by Lex Chase
Patrick hung his head miserably. “Listen, I can explain—”
An hour ago, Benji would have been ecstatic to hear those words. But now? It felt like getting handed the keys to a house that had just been blown down by a hurricane. Meaningless. Empty.
He shook his head, snarling in disgust.
Benji’s energy flickered, the tickle-flutter of it pushing against his skin like jumpy muscles. He usually kept his concentration centered on being. Existing. Staying corporeal. But right now that was the last thing he wanted. He let go of his control, let his energy dissipate and scatter.
He held Patrick’s gaze until the last second. As his vision grayed out and his limbs faded into weightlessness, he shook his head again.
“No.”
Chapter Fourteen: MODENA
Patrick plopped into the café chair across from Henry. The legs shrieked across the tile flooring. He buried his face in his hands, heaving long, groaning breaths.
Henry sat across from him and kept his blithe smile as he pushed a meatball around his plate.
Patrick wouldn’t cry. He had been done with tears years ago. Tears were weakness, an admission that the offensive won. His shoulders shook, and a breath stuttered in his throat. Fuck that. He wasn’t going there. Admitting defeat was for the man he used to be.
As much as he’d denied it, that man he used to be had come to the surface the moment Benji walked through those CASA doors.
He slapped the table and bellowed like a cornered wolf. Henry didn’t blink when his glass rocked and his fork fell from his hand and then clattered to the floor. Frowning, Henry shifted awkwardly to retrieve his fork.
Patrick took a slow breath through his nose and out his mouth as he watched Henry consider whether his fork was still usable. Henry hummed a little tune as he wiped it off with his napkin and then inspected it again.
“Sorry,” Patrick said and hung his head. It was useless thinking that Henry could hear him, and he knew that. “I’ve really done it now.”
Henry sipped his tea, and Patrick followed his line of sight as he looked out the windows. The robins were gone, as were any remnants of the nest. How many generations had gone by, Patrick asked himself. Such a simple thing had steadied him and brought him comfort, like Henry’s constant companionship. Henry wasn’t much of a companion. Over the years Patrick had stopped thinking of him as a person, another CASA regular, but a puzzle, a thing to figure out.
There was nothing to figure out. There was no great twist to the little old man who came on his own every day. Henry was just a guy that liked the ambiance. Patrick had set up in his head that Henry brought the crossword books for him, as if communicating, acknowledging his existence. He probably just left them behind out of forgetfulness.
As if in synchronization with his thoughts, Henry shifted in his seat and then reached into the interior pocket of his coat. He pulled out a crossword puzzle book and then placed it on the table between them. After a moment, he ceremoniously laid a new pen across the colorful cardstock cover.
Henry slid the book to Patrick’s side of the table, and Patrick swallowed hard. Was it an offering? Was there something? Henry said nothing and sipped his tea, staring off into space.
Patrick shook his head in a slow, confused swivel.
Puzzles like Henry fascinated him. In all of his hunting for something to focus on instead of Benji, it was with Henry he could find the patience to sort out where he and Benji were going.
It was too late to turn back now. He and Benji had done things, said things, and all of them could never be forgotten. Patrick palmed his face.
“There are so many things I could do to him,” Patrick muttered as he watched Henry. “You know that, right? Somewhere in there, you know.”
Henry sipped his tea.
Patrick laced his fingers as he rested his elbows on the table.
“How long have we been doing this, Henry?” he asked. “How long have I been staring at you, and how long have you not blinked?” He leaned back, sighing. He knew. “Since Alec, right?”
Patrick blinked back the sting of regret welling in his eyes. That man’s name was like poison. Alec’s influence hung around CASA like a sickly film that could never wash off. He was everywhere. On every piece of furniture and on every inch of Patrick’s skin.
He shivered with revulsion.
“That asshole doesn’t deserve to be here anymore,” Patrick said as if giving Henry a pep talk through his own crisis. “He got what he deserved. He left us.”
Henry’s silverware clinked across his plate in response.
Patrick scratched the back of his neck. He frowned. “Yeah. No one deserves that.” He then forced a smile. “Do you remember him? Did you leave crosswords for him too?”
Henry took a bite of his gnocchi.
“Do you remember when I came here?” Patrick asked, knowing full well he wouldn’t get so much as a grunt. “I was so… green.” He clenched his fists, and turned to look out over the café.
“Alec.” He snorted. “God. Alec. He was everything I wasn’t.” He spread his hands, trying to indicate Alec’s magnitude. “He was magnetic. He made this place safe. We… we made it a home.” Patrick swallowed, caught off guard by his confession. “I….”
Don’t say it, he warned himself. He gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t admit defeat. Alec didn’t deserve that power over him anymore.
“He used me,” he told Henry and then cleared his throat. “I was certain I was in love with him.” Patrick scoffed. “Love? Here? What the fuck was I even thinking? What the fuck was I expecting? A house on a tree-lined street? A two-car garage? A dog and a cat? Maybe adopting a kid?” He coughed, holding in the urge to fall apart.
He balled his fingers into tight, angry fists. “He twisted all of that,” Patrick growled out the words. “He twisted me into this. Into him.”
Patrick leaned into Henry’s space as he licked sweet tomato jam from his fork. “I’ve become him. And Benji had no idea.”
He traced his fingers along the table, outlining Henry’s food tray.
“There are rules,” Patrick said. “Not to get close. Not to get involved. Not to….” He grunted, disgusted with himself. “Not to feel.”
He nodded at Henry. “I bet you know how to feel. Or you knew once. Dancing with Raquel at the USO show? Germany, right? You were there?”
No answer. Just as well.
Patrick forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. “I fucked up, Henry. I knew what I was doing. I knew damned well what I was doing. An Impression told me to drink the milk. What a fucking joke.” He tossed up his hands. “Was I stupid? What the fuck is this? Love?” He spat the word like a curse. “Love is useless here.”
He shuddered as his spiritual energy drained from him.
“But Alec. God. Dammit.” Patrick growled. “He made me believe it.”
“He betrayed you, didn’t he?” Benji asked softly from the café entrance.
Patrick wished he had imagined it, but when he looked up, he saw Benji’s adorable face marred with hurt and regret. Patrick’s concrete attitude cracked.
“Yeah,” Patrick said. He ran his fingers through his hair. Fuck. This was really happening. “Come on.” He beckoned Benji forward.
Timidly, Benji stepped into the café, and Patrick moved to a different table from Henry. Benji joined him, remaining silent. Patrick had the floor, and he clenched his jaw. The terror of what he would say—what he had to say—would make or break them. Patrick’s money was on break them.
“I was once an Impression,” Patrick said slowly, waiting for the words to sink in. “Like you, though. Stronger. More cognizant. Not everyone that comes through here is like that. Most are the weak Impressions we see every day. We try to make the Impressions move on as quickly as possible, heal that missing piece of their soul by helping someone else, and then let CASA pass judgment on them.” He held out his hand, gesturing to the showrooms beyond. “When they first arrive, Impressions are dis
oriented, confused. But the longer they stay, they become cognizant, they understand why they’re here. Some of them realize they’re dead. Some of them don’t care that they are.”
He met Benji’s dark eyes and took a stuttering breath. Benji nodded, encouraging him to go on.
“But I lingered, and the more I lingered, the stronger I got. I became cognizant, formed logic, routines. I called it hard data. Things to ground me, to keep me from being—” He looked away from Benji as his lip trembled. He bit into it, trying to keep his expression even. “—afraid of going insane. I became tied to CASA. This had become my home.”
“But you didn’t linger just for fun…,” Benji said.
Patrick shook his head. “I met Alec.”
Benji filled in the blanks. “He was a Guide.”
Patrick nodded and looked back at Benji. “He was much more than a Guide.”
It was Benji’s turn to look away. He fidgeted in his seat. “You loved him.”
Taking a long sigh through his nose, Patrick waited as he tried to sort out what he was going to say. He settled on, “He had me convinced I did.”
Benji snapped back, his eyes narrowed, brewing with an angry storm. Patrick leaned back, sensing the energy crackling off his body.
“He didn’t convince you of anything,” Benji growled as he rose from his seat.
This was it. The breaking point.
“You loved him,” Benji snarled. “And you’re too fucking afraid to admit it. You’re too fucking afraid to admit you’re terrified of what’s out there. You don’t even want to try to leave. You’d rather rant and rave that this is it, that CASA is your home, that CASA chose you. I have news for you.”
“Benji…,” Patrick whispered.
“This place?” Benji threw out a hand. “CASA is just a fucking store. It doesn’t choose anyone. There’s no magic to it. It’s you. You choose to stay here. You don’t want to take a chance because you’re still just as scared as the day you came.”
Patrick shot from his seat, and the lights flickered from his wrath. “I’m fucking scared because you’re moving on without me,” he bellowed.
Benji jerked back, his eyes wide.
Silence fell between the two of them. Patrick damned himself for saying it. But the truth was going to come out eventually. This would have all happened one day. It was best to do it now, when everything was so fresh, before it became unbearable. Benji would hate him for only a fleeting moment when he stepped out of the front doors into his new charmed life. He would forget him in an instant.
Patrick hung his head, cussing himself. “Dammit. It’s for the be—”
“When… when did you know?” Benji said, his voice low, a cross between a whisper and a horrified accusation. “When did you know?”
“A while.” Patrick threaded his fingers behind his head, trying to get his bearings.
“A while?” Benji repeated hatefully, his own energy making the lights flicker and fizzle. Around them, customers shook their heads in confusion at the faulty wiring. “And you thought keeping me here was a good idea?”
Patrick let out a frustrated groan. “Why do you need to make this so complicated?”
Benji was in front of him in an instant. “Why do you keep blaming others for your screw-ups? Is that how you work? So you can absolve yourself of guilt?” He gestured in the vague direction of the parking garage. “So you can just throw yourself at the Weople and have us blame them for killing you?”
The tables trembled around them as their mutual fury rose. Static sparked through the florescent lighting, and the bulbs hissed and popped inside their plastic housing.
“Benji…,” Patrick bit out. “Please.”
“What?” he snapped. “What could you possibly have to say? Some other excuse?”
Patrick spun away. He couldn’t look at him. Instead, he looked to the window where the robins once were. They would never be back.
“I thought it could work,” he told the window. “I thought we could be happy here. And we were. You know we were.” Slowly, he turned to face Benji. “I had no one to go back to when I came here, so I didn’t give it a second thought. And then you realized how differently time moves here. That what felt like a whirlwind love affair between us was really eight years. I saw that panic in your eyes. And when you wouldn’t let me explain, I knew I’d fucked up. I knew we were over.” He sighed, the fight sucked out of him. “You want the truth. You want me to stop blaming others. You’re right. I loved Alec. I stayed for him. I never loved someone so damned much, and when he left he took a fucking piece of me that I could never get back.”
He paced a slow circle around Benji, sensing his cooling aura. “Agnes and Karin tried. Fuck they tried. All that shit with CASA making you feel happy inside. I never felt happy inside. Impressions came and went. My life became the job.” He nodded to Benji. “And then there was you.”
Benji’s lip quivered, and Patrick caught him nibbling at it to make it stop.
“And I was such a fucking idiot.” Patrick looked to the burned out lights overhead. “I was the same douche bag that preyed on a doe-eyed Impression. First, it was out of boredom. But then….”
Benji nodded. “And then?”
Patrick smiled. “And then you woke up. And I felt… happy inside.” He snorted. “Fuck, that sounds so stupid.”
“Not really.” Benji cast his gaze to the floor.
“Okay, then.” Patrick puffed a steadying sigh. Clapping his hands once, he cleared his throat. “Well. I guess Karin will show you the way out from here.”
He would leave it at that. He wouldn’t say good-bye because the damned word would get stuck in his throat, and he’d already made it harder than it was. Patrick pressed his lips into a tight line that was an attempt at a smile but got nowhere close. He gave Benji a small nod and then slipped past him, making his way back into the showrooms.
There would be other Impressions. There would always be someone to help. And Patrick would always be the employee of the decade. Maybe he’d get employee of the century. Maybe finally get benefits.
He managed two steps before Benji clasped his wrist.
The thundering force of their combined energies sent Patrick crashing to his knees, but Benji remained on his feet. Arcs of lightning crackled through the café; the living patrons ran for cover as the fire alarm screeched through the store. Customers stampeded around them, racing for the doors and leaving their purchases behind.
Patrick struggled for breath, an instinct of the living, but his all the same. He searched for Henry in the commotion, but found his usual chair empty. At least he’d gotten away from Benji’s fury.
Benji stood over him like an angry angel, but it was too late for Patrick to ask for forgiveness. He hauled Patrick to his feet and then shoved him back into a café chair.
Patrick stuttered, breathing hard. Benji flickered from existence and then materialized, straddling Patrick’s lap. He clawed his fingers into Patrick’s hard jaw, his eyes dark and gleaming.
“Why do you have to push?” Benji demanded in a hissing growl, throwing Patrick’s words back at him.
Before Patrick could answer, Benji leaned in and slammed his mouth over Patrick’s. Their energies warred with each other for dominance, every light in the café shattering as mass casualties.
Patrick growled against Benji’s mouth, demanding he bow to him. But Benji refused and sank his nails into Patrick’s scalp, holding him captive as their auras clashed together. Patrick had no choice but to comply as Benji forced his lips apart and tasted him in a long sensuous lick of tongue against tongue.
Patrick’s breath quickened as Benji set out to conquer him. In a long roll of the hips, Benji didn’t so much invite as demand, but one way or another, they were finally crossing the point of no return.
Cupping Benji’s rear, Patrick answered by bucking against his hips. Benji pulled back, letting Patrick collect his wits. Benji balanced himself on Patrick’s lap as they frotted against each o
ther. Their auras sang, the pitch growing, screaming for a crescendo. Benji’s lashes fluttered, and then finally he closed his eyes. He braced himself on Patrick’s shoulders and bowed his head as Patrick worked him.
Patrick smirked. Benji had no clue what was happening to him. For such a simple act that at most would earn an awkward chuckle at a dance club, Patrick had Benji right where he wanted him as their auras thrashed.
“What are you…,” Benji whispered, swallowing heavy breaths. “How are you doing that?”
Patrick slapped his hand around the back of Benji’s neck. “Come. Here,” he commanded and yanked him close. Possessing Benji’s mouth, Patrick unleashed the pent-up lust fueling his spiritual energies into one perfect kiss.
The ceiling squealed and buckled, and water surged from the sprinkler system. The rush of water flooded the café and soaked them through. Water ran over Benji in rushing trails, down his shoulders, arms, over the back of his neck, and washed over Patrick, pooling between them.
Benji seized, all of his muscles contracting at once as he clung to Patrick. They rode the combustion of aura to aura together. Rain droplets sizzled on contact with their charged bodies. Patrick snaked one hand up Benji’s shirt, dragging his nails down his back in burning lines. Benji shivered against him, unable to form words, his breath hitching against their kiss.
It wasn’t enough.
Patrick needed him closer, against him, skin to skin, spirit to spirit.
He broke the kiss just long enough to pull his wet tee over his head, and then helped Benji do the same. There was no hesitation to behold each other, no ceremonial savoring the moment, just the primal hunger to spiritually fuck.
Their mouths met, and Benji tried to form words in between each point of contact. But it came out like mewling gibberish.
Patrick pulled away. “Shh, shh, shh….” he whispered and then kissed him again. “You liked that?”
Benji shakily nodded and his teeth chattered. Not from the cold, but from the shock to his system. “What the fuck was that?”
