Page 54 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

He stares at me, his stoic expression hiding away his feelings. As much control as he has over his face, his voice is filled with cracks of doubt. “All the time in the world,” he agrees.

Once he’s gone, I pack a small bag of Benji’s items. Shirts and shorts. Matching outfits for Bennet. Once we get Benji settled, I’ll need to head across town and try to find Bennet. It shouldn’t be hard, truthfully. Benjamin is Bennet’s entire world. He has no friends outside the relationship, so if he isn’t sleeping on the pull-out sofa in Nito’s office at the bar, he’ll be at his mom’s.

I rush around the room like a lunatic, collecting anything else they might need. Once I’m done in the bedroom, I head into the bathroom, across the hall. I’m putting Benji’s deodorant into the bag when I hear a thud overhead, startling me. There’s another thud. It sounds like someone’s walking above us. The only roomabove is the attic, and last time I saw it, it was filled with mementos and boxes from our pre-polyamorous lives.

There’s a pair of small scissors in the medicine cabinet, so I grab them, wedging them between my index and middle fingers, pointed outward. It’s my only means of protection, and for all I know, there could be a home intruder in the attic. I walk slowly out of the bathroom, then to the end of the hall. The door at the far side of the townhouse leads up to the attic, and when it opens, it squeaks from disuse. Above, a set of feet scurry away, and each step I take toward them fills me with fear. Once I’m upstairs, my eyes bulge.

The room isn’t how I remember it. Before I left, boxes and suitcases filled the space to its limit, making the attic look like something you’d see on an episode ofHoarders. Now, it’s empty, save for a stained, twin-size mattress. There’s no bedding or sheets to be seen, and no pillow either. There’s an old air conditioner in the window looking out on the back yard, and it’s blasting freezing air through the small room. Everything else is gone. There are no boxes. No discarded relics from the Bens’ lives before our relationship.

As I slowly approach the bed, I hear a sniffle, and when I turn around, it feels like I’ve been pushed from a plane without a parachute. There, in the corner, is Bennet. He’s curling in on himself with his knees tucked against his chest, his arms folded around them, holding on for dear life. He isn’t looking at me. He’s just staring at the floor like a caged animal who’s given up hope of ever tasting freedom.

“Bennet?”

His head jerks up, and when our eyes meet, he lets out a shaky breath. Neither of us speak, we remain locked in place, staring. Eventually, I take a step forward, only to pause when I see his face flinch. Kneeling, I hold my arms open like an owner coaxing his fearful dog out from under the bed.

“Bennet, it’s just me,” I say, but he just stares at me, still in a haze. “It’s Tatum.”

He blinks a few times before my voice finally registers. “Tate?” The second I nod, he’s in motion, vaulting up from the floor and sprinting toward me. He jumps into my arms, wrapping his body around me. I’m not sure where I find the strength to hold him steady without falling, but somehow, I manage.

He’s not saying anything. I ask him over and over what he’s doing up here, but he just holds on to me with all his strength. When he refuses to acknowledge me, I know I need to do something. I’m holding him steady, but he doesn’t seem to have any plan of letting me go, and I know I’m not strong enough to walk him down two flights of stairs. So I walk us toward the small mattress and ease down until we’re seated.

The scent of ammonia is strong around us, and it takes me a moment to realize what the familiar scent is, and where it’s coming from. For reasons I don’t understand, the mattress smells like someone’s soaked it in urine and allowed it to marinate in the Texas heat for weeks on end. It’s a vile, unbearable stench, so I make the conscious effort to breathe through my mouth.

“I missed you,” I say, kissing his scalp. The longer he sobs, the more my heart cracks at the sound. I notice something on the wall ahead of me, and it takes me a second to realize there’s something written on it. The room is dark, so I can’t make out the words no matter how hard I try.

I reach into my pocket and grab my phone, typing a quick message to Abi. Less than a minute later, Abi’s footsteps echo up the stairway leading to the attic, and then he’s in front of me, kneeling. His eyes are focused on Bennet who still isn’t speaking.

“We need to get them home,” I finally say. “I can’t carry him.”

Abi nods, and as he does, he takes another syringe out of his pocket. “Will we need this?” he asks me.

Truthfully, I’m not sure. Bennet’s never been violent, and I don’t see that changing in the near future. He has to be emotionally exhausted, though, and this would go a lot smoother if hewere asleep. Then, he could just wake up and all of it would be over. He’d be at my parents’ house with people who love him.

He doesn’t flinch when the needle pierces his skin. He just sighs, sounding exhausted. Unlike Benji, he doesn’t seem afraid. If anything, his body going slack against me tells me he’s finally feeling the sweet rush of relief.

It takes less than ten minutes for his snoring to fill the empty room around us. Abi carefully takes Bennet out of my arms and into his, then motions toward the stairs. I follow behind, but pause when I reach the wall. Now that I’m closer, I can finally see what’s been written. In white chalk, Bennet has written the words “I’m a bad boy, but I can be better,” over and over. The words are small, and he’s left almost no space left untouched.

I don’t know if the words are a form of punishment from Benito, or if Bennet’s simply gone a bit mad during his isolation, but I’m not letting this continue another second longer. I don’t give a fuck if we have to tie them to a bed for the rest of their lives, I’m not letting Benito touch them again.

I spot the used piece of chalk resting on the floor. Using the cape attached to my shirt, I wipe away the horrible words Bennet’s written. Once I’ve grabbed the chalk, I leave a warning of sorts in the center of the chalkboard.

They’re mine.

CHAPTER 11

ABI

The little one’s little friends have been sleeping for the last two days, thanks to the serum he insists I drug them with. Tatum has been by their sides the entire time. Holding them. Cooling their foreheads with damp cloths. Turning them from one side to the other so they aren’t sore when they wake. Part of me wonders if this will be what Tatum’s like, should we ever have a child.

He must realize I’m nervous, because Tatum has made several attempts to ease my apprehension. Nothing has dulled the fearful ache in my chest. Our tether—the unbreakable string he insists connects us—feels as if it’s being pulled to its limit. Each day that passes, it feels like the bond is weakening.

No. Not weakening. It’s simply returning to the men he loved first. He claims their love is strictly platonic, but the men were in a relationship for over six months. Just as long as we’ve been ... well, whatever it is we are at the moment.

He can claim there’s nothing between them until the sun falls from the sky, the facts will not change. I love him more than he can ever love me. Since bringing Benjamin and Bennet home and locking them in Tatum’s childhood bedroom, my little one has made no effort to rekindle the spark we ignited in Benito’s guestroom. He’s given me no hint of a possible repeat of the sexual bond we shared after destroying Benito’s possessions. There have been no lascivious text messages with depraved sexual threats tucked between unnecessary eye roll emojis. Just quick kisses on the cheek done mostly in passing.

Tatum is a small man, and his bed is just as small. A full-size mattress that barely fits two people, much less three twinks and—his words—a “gargantuan sloth.” He’s offered to sleep on top of me so we don’t have to spend the night apart, but the first night we attempted it, he couldn’t seem to get comfortable. So, with nowhere else to rest, I’ve been sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the living room. Three nights not spent by his side. Three nights of longing for something that feels like it’s slipping away from me.

We’re meant to be planning our joint bachelor parties today, but he’s been at Benji’s and Bennet’s side the entire time. I know the young men will be terrified when they wake, but I’m just as frightened. Frightened I’m losing the man I love. Frightened he’ll send me away once the wedding is over. Perhaps, worst of all, frightened resentment will fester, growing and rotting inside Tatum’s heart like a flesh-eating virus. I do not know how I will cope if he ends up hating me once this is all over.

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