Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

  “I can handle it. I’ve got it under control.” I’d resorted to lies. From the disbelieving look he gave, the only person I was lying to was myself.

  He stalked to the sink, placing his mug down. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t see you like this.” Heading for the door, bag in hand.

  I took a hesitant step forward and forced the air out of my lungs. “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Blake, you can’t leave and not tell me when you’ll be back.” The silence screamed between us. This was my worst nightmare. Losing Blake because of my inability to choose. But what kind of choice would I be making? Wasn’t he tired of living a lie? “How long will you be gone, Blake?” I repeated.

  “A few days.” The door closed behind him. Not with a slam, but a resigned click.

  “You’re more tense than usual, Justin.”

  Leaving the window behind, I made my way over to the couch. With Blake walking out, a session with my therapist was in order. I’d been seeing Julie for about four months. Ever since Damon came back.

  She pushed a tin of homemade cookies across the coffee table that separated us. I was prepared to say “no thank you,” but her hopeful smile that reached her slate-blue eyes caused me to reach in and grab the biggest one I could find. “These things are dangerous. Not everyone is as naturally thin as you,” I said. I took in her graying brown hair that flowed in waves past her shoulders. Such a contradiction to the youthfulness of her face. Mid-to-late forties would be my guess. Of course, I’d never ask.

  Built-in bookshelves lined the perimeter of the warm, earth-toned room. It drew you in, made you feel at home. My favorite accessory were the windows that dominated a whole wall in the cozy space. The room served its purpose.

  “I went to Elite last night,” I said. Julie patiently waited for me to continue. “I’m sure you can imagine how things went.”

  “Why don’t you tell me anyway?”

  “One of our roughest encounters. Damon fucked me with no regard for my comfort or lack thereof. Six weeks. That’s the longest I’ve ever stayed away since his return. Funny thing is, I don’t know if I stayed away because I genuinely believed I could end things or because I wanted to see him that sick and twisted.” I roughly pushed up from the sofa and ventured back to the window, staring out into the dreary sky, hands in my trouser pockets. I knew the answer, but while that bitter pill might not have been hard to swallow when alone and unable to hide from my own verities, admitting it to someone outside my triangle of love felt unacceptable.

  “How did that make you feel?” she asked.

  I contemplated the question unnecessarily. Purchasing time, I supposed. Delaying the unveiling of my weakness. Then, so quietly I barely heard it myself, I whispered, “Loved.”

  ‘The truth be an ugly thing.’ And my truth? The more Damon subjugated me, the closer I felt to God.

  “Did that not cross the line for you?”

  I turned to her and confessed, “There is no line with Damon. Never has been.”

  “How’s Blake’s therapy going? Without giving specific details.”

  That segue made me leery. She’d never asked about Blake’s progress before. I sat across from her again. “I’m not sure how well it can be going. He keeps more pertinent information from his therapist than I keep from you.” I offered a quirk of my lips to soften the blow of my words.

  “Well, trust takes time, and we therapists are a patient bunch.” Her eyes shone with mirth.

  “Blake’s afraid. I can’t say that I blame him, but we can’t keep going on like this, that's for sure.”

  “Maybe we can consider group sessions at some point?”

  “Yeah, maybe...”

  Lounging on the couch at the condo, watching over the storm outside, doubt and uncertainty over what we’d been recently doing plagued my mind. Was I ruining everything? Being selfish? Allowing the past to come between us?

  No. I didn’t think so. We could make this work, I tried to convince myself. Besides, the time for second-guessing had passed. The proverbial Pandora's Box had already been opened.

  I’d busied myself with work at The OBH—The Oregon Ballet House. When I wasn’t working as Ballet Master, I ran or slept. Anything to keep my mind off Blake and avoid going home to the emptiness. I spent long hours going over the routines with the dancers. We were preparing for our biggest show yet. A rendition of La Bayadère. Props needed to be approved, costumes needed to be made and the music fine-tuned.

  Swinging my bag over my shoulder on my way out of the theatre the other day, I’d stopped short upon seeing some of the dancers lingering around outside. They’d been, apparently, waiting for me.

  “Hey, Justin, we’re heading downtown to grab dinner from that new Italian spot. Interested?” Mia had asked. Jacob and Nina exchanged a look.

  “Maybe next time,” I’d said. Mia didn’t hide her disappointment. She hadn’t been with the company long. Jacob and Nina already knew what to expect. I often wondered why they bothered. Maybe to shift the guilt that came with not asking onto the person that always said no. Well, it worked. Every single time.

  Now on day four, my bruises had mostly faded, but I kept a little makeup on them to prevent questioning looks and unwanted words of concern.

  No longer could I hide from the sadness caused by Blake’s absence. It found me in my sleep, shaking me awake after small bouts of hard-earned slumber. It manifested in the creak of my bones after sitting in one spot for hours praying for his return and then finally deciding to move a muscle.

  It’d been five years of just the two of us. It wasn’t easy getting to where we were... where we were before Damon came back. But we’d found our rhythm. Our happiness.

  But did we really?

  As the day drew to a close, I found myself forming a plan to track him down when I heard a key in the door. I released the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  Blake’s home.

  I wanted to launch myself over the back of the sofa and run into his arms. But I remained seated and counted down.

  The door closed, and the bolt slid into place, sealing us in. His keys were tossed into the metal dish on the table in the foyer. The sound of fabric being removed and hung on the coat rack reached my ears. The squeak of wet shoes being toed off traveled the distance separating us.

  While he stalled, I focused on tempering my breathing.

  Eventually approaching, he kneeled in front of me and brought a hand to my cheek. I nuzzled into him. “Blake―”

  “Shhh, not now,” he whispered.

  Familiar with that look in his eye, I allowed the flimsy throw covering me to slide away from my bare body. The rise of desire in his stare and the hitch of his breath made my skin pebble all over.

  Blake reached up and unwrapped my bun. My hair tumbled around my face and down my back. “I love you,” he said. “Always you, and only you.”

  “I love you too,” I replied, fisting my hands in his hair. “Always you.” If it was noticed by him that I didn’t repeat his last sentiment, he didn’t say.

  “I need to reclaim you.” Said as a statement but held the undertone of a question.

  Without thinking, I answered, “Yes.”

  By now the sun had set, and thunder rolled in to join the rain. The only light to be offered came from our fireplace. Blake removed his clothes, standing before me undressed in all his glory, wearing features that danced a fine line between beautiful and rugged: sensual pink lips, the top fuller than the bottom, a chiseled body and sun-kissed skin.

  Mine.

  Spreading myself out on the rug, touched by the warmth of the flames, the true heat came from him. Blake kissed and licked me from head to head, and then head to toes. Every last one of them. The feel of his hands ever gentle but firm; my senses were on overload.

  How long this continued, I couldn't say. But once I could no longer take it, I rolled onto my stomach and raised to my hands and knees, signali
ng for him to get inside me.

  He placed a hand on my back; I followed the directive and lowered until my chest touched the soft surface beneath me.

  I thought the kisses he then ran down my spine would be the death of me, until he got to the crease of my ass. Spreading me to full capacity, Blake proceeded to inhale me from testicles to tailbone like a man starved for air. He moved on to suck hard on the flesh near my hole. My tip leaked. A hickey in this area felt so dirty and depraved. I loved it. It felt like heaven. I told him so.

  Blake made a courteous type of love to me for a time, and when we lay spent, wallowing in our spill, he gazed into my eyes and whispered, “More.”

  Again, without thought, I answered, “Yes.”

  Afterwards, temporarily sated, I sat upright on the floor between Blake’s spread legs, my back to his chest. I watched my finger run circles around his knee as his fingers ran through my hair. “Where have you been?” I asked.

  Blake shifted behind me. “I went to see Dr. Stevens, then drove down to the house. Didn’t do much. Had drinks with Ash one night, but mostly, I needed some time alone to clear my head.”

  The house he referred to was my childhood home in Chadwick, Oregon. The place my father and I moved to after my mother died. Chadwick was where I met Damon and, later on, Blake.

  “Drinks with Ash,” I said sardonically. “Isn’t that nice? You leave me here for days without even a call, but you were in good enough shape to have drinks with Ash.” I immediately wished I could take back my words.

  “Jesus, Justin,” Blake sighed. “He’s my best friend. And your friend too.”

  His friend, yes. Mine? That could be debated. I had no doubt that Ash cared for me and I him. But I wouldn’t know the first thing about having a friendship. “I’m sorry. This is not how I wanted our conversation to start. This isn’t me—it hasn’t been me for years.” I faced him. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  Blake’s eyes lost their hardness, and he pulled me into a kiss.

  “How did your appointment with Dr. Stevens go? Are you opening up to him?” I asked.

  “I tell him enough.”

  “Blake—”

  “Let’s go to bed,” he said, getting up. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  We were inseparable for the next three days. We ran together in the mornings, and Blake tagged along to my dance rehearsals, which usually went from sunup to way beyond quitting hours.

  Once home, Blake would soak and massage the aches and knots from my bruised feet, and we’d order takeout from our favorite place and unwind in front of the fireplace with a bottle of wine. That’d been our routine, and while he insisted that the office could survive without him for a few days, I knew our time within our bubble would soon end. It came as no surprise when it did, screechingly.

  “I have to be back in the office tomorrow for a meeting with a potential investor.”

  “What’s the point of being the boss if you can’t do what you want?”

  “I love it when you pout.” He leaned in to run his tongue over my bottom lip.

  “I don’t pout,” I said indignantly.

  “Yes, you do. You’re still doing it,” he laughed.

  I secured his growing erection in my grasp, effectively shutting him up. “Oh, but the things these full lips can do.” I stroked him from root to tip. Declaring with a seriousness that made both his eyes and nostrils flare, “Mine.”

  Oddly enough, the surge of my proprietary claim ignited my other hunger. I warred with a need to be loved gently, revered, honored, and treated as an equal. But also craved to be ravaged, debased, forced, and controlled.

  Resigned, knowing that I’d need to feed my other appetite and soon, I remained in the moment, taking pleasure in the giving of it.

  Chapter Three

  I handed my keys to the valet and entered the restaurant, fretting over the raindrops soaking into my sleeve. Arriving only fifteen minutes late but knowing Blake wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. It was a big night for his tech company—Blake Daniels Industries. They’d signed another major investor.

  I instantly picked Blake out amongst the sea of people in the dimly lit space. There weren’t many as tall as him. Making my way across the room, I took in the sight of him. He wore an all black, three-piece suit and tie, tailored to fit his body like a glove, and his five-o-clock shadow gave him an edge. I wanted to strip him down.

  Deep in conversation with someone, he stopped speaking abruptly, scanning the room. He sensed me. His eyes lit up when he noticed me heading in his direction, and he excused himself in order to meet me halfway.

  “You’re late,” he grumbled, trying to fight back a smile. As if the sight of me made up for any wrongdoing on my part.

  “Not by much.” I glanced at my watch. “Rehearsals went a little longer than expected.”

  “You look amazing.” He gave me a chaste kiss. “Gray brings out your eyes. It’s my favorite color on you.”

  “I know.” I ran the pad of my thumb across his full lower lip. That earned me a shy smile. “So, what did I miss?”

  “Nothing, yet. Everyone’s been mingling and enjoying the free food and drinks. I’ll give a speech closer to the end of the night. Come, I have someone I want you to meet.”

  I internally groaned. I hated small talk. Partly because I wasn’t any good at it and mostly because I’d never been interested in other people outside of Damon and Blake. Reading my mind, Blake said, “I promise to get you out of here early.”

  My guilt burned hot. “It’s your night. Don’t worry about me.” My words would be fruitless. Worrying about me was what Blake did best.

  After a few hours of introductions and mostly pleasant conversations, Blake gave his speech, and then we said our goodbyes, leaving everyone to enjoy the rest of their night after Blake announced he’d extended the open bar for several more hours. That garnered cheers of approval throughout the room.

  We stepped outside, and someone called out, “Ditching your own party, Mr. Daniels?”

  “Josh,” Blake said, smiling indulgently at the company's top engineer. “Age is catching up to me. I can’t party like I used to.”

  Smirking at his playful lie, I said hello to Josh, then left them to chat while I walked the few feet over to the valet podium. It took only a minute to get to the front of the line and hand the ticket over.

  I wasn’t surprised when I heard Josh slur, “Damn, that husband of yours is...sexy as hell. And I bet he’s bendy.”

  Josh was a hopeless flirt. A harmless one too.

  However, my inner alarm bells went off when Blake responded in a voice laced with menace, “If you ever think to discuss my husband to me in that way again, I’ll break your fucking neck.”

  Josh jerked back, eyes wide.

  “Is everything okay here?” I asked, tentatively, coming to a stop beside Blake. Eyeing him. His face paled and contorted in panic before smoothing out. He turned without a word, heading for our car, which was now being pulled in front of the restaurant.

  Blake kept a pensive look out of the passenger window the whole drive home. My attention split between the road, his clenched fists, and the shallow rise and fall of his chest. I wondered what I’d be met with once we got to the condo.

  I pulled into our designated parking spot in the garage, and we both sat there quietly, staring ahead at the rows of parked vehicles. My insides were at war. Swords inflicted sharp stabbing pains to my lower intestines. An ignited fire made its way up the center of my chest. The silence added fuel to the flames. What’s happening?

  “Blake—”

  The car shook as he got out and slammed the door.

  I listened to his footsteps retreat before exiting the driver’s side and briskly catching up, entering the elevator before the doors closed. He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, and I let him be, trying to remember a time when I’d ever seen him undone.

  Never.

  This isn’t him...

  We got off
on our floor and entered the condo. I kept my distance, observing him, waiting for his cues. He yanked at his tie while moving through the living room toward the stairs.

  Give him his space or push him to talk? I asked myself. After a minute of weighing the pros and cons of both options, I decided on a happy medium. I’d stay close, but I wouldn't force him to talk, if he wasn’t ready. I raised my gaze to the ceiling when I heard him stomping around in our bedroom. I exhaled and went after him, climbing the stairs at a leisurely pace.

  “Wanna talk about what happened?” I asked, leaning against the bedroom door frame, thumbs slotted through my front belt loops, trying to look as relaxed and casual as possible, not wanting to betray my internal turmoil.

  I wasn’t used to seeing him unhinged. Up until Damon's return, Blake had always been the most even-keeled, level headed person I’d known. Lately, he showed signs to the contrary, and I didn’t know what to do about it. Well, that wasn’t completely true. The truth? I did know what to do about it, but I wasn’t strong enough to get it done. I tried. For six weeks. Look where that got us.

  Blake ignored me, continuing to aggressively remove his clothing before getting into the shower.

  I pushed off the door jamb, undressed, and joined him; he instantly tensed up.

  “Justin—”

  “Let me take care of you for a change.” Before he could object, I tilted his head under the spray of water, lathered his hair, and massaged his scalp. My hands worked their way down his neck, taking time to knead his shoulders before moving on to his back. Although close to him in terms of actual distance, an unseen chasm separated us. The heat usually felt from being so close now felt tepid at best, despite the dense, hot moisture in the air. It worried me. I didn’t know whether to push for communication after all or wait until he decided to open up.

  His muscles held much tension. Coiled tight, as if waiting to strike out. My anxiety nearly matched his own. By the time I reached his hands—which were balled into fists—I knew something else needed to be done to relax him.