Page 38 of King of Pain
“You ever think about getting out of here?” I ask quietly, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
Christian shifts, his head propped on one hand now as he looks at me. “What do you mean? Like out of Boston?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice low. “Away from all of this. Away from people that’ll never get it. Somewhere we could just… exist. You know? Be ourselves?”
He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too hard. Christian’s not the dreamer I am. He’s practical to a fault, always more focused on managing the now than imagining the future.
“Somewhere we could be together?” he asks finally, his tone even, unreadable.
I glance at him, “Maybe. If we worked out.”
Christian exhales sharply, a mix of a laugh and a scoff. “That’s a big ‘if,’ Chance.”
“I’m just saying,” I press, sitting up slightly. “We could have a real shot, C. Somewhere else. Somewhere that isn’t… this.”
He runs a hand through his short, dark hair, his eyes fixed on the wall across from us. “I would consider it,” he says finally, his voice soft. “But you know I’ve got my own shit here. Family. Work.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, lying back down. “I know.”
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The weight of the conversation lingers between us like the humidity of a Boston summer night.
I toss the sheets off and get out of bed, completely naked, and head toward his kitchen. As I pass the foot of the bed, I glance over my shoulder and catch Christian staring.
“Watching my ass?” I ask, one eyebrow raised, teasing.
He just shakes his head. “Have youseenyour ass? It’s a work of art, Chance.”
I smirk, shifting my weight to one side, popping it out for him. “I know it is. So is your cock, C.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he flops back onto the mattress. “Cocky bastard.”
“You love it,” I fire back.
Grinning to myself, I head into the luxury kitchen, the cold tile against my feet a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed. I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water, taking slow sips as I lean against the counter.
The city hums outside—a low, steady vibration of life. Boston has always been home, but lately, it feels less like a place I belong and more like a cage I’ve outgrown. The thought of leaving is terrifying, but what might terrify me more is the rage inside me. It threatens to consume me if I stay in this environment. I know what I’m capable of. The monster has come out to play before. It’s always been in defense of others, but it scares me all the same. I need to change my circumstances before I’m consumed by it. Before I turn into… him.
Could I really do it? Could I leave my mom behind? She’d never leave Boston. This is her life, her home, her history. And Dad hasn’t raised a hand to her since that night five years ago. He’s still a bastard, but he’s getting older, and… maybe she’s okay now.
I drain the glass and set it in the sink, staring out the small window above it. The idea of somewhere new—somewhere that feels like freedom—lingers in my mind, stronger than ever.
Maybe.
TRACK EIGHTEEN
Sledgehammer
Anthony
The infectious funk of a Peter Gabriel track oozes from the overhead speakers as I stock a bin of freshly cleaned vinyl. It’s been a quiet afternoon at Devil Records, except for the whirling dervish—also known as Jen—and her commentary.
“So, when were you planning to tell me about your new bestie, hmm?” Jen’s voice cuts through the air, as brassy and unapologetic as always. She leans against the counter, her auburn sun-streaked hair tied in a messy bun that’s chaotic and perfect, just like her.
I glance up, already bracing myself. “What are you talking about, Jen?”
Her eyes narrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Tall, dark, motorcycle-riding… thighs that could crush a watermelon.”
I shake my head, fighting the heat rising in my cheeks. “Chance? He’s just our coworker,” the lie immediately tasting bitter on my tongue.
