Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
It was a little after nine when he arrived. He’d never visited uninvited before and never in the light of day. It was a dilapidated building but a decent neighborhood. The city bustled around him, people going about their regular Saturday routines. The shops were open and cars crowded the streets. It was so much different in the daylight.
The front door was open so he climbed up the stairs to Ansel’s apartment and knocked on the door. There was a scuffle, some curses, and finally the locks started to click. The door opened a crack and a dark eye peeked out. Then the door swung wide and a dark-haired guy grabbed the donuts and the coffee.
“Ansel, it’s for you.” The door shut.
Fitch scowled.
A second later the door opened again. Ansel slid out and closed it behind him.
“Jesus Christ, what happened?” Fitch asked. A bruise the size of a fist darkened Ansel’s eye.
Ansel winced and touched his free hand to his temple. “What are you doing here?”
“I was worried about you.” His voice broke and he rubbed a hand over his face to cover it up. Jesus, his stomach was cramped up tighter than a hardwood joint.
“Shh,” Ansel said, rubbing his temple.
The ache that had formed in his chest was torn open as soon as he saw Ansel’s face, and the only thing his lover could do was shush him?
“What the fuck, Ansel? What happened?” He couldn’t hide his frustration and he stalked forward a step.
Ansel looked at the floor.
Unease made Fitch’s breath shallow and he swallowed a ball of dread. This couldn’t be happening. Things had been going so well, he’d almost started to believe it would be okay. He shook away the dread that threatened to bring him to his knees and forced the words out.
“Damn it, just fucking tell me.”
Ansel avoided eye contact, like if he made it, all those dark skeletons would come stumbling out to say hello.
Fitch grabbed Ansel’s shoulders and shook. “Tell me.”
“I picked up a guy, okay?”
Fitch froze with a pain that ripped a hole through his chest. The jealousy he’d been holding back surged through everything else and made him blind with rage.
“I brought him home to fuck,” Ansel continued as if he wasn’t tearing Fitch apart with every word. “I was wasted and forgot to tell him I had a dick. There was a fight. I don’t remember half of it because I drank a whole fucking bottle of tequila. Okay?” With lips pressed tight together, Ansel banged his head against the door.
Fitch balled his hands into fists and punched the wall.
Ansel flinched.
“I told you I wasn’t good at this.” Ansel’s eyes were still closed, face red except for the dark eye. “You kept pushing.”
He ignored the catch in Ansel’s voice. “It’s my fault? Seriously?”
“I’m sorry. You deserve better.” God that sounded so much like what all his girlfriends would say when they finally cut him loose, it almost made Fitch sick. For the first time in his life he was being dumped before he wanted to be. And fuck, it hurt.
This was why he’d never made the first move, never ended a relationship. He’d never had the temperament to hurt someone like this. Always feared causing anyone pain. This is what he got for being a good guy? Fuck. He couldn’t breathe with the sting of it and it pissed him off.
“I’m not good for you,” Ansel whispered. “Go find a sweet girl, marry her, make babies. Your mom would be so fucking happy.”
“Leave my mother out of this,” Fitch shouted. The volume surprised him and he took a deep breath. “Just...wait a minute.” He took a step back and sucked in air that seemed too warm, too sticky. He’d promised himself he could let Ansel go, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt so fucking much. He needed to take a moment to think.
But, like he’d simply been waiting for a chance, Ansel gripped the door handle. “There’s nothing to wait for,” he said, his voice cracking. “It’s over, Fitch.” A shaky breath and then, “We both knew it couldn’t last.”
Without looking back, Ansel slipped back into the apartment and shut the door.
* * *
Ansel pressed his forehead to the solid wood, his hand shaking on the lock he’d just flipped closed. He could feel Fitch on the other side of the barrier and the struggle to remain still took all his concentration. His body vibrated with the urge to go to him. To apologize. To beg forgiveness.
God, it hurt.
It hurt so fucking bad.
So much worse than he’d imagined.
His stomach cramped and twisted, his head pounded, even his fucking toes ached. His chest tightened enough to make breathing difficult. It could be the hangover. Probably not.
No, this felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. Even though he’d known it was coming, there was no way he could protect himself. Fitch’s retreating footsteps sounded through the thin door and Ansel squeezed the handle. He could turn it, run after him. But what would he say? There was no excuse for what he’d done. Everything he’d said was the truth.