Try Not to Forget (3 of 3)

What's Past is Prologue (3 of 3)

What's Past is Prologue

Content Warning: The contents contained within this semi-autobiographical short-story deal with subjects – drugs/alcohol use, sexual assault and adult themes – that could be upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

If apathy was death, then Aldred was more than alive. He felt everything, everywhere, all at once. His jaw ached, his head throbbed to the march of a mariachi band, and the world heaved with the tranquil serenity of a hurricane, but if joy was a blanket, then he was wrapped up in it like a burrito.

He should have felt guilty for feeling so good.

"You awake, babe? I'm thirsty." No response. Aldred groaned – he'd have to get his own water. He tried to heave himself up, and was astonished to realize that he was still very much inebriated.

Not surprising, really. They'd arrived in Chapel Street before midnight, already drunk, and a few caps later, they were both so cooked they were basically fried. They hadn't emerged from that nightclub until the sun was cresting in the east, casting long, furtive orange hues through a nearly cloudless sky.

But they were still high as kites, with more energy than a gerbil on cocaine (another substance they'd imbibed in) so they'd made their way to another stubbornly open club that had no sobriety standards for entry and continued their partying.

Flashes of memories came flooding back: bright, seizure-inducing strobing lights, pulsating rhythms that could have competed with earthquakes; Shaun, his lanky frame grinding against Aldred, his hands basically a vice on Aldred's ass. Aldred's spine tingled in ecstasy as they danced to the tune of their beating hearts.

Perennially grieving, Shaun kept popping pills – Aldred had no idea how many he'd bought, or how much he'd spent on them... or even what they were, for that matter. Ecstasy, presumably. Three had been enough for Aldred, but Aldred was amazed Shaun could still blink.

"I paid for 'em," Shaun justified, popping another one surreptitiously. His speech was slurred, ponderously slow, and Aldred, despite bouncing energetically to the pulsating beats surrounding him, despaired if this is what their life together would be like – it had been like this for some months already. "And you fucking liked them enough after Trent –"

"I know," Aldred cut him off before a spiral started, pointedly ignoring the mention of his attacker. He tenderly stroked a lock of hair out of Shaun's eye. Shaun had been complaining for hours that his jaw hurt, that it was hard to focus, and that he'd been erect for so long it was painful. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"I always hurt," Shaun replied darkly, and Aldred shivered. "Anyway, that's my last one." He sounded bitter, as if it was great tragedy that his drug supply had evaporated. He wavered in place, then turned a flirty glance at Aldred. "You look nice. You should wear that harness out more often."

Aldred blushed. "Flatterer. You're just trying to pick me up."

"Been there, done that." Shaun winced, bracing himself against the table and waving away Aldred's look of concern. "I'm fine, just a bit..." He trailed off, then fixed Aldred with a glare. "You're not gonna do anything, are you? Like, doctors or ambulances? I hate them."

Aldred faltered, sighing. This wasn't the first time they'd had this impossible argument – Shaun hated a great many things these days, including being alive. If Aldred protested, he'd be shut off completely. "No, no ambulances."

"Good." Shaun beamed, grabbing Aldred by the harness and leading him to the dance floor...

After that, Aldred had a vague impression of a drunken adventure to KFC, then somehow home, each having to help the other remain upright on the way back, falling through the front door and making like rabbits until they'd collapsed from complete sexual exhaustion.