Page 4 of Battered & Broken
“No, I’m not busy today. I don’t have anything planned…” There wasn't a clean way to explain this quickly, and I wasn't sure I wanted to get into it right now. "I just need a few minutes to get ready to go."
There was no way to be discreet with Cedric still sitting at the table, so I just pulled the black pump case out from a cabinet and took it into my room. Normally, I pumped in the kitchen and used glass jars to hold any milk I planned to save. But I wasn’t planning on saving any of it, so the plastic containers that were stored in the bag were good enough.
In my room, I cleared off the chair that was mostly used as a clothes rack and got set up. From the time that I first started lactating in college, I’d kept it as a very private thing. Almost no one knew about it except my parents, and they were horrified when I was first diagnosed. They never told a soul.
At first, I was ashamed and tried every random technique I found online to make it stop. But it never did. There were times when it slowed down, usually when I was overly stressed and not eating well. But for the most part, I had to pump daily to keep from leaking.
As I got older and found a community of men like me, it was a lot easier to deal with. The Lactin Brotherhood was a mix of men who dealt with the lactation as if it were a burden as well as those who had built thriving businesses based on selling their milk or their nursing services. One guy I had lunch with every now and then was even a regular “milk daddy” at a local kink club.
I couldn’t imagine ever being that open with anyone about my condition. The few times I’d leaked with a partner, I laughed it off as sweat or lube gone astray. I don’t know if those guys bought my story or not, but I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. It just wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. And the fact that someone was on the other side of my apartment and could probably hear the rhythmic pull and release of the pump just made me even more anxious to get it over with.
It took fifteen minutes for me to fully empty, and then I took everything into the bathroom to dump the milk, wash the equipment, and take a quick shower. I wasn’t sure if anyone else could smell it on me, but I could definitely smell the sweetness of the milk when it was fresh…and the sour tinge when it wasn’t. Instead of taking it back to the kitchen, I dropped my bag in my room and got dressed for a day of work.
When I came back out, Cedric had folded up the bed and fixed the cushions. The bedding was neatly folded behind him. “Everything okay?” He looked at me with a question on his face that he didn't ask, and I appreciated his restraint.
“Yep.” I put my keys in my pocket and grabbed my phone. "Ready?"
He hesitated for just a moment before standing up and moving on. "I’m ready if you are."
After grabbing the knob and some tools from Brent, we went back to Cedric’s apartment and got to work. I took a quick glance around at the mess from last night and then focused on the task at hand. With the door half open, I sat down on the floor and braced the door between my thighs so I could access the strike plate.
“Let me know if I can help.” Cedric stood behind me for a moment before disappearing into the back of his apartment. The shower turned on and then off a few minutes later, and when he reemerged, he looked like a completely different man. There was still visible bruising, and the gash on his cheek was oozing blood, but the difference in his appearance was dramatic.
I finished up with the door knob while he started cleaning up the blood-spattered walls and little pools of blood on the kitchen floor.
The lock took forty minutes, which was longer than it should have been because the door frame was slightly warped, but I was grateful for the extra time. I needed it to think about my next move, and Cedric probably needed some alone time too. He was the one who had actual trauma to process.
After grabbing all the tools and the old knob, I peeked into his kitchen. “I’m all done out here.”
He was still scrubbing a dark mark on the floor. I didn’t look too closely the night before because I was worried about the sweet kid down the hall who had obviously been through hell. But now that I’d spent a little bit of time with Cedric, watching him try to erase the evidence of his attack was gut-wrenching.
He looked up at me with red eyes and a ring of blood under his left nostril.
"Is your nose okay?" I went to him and tilted his head up so I could get a better look. “Did it bleed a lot?”
He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. "No, it’s fine. Not broken." He reached for a paper towel and wiped his nose. "It started a little, but it’s not a big deal. I've broken it before, and this isn't that."
I wanted to ask for details, but I didn’t. It wasn’t the right time. Instead, I turned his chin so I could take a look at his cheek. The cut under his eye was deeper than the dried blood had made it look last night. It was a clean split, but it really needed stitches. "That needs to be closed."
“I know.” He looked into my eyes and nodded. "I've got butterfly strips somewhere."
I couldn’t stop the frown that formed on my face. "You need actual stitches, Cedric. Butterflies will leave you with a gnarly scar."
He scoffed and turned to the cabinet over his fridge. “Dudes dig scars, right?” He pulled out a first-aid kit and set it on the counter. After watching him fumbling around for a few seconds,I got impatient and took over. I needed something to do while processing whether he was being flirty or not. And whether I wanted him to be.
I lined up the strips on his counter and then grabbed the first one. “Hold still.” I’d put them on myself a few times, but being so close to someone else with an injury added a whole level of pressure. I worked carefully, making sure I didn’t cause more pain or damage as I got the first strip in place.
Cedric didn't flinch or pull back as I arranged four strips across the cut. I could feel his breath on my neck and his gaze on my face while I tried to focus, but it wasn’t easy. He smelled…good. Like coconut.
"There you go." When I was satisfied that they’d hold, I forced myself to step back before I did something stupid like sniff his head. "Keep them dry for at least forty-eight hours. And if there’s any pus, you need to see a doctor."
“Yeah, okay.” He put the first-aid kit away and leaned on the fridge. "What time is it?"
I checked my phone. "Almost noon."
"That’s what I thought." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the floor. “I have the internal clock of a Labrador retriever.”
I grinned and knew exactly what he meant. We had Labs when I was growing up and they knew exactly when it was time to eat. "Let’s go grab lunch."
