Page 68 of Saving Sparrow
“Fuck, you feel good, Guelly,” he panted. “I’m pumping you full of baby-gravy tonight.”
Sweat trickled down Quentin’s wide back, and the bed rocked every time he forced Miguel down on him. I needed to do something. I needed to help Miguel, but the sudden headache attacking my brain paralyzed me.
The edges of my vision turned black, and it felt important that I stay here, stay present, and that I didn’t pass out the way I sometimes had before. I didn’t want to lose any more memories.
I took a wobbly step forward, reaching for Miguel, but I was too far away to touch him. He shook his head, trying to say something, but he couldn’t get it out, not with the way Quentin overpowered him.
“This tight ass is mine, Guelly, you hear me? You let anyone touch—”
My ears were ringing, making it impossible to hear the rest of Quentin’s threat. I stepped back like a coward, the pain in my head expanding to my temples.
“S-stop,” I mouthed, eyes stinging.
“I’m coming,” Quentin shouted. “Fuck, baby… I-I’m coming…”
Quentin flipped Miguel onto his back, lifting his legs into the air, spreading them wide. He was facing my direction now but was too focused on Miguel to notice me trembling near the door.
“Q-Quen…” Miguel tried, but he was too out of breath. He pushed himself onto his elbows but slipped to his back again.
“Gotta stay like this for just a little while, Guelly. Gotta make sure it takes.” Quentin rolled his hips. He was still inside Miguel.
“Stop!” I said louder, then stammered, “Y-you’re hurting him.”
“Shit!” Quentin scrambled from between Miguel’s legs, falling backward onto the bed. “Elliott?”
Miguel took his time sitting up, almost as if he were too scared to. They both watched me with wide eyes. They looked even more afraid than I was.
“Shit,” Miguel muttered, seeming to realize they were still naked. He glanced toward the headboard for a pillow, but they were all on the floor. He crawled off the bed, quickly gathering the chunks of broken glass off the floor and setting them on the nightstand. Scooping up a pillow to cover his private parts with, he then tossed one at Quentin, who seemed less concerned about his nudity.
“Elliott, it’s not what you think,” Miguel said, still out of breath. Quentin stood next to him now, and they both took a step forward. I backed away so fast that my shoulder banged into the doorframe. I hissed, rubbing the area as Quentin cursed. Miguel placed a hand on Quentin’s chest, preventing him from charging over to me.
“I don’t understand.” I glanced between the two of them. Why wasn’t Miguel upset with Quentin? How could he stand next to him after what he’d done?
“I can explain,” Miguel said. “What you saw… it’s not what you think it is.”
“He didn’t just r-rape you?”
“Fuck no,” Quentin exclaimed, seeming hurt by my question.
“H-he told you to stop.” I looked at Miguel. “You told him to stop!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it. At least not at first.”
“What?” Quentin rounded on him. “What do youmean, not at first?”
“I mean I didn’t… Well, I did, but not in the way you think. I…” Miguel sighed. “Can we just sit and talk?” He looked between the both of us, his gaze begging me to stay and hear them out.
I rubbed my aching temples, then nodded. “Fine.”
“Just give us a second to, um”—He glanced down at himself—“clean up.” If Miguel blushed from his embarrassment, his complexion hid it well. Quentin grabbed his hand, leading the way to the bathroom.
I fell onto one of the chairs, drumming my fingers against my thighs as I tried to unsee what I’d walked in on. How long had this been going on between them? How did I not see it?
Quentin and Miguel stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, both with towels wrapped around their hips. They gave me small, encouraging smiles before disappearing into the closet and returning dressed in sweats.
They were quiet when they sat across from me on the couch. Miguel blew out a long breath, ruffling his damp hair.
Quentin’s leg bounced, almost like he was ready to explode and say whatever unfiltered thoughts were crowding his mind. Patience wasn’t one of his strengths, and I wondered if Miguel coached him on what not to say and how not to react.
