Page 46 of Choke Up

My rage keeps my mind busy and my attention off Brad until he knocks over the white paper bag that I got at the clinic. My prescription bottles, the tube of ointment, multiple packs of lube, condoms, and pamphlets about safe sex scatter over the floor. There's an awkward pause as we both take in the mess before Brad's mouth curls into a snarl.

"What the fuck is this shit?!" He shouts, fuming.

"None of your business," I tell him, scrambling off my bunk to pick up all the discarded items while Brad clenches his fists. His anger is so thick, I forget my own anger from just moments ago. I'm almost a little afraid of him, but I'm not about to let him know that or back down. "What the hell is your problem, Brad?"

"You! You're my problem. Always fucking flaunting yourself around here. And now I find out you’re some kind of diseased slut?—"

I tune him out after that, barely registering the rest of his rant. I'm pretty sure I hear some choice slurs thrown in, but I focus on getting the fuck out of this room. Right now. Luckily, I haven't unpacked my bags yet, so I'm able to grab my backpack and duffle on my way out the door.

Unfortunately, this seems to piss Brad off more. Because as much as he wants me out of his space, so he doesn't catch my gay slut diseases, he also really wants to be heard and acknowledged. I hear you, buddy. But life is full of disappointments. He practically chases me down the hallway, continuing to berate me for ignoring him, for being ‘too pretty’, for thinking I'm better than him.

When he crowds me outside the elevators, blocking me from pushing the button to my freedom, I panic a little and consider all my options. Clearly, walking away isn't the solution. The stairs don't feel safe if he's going to continue to follow me. Pulling the fire alarm will get me in trouble. My only choices are to be as loud as possible and hope someone hears or be ready to fight back. Considering he's being plenty loud, standing up for myself physically is my last option. I do both for good measure.

"Get away from me!" I shout, pushing him out of my personal space with my duffle bag.

My push catches him by surprise enough that he stumbles back a little before lunging at me. He tears my duffle off my arm and throws it off to the side, pushing me against a wall and caging me in. My eyes dart around, begging someone to come out here. Brad has always been an asshole, but he's unhinged right now. I don't know what he's going to do, but he's leaning in so close it makes me feel physically ill. My next defense is about to be projectile vomiting in his face if he doesn't back off.

His nostrils flare. "You think you're too good for a guy like me? You think that pretty boy boyfriend of yours is better than me?"

What? "What are you talking about? Get off!"

I push him again, harder this time, but he barely budges. His hand darts up to wrap around my throat. He doesn't squeeze, only holds me there, muttering something about dodging a bullet and more homophobic bullshit. A door closes, although I can't tell where it came from. Brad turns his head, and I take advantage of his distraction, knocking his hand away from my throat with one hand, while bringing the palm of my other hand up. I make contact with his nose with a sickening crunch, and then push him away with all my might. Brad wails, and whoever it was that came out of their room comes running into the lobby in a bathrobe and slippers. He kneels beside Brad, offering his towel to help staunch the blood pouring out of his nose. Meanwhile, Brad continues to repeat the words, "You fucking bitch," while I press the call button for the elevator before straightening my backpack and picking up my duffle. I keep my eyes trained on Brad as the elevator doors close, and I pull out my phone to call Antoni.

"Hey. Yeah, I'm fine. I mean, not great. Alive or whatever. Listen, can I stay with you for one more night?"

CHAPTER 18

GABE

"Antoni! Wait up!"

I know he heard me, but the smug bastard just keeps walking. I grab his arm before he can call the elevator, and he spins around with a glare so scathing, I'm pretty sure my balls try to retreat a little farther into my body.

"What the actual fuck is your problem?" he hisses, and I take a step back, holding my hands up in front of me. Antoni brushes off his arm like I left dirt behind.

"I just want to know if he's okay."

I spent the night driving around aimlessly, contemplating what I'm going to tell Elliot and eventually falling asleep in a random fast food parking lot. When I got back to my dorm this morning, my bed was empty, nothing left behind but the messy evidence of what I did, the smell of sex and him permeating the air. I ran into Antoni's roommate in the laundry room. He seemed a lot less grouchy than he did at two o'clock this morning, but still seemed annoyed by me asking questions. He told me Antoni wasn't home, that he left with some other guy earlier this morning. All I got was a confused stare when I asked him if the other guy seemed alright, and then he picked up his stack of clothes and left me alone with my thoughts.

I should have gotten Antoni's phone number last night so I could check in. I'm too much of a chicken shit to unblock Ellis' number. Too much of a coward to confront what I did to him.

After a couple hours of stalking the lobby waiting for Antoni to get back, waiting to see if Ellis would be with him, he finally arrived, alone. And none too happy to see me waiting for him.

"Please," I say, hanging my head. "I just need to know if?—"

"He'll live," he says in a clipped tone. He turns to walk away but thinks better of it and rounds on me. "You're a real piece of work," he says, one finger poking me in the middle of my chest. In any other situation, I'd find it amusing to be bullied by someone so tiny and unassuming, but I feel his accusations deep in my gut. "If you give a shit about Ellis, you'll leave him the fuck alone?—"

"I know, I?—"

"I'm not done," he snaps when I interrupt him. "If you give a shit about him, you'll leave him alone, but you need to make amends first. For reasons I can't quite comprehend, he's stuck on you. But you hurt him last night." He holds up a finger to stop me from interrupting again. "You hurt him physically, yes. But you did more damage when you ghosted him afterwards. You used him and tossed him aside when he needed you the most. If you ask me, you don't deserve to lick shit from the bottom of his shoes, but you matter to him. The least you can do is pretend he matters to you."

It's almost impossible to force words through the thickness in my throat. "He does matter to me."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

My empty stomach churns, bile rising.

What have I done?

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