Page 91 of Freshman

Alfie swung his legs from the bed, only to stumble at their weakness. His body wasn’t cooperating, and his brain whirled and spun.

Nate stood, still completely naked, and clutched his hair while shaking his head. “Shit,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Alfie ignored him, bundled his uniform into his arms, and staggered out of the cell. He closed the door on Nate’s worried face.

He grabbed the radio but gulped for breath a few times before answering. “Yes, Henry. I’m here.”

“Where the hell have you been?”

Alfie blinked. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could speak. “I went to check on Nate.”

“How long does it take?”

“I heard a noise, leaking pipe, was trying to work out where the dripping was coming from.”

Henry growled. “You’re not a goddamn plumber. Just put it in the night log, and maintenance will check it out.”

Alfie nodded. “Okay, on my way back.”

He released the button and searched the pile of clothing for his boxers. His hands were frantic, and he couldn’t breathe calmly. He forced air through his lips, but it seemed thinner, not enough to satisfy his spasming diaphragm.

“Freshman, just breathe.”

Alfie jolted away from Nate’s door and retreated to Queenie’s to get his clothes on. He buckled his belt too tight, slipped the buttons of his shirt in the wrong holes, and he couldn’t fix his tie with his hands trembling so much. His skin stuck to his clothes, a cool sweat that made him shudder. He felt too hot, and too cold, and itchy all over. Then a dull ache grew where Nate’s cock had been. With each slight movement, he felt it. Not just a lingering pain but a wetness from Nate’s orgasm. Alfie’s chest pinched with his own dried cum.

He had slept with Nate, just like he wanted, but he had jumped over an unforgivable line.

One he couldn’t come back from.

“Talk to me,” Nate mumbled.

Alfie shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Just shut up. Shut up.”

He heard the bed creak in Queenie’s cell. “What’s going on, Nate?”

“Not now, Queenie!”

Alfie clutched at his throat, the traitorous throat he’d surrendered so easily. It felt tight, like the universe was throttling him for giving into desire.

He sunk down against Queenie’s door, rasping for breath.

“Freshman!”

He covered his ears at Nate’s shout and curled into the edge of the door. He was shaking, and the hatch rattled. His heart pounded so hard it shook his chest, and the collar of his shirt tightened like a coiling snake.

“Breathe nice and slow.”

The words got through the cracks of his fingers, not Nate’s but Queenie’s softer tone. With everything sharp and edgy, it was Queenie’s smooth voice that filled in the cracks.

“Relax, Alfie. I think it’s a panic attack.”

The words panic and attack didn’t help him relax. He rubbed the back of his head to the cell, heaving for air that didn’t satisfy him.

“Breathe nice and slow, in and out. With me.”

Alfie lowered his hands and listened to Queenie breathe. Nate was no longer shouting, and there was no sound from his cell.

All Alfie could hear was Queenie. The presence by the door wasn’t confusing and suffocating. Queenie had a lightness, a friendliness that Nate didn’t possess. He remembered Queenie’s smile from the corridor. He had lifted his red lips in genuine happiness at seeing him.

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