Page 6 of Capturing Perfection

“You’re not fine, Logan! This morning, something caused a flashback that made you freeze and curl into a little ball in themiddle of a Chinatown bakery for close to twenty minutes. You never sleep, and when you do, your screams bleed through my walls. You hardly eat. You’ve probably lost twenty pounds in the two months since you came to live with me. You don’t talk to me anymore. I can barely get more than one-word responses out of you. You avoid me like the plague. I want to help you, but every time I try, you turn your back. Do you despise me so much that you’d rather live in pain than accept my help? Why Logan? We were the center of each other’s worlds for seven years, and now you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. Do you really hate me that much?”

Logan saw the pain on Clay’s face and almost crumbled. He only understood about half of the rant because Clay was speaking too fast, but the gist was clear. Clay was hurt. Clay thought Logan hated him. The bond they’d always shared was stretched so thin the last thread was about to snap. And once again, it was all his fault.

His breath locked in his lungs, and his eyes watered. They were not tears; they weren’t. He did the only thing his fractured mind could think of. Launching across the sofa, he gathered Clay in his arms, holding him tight. Clay sat frozen for endless seconds before long arms snaked around Logan’s waist and squeezed his ribs to the point of near pain.

Clay’s body shook as Logan held him. Was Clay breaking apart the same as Logan? Had the stress cracks finally shattered, and Logan’s rock disintegrated? He relished the feel of Clay in his arms. Not in the lustful ways of his fantasies, but it was as if by holding each other, the strands of their bond once again wove together. Gradually, Clay’s trembles eased, and Logan’s lungs freed. He sat back but maintained contact by grasping Clay’s face between his hands. He stared into Clay’s gray eyes, one of the few features that distinguished them from one another. During their teenage years together, many people had mistaken themfor twins. They looked so similar. He and Clay had gotten a kick out of the misconception and rarely bothered to correct the error. They were brothers of the heart, regardless of their DNA.

“I don’t hate you.” Logan said the words slowly, trying to enunciate as properly as he could. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

Clay reached for Logan’s hands and pulled them from his face, but refused to separate the link. “I don’t need your apologies, Logan. You have every right to be angry and scared. I only want to help. Stop shutting me out.”

He nodded his head. “Promise.”

It was time to throw Clay a bone. He picked up his pen and notepad. The only way he would make this clear was to write it out. He didn’t trust his voice right then.

Putting the tip of the pen to the paper, he started.

Talking is hard. Not emotionally. Imean,actually hard. I can’t hear my voice anymore. I feel the vibrations in my throat, but my hearing loss prevents me from being able to monitor the sounds. I’ve spent hours practicing with mirrors. Trying to watch my lips and match them to the vibrations, but I can only do so much. I don’t want to sound like an idiot when I talk. It’s easier not to.

Clay read the note and frowned. He looked up at Logan, making sure the man could read his lips. “Okay. I understand now. I’m sorry I didn’t think of that.”

Clay picked up his notepad.I think the first thing we need to do is pay a visit to the VA and find out if you can get some hearing aids while we’re waiting for the approval of the implants. You won’t be able to hear everything, but at least, they can give you more than what you have now. Second, I’masking … noI’m begging you to get some help with the PTSD. Something other than the drugs. I’ll pay for you to see someoneprivately, if the VA won’t offer the services or if you don’t want to go there.

Logan shook his head. He scribbled on the notepad.I’ll get help, but I’ll pay. I have savings. You haven’t asked me for any money since I came here. I’ve supported myself for sixteen years. I’m not helpless.

“I know that. I wasn’t saying you were. I … I only meant… Fuck! Why is this so hard? We used to practically read each other’s thoughts, and now, I can’t say more than five words without you misunderstanding me.”

Logan was frustrated, too. He knew it would take time before his and Clay’s bond healed completely, but he had to own up to when his defensiveness reared its ugly head.

“My fault.” He scratched out a few more lines.We’re never going to move on if we’re constantlyapologizingto each other. You’reright,I need help. I’m thankful to you for offering, but I need to do this for myself. Will you call the VA and ask about the hearing aids? Maybe, I can get some loaners until they approve the implants. If they approve them.

Clay read the sharply slanting words, then looked up at Logan. “You never could write for shit,” he said, smiling. He looked at his watch. “It’s two o’clock. Let me call them now and see what I can find out.”

Logan watched as Clay walked over to the kitchen island where his laptop and the phone sat. A few keystrokes on the computer and the phone was in his hand.

Now that the emotional turmoil had eased, Logan once again looked at Clay with fresh eyes. Logan's gaze fell upon Clay's long, tapered fingers, which fidgeted when Clay was bored or stressed. He’d always wondered what those fingers would feel like sliding down his body or buried deep inside him. Hair black as midnight flowed over Clay’s head, and Logan longed to run his fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it appeared. Logan knewClay’s chest and stomach rippled with muscle. He’d glimpsed the washboard abs the other day when Clay had come back from a run and had wiped the sweat from his face with the edge of his T-shirt. Finally, Logan’s gazed settled on his favorite feature of Clay’s anatomy. The perfect, round ass which topped a set of long legs. The very ass that was currently sticking out as Clay leaned against the island, determined to test Logan’s resolve.

He bit his lip to stop a groan. Of course, right at that moment, Clay turned around and caught his expression. A concerned looked crossed Clay’s face, and Logan pasted on a smile while pulling a pillow into his lap. Beneath the plush barrier, he thumped his cock to get the wayward erection to subside before Clay realized what was happening. He tilted his head back, and his eyes caught the play of sunlight across the crystals of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

The elaborate antique bronze with four candle-like pillars was more detailed and elaborate than Logan would have thought Clay had chosen. For all he knew, it came with the place. He had to admit it looked good with the other traditional details of the apartment. The metal finish of the chandelier almost matched the fireplace surround.

He felt a little ashamed that he’d never complimented Clay on his home or ask why he’d chosen this place instead of something more contemporary. Boston was teeming with apartments. What was it about this one that had called to Clay? Logan liked it. Traditional yet comfortable. It had all the modern amenities but touches of the old world. It felt as though they had claimed their own little corner of the history exploding from the pores of this city.

Clay disrupted his thoughts when he sat on the ottoman directly in front of him.

“You have an appointment tomorrow at eleven o’clock. The audiologist had a cancellation and apologized that you werenever told to come in before now. She said it’s standard procedure to be fit with traditional hearing aids while awaiting approval. They’ll have to take impressions of your ears to make the custom fit pieces, then in about two weeks you’ll get the aids.”

Logan smiled. It looked as if things may be on the right track. “Thank you.”

Clay kneeled on the floor in front of Logan. “I did my part. Now, you have to do yours.”

He nodded. Determined, he wouldn't fail Clay again. He would get the help he needed and, maybe, along the way, find the courage to come forward with the feelings consuming him.

Chapter Four

Logan stood outside the line of brownstones in Back Bay. Inside was a man who reportedly could help him. He’d done careful research, asking online groups and searching for medical credentials to find the right person for the task ahead. While getting a handle on the PTSD was ostensibly why he was here, he specifically sought a healthcare professional reported to be gay friendly. Dr. Lincoln, a trained psychiatrist specializing in trauma recovery, was openly gay and frequently received referrals from the Boston LGBTQIA community.

A car alarm went off a few spaces down, and Logan jumped. He was still getting used to hearing those sounds again. The hearing aids he’d been fit with at the VA only a few days ago had opened up his world, but certain sounds were jarring after living in a muted world for so long.

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