Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

  “You’re safe with me,” I whispered while taking him in hand. His warm breath skated across my lips as he rested his forehead against mine. I repeated my declaration and kept my movements firm and sure. Blake slowly unclenched his fingers, his shoulders lowered away from his ears. “That’s it,” I crooned. “Let go, baby.” A few more minutes of increased pressure and speed, and let go was exactly what he did. “I love you.”

  “Say it again,” he begged.

  And I did. Over and over again.

  After the shower, we lay in bed entwined with one another, and I decided to broach the subject of what happened outside the restaurant.

  “That wasn’t like you, Josh flirts with everyone, and I’m pretty sure he couldn’t pass a sobriety test tonight. You usually take his comments in stride. What was different this time?”

  He took an interest in the ceiling paint. Thinking about my query. “I don’t know. He exhaled. “It was a long night. I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

  I didn’t want to know, but I had to ask, “Was it… Is he…?”

  He shook his head no but murmured, “Yes. He is.”

  With that, he kissed the top of my head, turned off the light, and pulled me closer. I remained awake, listening to him breathe. He hadn’t fallen asleep; his heart galloped a mile a minute against the ear I had pressed to his chest.

  “I’m terrified, Justin,” he achingly admitted. His fear was reflected in the trembling of his voice, the increased pressure of his arms around me. “Terrified I’m losing you, that I’m losing myself.”

  “You’ll never lose me, Blake,” I promised, scooting up to kiss him. The kiss deepened, and I didn’t like the edge of desperation coming off him in waves. It only fueled my fears. I needed Blake to be the calm one.

  His movements were hurried, uncoordinated. Like a man being pulled away by an unseen force while trying to hold on to the anchor in front of him. I had to be the strong one for him tonight. I had to keep him from being dragged away.

  “Let’s get some sleep,” I said, stroking the pulse at his neck. Willing it to calm beneath my hands. He eventually drifted off, but I lay there for hours, contemplating.

  “Watching the rain never gets old to you, does it?”

  I turned away from the stretch of window overlooking Kisla’s bustling downtown business district, where Julie’s office resided on the twentieth floor. She’d entered the room, making her way over to the seating area. “No. I suspect it never will.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “Come, have a seat.”

  I strolled over to the couch, leaving my favorite place behind. Julie didn’t waste time diving right in.

  “I’d like to gauge what your idea of normalcy is with Damon. Tell me one of your fondest memories of him, your worst memory, and what made them that way.”

  I didn’t need to think too long. My fondest and worst memory of Damon lay tied together, and one I thought back on from time to time.

  “I met Damon when I transferred to Chadwick High School.” My third transfer. “We became friends, and shortly after, he got me a job at Elite. Below the legal age limit, but Damon knew someone. I’d been a dancer for most of my life, but this… This was different.”

  I paused. Thinking back on that night was one thing; saying it out loud was another. It made it more real than I believed myself comfortable with. Despite the events that happened then, I’d still do it again.

  Julie’s warm smile encouraged me to go on. I licked my lips and heaved through.

  “He asked me one day why I didn’t dance from the heart. He said, ‘When I see you on stage, it all seems mechanical. Scripted. You’re never going to get where you want to be if your dancing relies on what’s in your head.’”

  The distant memory of the argument his statement caused earned a chuckle from me. Being young, insecure, and sensitive made me defensive to any criticism regarding my craft. Julie sent a questioning look. I waved her off and continued.

  “He was right, and he verbalized what I didn’t know how to.” The irony in that didn’t escape me.

  “Passion. I lacked passion.

  “He suggested that maybe a few nights a week I give dancing at Elite a shot. He thought I needed to get in touch with my sensual side.” If anyone knew how to tap into sexuality, it was Damon. It surrounded him like fog. Innate to his whole being. Je ne sais quoi.

  “I’m trained in ballet and modern dance. Elite was a whole other monster. Damon gave me a shot of tequila to relax me. I got on stage, the lights went low, the music came on, and after a short while, I’d found myself. In communion with my body, I was tuned in... and turned on.”

  But Damon was a jealous man. And I, a mere innocent, naively began to make a home in the maw of a beast.

  “The handful of patrons that were there had flocked from the bar area to the lip of the stage. They fondled and propositioned me, but I was lost in a haze to it all. One of the best nights of my life.

  “Until I was being dragged off stage.” My nostalgia soured. “I wasn’t aware of the lower level filled with private rooms, until I found myself locked in one with Damon. He threw me on the bed and bellowed, ‘How dare you!’” It shook the walls.

  “In pain and slightly disoriented, it took me a few seconds to catch up. But I did. What happened next is how my fondest memory became my worst. Until it became my fondest—again.”

  Julie watched me patiently, waiting for me to continue. But I had no plans of going any deeper with her. A part of me feared that she’d judge us. She wouldn’t understand; not many people would. You could call what Damon and I had unconventional, but it was ours.

  “That was my first time, with anyone. Quite memorable, I would say. Even at nineteen, Damon was a force to be reckoned with. Almost as imposing as he is today. I found my passion and sexuality all in the same night.”

  “Were you and Damon in a romantic relationship at that point?” Julie asked.

  “If it were up to Damon, I’d have been his from the day he laid eyes on me. It isn’t his style to lie in wait. I was more skittish. I had an unhealthy distrust for the motivations of my peers due to years of being bullied. Labeled a gay ballerina. We became friends and then something more with time.”

  “Would you consider yourself as having been violated?” she asked.

  “No,” I said firmly. “Damon did not rape me. Whatever conclusions you may draw about him, that should not be one of them.”

  She raised her hands in a gesture meant to calm me. “I’m not here to judge you, Justin. I simply wanted clarity.”

  I gave a sharp nod and rolled my shoulders. “I’d never seen that side of him before. Angry, sure, but not to that extent. And never directed at me. However, once it dawned on me that his actions manifested from a place of possession and jealousy and a deep-rooted need to own me… I surrendered. To everything that came afterward. Maybe not verbally, but I did surrender.” I leaned back and crossed a leg over my knee, scrutinizing her expression for any signs of disapproval.

  My youth and ignorance left me ill-equipped with the profound language needed to express the emotions going through me at that time, but it didn’t make what I felt any less true.

  “I needed to be possessed, conquered, owned, used as he saw fit. Controlled to some degree. Chased and captured. It all called to that something in me that laid dormant. I was awakened in that strip club. At seventeen years old.” There was a time I would’ve said that I was fine when I met Damon. That his ailing cells were a contagion to mine. But Julie was big on taking responsibility for one's actions. In my case, my reactions. I was far from fine when he found me.

  “How were things between the two of you after?”

  “In the ‘right after’ sense, or after that night?”

  “Let’s start with right after.”

  “Damon was uncharacteristically gentle and caring. Took me home and held me all night.” My heart softened at the memory.

  “Don’t get me wrong—Damon is c
aring and loving, but in a bulldozer kind of way. He runs you over and knocks you down with his love. That night, he was reverent. Every touch felt like a request for permission. My body was my own. It was beautiful, in a different way.”

  After that day, the gloves were off for Damon. I was his, and he didn’t hold back.

  We didn’t hold back. I was set free, and together, we burned hotter than the sun.

  I sat forward and steepled my hands against my chin in thought. “You know, initially looking back on that night, I’d thought it was guilt that brought out the tenderness in Damon. Except, much later on when I reflected on things, I realized... that was the first time that I’d met Blake.” More to myself, I whispered, “Damon Blake Daniels.”

  Damon was ruthless in his ownership of me. And Blake was his better half. Damon would rip apart worlds just to have me, and I would willingly lay and be owned and torn apart and had—and put back together by his better half.

  “Blake is the alter, correct?” Julie asked.

  “Yes,” I confirmed.

  She scribbled notes onto her pad. That was the most she’d ever gotten from me in a single session. I typically used her as a sounding board. Not really believing that change could be made. Scared to find out what I would lose if we went down that path.

  But something had to give. Constantly consumed by culpability, Blake’s pain and Damon’s rage threatened to swallow me whole. But that something was dependent on one thing: I wouldn’t sacrifice one of them for the other. I couldn’t survive that again.

  “Sex plays a major role in your relationships,” she stated.

  I rolled the word “relationships” around on my tongue. Plural. It fit the profile. I sat up straighter in my seat, crossing my arms. “How is that important?” I’d avoided talking about that side of our lives. Knowing that changing it was a hard stop for me. Knowing that she’d want to dig into why that would be.

  “I’m trying to establish your coping mechanisms,” she said, softening her tone further. “We know that Damon and Blake are different, but how are you different in your interactions with them? What does each of them pull from you?”

  “Sex is important. I’d even go as far as saying it’s crucial. My needs are dependent on who I’m dealing with.”

  “Dig deeper,” she pushed.

  I filled my cheeks with air and blew it out. The atmosphere turned heady and oppressive, and I tugged at my shirt collar. Touching deeply on the topic felt like a betrayal to our intimacy. Not to mention inappropriately arousing. “Damon reduces me to my baser instincts. An animal in heat whose only goal is to rut. I become incoherent. He turns me primal. No room for shame, pride, or coyness. I want, I need, and he takes.” I punctuated the three. Her gaze told me that she got it.

  “Blake makes love. It’s very... romantic.” With a warm but stern tone, I said, “And I need it all. I’m not here to try and dissect possible childhood traumas that may explain why I would be attracted to what I have with them.”

  Her smile was knowing. “I wasn’t going to suggest that you were. I don’t particularly think that what you two have is unhealthy, Justin. We are all multidimensional. Full of contradictions. Our desires vary in degrees from day to day, much like our cravings for food.

  “What I think is that we need to figure out if integrating Damon and Blake is possible.”

  “Integrating?” I gripped the arm of the couch as my breaths shortened. “What does that entail?”

  “Right now, they’re two parts of a whole, each half responsible for what the other can’t cope with. Integration would bring those parts together again. Infuse them.”

  I took in her words, then scooted to the brim of my seat, kneading my temples. What did I stand to lose here? Who?

  I’d be selfishly satisfied with the status quo, if my two reasons for living weren’t currently preparing for war with one another. These past few years, I’d been walking through an unforgiving mist. Unable to see the horizon. The unwell side of me had to have Damon and his brand of uncompromising, punishing love. But not without Blake. Blake was the stream of light that guided me out of Damon’s dark cave. Without him, I’d be consumed by the darkness.

  In all my sessions with Julie, we’d kept the focus on Damon and Blake. I purposely skirted around the other issue. Julie allowed it, but for how much longer? When would I have to face the fact that they weren’t the only ones in need of help? And change.

  I harbored a fear, and even now, a burning began behind my eyes just thinking about it. I’d been willfully stunted. Stubbornly residing in stasis. Advancing through life professionally but denying myself growth in other ways.

  If I allowed myself to evolve, would my evolution cost me my love for Damon and Blake? Would my shutters be lifted? Would the sun provide better light through the graying clouds? Would I see that beyond the previously elusive horizon, a better life waited for me? One without... them?

  Julie slid a box of tissues across the table in my direction, I blinked rapidly, refusing to need them.

  She mistook my long silence for skepticism. “If integration is not a success, it doesn’t mean that all hope is lost. Dissociative Identity Disorder is not a death sentence, Justin. There are other things to be tried, but we need to take that first step.”

  “Blake fears that allowing Damon free rein outside of Elite will spur Damon’s permanent takeover. Blake is the alter, who’s only here to begin with because five years ago Damon allowed it. And Damon is becoming increasingly unsatisfied. Can’t say that I blame Blake. I don’t know what a life with only Damon would look like at this point. And I love Blake. I need them both.”

  She turned serious. “Justin. We can keep going on like we have, making no real progress, but that’s not going to benefit anyone.” She leaned forward, catching my gaze. “Get Blake in here. Let’s start the real work.”

  Speaking around the lump in my throat, I asked, “Can you promise me I won’t lose either of them?”

  “I can promise you that, in the end, things will be better than they are now.”

  Asking for a much-needed break, I looked to the ceiling, running my hands down my face.

  Chapter Four

  I got home that evening to find Blake already there. Leaving my wet shoes by the door, I stepped down into the darkened living room. The lightning from the storm illuminated Blake’s silhouette at the window. I padded toward him, unable to resist his wild hair. I ran my hands through the damp strands once within reach. “I thought rain-watching was my job,” I said. Blake’s bleak smile reflected off the glass. I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind and dropped a kiss to his bare shoulder. “You smell good.” It came out muffled against his skin. His scent held faint traces of bergamot that sat right below the surface. So different from Damon’s rich earthy scent. I gave in to the urge to bite. “And you look as bad as I feel.” I planted a quick peck to his nape before resting my chin on his shoulder. Worry bled from his eyes. “We have a lot to discuss, don’t we?” I asked.

  "Yes, we do, but not now.” He circled in my arms to face me.

  “What do you suggest we do now?” I trailed kisses along his collarbone.

  “Go get showered. I’ll order food.” He kissed the top of my head, then turned and walked away. I stood there staring after him. Cold from the loss of his touch.

  Freshly showered, I left the bedroom, stopping at the top landing, which provided a perfect view of the kitchen. I observed Blake as he sorted through the delivered food. He paused multiple times for deep breaths, even hiding a yawn behind his hand. He needed a distraction.

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked, jogging down the steps. His mouth nearly hit the floor. In slow motion, he lowered the container he held to the counter.

  “Christ, Justin. Where’s your clothes?”

  “I have on underwear. It’s not like I’m naked.” I looked down at myself.

  “You might as well be. Can you even breathe in those things?”

  “Very funny. I
guess you’ll have to exercise some self-control.”

  Blake came around to my side of the island and sat on one of the barstools, drawing me between his legs. “I don’t think I tell you enough how sexy you are,” he said, running one hand through my wet hair while the other one traced from my neck to my shoulder.

  I shivered, unsure if from his words or his touch. “It has been a while.” I stroked my chin thoughtfully. He decided to indulge me, punctuating each sentence with a kiss along my jawline.

  “You’re graceful.”

  I bit back a moan as he continued.

  “Strong.”

  Another moan escaped me. Blake was right—the party would be over before it started.

  “It’s hard to believe that it takes me hours in the gym to achieve what only takes you a couple pirouettes to accomplish.” He laughed at my scowl. “You’ve gotta respect dancing, that’s for sure.” His finger took the route leading to my abs. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice faded on the last word. “Eyes the color of envy.” He brushed a finger over the soft skin of my eyelids. “So deep and wide. I don’t deserve you.”

  I straddled him on the bar stool. “Tell me more,” I whispered as I dug into the front of his sweats and pulled out his cock. I left it hanging crudely between us, giving him my undivided attention.

  “Let’s not get started on that husky voice of yours—”

  “Let’s do exactly that.”

  His shoulders shook with laughter. “The things that voice makes me want to do to you.”

  “What things? I need specifics.” Raising up, I reached behind me and ripped a hole in my boxer-briefs because getting off him to remove them was not an option.

  “I think that might be enough for one night.” He attempted to lift me off him.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I warned. I snatched up the container of olive oil that came with our garlic sticks.

  “It looks like you’re the one who’s unable to control himself after all, huh?” he asked.