Antidote (Don't) (25 page)

Quiet.

I’d struggled, fought, and shouted out for so long watching the assault, that when everything fell so quiet so quickly, it held me still. Huge grey pools were watching me. Blood ran from Jack’s nose, his mouth, and when he blinked, a runaway tear mixed with a line of blood spilling from a cut just above his eyebrow.

And again the black mask moved in close behind him, coming close to Jack’s ear. “Don’t... fuck Jan, Jack.”

Grey eyes blinked at me.

“Don’t listen,” I whispered quietly, shaking my head. “Don’t listen, baby. Shut it out.”

He frowned, just slightly, stirring more blood down his cheek.

“Don’t... get your dick and fuck it in his ass,” said the voice again.

Another tear falling, Jack shook his head, just slightly.

“No?”

“No,” he said quietly, and he shook his head slightly again and it matched the slight trembling going on with his body.

“Good boy.” A touch ran down Jack’s arm. “We reward good boys here,” he said quietly. “We let them cuddle. Would you like to cuddle Jan, Jack?”

Giving a frown, eyes not leaving mine, Jack nodded.

“Course you would.”

A huge hand gripped my leg, pulling it onto Jack’s upper thigh. Feeling a slight jostle from behind, a dick was tugged free, pre-come smudged on my ass before sliding down and nudging against me. “Cuddle, you fucks,” breathed a voice in my ear.

The head punched through, making me grunt at the same time the man behind Jack slipped a hand between Jack’s thighs.

“Think he can take my whole fist?”

Jack cried out.

“He’s got to have had two cocks up here.” A rooting deep in Jack pushed his hips into mine as Jack tried to escape the assault. “Yeah, start small, just three, then—”

Jack cried out again as hips and groins were forced to clash against each other. His arm was tugged around me, his hand taken up to my hair and forced to grip in a lover’s embrace.

“Yeah,” breathed the masked man, “looking fucking good together there, boys.”

Something slipped in Jack’s eyes as our bodies were pushed and knocked against each other, a look of humiliation, shame, hurt, but none of it for himself, for me. His look was for me. Then it was lost as a grip to his hair forced him into my throat, forced him into hiding. And then life lost all colour, all taste, all focus but for slick black eyes, for the constant rhythm of our bodies being forced together. Hurt. It didn’t even hurt after a while, not even as the man behind got onto his knees and started pushing harder into me. Amongst all the grunts and groans, the slap of bodies, feeling Jack’s hips clash with mine, hurt was pushed into the darkness, and it was surprising how fast that numbness came, how even needing it to stop was lost to how many times I counted how the red light blinked down at us from the corner of the bedroom.

A hand stroked between my thighs. “Christmas Day tomorrow, pet.” Breathing was heavy, heated. “Might be a bit rough for you.” A chuckle. “Gonna need something for the sting, I think, some loving to carry you through.” Henry grunted his orgasm pulling out his dick, then pushing it back in. “Fuck, loving...”

“Yeah,” groaned Vince. “Looks like it’s gonna be a white one this year.” Vince wiped some of Henry’s come on to Jack’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, boys.”

Jack

“... this snowy Christmas morning from Five Live.”

From the kitchen, the sound of the radio kicked in, or it had been playing for a while and I just hadn’t known. Heat from my head burned into the arm over my face, and it seemed to match the burning going on in my body.

“Fuck.” I licked across dry lips, groaned. It felt like I’d slipped up over siphoning petrol out of a tank and rammed the tube down my own throat. It brought with it a heat and gut ache that had me coughing and nearly throwing up.

“Hey, easy. C’mon.” A hand gripped under my arm. “Let’s get you up and off the settee.” Feet eased onto the floor, I rubbed at my head as Vince’s face came into view. “You’ve been in and out of it for a while,” he said, moving my touch and feeling my head. “This carries on, I’m really getting the doctor in.” That sounded familiar, like he’d said it before, only I couldn’t remember when.

Then shuffling came from over by the bay window. I glanced over, just quickly, then looked back at Vince.

“Jack?” Vince followed my look back to the bay window. “Something spooking you, kid?”

Hands bound out of sight, tears streaking down his face, running over the gag in his mouth and falling onto a fine black suit, Jan sat there, propped up against the wall underneath the bay window. Face looked clean, pale, hair looking so soft.

“Jack?”

Vince stole my attention. He frowned at me, but my gaze skirted to Jan, just briefly, before I quickly found my feet.

“Jack—”

Don’t...

...look.

Don’t...

“Fine. I’m fine.”

Giving a sigh, Vince rubbed roughly at my hair. “Yeah? Then merry fucking Christmas, you ass,” he said, giving a chuckle. From the kitchen, some BBC station was wishing people Merry Christmas again, then music drifted in on the back of turkey and stuffing.

Shifting my feet and catching my toes on the edge of the coffee table, I ignored the shuffling noises in the corner and looked up to see a few unwrapped gifts on the table. Little bits of Christmas paper littered the floor in places, and a few more gifts were under the tree, stacked Jenga style. The muggy feeling in my head wasn’t here so much, and I missed the numbing escape it gave as I picked up one of the boxes back on the coffee table, trying my best to ignore the bits of paper on the floor. The latest CK One cologne was printed neatly across the box. Somebody here had done the Christmas shit with getting up and opening presents, but like fuck could I find the memory that said it was me.

“One of your favourites,” said Vince, and I glanced up to see him come in carrying two glasses of some sparkling shit in two long stem glasses. I couldn’t remember him getting up and leaving. He stepped between me and the table and sat down next to me.

I turned the cologne over. Yeah, I liked this one. Maybe. Again shuffling and mumbled noises came from over by the window, again I ignored it; damn my soul, I ignored him and his hurt-filled need that cried for everything to stop. Just stop. Vince held out one of the drinks and I let the cologne rest back on the table before taking it. The long stem glass was cool, like it had been chilled, and I nearly took the contents in one, loving the coolness on my throat, the ease it brought to the agony going on in my body.

“Just some sparkling water,” said Vince before taking a sip of his. I took the rest of mine. “Dinner’s all on. Should be about forty minutes. You’re looking damn good.”

I was in black suit trousers and white shirt, the collar loosened with an even looser black tie around it. No shoes, no socks, no will to look at the man hiding under the window. Fucking hurt. Dreams... fucking hurt.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, finding interest in my hands.

“Good.” Vince pulled me back into the settee and an arm went around my shoulders. “You’re looking a little better too. Not so pale and all virginal.” Vince was chuckling and I smiled. That’s what people did at Christmas, right?

“How’d that call go with your dad this morning?”

I frowned. Something came through, talking, wishes of Merry Christmas, asking how the garage was doing again. My old man hadn’t sounded happy, neither had my old lady. “Fine.” I think.

“Your mom called afterward,” said Vince. “Said we should get together for New Year’s Eve.” He was finished with his drink. Strange enough, I looked down and mine was full again. I took another long sip, welcoming the relief, trying not to focus on the coughing that was coming from beneath the window. “She wants to know if all of us should go to the Thames,” said Vince. “Maybe bring the New Year in with the London fireworks display.”

“Don’t...” I rubbed at my head again, shivered. “Don’t do social.”

“Bullshit.” Vince even choked. “We met at a nightclub with you going all slutty over my ass. You remember?”

Not knowing how to respond, seeing the light and life in his smile, I searched for the memory.

“Hmmm?”

“Yeah. S’pose,” I mumbled.

Vince’s smile widened and he pulled me closer and kissed my head. His hand pushed at my jaw, making our lips meet. The feel was strange, his lips out of place against mine as struggles came from over by the window. I pulled away before he could explore my tongue with his.

“Burning,” I mumbled.

“Huh?” Vince was up and pushing past me. He called out a second later. “Good nose on you, Jack. The potatoes were nearly dry.” A curse. “You’re gonna have to get your ass back into gear and take over this shit. I’m useless at cooking.”

Glass still in hand, I let my head fall back against the sofa and closed my eyes, shaking like hell now. The shuffles and muffled cries from by the window demanded all of my attention, but I didn’t give in, refused to fucking give in. Growling hit the air and the emptiness hitting my stomach made itself known, aggressively so. To the point it nearly had me doubled and willingly blocked out the noises coming from my window. I was so fucking hungry.

“I’d let you cut the turkey,” called Vince, and it was followed by a chuckle. “But I guess it needs a real bloke, not a delicate princess like you.” The grip on the stem glass threatened to break it, then, “Get your pretty ass to the dining room, Jack. It’s already set up.”

Leaving the stem glass to roll on the settee, I pushed up and started to head for the kitchen. On the unit sat a paper, the Sunday Times. The date said December 24th. Yesterday’s? Didn’t matter. The world was doing a fucked-up waltz again and I reached down to pick the paper up, let it go casual, let life find order, chase away the man behind me an—

Don’t...

...straighten me, Jack.

I pulled my hand away.

Fire. Everything was on fire, including the need to keep the fuck away from touching casual things and risk burning my fingers again. Frowning down at the paper for a moment, I forced my way through the dizziness and made it into the kitchen. “Take this,” said Vince as I passed. He held out a cheap silver bucket with a few opened beers in it. Classy.

Tugging the bucket close to my chest, I hobbled on through to my dining room, using the wall as a guide. Vince had already set everything in place. This red plastic Christmas mat was spread over the long table—hell, he’d even put the table back in—and it had a matching red table runner, candles, some strange red plant in the middle, with two places set opposite each other with bright red mats. Colour. A whole shit-load of colour and chaos.

I eased down into a chair closest to the door, breathing easier as the bucket was set on the table. Life went black for a moment, and I rested my head down on the arm across my placemat. It would be so easy just to sleep, forget, not dream, not about—

“Hey, up.”

I jerked up at Vince’s voice, sitting straight. He was standing next to me with plates stuffed full of food, but I couldn’t shift my attention from the corner.

“Jack, you okay?”

Jan was back, chained up by the patio doors, hands now above his head, shirt pulled out, jacket all ruffled. I flicked a look up at Vince.

“Don’t... see him,” I whispered.

“Who kid?”

“Jah—” I stopped myself and a moment later Vince put the plates on the placemats and crouched next to me.

“Jan’s here?” said Vince.

Giving a glance to the corner, I nodded.

“The corner?”

Not looking, I nodded again.

“Take no notice, kid. It’s hard, I know, but don’t let him spoil Christmas day for you. He’ll go away eventually. I promise.”

Jan was struggling in the corner, tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Focus on me, kid.”

I looked at Vince. He’d sat opposite, and for a moment the food stole every manner I had.

“Hungry, hmmm?” Vince chuckled, picking up his knife and fork. “Before you start, hand me a beer, beautiful.”

I’d already taken my knife and fork and was ready to start. Annoyed, I quickly reached over and passed him a beer. Mine came next, then I went back to tackling dinner. Things had fallen quiet in the corner anyway.

“Oh, hang on,” said Vince, and I frowned as he got up and disappeared back into the kitchen. Two crackers held in one hand, he came and sat back down. “Here.” He held one out to me. “Tradition, Jack.”

Cologne, such a strong scent of cologne hit the air. Not mine, someone else’s, Jan’s, and enough to make my stomach turn. All I could do was stare for a moment, fighting back the vomit, not wanting to look into the corner.

“Jack. C’mon.” Vince waggled the cracker, shaking the contents from side to side.

Taking a swig of beer first, needing that swig of beer, I gripped the cracker. Vince pulled hard, snapping my arm forward, and he added a shout when he saw he’d won the prize. It went the same way for the second one.

“You’ve yet to beat me at this, Jack.” Vince tossed a hat and some plastic thing I couldn’t focus on at me. “Go on, put it on.” The hat got another finger push in my direction.

Something about a hat. Not a thin yellow one like this, but black—thick fur, a white trim. BDSM Badass printed on it, or Jan had wanted Gra— “Hmmm,” I mumbled.

“Jack, come on,” said Vince,

I looked up to find he was already wearing his, a purple thing that sat lopsided on his head. One edge had crumpled like a reluctant halo that had been dumped on the wrong head and was crumbling under the shame.

“Don’t.” My yellow paper hat sat there like a used condom: deflated. “I don’t do—”

“For me?”

Vince took my attention. There was a sadness drooping his eyes and he seemed to wash it down with another swig of his beer. “Listen, you don’t have to—”

I glanced at the corner, but Jan wasn’t there anymore. But Christ, those brown eyes. I picked up the hat and put it on. Vince nodded, softened his gaze, then pointed at my plate. “’S all gettin’ cold, kid. Tuck in. Oh, and Merry Christmas.”

“Uh-hm. Merry Christmas.” Another growl of my stomach agreed with the “tuck in” part, and I took a mouthful of mash and two veg in one. Two more forkfuls took its place, but I’d barely swallowed before I choked, my hand stopping me throwing up all over my dinner.