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- 05/24/2018
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2018 - Spring - Now or Never Entry
No escape - 1. Chapter 1
”I’m home!”
Stuart paused briefly while taking off his coat. The house was quiet. Very quiet. Cyril usually had some music playing or left the TV on in the background, just to escape the silence. Ever since his very messy breakup, Cyril had trouble being alone with only his thoughts as company. He claimed his fears grew out of control if there was nothing to distract him.
Racking his mind, Stuart couldn’t remember if Cyril had mentioned any plans for his afternoon off. Maybe he’d simply stepped out? Though that would be a first. For the past few weeks, Cyril had been either at work or at home. Stuart’s home, that is. He didn’t feel comfortable calling it their joint home. Not out loud. Not yet. The incipient and inconvenient hope in his heart worked overtime, making Stuart believe they were headed in that direction. However, it was far too soon. Cyril was nowhere near ready for any kind of relationship beyond being friends. Fred had seen to that. Thinking of Cyril’s violent ex-boyfriend made Stuart’s skin crawl and his fists clench. He took a deep breath to calm down, not wanting those thoughts to poison his mood. It made him so angry to think how his colleague had been reduced to a husk of a man, not daring to make any friends at work or otherwise for fear of having his secret revealed. Being abused by your boyfriend was still shameful.
When he entered the kitchen, he spotted the mail on the kitchen table. Cyril had diligently laid it out for him. Bills as usual. As Stuart opened the mail, his eyes took in the tidy kitchen. It was all Cyril’s doing. The man felt guilty for staying with him, so he had taken it upon himself to clean and do laundry. Stuart had repeatedly told him it wasn’t necessary, but to no avail. He was impossible to stop. It appeared to give him some sort of outlet for his nervous energy, so Stuart figured keeping busy was good for Cyril. Anything to make their impromptu cohabitation easier.
He sat down on a bar stool at the counter to sort the bills, and his mind drifted. It had been an intense time. From the moment Cyril showed up on his doorstep, bruised and in pain from the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of Fred, Stuart had walked around on eggshells. Cyril had been a wreck, his nerves on the outside of his skin. Stuart had patched him up as best as he could, pleading with Cyril to accompany him to the hospital. A staunch “no” was all the answer he got. Cyril wouldn’t provide any details about what had happened. It didn’t take a lot of brain power to figure it out, though. The pattern of new and old bruises all over Cyril’s torso told Stuart all he needed to know. Going to the police was also met with the same adamant refusal. So Stuart concluded Cyril needed time and perhaps some space.
For the first several days, the slightest sound made Cyril jump into the air. Having to go to work for fear of being fired once his sick days were gone didn’t help, especially since Fred kept showing up. Sitting in front of the main entrance in his fancy car, watching and waiting. Like the predator he was. When Stuart and Cyril started going through the back door, the possessive bastard switched position. He appeared to have a sixth sense about tracking Cyril, even without the top-notch tracking apps on Cyril’s phone. Sam in IT had helped them debug his phone, but still the guy turned up everywhere they went. Some nights he drove by Stuart’s house slowly, as if marking his territory. The next step would be pissing on the fence. Luckily, he hadn’t done that. Yet.
Then there was the texting. At first, almost non-stop messages. Cyril wouldn’t let him see them, but it was clear they were upsetting.
“Block his number. Then he can’t reach you.” They’d had this conversation so many times, with the same outcome. Cyril fingered his phone nervously and shook his head.
“This way I know where he is.”
In spite of being constantly watched, they fell into a sort of daily routine, going between work and home. Stuart kept trying to get Cyril to go to the police, but the man wouldn’t budge. For some reason, he still felt indebted to Fred. As if all those years of living in terror wasn’t enough payback for the petty cash, trips, and gifts received from time to time. It was more than that, though. Stuart couldn’t understand, and Cyril had no words to fully explain.
“He loves me. I know that.” Squirming, Cyril looked down at his feet to avoid meeting Stuart’s eyes. “He just wants to be in control.”
“In control?” It was hard for Stuart to hear Cyril all but defend Fred’s actions. “He’s monitoring every step you take! That’s not control. That’s way beyond control.”
“It makes me feel safe.” Cyril shrugged. “It’s like I have someone who is there only for me. Who cares only about me.”
“But he’s hurting you! You ran away, looking as beat up as if you’d faced Mike Tyson in the ring!” Anger flared in Stuart.
As always, Cyril turned and went to his room, clearly hurt and angry. Stuart felt like an insensitive idiot, but he couldn’t stop his attempts to get through to Cyril, even though they all ended the same way.
It was impossible for Stuart to grasp the hold that bastard held over Cyril. Eventually, Stuart had accepted he would never be able to put himself in Cyril’s shoes. Maybe accepting his lack of understanding was a way for them to move forward, to something more.
He knew he was an idiot to wish for progress of that particular nature. Still, it wasn’t easy to have such a beautiful creature living in his house and not fantasize. Cyril had always been attractive to him, even when he’d simply been the bitchy co-worker with an attitude from hell. Now, having him in his house all vulnerable and in need of support was wreaking havoc on Stuart’s self-control. This in turn brought on feelings of guilt, since Cyril was in no way ready for intimacy.
One night, about three weeks after Cyril showed up on the doorstep, Stuart let his control slip. They were cleaning up after dinner and between the suds and dishtowel flicks, they entered dangerous territory. The air took on a denser atmosphere and suddenly they were kissing. Desperate kisses rubbing the flesh of their lips raw. Hands clawing at clothes. The need to be naked too forceful to stop.
Stuart still blushed when he pictured himself pinning Cyril to the floor, thrusting inside with powerful movements, his hips working as if of their own volition. The pitiful cries of Cyril had him momentarily regain his senses, but then the man beneath him pushed back, impaling himself once more, and Stuart lost it again. They raced to the finish in a flurry of sweat and moans, but afterwards neither man could look the other in the eye. They slunk off to bed, and it took them days to recover enough to even speak to each other. Further intimacy was completely out of the question. Stuart couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling Cyril had wanted to pay him back for letting him stay, even though Fred was making both their lives a low-level hell. The idea of sex as rent made Stuart’s skin crawl, and he made a point of not touching Cyril at all after that.
Or, he tried and succeeded, but only during the day. Hearing Cyril cry out at night was too much for him to bear, and he couldn’t stop himself from rushing into Cyril’s bedroom and embracing the frantic man. More often than not, they awoke entwined in Cyril’s bed after both men had fallen asleep.
Stuart wasn’t sure who was comforting whom anymore. His loneliness wasn’t as difficult with Cyril around, even if it wasn’t a relationship. Cooking for someone felt better than he wanted to admit, and when Cyril started smiling more relaxed at him as they met up at work to go home, Stuart had to remind himself they were just living together as a necessity due to Cyril’s situation. There was nothing going on between them. Why would anyone like Cyril want a guy like him? That was ridiculous to even consider. As a friend and ally, yes. As a lover? Never. That one time was just emotions of distress escaping. Or something like that. His googling hadn’t given him any conclusive answers.
He found himself doing a lot of googling, in his attempts to understand how Cyril would react after coming out of his relationship and how to deal with it. He wanted to find a way to help Cyril recover, but it was soon clear he was in over his head. No matter what he did, it wouldn’t be enough. Things escalated so quickly and emotions spun out of control whenever he tried raising the subject, leaving Stuart no chance to keep up. He felt like he needed a degree in psychology to deal with the aftermath of Cyril’s abusive relationship. The man’s highs and lows brought him to the edge and back again. Cyril needed professional help, but of course refused.
So Stuart resorted to being just a friend, which wasn’t easy either. Walking on eggshells had probably felt more robust and secure than living side by side with Cyril. If Stuart displayed any kind of displeasure or stronger emotion of any kind, Cyril reacted immediately and unpredictably. At the same time, Stuart hadn’t lived with anyone for a long time. He thought living together as roommates would be easier, but instead he found it even harder to speak his mind. The forced civility between them hindered any fruitful conversation, leaving him frustrated. No matter what Cyril had been through, the man’s habit of squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube and not the back was annoying. Drinking all but one sip of orange juice and then putting the carton back in the fridge was another quirk of his that caused Stuart to clench his jaw and count to ten. Little things, common in any relationship, but much more difficult now since this wasn’t a relationship, and Cyril couldn’t handle any reproach without either running off to hide or losing it completely in a verbal outburst of fear and anger.
Then, in the moments of calm, when they sat in companionable silence watching a movie or chatting about their day over a cup of coffee, Stuart let himself be tricked into thinking this was something more. His eyes traced Cyril’s expressive hands as they cradled his mug, and the curve of his lips as he smirked at one of Stuart’s bad jokes. He wanted to kiss those lips, feel those hands explore his body. However, his desire was beyond impossible, and suppressing his emotions added extra stress.
Stuart sighed, as he stacked the bills on the table in front of him. No use going over what had happened in the previous weeks. He was tired after a day at work and letting these thoughts crowd his mind again would only bring him down. Maybe he would suggest they make dinner together. It could be fun. As he exited the kitchen to look for Cyril, the quiet of the house increased his sense of unease. He headed up the stairs.
“Cyril?”
There was no answer. Stuart searched his mind again. Had Cyril said anything? But the man had no hobbies or other engagements, which wasn’t very surprising after living with a possessive asshole like Fred.
When he thought about it, he realized Cyril had been acting strange at breakfast. More so than usual. Almost shuttered and he had avoided meeting Stuart’s eyes. A frightening statistic about suicide among abuse victims flashed through his mind. All cool gone, he took the remaining stairs two at a time and sprinted into his guestroom. Cyril’s room. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The room was as neat as ever, with the bed made and all clothes put away. Fred’s influence was evident.
Still, the room felt off. Stuart looked around, trying to figure out what had him worried. With a few swift strides, he approached the closet and flung the doors open. It was empty. No sign of Cyril’s clothes, shoes, or other stuff anywhere. A quick search of the bathroom showed the same thing. No sign of Cyril.
Collapsing on the bed, Stuart tried to force his brain to compute the scene before him. Why would the man be gone? Where would he go? The answer was so obvious Stuart didn’t want to think about it. Surely, Cyril wouldn’t do that. Then another statistic popped into his head. Far too many people went back to an abuser. It was difficult to believe, but they did.
On autopilot, he got his phone out and called him. His call went straight to voicemail. Rushing into his own room, he tried to come up with a plan. His spinning mind wouldn’t let him. On the desk, he saw a folded paper, his name scribbled across it. Unfolding it, the words confirmed what he had already suspected.
“Dear Stuart,
I can’t do this anymore. I’ve realized staying here would only cause hurt, and I couldn’t stand to see you hurt. Please do not try to change my mind. I’ve decided. This is how it’s supposed to be. I have to be where I belong, with Fred.
Love, Cyril”
Stuart sank down on the chair next to his desk. He was surprised to find he wasn’t angry or sad. All he felt was empty.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2018 - Spring - Now or Never Entry
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