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“Can I ask when this started?” He rubs slow circles on my scalp. On places only I have ever touched.
“I was seventeen. My parents were divorcing because Dad was seeing someone else.”
I still remember that summer as if it were yesterday. That nasty little shock of a confession and then the stunted, silent days that followed. “In the grand scheme of divorces,” I carry on, “It was reasonably amicable. It mostly still is. They’re much better apart than together.”
“Are you close?”
“They live in Edinburgh, so I don’t go up to see them that often, though I have good relations with both. At the time, I was working hard to get a med school place while feeling as if I was the only boy on the planet who was attracted to other boys. Looking back, no one noticed I was retreating into myself. My folks probably just thought I was staying out of the firing line. Some kids find relief chewing their nails, some get in with the wrong crowd, some take illegal substances. I’m an introvert; I comforted myself by pulling out my hair.”
I’ve told this story to enough healthcare professionals by now that it’s more a memory than an open wound. Neil seems to sense it. He simply nods, as if he knows some things don’t need sympathetic commentary. “Does it feel good when you pluck it?”
I bark a laugh. “Good? It’s the highest high in the whole world—for about half a second. If I can’t give in to the urge and have to edge myself, then, when I finally succumb, it’s even better.”
“And after that?”
“And after that, I hate every fibre of my pathetic little being and vow to myself I won’t do it again.” I smile wryly. “I’m a born liar.”
“No, you’re not. You’re human. We all are. Someone very clever once pointed that out to me.” Neil’s fingers travel from my hair down to my left arm, the worst side. “And this? Did you alsosink a bottle of whiskey, throw a hissy fit, and fall on a tonne of smashed glass?”
“Sadly, no.”
This story carries a much fresher sting, but I’ve come this far, and Neil still hasn’t legged it, so I plough on. “Three years ago. 30thMay. Random date, it doesn’t have any special meaning for me except it’s the day I decided I’d had enough. I didn’t want to be here any longer. I researched technique, treated my Stanley knife to a new blade, then found an empty on-call room at the hospital, and did the deed. Unfortunately, the fire alarms went off—totally unrelated to my drama. Someone accidentally set a ward toaster alight on the floor below. A fire officer checking my corridor wondered why one of the fire doors was closed. He found me about a minute too soon.”
“Too soon?” Neil frowns. “Do you still think like that?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not any more. That attempt got me admitted to the psych hospital. But I had another crack at it not long after I was discharged.” I point to an ugly scar running parallel to the biggie. “That time, I called 999 immediately afterwards.” I shiver at the memory of how desolate and lost I used to feel, in a thin, exhausted way. Watching day after day after endless day stacking up without weight and meaning. “I was all over the place. Not sure what I wanted that time. Help, I think.”
Idly playing with my short tufts of hair, Neil presses a kiss to my cheek. “And what do you want now?”
To be cherished by you.
I kiss him back, pushing away the misery of who I used to be. That lonely, unhappy person is still in me somewhere; he’ll never leave. But he’s far away in the background tonight. “I want more of this sweet little thing we’ve got going.”
CHAPTER 28
NEIL
Luke insists he’s not fragile. Surviving all he has bears testament to that. My rash whisperer is strong as an ox. Regardless, I still can’t help feeling as if I’ve been handed a flimsy box crammed full of bone china. Luke might have distilled fifteen years of pain down to a few pithy sentences, but the hopelessness of those tormented years hides in the gaps between his words. The agonies of his past seep through the heat of his skin.
Listening and contemplating him, I feel small. Naïve even, for all I’ve witnessed and experienced a few slices of life. But I’ll be damned if I’m so dumb and immature to let this precious china smash to pieces on my watch.
I might wreck him in a different way, though. I rub my thumb over one of Luke’s cute button nipples. “This is very pretty.” I continue fondling him in a line down his centre to where a neat sandy trail disappears. I tug on one of the coarse hairs. “And this. And you know what they say about happy trails.” I ease down his boxers an inch. “They lead to happy meals.”
Pressing my mouth against his, I slip a teasing fingertip inside the waistband. Luke groans, his tongue sweeping againstmine. Fuck, he’s responsive, his lips made purely for kissing me. “I think you want to forget the last month too,” I murmur around his mouth. “Am I right?”
His answer is a rapid nod and a roll of his hips. Two fingertips inside his boxers, nudging against his leaking dick, are met with a sigh, and he clings to me even harder, hungrily driving his tongue into my mouth.
I push his underwear lower, then withdraw my fingers. When I bring them to my lips and lick up the salty taste of him, Luke whines, cheeks flushed pink.
“You’re dribbling for me,” I observe, simply to see that flush darken. I dip my fingers again, then lick along the length of them. He makes a sound in his throat. “You taste lovely.”
I lay him back against the pillows, caging him underneath me so he’s all mine. As he kicks off his boxers, my cast finds a home above his head. Aligned at our mouths, chest, and hips, I grind my cock, already strung tight, against his leanly muscled thigh. His hips lift, feet pushing into the mattress, hands twisting in the sheet. Under me, he’s achingly hard.
“I like it like this,” he gasps, “with you on me.”
I grin down at him, crossing my eyes. “What, you like seeing this ugly mug inches from your face?”
He snorts. “I can see that any old time. No, I like the feel of your skin. Skin doctor, remember?”
