The Dead Don't Lie

by Anne Russo

  He raced to his room, only able to breathe once inside, and the lock turned. Minutes passed, and Ian couldn’t decide if relieved or hurt Rhys hadn’t come after him. After an hour of waiting, Ian took off in a car, desperate to put distance between them. As he sobered up, clarity returned, and the reality of what he’d finally admitted to haunted his every step. He slammed on the gas and headed into the city at a hundred miles an hour, wind in his hair, tears in his eyes.

  Finding the right bar, he parked and headed inside, straight to the nearest stool. He glared at the bartender, silently daring him to ask for an ID. He didn’t bother, only asked for his drink order, and went to fetch it. Ian liked the darkness of the place. The walls painted black, murky purple lights hiding everyone in shadows. He tucked himself into the collar of his coat and fumbled for a cigarette. Once the bartender returned, he threw back the Jack and Coke in one breath. He was on his second when he noticed someone had taken a seat next to him.

  Ian glanced over, finding himself eye-to-eye with an older man of forty-five, give or take. A little shorter than himself, heavier, and starting to gray. He smelled of expensive aftershave as he leaned in close, offering to buy him another drink. Ian nodded, and they made small talk, not even bothering to exchange names.

  “You want to go somewhere?” He asked after another round.

  Ian agreed, swallowing the rest of his Jack and Coke, tipsy when he stood. The arm around his waist tightening, steadying him even as he fought the urge to shake the other man off. Something was wrong. He was far too drunk for the few drinks he’d consumed. The man led Ian outside to the parking lot’s far corner, tucked far from the building and hidden.

  “Come on, I’ll drive you back later.”

  The tone of his voice made Ian hesitate. He paused, shaking his head, turning back to the bar, his limbs protesting even that small effort.

  “You know what, man, sorry, but I’m—” But his date rushed him from behind, dragging him toward his car.

  Under normal circumstances, Ian would’ve pulled himself out of the hold in a second. But now he struggled to resist, unable to defend himself, realizing too late what had happened. He had drugged him. Ian was hurled face first onto the trunk of his car and held in position while his attacker leaned in close. His breath hot against his ear.

  “Oh no, you greedy little whore. Did you think those drinks were free? Now let me take it out of your ass, and we’ll call it even.”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” Ian snarled, battling to dislodge him without success.

  Instead, he shoved harder, dazing Ian for a second. He drifted toward unconsciousness. Still laboring to fling him off with everything he had left, it wasn’t enough. Shrouded in darkness, his assailant kicked Ian’s legs apart and started tugging off his pants. Ian pushed up, ready to tear him to pieces with his bare hands, but his body refused to allow him.

  Overwhelmed by the futility of it, Ian slumped forward, defeated. His horrified mind whirled back to his confrontation with Rhys, his face, the way he’d said, never. Never, Ian, I will never love you.

  Ian squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling over his eyelashes and down his cheeks, shuddering when he heard the guy spit into his palm before slamming inside him in one rough thrust.

  “Oh yeah, that’s it. You like that?”

  The pain was severe, immense. He’d done plenty before but not this, the lower half of his torso thankfully growing numb as the attack continued. The thrusts were easier to take now that he was bleeding. Horrified at the realization, Ian fought back a wave of vomit, gasping and sobbing. His face pressed into cold metal, unable to fight back, helpless to stop this from happening. Cut off and adrift, alone—the world of his reality, a million miles from his reach.

  “Stop, man, please,” Ian begged, desperate.

  But his rapist only responded by smashing him into the trunk, headfirst. The blow stung, and he blacked out for a second. Coming around to blunt nails digging into his hips, filth breathed against his neck. When he finished, the other man came inside him. Ian left, nauseated by the trail of blood and fluid leaking from his body. Done, his attacker pushed Ian away and started tucking in his shirt and zipping up his pants. As Ian struggled to stand on legs refusing to budge, the shock was unbearable. Everything from his soul outward ached and throbbed.

  “Teach you to talk to strangers,” His attacker threw in his direction, chuckling,

  Ian dropped to the pavement, watching him go around to the driver’s side, leaving him behind. Powerless to get to his feet, he laid there on the frozen concrete for hours. In and out of consciousness, he drifted. Finally, coming to as storm clouds gathered, and thunder rumbled off in the distance.

  Groaning, he rolled over onto his stomach and struggled to push himself up to his knees. At last, Ian was able to stand, then doubled over, caught by a horrible spike of pain racing up his backside. The reality of what had happened dawning in brutally slow increments. It took all his strength to drag himself to his car. His hands shaking, face bruised and battered as he slid into the driver’s seat. It hit him, the gravity of what had happened. Ian couldn’t hold back.

  Fury erupted and what poured out was every hurt he’d carried with him for the past eighteen years. Ian leaned forward, sobbing, hitting the steering wheel until his fists throbbed. Outside, the sky opened up, and the rain pounded against the roof. The world black and empty around him, never dreaming of the further agony awaiting him.

  When he returned home, he discovered Rhys hadn’t returned. The hours turned to days and, with it, the raw, painful truth. He was gone, forever. Ian grieved him like a man possessed, tearing apart Rhys’s bedroom, screaming his name. He didn’t stop until his throat ached, and his hands were bloody, stunned into submission by the discovery of the photos he’d found. Exhausted and heaving for breath, Ian sank to the floor, unaware of the truth he held in his hand. One that laid twisted in the lines of an adolescent boy’s smiling face, his innocence, taunting him with their shared destiny. A collision course he’d never be able to outrun.

  * * * *

  Adam awoke, unaware of how long he’d been asleep, but as soon as his eyes opened, he suspected something was amiss. He reached out for Ian, expecting to find him, but found the other side of the mattress empty and cold. In a panic, Adam bolted upward, scrambling for the bedside lamp, assuming Ian had left. Instead, he sat at the edge of the bed.

  Ian wore his jeans and boots and held a shirt between clenched fists. His head was bent, lowered like a still and silent sentry. He didn’t react to either the light or Adam. With growing awareness, Adam realized last night had been but a fragile illusion. In the dark, real, and bold, but now early dawn had shattered everything open.

  “Are you coming back to bed?”

  Ian stood, slipping his shirt over his head. He turned, hair tousled, and eyes bleary from lack of sleep. Ian’s gaze traveled the length of Adam’s bare chest before landing on the purple bruises marking his throat, his upper body. Ian’s expression was soft for the briefest moment. But the wall returned, and the man Adam loved disappeared and left an unknown stranger in his place.

  “Ian?”

  “It’s still early. I should go before someone sees me.”

  “I don’t care what anyone sees,” Adam argued, voice rising. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Ian said nothing. Yet, Adam could see the conflict in the way he carried himself, tense and unsure. As if waiting for Adam to lash out so he could use it as an excuse to leave. But Adam refused to grant him the satisfaction. Let Ian stick around long enough to explain himself. Adam deserved that much, at least.

  Adam turned away, tears building. He struggled to contain them, determined not to let Ian see. Inside he was a raging storm gathering strength.

  “Look at me, Adam.”

  Adam made himself follow through, drowning once more under the scrutiny of Ian’s stare. Vulnerable and naked, wrapped in sheets smelling of them. Ian dressed and in command, always in charge, still
calling the shots. “We both got what we wanted. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Adam winced at the absolute nonchalant coldness of those words. He curled into himself, drawing his knees up, lowered eyes clenched tight enough to ache. The sting of frustrated tears pricking his eyelids, making him shake with rage.

  Adam forced the tremor from his voice, hardening his resolve. “Fine, I will, but first, do me the courtesy of getting the fuck out of my room.”

  The words sharp enough to make Ian wince, but Adam pressed on, determined. “Or is there something else you want from me? I haven’t given you?”

  Ian’s eyes snapped to his face. His own faultless mask, one of stoic indifference, but his eyes gave away everything. Without a word, Ian hurried out if he were being chased.

  Once he was gone, Adam collapsed into bed. He wanted last night taken and scrubbed from his memory. To turn back the clock to a time before Ian, before Katherine, before they’d stripped his life away, more than ever yearning for home. Yet, his dream of home, the image had no concrete impression, a shape to form. He envisioned his mother, soft terry cloth bathrobes, rosaries, and fragrant tea. He drew Allison into his mind. The delicate skin of her inner thighs, piles of notebooks, and dripping ink pens. The lingering scent of vanilla perfume. Those memories were abstract, a wispy and transparent veil, the past obstructed and surrendered to the present. The stifling and overwhelming shadow of Ian’s hold on his life. Far too encompassing, like a weight crushing underfoot. He no longer belonged to those he’d loved and lost, but to Ian, to the senseless and unknowing grip held over both heart and head. And there was no going back.

  * * * *

  Hours passed before Adam could bring himself to get out of bed. But soon, the traces of Ian’s cologne intermingled with his blankets became too much. He was driven from his bed’s safe depths, no longer able to bear the scent of him anywhere on or near him. Adam kept fluctuating between periods of self-pity and rage, furious bloody rage. Desperate to erase Ian’s words, words stuck on a loop inside his head until he thought he’d go mad.

  Adam shoved the bedding in a fit of temper: sheets, comforters, and pillows and threw everything to the floor. Kicking the mess until he ran out of breath, but it did little to appease him. The reality of what he had done and with whom filled him with nausea. Adam wanted to wipe every single trace of last night from his body, from his room, from his goddamn memory. He yanked on a pair of boxers, and now semi-dressed, felt more in control.

  Adam stumbled into the bathroom, averting his eyes from the shower, overcome by a memory from mere hours ago. Lost in the steam, in each other, Ian’s lips pressed to his own. The way Ian whispered Adam’s name when he brought him over the edge yet again for the third time. Adam jerked away from the recollection as if burned. He turned toward the sink, gripping the porcelain between white knuckles. His chest was too tight, eyes strained from holding back tears. A scream locked deep, aching for release. Adam glanced up, spying the bruises Ian had left behind, the traces to mark him for a fool. His entire body quaked with revulsion.

  Adam couldn’t stand it. Pitying sadness gave way to a surge of rage. A burst of fury startled even him as his fist shot forward and smashed into his reflection. Adam was numb to the pain as his skin tore and bled, mesmerized by the red stains against the white tiles. He clenched his fist in wonder as blood continued flowing.

  “Adam?”

  Adam startled at the sound of her voice, finding Mei standing in the doorway, a concerned expression on her face.

  “You left your door open. Are you okay?” Mei asked as she stepped into the room. “What happened?”

  Adam stared at his hand, flexed it, and winced at the first stirrings of actual pain.

  “Adam?” She tried again, her eyes sweeping over the shattered mirror, the blood, and glass littering the tiles. Her gaze falling on Adam’s bare chest, the telltale marks of passion Ian had left in his wake.

  Mei sighed. “Do you want to talk?”

  Adam shook his head and pulled away, but she followed. “Tell me what happened?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Oh, Adam, I’m sorry.” Mei made him sit on the closed toilet lid as she ran to grab towels from the cabinet in the corner. “Please. Let me help.”

  Adam sat and let her wrap his hand in a towel that went from white to scarlet in an instant. He stared, horrified, before turning to the wall behind Mei’s shoulder, lost and alone. Mei sat on her haunches beside him. Trying to be gentle as she lifted the blood soaked towel to check the injury.

  “He hates me, doesn’t he?”

  “He doesn’t,” Mei reassured. “What he feels for you is more complicated than that.”

  “Complicated, right,” Adam muttered.

  Mei brushed the embedded glass away, hissing in sympathy. “I know it’s hard for you to understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Adam replied, stopping her. “I’m done with him. He’s done with me. I’m done with him.”

  The words useless but determined, both of them choosing to ignore the lie. At the realization, Adam bowed his head and cried. Mei’s arms around him, rubbing slow and comforting circles as he wept.

  * * * *

  Furious with himself for what he’d done, what in his weakness he allowed to happen, Ian retreated to his favorite watering hole to ruminate. He should’ve left the instant he realized Adam was intoxicated. Instead, he’d stayed until near dawn, doing things to Adam he’d only contemplated in his dreams. The reality, unfortunately, was even better than his dreams.

  Afterward, they’d laid in each other’s arms for a while. A thousand thoughts were going through Ian’s head in the quiet, unable to part yet. They’d taken their time getting into the shower, reluctant to move.

  But cleanliness won out. They were sticky and filthy, still kissing as they stumbled into the bathroom. Once under the spray, Ian pushed Adam against the tiled wall and kissed him, savoring both the taste of him and the warm water as it cascaded around them. They kissed and kissed until Ian found himself hard again, a feat considering he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Adam curled a fist around him and started stroking as Ian pulled him close by the chin. Now desperate to get his tongue in his mouth, unable to hold back his moans.

  “Can I go down on you?” Adam asked, sounding shy as he whispered the invitation into the curve of Ian’s neck.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I want to,” Adam confessed. “I want to do everything with you.”

  Ian threw his head back, overwhelmed by the promise. Fists buried in Adam’s hair as he mouthed along his body, his scars. Adam drew out the anticipation nibbling and licking a slow path over his chest, his abs until finally. Ian gripped the towel rack, his knees buckling. It wasn’t by any means the most practiced or skillful blowjob he’d ever had. Still, he’d never had a better one as Adam made up for his lack of experience with an enthusiasm that stole Ian’s breath.

  Lost in his thoughts, the copious amounts of whiskey he had drunk, Ian never heard Mei coming into the bar. She let him have it. One perfect right hook, and she knocked him from his spot with a single shot.

  “The fuck?” Ian swore, picking himself up, glaring as he rubbed the ache from his jaw. “What was that for?”

  “Don’t you dare give me that!” she hissed. “You know exactly what you did.” Realization dawned, chastised, Ian reached behind him for his vacated seat.

  “Is there a problem?” The concerned bartender questioned.

  “No,” Ian returned, pushing a seat over for Mei. “No problem, but I’ll need another and grab one for my friend here while you’re at it.”

  The bartender glanced between the two. He shook his head, moving away to fetch their order.

  “You’re an asshole,” Mei announced as she plopped into the seat next to Ian.

  “Let me guess. You’ve been talking to Adam.” Ian muttered, draining the rest of his glass.

  “He never uttered a word. I saw the aftermath for my
self.”

  “What do you mean? Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Mei reassured him.

  The bartender came back with their drinks, shooting worried glances before hurrying away.

  “What happened?” Ian demanded.

  “He put his hand through a mirror. It’s not serious, but what the hell, Ian? You sure as shit didn’t have to walk out on him.”

  “It was a mistake. It should’ve never have happened in the first—”

  “Yeah, well, it happened anyway. So now what? Ignore him forever?”

  “I don’t need a lecture,” Ian grumbled, making swift work on his next round of drinks. He wanted oblivion, nothing less.

  “No, maybe not. But you need to hear me out.” Mei persisted, resting her hand over his own, a gesture that surprised him, but he didn’t move away. “He loves you, Ian. I’m serious. He’s in love with you.”

  Ian winced. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why? What are you scared of?”

  Ian swallowed hard, glancing away. “Drop it.”

  “No, tell me how this happened if you didn’t want it to?”

  “He was drinking. We both were. End of story.”

  Mei shook her head, scoffing. “Come off it. That’s complete bullshit. You two have been hurtling toward this since the moment you met.”

  “Still shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Why?”

  Ian tried to meet her eyes but struggled with the disappointment he spied. He glanced into his glass instead, annoyed to find it empty. He waved the bartender over, this time telling him to leave the bottle. Reluctant until Ian slid two hundred dollar bills across the bar.

  “Why, Ian?” Mei continued pressing, not deterred by his attempt at distraction in the slightest.

  “Why what?” He countered, distracting himself with his drink, hands itching to keep busy.

  “You know what. It’s obvious you’re crazy about him.” Ian opened his mouth to protest, but Mei interrupted him. “Don’t deny it. You are.”

  “I’ll get over it. So will he.”