The Jigsaw

I had a tough month so it took me some time to finish this chapter. But here it comes!


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A First Step to Hell



Heartbeats were exploding powerfully in Casey's chest and boiling blood was pumped in waves to his dizzy head. His palm, being now the center of his drunken existence, was glued with sweat to the strong hand beneath. The sticky dampness felt kind of lewd, and Casey wasn't sure if it was pleasant or not. But certainly it was fascinating. Along with an instinctive repulsion, delirious attraction rattled somewhere in the depths of his soul, enabling him to overcome the temptation to dry his hand.

Highly focused, he deliberately brought their joined hands very close to his face, relishing the thrilling sensation of awkward excitement.

His muggy, sour breath swept the skin of their fingers when the narrow tip of his tongue parted chapped lips and slipped out to flick the joint. Then he leaned towards the crumpled spliff and devoured it, inhaling the intoxicating fumes. His head was already spinning and his reason was slowly losing its clarity.

Casey's tongue playing with the joint and the warm breath on his fingers touched a strange chord of Sam's emotions. The short scene had a hypnotizing power. It was sensual, even lustful, and naturally provoking. Sam's hand, trapped in the sweaty embrace, twitched as he felt a sudden desire to get closer, to touch that frolicking tongue, to play with it; to break the tension.

Now was the time. If he wanted something, if he was to go for broke, now was the time.

He pulled the joint from Casey's lips and indolently shifted it toward himself, at the same time bringing his face closer to the blond's. Their eyes, shining feverishly, met in the darkness and for a moment time stopped as they fought a silent battle, trying to unravel each other's hidden intentions and protect their own.

You want it...oh, you want it so badly, Sam smirked inwardly, still keeping a poker face.

What do I want? And what do you want? What is this all about? Casey was trying to get his mind to work properly.

The bottomless black pupils of Sam's eyes scanned the blond's face thoroughly, waiting for the balance to settle, while the drunk man struggled for self-control. Sam's hand twitched as he decided to tip the scale, and his little finger slightly brushed Casey's.

Too fast.

For a split second Casey felt, more than saw the trap. He looked deep into the sharp, dangerous eyes of a hunter and finally found himself on firm ground. It was too much, too fast, and too crazy for him to be able to forego the emergency brakes of his natural caution and he simply got scared. The spell broke.

Suddenly he let Sam's hand go and sighed, relaxing. He shook his head to clear the emotional chaos and rubbed his face to sober up a little. Then he threw himself back onto the bed and, closing his eyes, said, “Leave me, please. I'm drunk and tired.”

Shit. Sam managed not to show his annoyance, but his knuckles whitened as he squeezed the joint. He felt like a predator whose prey had just escaped out from under his nose and he had to stomach the disappointment. He hated defeat, especially when he had invested some effort into the conquest, which wasn't usually the case.

When Sam left, not looking back, Casey moaned at length, covering his face with his crossed forearms. He still felt shaky and excited, but now he didn't like it at all. It seemed pathetic and disgusting.

What had he been thinking? What had he been going to do? A man! He had been touching a man! And he had wanted more! Awareness of the recent events and emotions came with a pang of remorse and disappointment.

Shit! Fucking shit. He hissed loudly through his teeth. What the hell was going on with him? Why a man? A cruel, cold, and dangerous man....

“Fuck!” An angry shout escaped Casey's throat as he helplessly hit the bed with his fist. He felt a knot growing in his stomach; his breath became oppressed by a strange tightness in his throat.

He rolled over onto his stomach and crawled under the blanket. He didn't feel like taking a bath or doing anything else.

I'm drunk...right? So it's all because I'm drunk. Tomorrow everything will be normal. Tomorrow.... As he drifted off he still clung to this hope as if it was the only thing that could save him as he had used to be; his true self.

---

Stars swirled in the sky, faster and faster, blurring in their mad rush. Luminous streaks cut the black void, spiraling like gigantic snakes. From distant corners of the universe the swoosh of powerful wings brought an enormous eagle. The air vibrated and parted with a hiss as the sharp beak ripped through it. An abyss emerged from its piercing eyes. Casey was trapped in its gaze, unable to break eye contact. Just millimeters from his face, ashen with fear, the eagle seized one of the ribbons of light in its talons and carried it, wriggling and struggling, into the dark expanse. Slowly it got smaller and flatter until it blended into the shiny circle of trembling stars. The picture faded and, waving, became a black tattoo on an olive-skinned man's back.

The man was standing with his back turned to Casey, barefoot, wearing only black leather pants. He lazily swayed his hips, as if dancing to inaudible music. His head swung from side to side, sometimes bowing or tilting backwards.

Casey devoured the scene with his eyes, hypnotized and enchanted. His own outstretched hands, of their own volition, tried to catch the figure. The sleeping man had no power over them.

Suddenly he realized that his hands had simply separated from his body, where they belonged, and were floating in the direction of the tattooed eagle. When they reached it, Casey was surprised to note that there were more hands—three, four, five—six! They grabbed the swaying man and turned him to face the dreamer.

Their eyes met. Bottomless black holes were sucking Casey in, their gravity hard to overcome.

Strange hands started to caress the dark-skinned man tenderly, sensually. Three of them wandered over his well-built chest, lightly rubbing his small brown nipples, and one heaved upward to grab the man's throat, clinging to it with the whole palm. Two other hands—Casey wasn't sure if they were the ones belonging to him—rested on thighs hugged by leather pants. They hesitantly crawled up to the center until they reached the small bulge there. The man moaned lecherously, with no audible sound but with such a perceptible intensity written over his face that it momentarily stirred the watcher's excitement and dissipation.

They didn't break eye contact even for a second.

The hands pressed harder and the man's hips started an erotic dance, chasing them and asking for more. Casey felt his own hips involuntarily join that dance, yearning for a touch. The panting lips of the black-haired man parted slowly and a red, forked tongue slipped out to flutter both seductively and vulgarly. A predator....

The bewitched man winced and yanked, trying to break free of the binding spell of the magnetic look, and of the dark pleasure boiling dangerously right under the surface of his control.

Casey jumped up, sweaty, panting, and terrified.

What was that? What the hell, holy shit and Jesus, was that? He dragged himself out of bed, nervously rubbing his sticky forehead, and rushed to the bathroom. He had a headache.

Fucking drunk...fucking drunk! He hit the wall furiously and howled with pain as his knuckles met ceramic tiles. Enraged and disgusted, he stuck his head and hurt hand under the cool running water.

Things were getting critical.

Casey knew it, as he had never been the type to delude himself and look for half-hearted explanations. He could face the reality; the reality was simply off-putting. It had become a shameful tradition: going through shit he hadn't asked for, getting drunk, doing stupid things, having nightmares, landing under water with a hangover and a general feeling of revulsion.

“Fuck!” Casey rested his elbows on the sink and squeezed his temples. His hair hung around his face like a curtain.

I should have called my parents. I should have. God, help me! I don't wanna—I'm not—I'm normal.

I'm...fucking broken drunk! He sobbed heart-rendingly and huge, warm tears mixed with the water running down his face. A lump in his throat was stifling his breath, and his chest was so heavy....

So heavy....

The burden bent him to the ground and Casey sank to his knees, snuggling his face against the cold ceramic of the sink.

The situation was far beyond his strength. He wanted to deal with it, to be home and dry, to get things in order. Oh, he wanted that so much! But he just couldn't. Helplessness and a feeling of being lost were crushing his heart.

Shit, I'm going crazy.

---

The beer was warm and thin.

What a plonk. Sarah winced at the glass. It was an ordinary, cheap tea glass, corresponding perfectly with the taste of its contents and with the woman's mood.

She sat on her bed with her legs crossed and her back leaning against the wall. She would have drunk the beer from the bottle if she hadn't smashed its neck. She had pulled the cap too violently. Well, not a big deal...just nerves.

A knock at the door disrupted her wistful meditations.

“Yeah, come in,” she sighed and took a sip.

Ryan entered the room with a wide, understanding smile and lounged in a chair at the table.

“How’s your day, belligerent woman?” He winked at her.

“Like a landscape after battle.” Sarah made a sour face. “Want some shitty beer?”

“No thanks, I'm not into shitty beer,” Ryan snorted. “I thought we might go somewhere. It's a shame to waste a free day, isn't it?”

“I don't feel like going anywhere, Ryan. I'm tired and brusque. It makes me a crummy companion.”

“Y'know, sitting alone and pondering over past events won't help. What happened, happened; nothing will change it. So leave it and let's go for a real beer. What do you say?”

“I say I won't go anywhere. Find someone else.”

“Uhm. And if I don't want 'someone else'?” Ryan asked half-teasingly, half-seriously.

Sarah focused her gaze on Ryan's face, judging whether it had been a joke. She knitted her brows and, not taking her eyes off the man, she lazily took a gulp of yellowish drink.

“Then you have a problem, I guess,” she answered, slowly and defiantly.

“Oh, gosh, it's not a 'problem' category yet. A challenge, yes. An obstacle, maybe. But a problem? E-e...” He shook his head, smiling roguishly.

“Whatever.” The woman shrugged and stared at the opposite wall.

“Well, what can I do?” Ryan spread his arms in a helpless gesture, his palms up. “If you’re still stuck in yesterday you could at least talk about it. Get it out of your system. You'll feel relieved.”

“I’ve already talked about it.”

“Oh, and did it help?”

“Dunno.” She shrugged again. “Probably.”

“Uhm...who did you talk to?”

“Casey. Why?”

“Casey...yeah. Of course,” Ryan snarled bitterly.

“What’s with that tone? And, excuse me, why 'of course'?” Now it was Sarah's turn to get irritated.

“A sweet, brave guy who’s been traumatized by some asshole's death. Feeling sorry for him?”

“Hey, hey, hey! What does that mean? What the hell is going on with you?” She raised her voice. “Do you have to behave like a moody, jealous kid? I wasn't sorry for anyone! He brushed me off and I could hardly get what he was mumbling about! Happy? I was just grateful for the fact that he didn't bear a grudge for what had happened. Geez, cool down, will ya?”

“I also don't bear any grudge, but you don't seem to care,” Ryan spat angrily.

“Oh, fuck.” Sarah shook her head resignedly and put her glass away. “Okay. Thank you. I appreciate that you don't bear a grudge. I'm happy you want to cheer me up. But I really don't need it. I want to be left alone with my thoughts. Nothing personal. Really. Got it?” She tried to sound calm and gentle.

“Sure, I get it.” The agent smiled sarcastically, making it obvious that he didn't believe her explanation, and stood up. Without a word he left the room, pointedly slamming the door.

“Jesus Christ!” Sarah dropped onto the bed, closing her eyes. Why did it always have to be like that? Why men couldn't just leave her alone?

---

A strong gust of autumn night wind hit Sam's face when he opened the door. He instinctively squinted his eyes and lowered his head. Generally he liked wind. Wind was wild and fresh. It penetrated the body and made it lighter.

But this time he didn't pay attention to the wind. He was angry and distracted. He’d had...an urge. And that urge hadn't been satisfied. Now he had to take care of it and find a vent for his disappointment.

He’d never been patient. If he had to wait for something he would just give it up. Always a short ball; take it or leave it.

That night he had wanted to take it. But when it hadn’t been given, he’d found it difficult to leave it.

Club Eclipse welcomed the sullen man with its blue and green neon. Sam passed the gates with no problem. The doormen and security knew his handsome face very well. They also knew that facial expression that said, There will be victims.

The place was crowded, despite the fact that it was Wednesday. Under cover of darkness, primal instincts, wild desires, and shameless yearnings took possession of it.

Sam stopped at the entrance to the huge hall that vibrated to the rhythm of trance music. With narrowed eyes he surveyed the flashing dance floor, judging people like the god of debauchery choosing his offering.

After a long while his look rested on a tall, black-haired girl who temptingly swung her hips and exposed her charms. A cold, evil smirk crawled across the man's lips as he slowly started to make his way through the swaying crowd. He had found his goal for tonight.

No drinks, no special atmosphere, no prelude. Pure want, clear target, and quick action. He didn't see other people, didn't feel their touches and taunts. His eyes were fixed on the exposed belly and round buttocks fitted tightly into a short silver skirt.

The girl turned around and faced him. Her half-closed eyes weren't fully clear; she was smiling absently. Her hand, waving in the air, coincidentally brushed Sam's arm. He grabbed her strongly by the wrist and pulled, so that she lost her balance and fell softly against his chest. He noted the subtle smell of jasmine fragrance. Her arm was so smooth and slender. Her narrow waist fit perfectly into his embrace. She surrendered to him instantly, like a plasticine figure.

She was hot. Beautiful. She smelled so nice. Her soft bosom, pressed to his chest, promised ultimate pleasure. He peeped at her low neckline, following the nice, deep cleavage between two voluptuous breasts.

Oh, yes, she was hot. Very hot. He was aware of this fact as he stood there gaping at her tits like a schoolboy. He was going to seduce her, right? Like always.

Right?

Right?!

Oh, fuck!

Sam let go of the girl. She staggered backward and leaned against another man, smiling at him seductively.

Infuriated, the agent couldn't hold back an angry hiss as he evaluated the girl again. Yes, she was perfect. So why the hell didn't he want her? Why didn't he feel desire while touching her body? Sure, he was slightly aroused; he was a healthy male, after all. But he wasn't attracted to the girl's curves. The rebellious part of his ego treacherously wanted a different object.

He shook his head, frustrated, still finding it difficult to face the truth. The truth was disagreeable: somehow he had become interested. He had let something have such an impact on him that he couldn't fully control his thoughts and reactions. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Someone jostled him from behind. Sam instinctively turned around like a shot and gripped the stranger's throat, digging his fingers into the man's trachea. The startled blond stranger jerked back, terrified and choking. His watery eyes were blinking quickly and his mouth silently opened and closed, begging for air.

Sam knitted his brows and loosened his grip slightly. His piercing, ominous eyes looked into teary blue irises, then glided over bright hair that hung to the man's chin. Still keeping his hand on the guy's throat, Sam inspected the rest of the helplessly struggling body.

Weak. Well, that was nothing unexpected. For the agent, almost every normal guy was weak. However typical it was, this time the conclusion came as a strange disappointment.

The blond man was handsome and well-built, shorter than his black-eyed assailant. Young—twenty, maybe twenty-two....

Sam's brow raised, his lips tilted into a Cheshire-cat smile. He pulled his prey closer by the neck and roughly grasped the man's crotch. The man jerked violently and tried in vain to move Sam's hand away. His cheeks reddened and two tears rolled down his face as he squeezed his eyes and bit his trembling lower lip in despair.

Sam smiled wider and leaned forward to nibble the man's earlobe and whisper into his ear, “Yeah, that's what I want. What do you say?”

Having said that, he released the blond's throat. The man wheezed forcefully, drawing air into his lungs, and coughed sharply, involuntarily massaging his reddened trachea.

“Shit,” he uttered. “What was that?”

“My offer.”

A questioning look was directed at Sam's face.

The agent smiled again and firmly grabbed the younger man's hand. He quickly turned him around, closing him in a tight embrace from behind.

“Shhh.” He held the man still when he tried to free himself. “You like it, don't you? I can tell just by looking.” Sam's hand traveled down to touch, gently this time, the bulge between the blond's legs.

“Frankly, I'm scared. Let me go, please,” the man asked in a trembling voice.

“Don't be scared. I won't hurt you. Relax,” the agent whispered, his lips ghosting over his prey's neck and shoulder that were hidden under the thin shirt.

“Relax....”

His hand was still caressing the man's privates. The body in Sam's embrace slowly loosened, its owner no longer trying to get away.

“Relax....”

The blond's hand covered Sam's fingers and pressed them against him harder. The man shifted his hips forward and a loud, heavy breath, verging on a silent moan, escaped his parted lips.

“Come.” Sam pulled him gently toward the dark rooms hidden behind the bar-back wall.

A faint red gleam swallowed them and wrapped them in a hot, dense air of lechery. The labyrinth of narrow corridors and low partition walls was filled with sounds of shameless pleasure and physical fulfillment. Dark figures clung to the walls and rocked in a dance of interwoven bodies yearning for sensation.

Nothing private. Just a commonality of interests.

Sam pressed the blond man's chest to the red wall. The atmosphere had begun to have the expected effect; he was warmed up and aroused. Ruthlessly he reached to his conquest's belt and unbuckled it, skillfully unbuttoning the fly as well. With a quick movement he slid the man's pants down to just below the hips, together with his underwear, and pulled up his shirt. Sam's right hand slipped inside the pants, uncovering the buttocks and forcefully gripping one cheek, firm and strong. The other hand tangled itself in the man’s golden hair. Sam slid his palm over the man's hip to the front and pushed against the young man with his whole body, nesting his own erection in the valley between the cheeks, spreading them. He rocked his hips forward and squeezed the blond's hardening organ through the fabric of his underpants. The man moaned in a low voice.

“Let me....” Sam heard the begging breath and slender fingers grabbed his hand.

“Let you what?” panted Sam, provocatively teasing the member he was holding.

“Oral...don't you like it?” The young guy must have been experienced.

“I like it. On the condition that you know how to do it properly. So?” Sam was a good match for the blond.

“I do. Try me.” A wet tongue slipped out of the man's mouth and seductively moistened his red, soft lips.

The agent said nothing but released his prey, who had turned out to be quite full of initiative, and leaned his back against the wall, unbuttoning his pants.

“You're scary, man.” The blond guy had his first chance to take a proper look at his tormentor.

“I am. You like it that way, don't you?” Sam smirked knowingly.

“Hell...how do you know?”

“I just know. Well?” Sam’s gaze indicated his crotch.

“Sure.” A small hand reached into his pants and took out the agent's erection. “That's something.” A lecherous smile flickered across the young, attractive face when his blue eyes rested on Sam's manhood.

“I'm not here to chat, y'know?” The black-haired man frowned warningly.

“And this tattoo? It's fucking awesome. You know it?” The hand slowly massaged his cock.

Sam felt all his nerve endings meeting down there between his legs. He swallowed loudly and answered, “Geez, you don't think you're the first bright person to tell me that, do you? Stop jabbering. You're much sexier with your mouth shut. Or, better yet, stuffed with something.” He pulled the blond head down to his stomach and let those red, full lips take care of his needs.

The smooth, gentle tip of the tongue trailed up the swollen vein on the bottom side of Sam's penis. Sam slowly arched back at the strong stimulus.

The boy took some time teasing the velvety head. It sent shivers through the dark-skinned body, from the abdomen up to the temples. The agent rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, succumbing to sensual pleasure. For a second he felt a temptation to catch hold of the blond head, to entwine his fingers in long hair and pull it closer, stronger, harder. But he didn't. Just...not.

The young man encircled Sam’s stiff, thick organ with his palm and squeezed, slipping his wet mouth onto it and moistening it with saliva. Sam knitted his brows at the satin embrace. His lips parted slightly, suddenly dry and itching. He ran his tongue across them and stopped its tip in a dimple of the Cupid's bow for a while.

Slowly, in a fluid motion, his hips cooperated with the well-trained hands stroking his hard-on and conjuring up bliss. He pressed his palms against the wall and bent his knees to accommodate his movements to the pace of the roguish tongue now playing with the whole length of his erection. His member was throbbing and the sexual pleasure was building up high in his loins, generating a tingling around his prostate. Its pulsation was followed by his muscular butt cheeks clenching rhythmically.

Sam relaxed his body by willpower and took a deep breath to restrain the sensation. He wouldn't let himself go honest and spontaneous. Wild, yes, as long as he was in control. But not honest.

“Ugh....” The muffled noise escaped his lips when the tip of the man’s tongue irritated the outlet of his urethra and the magical fingers squeezed his smooth balls.

“I like it shaved,” the blond man murmured under his breath, with his lips glued to the soft, hot foreskin.

Idiot. Sam didn't bother to comment. Hardly anyone knew that it was an inborn feature: Native Americans had no luxuriant body hair. He had inherited it, whether he liked it or not. His torso, limbs, even genitals were smooth like a woman's skin. A delicate down gave it the feel of velvet.

A thumb pressed the place between his balls and anus, caressing the prostate.

“Leave it,” he ordered slapping the man's hand. It was a sensitive place and what Sam wanted was just simple satisfaction, not ecstasy. He jerked the young man up and almost brutally pinned him against the wall, switching places with him.

“Shit—wait!” the blond panted. “Have a condom?”

Sam didn't see fit to answer, just took out the small, square packet and ripped it with his teeth. He quickly put the latex cap on his prominent member and grabbed the young man's hips to conveniently expose his ass. He violently parted shapely buttocks to see the hidden entrance. It seemed well trained and was unexpectedly wet and stretched. Apparently someone had discovered this jewel before him. Sam winced slightly with disgust and hesitated for a second, but quickly put aside his hypocrisy, deciding that actually he had no plans for foreplay anyway. With one long, steady thrust he went in. Soft, warm, delicate walls gave way and wrapped him gently, teasing every millimeter of his sensitive flesh.

The blond groaned, partly in pleasure, partly in surprise. The generous filling reached his sensitive spot and his knees trembled.

Sam pulled the boy's hips, pressing them closely to his groin. The round buttocks were spread against his abdomen and their balls met. With long, slow movements Sam was building his pleasure. His left hand caught the boy's long blond hair and held it forcefully while his right controlled the boy's hips.

Sam closed his eyes and threw his head back, allowing himself to immerse in the anticipation of the climax he felt coming. His movements sped up, as well as his breath and heartbeat. He bit his lower lip and wrinkled his forehead, concentrating on the approaching wave of pleasure. It rolled through his body, bursting dams and overflowing control barriers. His muscles tensed and a silent moan froze on his dry lips as all sensations found their outlet in a series of powerful contractions and hot shots into the sucking softness between two firm buns.

For a few seconds they stayed still, Sam softening slowly in the warm, slippery interior of the other man's body. He gave himself a few seconds to recover and savor the feeling of satiation. When the emotions subsided, he pulled out. Impatiently he removed the condom and threw it out, doing up his pants.

“What 'bout me, wild man?” The blond winked at Sam seductively, looking at the agent over his shoulder and not straightening up. His buttocks, reddened after Sam’s rough treatment, were still shown off.

“Fuck off,” said Sam coldly, not even gracing the boy with one look, and left him standing there, disappointed and humiliated.

His tension had been discharged and Sam should have felt satisfied. This was how it always had been. But now the distraction that infested somewhere inside was pestering him. Satisfaction hadn't come. Instead, he felt more restless and confused than before. He spit through his teeth and kicked a pebble into a drain.

I hate you, he thought without hatred, his eyes closed.

---

“Hi, Mom.” The voice in the receiver seemed tired.

“Oh, hello Cas!” Lise Moore smiled, surprised. Her son only called once in a blue moon. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he lied smoothly. “How are you?”

“Okay. How’s your job? Stressful?”

“Uhm...sometimes. But nothing exceptional. You know, computers, programs....”

“So, are you satisfied?”

“Yeah.” He managed to wring the answer out. “I was wondering...how is...Dad?”

“Fine, but tired. He’s having a hard time now with some new deal.”

“A new deal, huh?” Tears glistened in Casey's eyes.

“Yes. You want to talk to him? He's at home now, by a miracle.”

“No, that's fine.” Casey shook his head nervously. Actually he had intended to talk to his father, but now he had cold feet at the last moment. He didn't feel up to speaking with the man. “Just... tell him...wish him luck. And...tell him to take care.”

There was a pregnant silence in the receiver.

“Uhm...Mom?”

“Has something happened, Casey?” Lise's voice became very serious. Her mother's sixth sense must have prompted her.

“No, why?” He had to lie again. “I just...I know he's tired and that his job is stressful. I appreciate it. That's all.”

“Okay,” she answered slowly, not convinced. “Casey, you're an adult. But if you need something, if you want to talk, I'm here for you.”

“I know, Mom.” He smiled, gulping back his bitter tears. “I know. Thank you.”

They remained silent on the phone, only the miraculous thread of understanding between mother and son conveying information they couldn't exchange in words.

Finally Casey decided to break the tension by asking, “Do you have Kate there somewhere?”

“Yes, she's at home. One second. Kate!” He heard the muffled shout as his mother moved her lips away from the receiver.

After a minute of crackling on the line a girlish voice sounded. “Cas? Hi.”

“Hey, little one.” Tears came to his eyes once again. God, how much he missed them now. If only he could get his old life back! “How is everything going?”

“I'm not little any more!” He could tell she was pouting and making a sulky face.

“Sure you aren't.” He smiled wistfully. “A big girl, huh?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Uhm...listen to Mom and Dad, okay? Will you do that for me?”

“I'm not a child. I can make my own decisions.”

Casey's heart bled. “I know, sweetie,” he answered. “I know. But...be good, please. Don't...don't do anything stupid. Don't grow up too fast.” He didn't know how to say what he felt. He lacked words, he lacked arguments. He just knew he wanted his sister to stay innocent.

“What the—Casey? Are you drunk? You’re talking nonsense.”

“No, I'm not drunk. I don't drink, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re behaving strangely.”

“I had a long day yesterday, so I'm tired. But promise me, please, don't do anything you'd be ashamed to tell me or our parents about, okay?”

The silence stretched out. Finally her reluctant voice answered, “Yeah...'kay. Happy now?”

“Very happy. Very.” Casey closed his eyes. “So...take care, princess. Kiss Mom and Dad. Bye.”

“Bye, bro. Cheer up.”

“Sure, I will. Talk to you later.” Casey pressed the button, disconnecting the conversation.

That had been the most difficult call he’d ever made. He could feel an invisible wall growing between his family and him. So many things he couldn't tell, so many things he wasn't supposed to know...different paths, hidden secrets, doors that shut behind him.

It hurt so much to see his well known world falling apart and not be able to grab and save it. He could only watch the people that used to circle around the center of his life drift away, farther and farther, being replaced by characters who had invaded him and crushed his composure.

Still holding the receiver and pressing the button, he felt excruciatingly lonely.

I hate you, he thought, not knowing exactly who should be the recipient of the words.



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Thank you for your warm words. They mean a lot to me; really :) So... don't leave me alone ;)

And if you'd like to have a more direct conversation with me, there is a forum topic started for The Jigsaw:

http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php?showtopic=4442

Feel invited :)