Getting It Twisted (Unforgivable Needs #1)

5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Nathan

Understatement of the fucking year. My time on the road was an endless highway of disappointments, hungover mornings, and fucked-up encounters with fucked-up men.

I ball my hands into fists by my sides, trying to gather the carelessness I’ve cloaked myself in for so long. I don’t want to tell Daniel what a mess I’ve made of my life. This thing between us won’t work if I let him strip away my defenses like he did when we were kids. I guess I owe him somewhat of an explanation, however, even though it won’t be the whole truth.

“It wasn’t just about you, you know. Me leaving. It was this place. Shit was fucked up, everything with my mom and that, and I had to get away.”

He sends me a skeptical look, as if he knows there’s more to it. But he won’t get the whole story.

Not now. Not ever.

“Tell me this,” he says, “how am I supposed to trust you?”

Trust me? Why does he need to trust me? I trust no one, and I’m doing just fine.

“I don’t know. But if you want to be around me, I guess you’re gonna have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I could just ignore your existence and go about my life.”

“Sure. So why don’t you?”

He glares at me, the line of his shoulders tight and strained.

I roll my eyes. “God, relax. I’m not gonna jump you if that’s what you think.”

“Good, ’cause I’ll break your neck if you try.”

Shit, I believe him. With those arms, I bet he could.

“I told you; I won’t do anything.”

“Okay,” he says with a slow nod. “Now let’s talk about tomorrow. Once you’ve sobered up, you need a way to get your car.”

“I’ll walk.” The road into town is long and boring as hell, and I used to ride my bike, not walk. But it’s doable.

“No. I’ll come get you after work.”

“Oh well, since I don’t have a choice and all . . .”

He turns toward the window currently serving as my front door. “You don’t.” Half-crouched, one foot on the windowsill, he adds, “Just tell me one thing.”

I feel like I’ve told him a hundred things already. “Yeah, sure.”

“Did you ever think about me, out there, on the road?”

That’s what he wants to know? God, where do I even start?

With the grim nights where I’d stare up at the ceiling of yet another shabby motel room, freshly fucked from yet another random hookup, coming down from yet another mediocre high? My mind would drift to my most precious moments then. I’d go back to when things were easier. To when I had Daniel.

I’d remember the most random stuff, like how he gave me piggyback rides on the way home from parties. Drunkenly swaying this way and that, we’d collapse on the ground, laughing our asses off.

Or how we’d sit on the roof of his parents’ house and smoke cigarettes in the middle of the night, conspiring about how we’d get the fuck out of this town, away from all those people who didn’t give a crap about us.

Or how once in ninth grade, a group of older kids from my previous school were following us home, calling me gay slurs. I talked back and provoked them, but Daniel . . . Shit, I don’t even know what happened. Out of nowhere, the kids were all on the ground, coughing and whining. He’d even knocked one of their teeth out. He looked at me with a half-surprised, half-pleased smile on his face, knuckles bloodied and bruised.

Daniel wasn’t a fighter, but he fought for me, and when we hugged, he was always so warm. I’d close my eyes and inhale his scent, and for a split second, I’d feel safe. He was the antidote to my fucked-up, anxiety-riddled brain.

Was.

Because I didn’t have him any longer. I was a thousand miles away, in an unfamiliar city with an unfamiliar man in my bed, and every time I foolishly let my mind walk those paths, I rolled over, snorted another line of coke, and got the man in question to fuck me again.

You have no idea, Daniel. No fucking idea. But when I try to tell him all this, the words get stuck in my throat. It’s no good. He got under my skin in the past, burrowed inside me too deep and too easily. I have to make sure he stays surface-level from now on.

So all I say is, “I came back here, didn’t I?”

“You said you came back for the house.”

“Well, let’s just put it like this: If you weren’t here, they would’ve had to pull me kicking and screaming to come back. But you are. So . . . it wasn’t as much of a stretch.” The truth hangs heavy at the tip of my tongue, but I reel it in. Swallow it back.

His jaw clenches and unclenches, arm muscles bulging with his grip on the windowsill. “I wish you wouldn’t have come.”

I huff out a breath and shift my feet. That’s bullshit. At least, I hope it is.

“You’re a shitty liar.”

“And you’re a good one,” he counters.

We glower at each other for a few seconds. It’s better this way; if he gives up on trying to understand me, I won’t be tempted to tell him anything. Like clockwork, I feel my walls closing back up, the doors to my heart creaking shut like two ancient stone blocks.

I shrug and wave a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Go ahead and leave, then.”

“See you tomorrow.” A scratch of glass on wood, a flicker of his flashlight, and he’s gone.

Curled up on what used to be my bed, in what used to be my bedroom, I toss and turn long into the night. Cold, hard darkness presses in on me, and if I sharpen my senses enough and listen to the memories, I start hearing voices bounce off the walls.

My mom used to lock me in here for all kinds of reasons. For being too loud, for bothering her, or just for being plain “bad.”

I pinch my eyes closed. Come on, come on, fall asleep . . .

The pleasant, heavy-headed buzz from the whiskey is all but gone, and now I’m strung tight like a bowstring, heartbeat gearing up to an uncomfortable rhythm. When I’m like this, there’s only one thing that helps, only one way to calm down what’s clawing at me like a thousand buzzing gnats eating away at my insides.

Ideally, I need another person to push me to the precipice. It could have been Daniel, but since that option went out the window—literally—I have to make do with myself.

I slide my hand down between my legs and press down on my crotch. I imagine big hands grabbing at me. Holding me down. Choking me. Slapping my face. My cock fills up, and I wrap my hand around it tight as I wet the fingers of my other hand with spit and work one into my dry hole. It hurts at first, but I need the hurt. I need to get hurt so bad that nothing hurts anymore.

I end up on all fours, jerking off with two fingers buried knuckle-deep in my ass, imagining I’m getting fucked from behind. As I get closer to the edge, my fantasies grow wilder and more vivid.

It’s Daniel fucking me now. He’s pressing me up against a wall, kissing me and fucking me without mercy. He’s grabbing onto my hair, forcing my head back until I feel like my neck is gonna snap . . .

“You deserve this,” he growls into my ear. “No—you deserve way worse than this.”

I shudder and groan as the orgasm pulses through my body.

Silence greets me when I’m done. I roll over to my back, panting, and stare at the ceiling with a scowl. I can’t believe how unsatisfying it is. Every single time. It’s almost too painful: the longing, the sheer emptiness . . . I need another body pressed against mine. I need sweat on my skin, spit in my mouth, cum in my throat.

Ever since I was around fifteen, I’ve had this raw, primal need within me to get fucked within an inch of my life on a regular basis. Beyond alcohol, beyond any drug, that’s what I need the most, and if Daniel won’t put out, I’m gonna have to find someone else who will.

The setting sun paints the sky a dull, hazy purple. I’ve spent most of the next day sitting on an old tire in the middle of the messy yard, smoking cigarette after cigarette.

Daniel is late. Believe it or not, between the two of us, I’m the most reliable when it comes to being on time. Daniel’s got a shitty grasp on that stuff.

A weird sense of relief hits me when his white Honda Civic finally comes swerving into the makeshift driveway. He emerges from the driver’s seat, looking hastily dressed in a flannel shirt and a jean jacket.

“You took your sweet time,” I call over to him.

“Yeah, sorry. Had to get this into the trunk.” He lifts something huge and bubble-wrapped from the trunk of the car.

A freaking window.

“Oh, come on.” Despite myself, I jump off the tire to help him carry it. “You didn’t have to do this.” All the while, I hide the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth.

“We had a spare at work. Now let’s hope my eyeballing is as good as my boss tells me it is.”

We carry the window to my “front door” and lift it against the empty frame.

“Looks about right,” he says. “I’ll be back with tools after the key’s sorted.”

“You really don’t have to do all this, you know. I was doing fine on my own.”

Before I have time to react, he reaches out a hand and cups my jaw. His eyes slide over my face, gaze intense and callused fingers hot on my skin.

“You look exhausted,” he says. “And dirty. How do you even take a shower around here?”

When he lets go, my heart is pounding in my chest.

“I don’t. I’ve snuck into the gym in town a couple times.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course you have. You don’t think that’s more inconvenient than just paying the utility bills?”

I shrug.

He shakes his head with an amused half-smile. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“Finished the last can this morning.” The next second, my stomach growls.

“Let’s go,” he says and cocks his head toward the road. “We’ll get you your car and a meal.”

“Okay, Dad.” We move toward the driveway. I get hold of my cigarette packet and fish out a prerolled joint. After lighting it, I take a drag and hand it to Daniel.

“No, thanks,” he says. “I quit.”

I turn around and walk backward in front of him, exhaling a cloud of smoke in his face. “You wanna know what I think?”

“Not really.”

“I think you’ve been hanging out far too much with George.”

Annoyance flickers across his face. “How so?”

“You’re too . . .” I wave my hand at him, all of him. “. . . uptight and serious. I gotta show you how to have fun again.”

“Is that so?”

“For sure. You look good though. Real good.” I give him a deliberate glance, sliding my gaze up and down his body. He really does look good with a bit more weight on him. The jean jacket he’s wearing stretches tight across his shoulders, and he’s got a new confidence to his stride. The hair’s still throwing me off though. With it cut short like that, he looks more like a jock than the hippie stoner I remember. “But you look far too . . . healthy and shit. Gotta hop back on that weed habit, get that jaded look in your eyes again.”

“Really?” he says doubtfully. “And you’re gonna help me with all this?”

“’Course I will. What are friends for?”

“We’re not friends,” he says, but the twinkle in those baby-blue eyes can’t fool me. He enjoys this. He can barely keep himself from smiling. It won’t be long before I have him throwing his head back and punching my shoulder with seized-up laughter. Just wait.

When we arrive in town, I’m hungry enough to eat just about anything. We park outside Albany Steakhouse—the only semblance of fine dining Springvale has to offer.

“You won’t get a meal here under twenty bucks,” Daniel says.

“No worries, babe. I’ll pay.”

“This is not a date, you know,” he grumbles.

“Didn’t say it was. You saying two guys can’t go out for dinner together?”

“Let’s just go inside.”

It’s quiet this time of day, frequented only by a couple of stray truckers and a group of younger guys at the bar. Daniel and I settle down at a corner table, and when my order arrives, I wolf it down as if someone’s gonna take my plate away. I get mayo all over my fingers and lick them clean one by one with a wet pop. Meal finished, I lean back with a contented sigh and close my eyes.

“What are you all smiley for?” Daniel asks.

“Maybe I’m happy. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m nice and warm.” I open my eyes, pinning him with my gaze. “And I have my friend back.”

He stabs at his own half-eaten steak. “It’s not as easy as that.”

“Why not? It’s like I’ve always said—you think too much, Daniel. Stop overcomplicating shit that doesn’t have to be so complicated. Sometimes you just gotta go with the flow.” I wave my glass of Coke through the air to underline my point.

“I told you, we’re not friends.”

“See? This proves my point.” I fold a leg underneath myself and point at him with my fork. “George has been a bad influence on you.”

“He’d say the same about you.”

“Oh, I know exactly what George would say about all this. Just wait, he’s gonna freak out when you tell him.”

“He already knows you’re back in town.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “But does he know about us ?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’m just helping you with the house so you can leave.” His tone is calm on the surface, but I hear the underlying anger.

I roll my eyes and mash a couple of stray peas into mush on my plate. This new, uptight Daniel is starting to piss me off. I can play the long game, sure, but he’s gotta give me something to work with.

Our friendship in the past used to be so easy. We both wanted the same thing: to have fun. We got up to all kinds of crazy shit, and while age has somewhat mellowed me out too, I thought . . . Frankly, I don’t know what I thought. All I know is he used to be more focused on having fun and avoiding responsibilities, like me. I guess that’s what age does to people: makes them all boring and stable. Smothers the flame in their hearts and hooks them onto the painfully mundane shit that makes me want to choke on a bullet, like kids, a white picket fence, and a stable job. My own flame still burns bright and hot though. For better or for worse.

Where he used to be an open book, this Daniel has his hackles drawn right up to his chin. How do I get him to soften up to me, and dissolve this cloud of anger around us? How do I make him smile at me instead of giving me that distrustful glare?

Maybe some things can’t be mended. Maybe I have burned all my bridges after all. Maybe I should leave this place again and go back to where I came from. But that’s the thing: I don’t have anywhere to return to. For all that I despised it during my childhood, Springvale is my endpoint, my home base. Daniel used to be too. But maybe he’s not willing to be that for me anymore.

“Is it just me,” he says, “or is that dude looking at us funny?”

I glance at the bar, where one of the younger guys is glaring straight at me. Ball cap, scruffy beard. Is that . . . ?

My lip twitches. “Fuck. We gotta go.”

I slam a couple of bills on the table and grasp Daniel’s arm, yanking him up from his seat. We’re halfway to the car when a voice calls from behind.

“Hey! Hey, Antler!”

I curse and turn around. Joshua Tennyson staggers toward us. He looks drunk as shit. Great.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I ask casually, hands in my pockets.

Five years has done him no good. He was a tweaker at eighteen, but now he looks the part of a full-blown junkie: eyes and cheeks sunken in, jaw covered by patches of scruffy beard.

“You’ve got a lotta nerve to show your face in town, Antler. What’s it you owe me? Four grand, interest excluded?”

“I ain’t paying you shit. Come on, Daniel,” I say and turn to the car, but he doesn’t move.

“Nate, what’s going on?”

“Oh?” Joshua barks out a laugh. “He didn’t tell you he skipped town with four grand worth of drug money in his trunk? I let you off the hook, Hastings, ’cause this was between me and him. But maybe I should hold you accountable too? You were always his little accomplice bitch.”

Daniel stiffens next to me, gravel crunching under his shoes. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Yeah well, you’ve got it already,” Joshua says.

I sneer at him. “You weren’t this feisty when I was sucking your dick behind the principal’s office.”

“Fucking faggot,” he spits and lunges at me.

Daniel steps ahead, blocking him. “Hey, no need for that. We’ll get you the money.”

Joshua glares up at him, no doubt sizing up his own scrawny frame to Daniel’s bulky six foot three. “I ain’t letting you off the hook this easily,” he says, nodding to me. “I should teach you a lesson. I know a couple guys who would love to rough you up.”

“I told you, there’s no need,” Daniel says. “We’ll get you the money.”

“Plus interest.”

“Plus interest.”

“Fucking hell,” I hiss to Daniel. “Not much for negotiating, are you?”

Joshua points a threatening finger at me. “Don’t push.” He turns around and staggers back into the steakhouse, likely to order another beer.

I push my hands into my pockets and give Daniel a sideways smile. “That went well.”

He spins to me, and the glare he pierces me with has me take a step back. “ Went well? When were you gonna tell me you owed Joshua Tennyson four grand?”

I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “Didn’t think he’d still be around, honest! Dude’s sketchy as hell. I thought he would’ve OD’d by now or gotten run over by a truck or something. Anyway, I can handle him.”

“Didn’t look like it. Tell me what went down between you two.”

I purse my lips, shuffling my foot against the pavement. “I was selling off some of his pills and speed right before I left town. Couldn’t get a hold of him before I was leaving, so I brought the money with me. No big deal.” It isn’t exactly a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. Without that money, I would’ve been hard-pressed to make it my first couple of weeks on the road. “Anyway, that shit’s forever ago. Statute of limitations and all that.”

Daniel shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief. “I can’t fucking believe you. Then again, I don’t know what I expected. Do you know what kind of friends Joshua Tennyson has?”

I evade his gaze and mutter, “Those biker dudes.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, rubbing at his face. Some of the tension bleeds out of him, and he glances at me between two fingers. “I didn’t know you sucked him off.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know, Daniel.” My darkly spoken words land like an anvil between us, splintering the tentative camaraderie I’ve tried to rebuild.

It’s true though. He has no idea what I’ve been through. And that truth will continue to widen the divide between us until nothing remains but a dark, lonely shore, where I’ll watch him sail as far away from me as possible. And I wouldn’t blame him.

I clench my fists, cursing my stubbornness and the pain that made me this way.

With a new sort of finality to his tone, Daniel says, “Is this what it’s going to be like with you? This . . . this drama? This arrogant fucking facade of yours, getting us both into trouble?”

I cut my gaze back up to him, and my tongue twists my words into an arrogant drawl. “Come on, it was kind of fun, though, wasn’t it?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But you liked it at least a little bit, didn’t you?”

“Here’s the thing: We had fun as kids, all right, but before you showed up, I was trying to stay out of that shit. I was trying to get my life together!”

“Well, you’re not doing that good of a job,” I mutter. Shit, why did I say that? Why can I never keep my mouth shut?

“You know what?” Daniel snaps. “I did what I set out to do today. I got you back to your car. I’m done.”

Wait . . . I’m done? What the hell does he mean by that?

“Okay, but . . . We’ll see each other later, right?”

He just sends me a tired glance, slides into the seat of his car, and drives away. I look after him as he disappears, wondering why shit always seems to fall apart around me.

If he was serious—if he’s really done with me for good—then there’s no longer any point to anything.