Page 187 of Disarm
Caleb’s shoes are visible under the last stall. Toes turned inward, heel bouncing.
I knock lightly. “It’s me, baby,” I say. “You decent?”
There’s a shaky exhale. “Define ‘decent,’” he mutters.
“Wearing pants, not actively peeing,” I say. “That’ll do.”
The guy at the urinal snorts under his breath, zips up, and leaves without washing his hands, the heathen. The door swings shut behind him.
I try the stall and, to my surprise, it’s unlocked.
Caleb’s perched on the closed toilet lid, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looks up when I slip inside and close the door, eyes too bright, breathing a little too fast.
“Hey,” I say softly. I brace one hand on the metal partition and the other on his shoulder. “Talk to me.”
He laughs, a choked, brittle sound. “I’m fine,” he says.
“Try again,” I say.
His mouth twists and his eyes go all glassy. Then the words spill out. “It just… feels like being sixteen again,” he says. “Like any second I’m gonna say or do the wrong thing and he’ll just… look at me like that. Like I’m a problem he has to manage instead of a kid he actually… wants.”
His hands shake. He curls them into fists. “I know it’s not the same,” he says. “I know he’s trying. I know. But my body doesn’t fucking know. My body heard ‘don’t do that’ and went ‘copy that, you’re disgusting, stop.’ And now my head is halfway down that tunnel and?—”
“Hey.” I crouch in front of him, hands on his knees. “Look at me.”
He does.
Barely.
“Can you breathe with me?” I ask. “Box breath. Just once.”
He nods.
We do it together.
In for four. Hold for four. Out for six.
Once. Twice.
His shoulders drop half an inch. Not enough, but better than nothing.
“What do you need?” I ask quietly. “Right now. Not what you think you should need. What will actually help?”
He laughs again, more of a hitch in his chest. “You’re gonna think I’m fucked up.”
“Newsflash,” I say, taking his clenched fist in my hand and kissing it. “I already know you’re fucked up. So am I. What do you need?”
He swallows, throat working. “Something… stronger than my thoughts,” he says, and there’s that wild edge creeping into his eyes. “I need out of my head. I need…” He drags in a breath. “I need grounding. Fast. Before the spiral gets teeth.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “What does grounding look like for you right now?”
Caleb holds my gaze like he’s daring me to flinch. “I need you to get on your knees,” he whispers. “I need… your mouth on me. I need to lose myself in you so much that there’s no room for anything else.”
Fuck me.
There’s a part of me that wants to say no purely on principle because I don’t want sex to be our only fire extinguisher, because we both have enough tangled associations with pain and pleasure and coping.
But another part… knows him.Knows us. Knows that his nervous system doesn’t always respond to gentle things first. Sometimes he needs the intensity before he can let any of the quiet stuff in.
