Here's the thing about pretentious rich fuck boys. They think they are invincible.

Tommy was no exception.

In fact, he seems more gullible than the average frat boy. It didn't take much to lure him into the shop.

He spends his time 'creating' business profiles online for a ridiculous price simply because his name is on the project. The fact that people buy into his shit is ridiculous.

So if a big name wants a new website design… there's no way he'll say no.

James Sullivan is an upcoming artist based in Indianapolis. His shit is everywhere, and people can't get enough of him. They're calling him the next Van Gogh. He's also an egotistical overachiever, but he's making more money than me, so what do I know? Maybe I should splash paint on canvases and call it art.

Tommy has his email pinned on all his social media accounts, and it didn't take long to make a fake account to impersonate James.

…

Mystique Incorporated - The James Sullivan Experience

[M-Ink] New Image

To: Mr Thomas Hagen ( thomashagen )

Dear Mr Hagen,

I'm in the market for a new website, and talk of the town is you're the man to turn to.

Talk isn't cheap. Let's meet in person. There's a club in Westside. Super exclusive, members only. I can get you in for one night only if you're down.

Hit me up ASAP. I've got people waiting on this. Your name is big money, Tommy. Don't let me down.

Yours Sincerely,

James S.

…

Honestly, Steve he's an idiot. He didn't even consider it spam and responded within the hour.

…

To: James Sullivan ( jamessullivan01 )

Re: New Image

Mr Sullivan, it's an honour to hear from you. Of course, I'm interested. Send me the address and time. I'll be there.

Whatever you want, we'll make it happen.

Can't wait to meet you in person.

- Thomas H.

…

He doesn't even know how to write a proper email. It's like he thinks they're friends, and it's kind of sad how desperate he is for clients. He overcharges for shoddy work, and it's no wonder he can't keep a business afloat. He's lucky he has his family to subsidise him and let him stay at home.

You, on the other hand, are actively working towards your own independence.

I email him the shop's address and tell him to arrive at eight. It's eight-ten when he arrives. He can't even turn up on time for his meetings. I send him another email saying the back door is unlocked and to come on down. He's halfway down the stairs when I hit him from behind with my bat, and he's out like a light, crashing down the remaining steps.

It wasn't easy dragging him into the cage.

Maybe I should go to the gym. Do you like guys who work out? You run every morning, so it's not improbable.

Wayne had spent so much money on the thing. To protect the most valuable stock. Indianapolis wasn't always safe, and some street-wise guy might try to break into the store one day. Good luck getting into the cage without the keys, though. And good luck getting out once you're locked in.

The shelves were built up high, and without a ladder, the rare goods are safe. For all I know, Tommy is a kleptomaniac. At least in here, he can't steal shit. All he has is the camp bed and a bare desk. Hell, I even put a bucket for him to piss in inside too, because I'm nice. I can be considerate.

Tommy's not dead, thankfully. I still need him.

He's also not a total loss. His phone is password protected, which is going to be a problem. He can't just go missing. You'll never let him go if that happens, so I need access.

Tommy is not amenable when he finally wakes up. He bitches and pouts and threatens to kill me for what feels like forever. When he calms down and realises where he is, the panic sets in. "What the fuck is this?"

"This is the cage."

"Cage?" He parrots back, and I take back my earlier statement. He's an idiot again. "You fucking freak. You get off on torturing people? Are you gonna do this to Steve too?"

I would never hurt you. "Shut up and sit down. I'm the one asking questions, and you're going to answer them."

"Or what?"

"Or you're going to starve to death, probably die of thirst before that, though." His face pales, but he's listening. Good. Now we can get down to business, and I hold up his phone. "Password?"

He spits at the glass.

That's okay. I'm not the one stuck in a cage. We have plenty of time for him to get desperate.

Right now, he could probably do with some time to acclimatise, so I leave him to think about his situation. He'll figure out soon enough the basement is soundproof, and if he doesn't, at least he'll be quiet when I return.

You are meeting your classmates for drinks in the city. I've seen you in your element with the aristocrats and the frat boys but what about the other students? They can't all be privileged. Some must have earned their spots in your course, and hopefully, they will be there tonight.

There are five students gathered around a table when I walk into the bar. They're obviously students because at least two of them are napping, and one has a textbook out. You're not here yet, which is fine. You promised someone called 'Nancy W' you would 'show up for drinks', so I'm not worried.

Half an hour later, you turn up with your hair quaffed to perfection, and you're not wearing a sweater tonight but a dark blue v-neck shirt that shows off your chest hair. You didn't come here to study. You came here to get laid.

It's been three days since our first date and two hours in this bar. Almost every girl in the place has made eyes at you and half the guys, but you don't pay them any notice. You're all dressed up but for who? Were you planning to see Tommy after this? Well, I hate to break it to you, Steve, but Tommy is currently engaged and unable to talk to you for the foreseeable future.

But you haven't reached for your phone yet. You're laughing with this girl with an honest to god perm, and this is Nancy. She doesn't look at you like she wants to fuck you. She looks at you like you're an idiot, but it's fond, and maybe you had something once. Who knows.

Nancy is… Nancy Wheeler. Intelligent and, unsurprisingly, the valedictorian when she graduated. She's interning at some major tech group innovating dichotomy wear for disabilities, and she might be the first decent person you're associated with. The two snoozers are long gone, and the rest soon followed, but you two remain, and it's easier to keep track of a conversation between two people instead of six.

"I cross-marked your work this week, and… is everything okay?" Nancy asks you, and when she touches your arm, it's clearly familiar. So you are more than classmates. "It was a little off."

You laugh and down the rest of your drink. "Trust me. I'm anything but okay. Don't worry, Nance, it's under control."

"If you say so."

"It is!"

"That's why you're dressed like a slut?"

I choke on my drink, but thankfully neither of you notice.

Your mouth is open in outrage, but no words are forthcoming. Finally, you sigh and shrug.

"Steve… having sex with a stranger is hardly going to fix the problem, is it?"

"Why do you have to be right all the time?"

She laughs, and it's not fair that she's so pretty. "Because I know you. Now, go home and sleep it off. Tomorrow we'll go through your essay."

You hug her tight before getting up on slightly unsteady feet and heading for the exit. Nancy watches you go, brow furrowed slightly with concern. It's good that you have friends that actually care about you. You'll need her.

I check my phone, but there are no messages from you. So I check your phone. You're not texting Tommy, thank god. You haven't spoken to him since the party either. The only thing you're doing is calling an Uber and ordering Postmates. Well, takeout is definitely better than a one-night stand.

I don't follow you home. You need your space to decompress, and I have an early start tomorrow with Tommy.

It's quiet at home, except for Wayne's snoring. It feels like I've barely closed my eyes when my phone beeps. Any annoyance vanishes immediately when I see it's you.

Steve H - [12:42 AM]

I went out tonight and all I could think about was you.

It's almost one am and I'm laying in bed still thinking about you.

We kissed and you didn't want to come in. Was it bad?

I did something bad, Eddie. I've been doing something bad for a long time now. I don't want to do this anymore.

My coursework is due next week and my dad wants me to start an internship, Tommy and Carol are planning their fucking engagement party and I want to scream.

I just want to talk to you. You make everything so much simpler.

Can we meet up?

Assuming you don't think I'm crazy for sending all these texts so late.

I'm not sorry.

It wasn't Tommy you wanted to see.

I should have approached you, made up some bullshit excuse and we could have spent the night sitting at the bar talking. By playing the gentleman and keeping my distance, you've come to the conclusion I don't want you. I fucked up. There's a silver lining, though. You're thinking about me. I can turn this around, and I'm quick to respond.

Eddie M - [12:45 AM]

How soon is too soon?

Steve H - [12:45 AM]

The shop ASAP?

Eddie M - [12:45 AM]

See you in half an hour.

I'm out of bed before I hit send.

You arrive at the shop before I've even unlocked the door and look relieved. "Hey. Was kinda thinking you wouldn't show."

"I always keep my promises, Steve. What's wrong? You sounded kind of…"

"Deranged?"

"I was going to say stressed, but hey, if you insist."

You laugh and grab my hand to pull me inside when the key finally turns. We stumble in the darkness to the cafe section, and I flip a chair for you before grabbing one for myself. A small amount of light filters in from outside, bathing the room a murky orange, but you don't ask me to turn on the lights, so I don't. Some conversations are made for the darkness.

"Can I talk to you about Tommy?"

Thank god for soundproof basements.

"Sure."

"I'm fucking him." You look down, and your hands are shaking. You ball them into fists and laugh, but it's devoid of humour. "Im such an asshole. Every time it happens, I say, 'That's the last time, Steve,' but it's not. It's never the last time."

I reach out and cover your hands. "How long?"

"God, since high school? He's just…" You groan, pull away. "…we all have our addictions, right? I want to stop, but I can't. He keeps promising me over and over he'll tell Carol, he'll tell his parents, and we can stop sneaking around, but it's been six fucking years, and I'm still his secret fuck boy. And for the first time in years, I'm thinking about someone other than Tommy, and he knows it."

You look up, eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and it's a heartbreaking sight, Steve. Tommy deserves to die for what he's done to you.

"I'm sorry, Eddie. I shouldn't be dumping all my shit on you like this. God, I drank too much." You did, but that's okay. It's good to see you like this, to know you at your most vulnerable.

"I won't tell if you don't."

"Thank you."

We sit silently for a while, the weight of your confession hanging heavy between us. I'm glad, don't get me wrong, but you don't seem to be gearing up for anything else. You're not here to hold my hand or kiss me. You're here to explain yourself.

"I don't know what I want," you finally say, and it's the wrong thing. You should be telling me you're done with Tommy, that you want me now. But you don't. "And I don't want to string you along either. I need to figure myself out. I need to stop… being this mess of a person."

"Steve-"

"It was fun, more than that, with you. It was really good." You grab my hands with surprising strength, considering you're still shaking. "You're so different to anyone I've ever known. I want to keep seeing you, but I can't. So I guess I came here to say goodbye?"

"It doesn't have to be." Just say you want me, say you'll cut Tommy off. Choose this, Steve. Choose us.

"It does. I can't be who you want me to be. I'm sorry." You let me go, and the orange glow is fading to grey. Dawn is coming. In the cool light of the morning, you're leaving me. Your choosing Tommy. "I, um, I should go."

What can I do but let you?

Outside again. It's colder now. Is this the last time I'll ever see you? No, I know where to find you. The real question is… is this the last time you want to see me?

"Hey, Steve?" You turn to look at me, and I take a deep breath before saying, "Let's go out again. One more time."

You smile, but it's sad, and I know the answer before you even open your mouth. "I need time, Eddie. I'll text you."

"Okay."

I watch you go and sigh. However long you need, Steve. You know where to find me when you're ready. In the meantime, I'll make sure you forget all about Tommy.