Page 46 of Three for a Girl

“Stay there.” Romeo begged.

Chad couldn’t get to his feet even if he wanted to. His limbs were overly heavy and his head continued to pound. He closed his eyes, wetted his lips with his tongue, and tried to speak, but all that left him was a wheeze of Romeo’s name.

“I said stay there!”

Chad kept his eyes shut, and focused on breathing. Gasping only made his throat whistle, and the pain intensify, he slowed it down, eased the air in and out, and fought off the desire to cough.

Coughing made it worse—it made it feel like he couldn’t breathe, and never would again.

His head rattled with a clunk, a bang, and hurried footsteps. He waited for Romeo to approach him, but a long silence followed.

Romeo was waiting for Chad to settle down, to breathe normally again. He was grateful, he needed a moment to digest what had happened, to find the most comfortable way to draw air into his lungs without his throat spasming.

A car engine squealed as it started, a high pitched sound, not Chad’s car, but the other one he’d bought second hand for Romeo to use. Chad pressed his back against the wall as he struggled up, then went after the sounds, knocking into tables, and chairs, and whatever pieces of furniture stood between him and Romeo.

He burst through the door, dropping to his knees in time to see the fading headlights of Romeo’s car. His attempt to shout after him only ended in a painful coughing fit, and he curled up on his side, wheezing for Romeo to come back.

Chapter Seven

Chad’s eyes burned by the time the horizon started to brighten. He stared out the window towards the track road to the house, praying to see Romeo’s car.

He pictured it in his mind, the car trundling closer in perfect silhouette against the rising sun, the wheels screeching to a stop, Romeo climbing out, apologizing for losing control, Chad swallowing his fear, and telling him it was okay.

Romeo didn’t come back.

The unease in Chad’s stomach turned to full on nausea. The growing lump of worry in his throat didn’t help with the tight band left by Romeo’s hands.

The monster had almost killed him, but Romeo had stopped it.

Chad clung on to the thought.

He watched until the alarm blared on his phone, a wakeup call for work. He silenced it, thought about calling in sick—he was after all, sick.

Sick with worry, sick with apprehension, sick with an unconventional kind of love.

He doubted it would’ve been a good enough excuse not to show up.

Chad got ready for work like he had the past few days, running through the moment in the outhouse again and again. Romeo’s dark eyes, his detached voice as he said goodbye to the detective.

Chad shook his head. He couldn’t think about it.

Fresh shirt, black pants, black tie, black jacket, and shoes. He found porridge in the cupboard and forced down a few mouthfuls, scrubbed his teeth, then preened his hair into position.

He took a long hard look at himself in the mirror. The whites of his eyes were pink, and no matter how many times he blinked, they kept stinging. There was no mark to his throat, other than the faded patch Romeo had sucked on his skin in the shower.

Chad went back into the living room, took a deep breath, then looked out of the window.

No car was coming up the track.

A splutter of anguish broke free, and he winced, clutching his throat.

He gulped down a few painkillers, toyed with the idea of calling in sick again, then reasoned Romeo would be at home by the time he finished.

He’d be back in the outhouse making flatpack furniture or completing a puzzle.

He’d be there, because he promised Chad he would be, he promised he’d never let Chad go, never let anything happen to him, and leaving him alone was a hundred times worse than almost killing him.

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