Page 78 of Broken Ice
Beau lay there for a while, trying to not shake apart. He struggled to remember the order of what Emilio had asked him to do—go to the bed?
He tried getting off the couch but slipped in his own vomit, Beau hitting the floor on all fours, the leg of his sweats stained. He crawled forwards, a sob ripping from his throat.
He had to get to the bed. If he did everything Emilio said, it would be all right.
It took him a while to get there. The walls kept shifting, floor tilting, a boat caught in a storm. All Beau could do was hold on and put one knee in front of the other.
He was sweating and trembling by the time he made it to his room. He climbed onto the bed, phone clutched in his hand, collapsing in the middle of the mattress.
He tried curling up but flinched as the smell of bile hit him.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” He kicked his sweats off, stripping the top layer of bedding, getting rid of most of the soiled scent.
He let himself rest for a little bit. He had to call Freddy. Had to let him…
Beau couldn’t even think it. The image of Freddy looming over him, pressing him to the bed, forcing his way inside Beau—
Beau buried his face in his sheets and sobbed, letting the despair take over his body.
He couldn’t do it. Even if it meant losing Emilio forever—he couldn’t do it.
He let the pain take him away, its great, salt waves throwing him around, filling his lungs and his gut with dirty water, choking him until he could barely breathe.
The tide receded, and Beau was left on the shore, a piece of debris, rotting from the wet and the cold.
Beau opened his burning, crusty eyes. He unclenched his hand from his phone, looking at the time.
It was one in the morning, six hours since his heat had begun.
He was only halfway through.
He closed his eyes again. What was he going to tell Emilio tomorrow when he asked if Beau had been good? Beau needed…he needed to explain himself. He needed—
His thoughts weren’t connecting, one starting and then crumbling to dust, another meandering in uneven circles, trailing useless paths.
“Hello?”
Beau startled. That was Emilio’s voice.
Had he come? Was the punishment over? Was—
“Hello?”
Beau stared at his phone. Somehow, in his fucked-up state, he’d called Emilio.
“Beau? Hello?”
Beau put the phone to his ear. “Emilio.”
“Jesus Christ. Beau, what—what’s going on?”
Beau panted. He could make Emilio understand. “I’m really sorry.”
There was a pause. “Is Freddy there?”
Beau bit the inside of his cheek so forcefully it tore, blood mixing with spit. “I can’t. Please, I can’t.”
“Fuck, Beau—okay. Give me his number, okay? I’ll call him.”
