Page 12 of Strike A Chord

“This goes against my better judgment and when you fuck up,” Nigel pointed at me, “I’ll be there to say I told you so.”

When, not if. I didn’t miss that. It was a no brainer, Nigel had me clocked for failure.

They left and I sat back on the barstool. Seriously, if I fucked this up there was nothing left for me. No reason to keep living, which was more like barely surviving. Complete and total waste of the air I breathed. So why keep breathing?

“Come on, handsome. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“You think I’m handsome?” Jesus, that sounded whiney to my own ears, but Reagan was too nice to call me out on it.

“I do, but I need your address so I can take you home.”

“I don’t wanna be alone.”

Reagan shut off the lights and locked the gate that separated the bar from the hotel lobby. Silently, we walked to his car, well, his arm around my waist guided me there. It felt so nice to be this close to another human. I rested my head on his shoulder and sighed and I could’ve sworn I felt him press his lips to the top of my head. Nah, probably just drunken wishful thinking.

“Where are we?” I must’ve blacked out during the drive and woke when Reagan undid the seatbelt.

“We’re at my house. You never gave me your address and I feel better keeping you close and making sure you don’t choke on your own vomit.”

“Doesn’t matter if I die. No one cares.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but the brain-mouth filter was long gone.

“Josh.” I flinched at Reagan’s stern tone. “That’s not true, I’d care and if I hear you put yourself down again there will be repercussions.”

“Huh.”

“Your sloshy brain and I need to have a long chat when it’s sobered up tomorrow. Come on, let’s go inside.”

“Don’t be mad at me, please. I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” The tears that came after that couldn’t be helped as fear flashed through me of the abuse I’d suffered by my father’s fists. The first time I remembered him hitting me, a full fisted hit, I was five. It was the first day of kindergarten and I was so excited. I ran up to his room, but he wasn’t alone. “Daddy, Daddy, it’s time for school!” He reached out, clocked me right in the chest and hit me so hard I flew backwards until my backside landed against the door. As soon as I managed to get up, I ran downstairs and right out the door, not stopping until I got to school. Thankfully it was across the street and a nice teacher helped me find my classroom. “Please don’t hit me.”

“Josh, sweetheart, I would never hit you. I might spank your ass but only if it’s consensually agreed upon.” Reagan led me down a hallway and into what I guessed was his bedroom. Everything kinda swirled together and I couldn’t make it out. “Here, sit so I can take off your boots.”

I was out of words, which for me was never a bad thing, especially for drunk me.

“Do you want me to take your pants off?”

“Are you gonna ride me? Giddy up, cowboy.” I lay back and waited for the fun to start.

“Who said I was giving up my ass? Plus, I have morals and messing around with an inebriated person will never happen.” He pulled and tugged while I lay sprawled out across his bed. “All right, wolf, let’s scoot you up.”

“Wolf?”

“Yeah, you’re tattoo.”

“That’s me, a lone wolf. Basically been on my own since birth.” The words were clear to me though they probably came out slurred. Good thing since I’d way overshared. I’d likely get the boot first thing in the morning after Reagan decided I was no longer a threat to myself. Little did he know…

“Trash can is next to the bed. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave me.” What a needy fucking bastard I’d turned into.

“Sweetheart, I need to get water and pain meds. Trust me, you will thank me for it tomorrow.” Reagan kissed my forehead and was gone.

That had to mean something, right?

I woke the next morning with a blinding headache and my guts in my throat. The bed was empty, as I rolled across it and barely made it to the trash can.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“Ugh, can you not sound so fucking cheery?”

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