…
Brendan sounds groggy when he answers, like he's been sleeping.
"Yeah?"
"Brendan," Ste whispers. His voice is still slurred and lazy, but he does his best to sound comprehensible. "It's me. Ste."
"Steven?"
There's a silence for a second, where perhaps Brendan decides whether or not to hang up. Ste only vaguely remembers their confrontation at the door, but quite vividly remembers how hurt Brendan was.
"Brendan…" he croaks, because he just wants to hear his voice, that's all. It's weak of him, but then again Brendan is his weakness. And this is the weakest he's ever felt.
"What's up?" Brendan asks, "You… are you okay?"
"No!" Ste surprises even himself by how quickly he breaks down. How his voice cracks into immediate tears, and the things roll down his face like they haven't in years.
"Hey! Steven, what's wrong? Tell me!"
He can't. He tries to muffle the sound of his crying… doesn't want Andy coming in here. But the result is a series of heavy gasping breaths, and no spare air left for talking.
"Steven!" Brendan sounds worried, "D'ye want me to come and get ye?"
Ste tries to pull himself together. He tries to collect himself; he needs to tell Brendan not to come… that it's not safe here.
"You still at home?" Brendan continues, "I'm comin' over."
"I'm…" Ste sobs, sniffs, swallows, "I don't feel well."
"What's wrong with ye? What do you mean?"
"I'm scared."
"Okay, stay there Steven."
He hears shuffling, like Brendan's getting out of bed. He hears the clang of Brendan's car-keys.
"I'll be ten minutes." He says.
"You can't. Andy'll kill ya."
"You let me worry about that."
"No, Brendan, please!" It's back. The panic. The bile rising in his throat. He's more scared than he's ever been in his whole fucking life. More scared than when the police showed up, more scared than when he bought the gun. "Stay on the phone…"
"Okay, I'll stay on the phone."
Ste hears the front door slam, and Brendan's car engine start. He's not talking though. Perhaps he's still angry or hurt. But he's staying on the phone, like he said.
For a long time, all Ste can hear is the moving car.
"Brendan," He whispers softly, "Please don't be angry at me."
He doesn't know why he's saying it. He knows it's the drugs talking, but he still can't stop. If these are his last moments alive, he doesn't want Brendan to be angry at him. Even if he is eternally angry at Brendan.
Brendan doesn't reply. But Ste can hear him breathing.
"You're angry." Ste sniffs, "You're angry, even though I'm dyin'!"
"What are ye talking about?!"
"I don't feel well."
"I'm five minutes away."
"Can ya make it all better?" Ste moans pitifully.
Brendan sighs heavily, "Jesus Christ."
"Can you?"
"Just stay where you are, okay, I won't be long."
"Don't hang up!"
"I'm not hangin' up!"
"Good. Cos I miss you."
Again, silence. Nothing but the running engine. He can barely even hear Brendan breathe anymore, like he's holding his breath.
"Brendan…"
"I heard you Steven." He sounds angry.
Ste wonders what he's done wrong, apart from fucking overdose and then get fucked by two wankers when he didn't want to. He wonders why Brendan's being such a fucking bastard about this. Always such a fucking fucking bastard.
"Oh you know what?!' He hears himself growl, "Don't bother, Brendan! Just fuck off and let me die then!"
"Can you HEAR how CRAZY you sound, Steven?!"
"My heart is going so so slow." He whines pitifully. Because why won't Brendan tell him that it's all okay?! That's all he wants.
Instead, Brendan sighs heavily.
"Yeah." He mumbles, "That's what crack does to ye."
"DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE I'M STUPID!"
He's not sure that Brendan heard the last part of that sentence, because half way through the phone is snatched from his hand.
He blinks stupidly upwards. The blurred out-of-focus figure of Andy stands by the side of the bed holding the phone out of reach.
"Who the fuck you on the phone to?" He asks harshly.
Ste's too tired for this. He doesn't want to argue or get in trouble or piss anybody off. He can't muster the energy for it, just like he couldn't for the sex. But he didn't get much say in that either, so he suspects Andy's about to start something.
Ste's about to state his appeal one more time; I don't feel well, but before he can there's a loud urgent knocking at the front door.
Andy's eyes flash dangerously.
