Chapter Text
1. NUMB THE PAIN (FORGET I'M NOT DEAD)
Andrew stood on the edge of the rooftop to Eden’s, staring down at the city below. The sun had set hours ago, leaving behind a darkness that was broken by alternating pulses of bass and drums from the club below. It didn’t have the height that Fox Tower did, but the drop and chill were enough to make his gut swoop.
He’d landed in Palmetto earlier that day, body still craving rest after the adrenaline of the flight, but he’d ignored it to drive his family for a night out at the club. If he was honest with himself, he needed any distraction he could get from the doubt and fear in his stomach at leaving Abram, even if he’d made sure to buy a phone and make his junkie promise to keep it on at all times.
A month and three days, he reminded himself, remembering Abram’s words on the matter.
Just a month and three days, but the thought of enduring the same old sticky feelings of loneliness for that long made him want to drown himself in whiskey. Even though Nicky was good to him, so attentive and careful of his needs, it still paled in the face of Aaron’s cold demeanor and Kevin’s indifference. He’d spent so many days feeling like a speck on the wall, invisible and of no consequence, that despair had filled up every pore in his body. So many days; feeling like he was worth nothing but his ability to play and protect.
Bee encouraged him to open up, to allow himself vulnerability, but they both knew it wasn’t that simple. Not when there was resentment piled up high like a wall, along with misunderstandings and bitter judgment. Not when whatever words he had to say always fell on deaf ears. Even the thought of opening up himself to the possibility of ridicule and judgment made him nauseous with fear.
The last three days with Abram had felt like a balm to those wounds; cleansing relief filling him up at each piece offered up and returned. Hell, he’d cried more in the past three days than he had in the past six years. But even though he knew that their parting was only temporary, the familiar, longing ache to see him again filled him to the brim, like an old friend wrapping him in its arms once more.
He needed reprieve, he thought, crushing his half-smoke cigarette under his boot and spinning on his heel. He didn’t want to endure this—couldn’t bear to endure it.
Heading downstairs, Andrew pulled a packet of cracker dust from his pocket and emptied it in his mouth, quickly following it up with another. Almost instantly, his shoulders lost some of their tension. He exhaled roughly, ignoring the memory of Abram’s trusting gaze to seek out Roland at the bar.
“Hey,” Roland said with a slow smile, pushing forward a shot of whiskey. “Still a yes for tonight?”
“Yes,” Andrew said, downing the shot. “Now?”
Roland’s eyes widened with surprise before raking slowly over Andrew; drinking in his leather jacket, tight jeans and boots. “Of course,” he said, gesturing to one of his coworkers before leading Andrew to the storeroom.
Andrew shoved him against the door the moment they were inside, holding him in place with a bruising grip on his jaw. “Remember your safewords?” he asked, running a hand over Roland’s chest before dipping into his pocket to pull out their handcuffs.
“Yes,” Roland said with a soft moan. He held his wrists out and let Andrew snap the cuffs into place, groaning when Andrew grabbed the chain and slammed his hands back against the door. Andrew shoved two fingers into his mouth to shut him up, mouthing at the exposed skin below his collar before dropping to his knees.
It was quick and rough and empty.
Afterwards, Andrew locked himself in a bathroom stall and used tissues to wipe away the sticky arousal from his thighs. Disgust and self-loathing crawled along his veins; he stumbled out of the stall to scrub and scrub and scrub at his hands. He was nauseated at the bitter taste still lingering in his mouth; it persisted no matter how hard he tried to rinse it out. The loud music of the club pounded in his ears and drowned out the sound of his own desperate gasps as he washed his hands again and again, blind to their redness as old sensations overwhelmed him.
“Andrew?” a voice asked, sounding discombobulated and miles away. “Hey! Andrew, what’s wrong?”
Doubled over the sink, Andrew couldn’t even raise his head to check who it was. He was shivering, throat raw from vomiting, although he couldn’t tell when it had started or when it had stopped. His hands, when he looked at them, were dripping red onto the sink’s white porcelain, but he felt no pain when he flexed them.
“Andrew,” the voice called, closer than before. “Hey, can you hear me?”
He made some sort of noise in reply, but couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears.
“Oh, thank god,” the voice said, sounding slightly hysterical. “Listen, can I touch you? Just to help you stand.”
Andrew wanted to shake his head, but his knees were dangerously close to giving out. He managed to turn his head enough to see that it was only Nicky, his face carefully blank even though his eyes were shimmering with emotion. Relieved that it wasn’t Kevin or Aaron, he nodded his head and let Nicky grab his arms and pull him so they were leaning against each other. “God, you’re heavy,” Nicky groaned. “Come on, let’s get you to the car.”
Andrew let him. He felt calm despite how closely they were pressed together, the touch not feeling like nails on his skin for once. And Nicky didn’t say a word as he led them through the backdoor to the parking lot, as if he knew how close Andrew was to falling apart.
“Hey,” he said, once he’d gotten Andrew situated in the passenger seat of the Lexus, looking like he was chewing on the questions undoubtedly burning in his mind. “What happened in Millport? You… You haven’t been yourself all day.”
Andrew wondered at that. Was his grief at leaving Abram so visible on his face? Had Abram’s touch changed him in some way?
“Andrew?” Nicky asked, when he’d been quiet for too long. He crouched in front of Andrew so they were eye to eye, and his expression was so open and free of judgment that Andrew’s eyes burned.
“I met a friend,” he managed, voice thick. “The striker. I knew… I knew him. Before juvie.”
Nicky’s lips parted with surprise. “Really?” he asked, smiling. “That’s so great, Andrew! He’ll be joining us next month, right?”
Andrew nodded, abruptly feeling shy. He looked away from Nicky, staring at the lighter on his dashboard. “He’s to me what Erik is to you.”
Nicky paused, surprise colouring his face. “Your partner?”
Andrew shook his head. He didn’t know how to express it; the relief and the comfort and the security Abram provided him. But Nicky didn’t seem confused, only contemplative as he studied Andrew. “Then I’m glad you met again,” he said, leaning forward to pop open the glove compartment. “Here, can I see your hands? They’re bleeding.”
Andrew nodded. He fixed his gaze over Nicky’s shoulder and drifted away, thoughts pulling apart like taffy with every deafening thump of his heartbeat. He didn’t feel Nicky’s touch on his hands, nor the moment when he pulled away; was barely aware of the car’s door shutting, and Aaron and Kevin’s slurred grumbling as Nicky dragged them back from the club and pushed them into the backseat.
Minutes, hours, days later, Bee’s voice broke through the fog in his mind. “Bee?” he mumbled, confused to find himself in his bedroom with his phone in his hand.
“Andrew,” Bee said, voice level and patient. He turned her off speakerphone and pressed the phone against his ear. “Nicky called me and asked me to talk to you,” she was saying. “Are you dissociating?”
Andrew made a sound of confirmation, blinking slowly as he looked down at his socked feet and the closed door. He followed Bee’s instructions as she guided him through grounding exercises, flopping down on his bed when he was done.
“Can I ask you what happened?” Bee asked, sounding as if she didn’t mind either way.
“I don’t remember fully,” Andrew replied, spreading out his fingers against his view of the pockmarked ceiling. “I was smoking on the roof… then I had a scene with Roland.”
Bee hummed. “Did either of you safeword?”
“No,” Andrew said, sounding confused even to his own ears. “It was fine.”
“Were you sober?”
Andrew shook his head before remembering that she couldn’t see him. “No, but it was only some cracker dust and a shot of whiskey.”
“Andrew, we’ve talked about doing scenes when you’re not sober,” Bee said, sounding chastising enough that he flushed.
“I know,” he said, fiddling with a loose thread in his jeans. “I… I needed to forget.”
“Forget what?”
Andrew couldn’t answer, didn’t know if he had the words. His attention drifted again, vision turning unfocused.
“Andrew,” Bee said, sounding so unbelievably gentle that his eyes burned.
He nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m here.”
“Good. I’m proud of you.”
Andrew covered his eyes with his forearm, lips quivering with the emotion that filled him. Haltingly, he told her about running into Abram and realising he’d survived all those years apart. She listened patiently, not minding when his voice broke with emotion or if he needed a moment to breathe past the ache in his chest.
“Was that what you were trying to forget?” she asked when he was done.
Andrew nodded before he remembered that she couldn’t see him. “Yes. I… It hurts to remember.”
“I can understand why that would be the case. You spent a lot of years grieving for him before having the very foundation of these emotions be shaken. It can be a lot to process, and it is okay to need some time to do so.” She paused, giving the words a moment to sink in. “But, Andrew, it is important to not use your habits as a crutch, not when they can cause you harm and have done so in the past. There are better, healthier ways to deal with this emotion, which you have successfully employed before and can, I trust, use again.”
Andrew swallowed hard, nodding. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
“Now, there’s no need for that,” Bee said, her voice warm. “We both know that these things are easier said than done. There will be bumps in your recovery and that is okay. What matters is your ability to retain your clarity and remember that they are only setbacks, not sentences. You are incredibly resilient, Andrew, and I have no doubt that you will be able to move forward from this.”
Andrew nodded again, feeling like a wind-up toy from how often he was repeating the movement. His throat felt full and swollen with emotion, eyes damp with unshed tears. “I just… I was so relieved to see him and to be able to touch him again. It felt… It felt like the best thing in the world. I hate that we had to part so quickly. I hate—I hate being alone.”
Embarrassingly, his voice cracked. He scrunched his eyes shut, desperately willing back the tears that rose.
“I understand,” Bee said, so gentle and encouraging with her tone. “Why not try mitigate that feeling? You brought him a phone, correct?”
“Y—Yes.”
“Well, perhaps you can text him and try to schedule calls together. Does that sound like something that would bring you comfort?”
Andrew thought about it, but the answer was simple. “Yes.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you are able to identify sources of comfort. I believe this will also be a good way to remind your mind that it is no longer in the past, since you and Abram were unable to communicate when you last parted. There is no shame in reaching out when you desire comfort and I want you to try and remind yourself of that as often as possible. I am sure Abram will try to respond to you as fast as he can, and that it will bring him comfort as well.”
Andrew nodded, slumping with exhaustion. Bee seemed to sense this without being prompted, her voice turning light. “I shan’t keep you awake any longer, then. Do you want to book an extra session this week?”
“Yeah,” Andrew said, muffling a yawn. “Good night, Bee.”
“Good night, Andrew.”
She hung up. He kept the phone pressed against his ear a moment longer, glad that Nicky had called her for him, before pulling it away. He opened up a fresh chat with Abram and stared at it for a long while, chest twinging with something like homesickness.
Good night, he texted at last. Miss you.
The reply was nearly immediate. Miss you too, Abram wrote. Can’t wait to see you again :)
Andrew scoffed and tossed the phone aside, but he was smiling as he took off his shoes and tucked himself into bed.
* ~ * ~ *
To his surprise, Nicky was awake the next morning when he headed downstairs for breakfast. “Hey,” he said with a warm smile. “I’m making pancakes.”
Andrew nodded with a grunt, taking the cup of coffee Nicky handed him. He sat down at the table and held his head up with a hand, drowsy after a night rife with nightmares.
“Are you feeling better?” Nicky asked. “I’m sorry I touched you without your permission last night. You weren’t responding.”
Andrew waved it off. There was no need to be angry at something he hardly remembered.
For a while they both existed in comfortable silence, content to focus on what they were doing. Nicky was always a bit of a chatterbox, but he knew when Andrew needed silence; a trait which was sorely appreciated.
It was only when Nicky was serving two plates of pancakes that he caught Andrew’s attention. “What’s that?” he demanded, grabbing Nicky’s wrist to study the bruises on his knuckles. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
Nicky shook his head, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just took a swing at someone. I don’t really know how to punch properly, huh.”
“Who?” Andrew asked, scanning his face for any traces of a lie.
Nicky winced a little. “Roland.”
“What?” Nonplussed, Andrew let go of his wrist and sat back. “Him? Why?”
“I was concerned, okay? I saw you two go to the backrooms last night and then when I saw you next, you were…” He winced and flapped a hand helplessly. “So, when you were safely in the car I went and confronted him. He was really tight-lipped at first, but then I got really pissed off and threatened to get Aaron—he’d be much more straightforward than I was, that’s for sure—to which he told me to relax because you were just fucking.”
Andrew nodded, unsure how to react. Sure, Roland had outed him, but it was just Nicky, who’d only insisted out of concern. If it’d been Aaron or Kevin, it’d be a different matter, but then again, Roland wasn’t that stupid.
“Why’d you punch him then?”
Nicky threw his hands up. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “Andrew, he’s six years older than you! We’ve known him since you were seventeen.”
Andrew’s blood went cold. “I consented to it.”
“That’s okay, but it doesn’t make it okay! He should’ve known better than to solicit a minor, even if the statue of consent is sixteen in this stupid state. That’s—it’s grooming, Andrew.”
Andrew’s head was spinning. He stood up abruptly, chair clattering back with a loud noise that made his head hurt. “I was—I was the one in control.”
Nicky’s expression softened, the previous agitation draining out of his frame. “It’s not your fault,” he said, sounding so sure of himself that Andrew’s heart wrenched. “None of it is. I won’t let him in your vicinity again, I promise. We can even go to a different club if you need.”
Andrew’s breath came in bursts. He felt lightheaded, thoughts passing so quickly through his mind that he couldn’t catch any of them. Nicky didn’t know—Nicky couldn’t know. He didn’t know what Andrew had been through. And yet, he was… he said those words so easily…
“Hey,” Nicky said, drawing his attention. He had his hands held out as if ready to catch Andrew. “Can I touch you?”
“No,” Andrew gasped, shrinking away. “No. No.”
“That’s alright. Is it okay if I call Bee, do you need Bee?”
“I don’t need anything,” Andrew snarled, frantically rubbing his arms in a bid to make the crawling sensation disappear. “I don’t—I don’t need—”
Abram. He needed Abram. He turned on his heel and hurried upstairs, nearly tripping on the stairs in his haste, but once he was in his bedroom with the phone in his hands he hesitated. Would it be okay? What if Abram was busy? He must be halfway across Texas right now, on his way to hit a stash.
Feeling dizzy with panic, Andrew shut the door and dropped into a crouch. Could what Nicky said be true? Did he miss the signs again? But he wasn’t a child anymore, it was supposed to be over now. It was supposed to be over now.
Andrew’s breath hitched with mounting panic. He didn’t want to deal with this. He couldn’t deal with this. He hurried to his bed and rifled through the pockets of the jeans he’d worn last night in search of cracker dust, and had them fisted in his hand when he caught himself and stopped, remembering Bee’s words from the previous night.
Shame and anxiety at his actions boiled up in him, driving him to his knees. He was so exhausted. He’d barely slept. It wasn’t fair of Nicky to spring this on him so early in the morning. He wanted a break, wanted to be back in the hotel room with only Abram by his side—Abram, who never pushed and who was so respectful and who never said things Andrew wasn’t ready to hear. He wanted to be held the way he had when he’d been crying from the pain of his exhaustion, with Abram so quiet and soothing and safe. It was like his childhood all over again, all alone and yearning for a friend he was miles away from; longing to be held and soothed, to feel safe.
Curling into himself, Andrew wept. He tried to muffle his tears with his hands, not wanting anyone to hear him, but his entire body shook with their force. He was… He was so scared. He didn’t want it to be true. He’d been careful, he’d kept an eye out for red flags and been clear with his boundaries. But what if it was? What if it was true and he was making the same mistakes again, putting his trust where it shouldn’t be and blinding himself to the signs. After everything he’d done to be free, to put the past behind him, to be strong and unmovable and safe.
No, no. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t—he wouldn’t survive that. He couldn’t go through it again. He couldn’t… he couldn’t.
Unable to stop shaking and close to throwing up, Andrew reached for the dust again. Shame nearly choked him as he emptied it in his mouth, one then another then another. It was better than alcohol, right? Better than hurting himself, right? He just needed a break. He just needed a break from it all.
The panic receded, just enough for him to get air into his lungs. He closed his eyes and tipped his head against his bed, taking slow and deep breaths the way Bee had taught him. He pulled out a cigarette when his hands stopped shaking, uncaring for how the smoke accumulated in his room or the lecture Kevin would surely give him later.
Staring at his phone, Andrew read the words Abram had sent him over and over. He typed out shaky messages and deleted them, finally settling on, Don’t work yourself too hard.
I’ll try not to! Abram replied, punctuating the message with a winky face. Exy season’s over anyway.
Andrew snorted. Junkie.
Without even pausing, Abram replied, your junkie ;)
He wouldn’t admit it, but Andrew stared at the words for a very long time.