Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 31

"–when a twenty-two-year-old seaman was found nearly dad in the public bathroom of a park in Nagasaki on Monday." Rivers turned on the volume to beat the flowing water of Leah's washing up. "The man had contusions on his face and most of his body. While the dynamics of the incident are still unclear, the nature of the wounds indicates foul—"

A lid clattered against the sink before rattling onto the floor.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Lee!"

Leah emerged from behind the breakfast bar, lid in hand and brows raised. "Whoa. What the fuck?"

"I'm trying to listen to the goddamn news."

Her eyes jumped to the television and back on him. "What? Are you deploying or something?"

"No."

"Then what's with the pissy attitude?" She was still holding the lid, droplets plunging from her yellow rubber gloves.

Rivers switched off the TV and tossed the remote to the side. Was he also gonna get caught in an "incident"? He buried his face in his sweaty palms.

A gust of recycled air from the swinging fan in the corner of the room hit his sticky neck, the whoosh incessant.

"What's going on, Rivs?"

The lid clanked against the counter and a moment later, Leah's coconut scent reached his personal space. Her eyes had asked that question in a million different the past week, but the words had never come out. This time, she wouldn't drop it.

"I can't..." Rivers emerged from his palms and abandoned himself against the sofa. "Why is he doing this to me?" Leah's face blurred at its heart-shaped edges. He blinked, bringing her back to focus, and cleared his throat. His shoulders squared. "I'm done."

"What do you mean, 'I'm done'?"

"I mean, I'm fucking done, Lee!" Rivers rose like his thundering voice. Leah's astonished eyes followed him.

Breathe. No human ever had that power over him. Enters Sammy and there he was, aching from the inside out.

"Are you talking about—"

"Yes." His tone lowered. "Sam." Rivers wet his dry lips. "First, he tells me to stay away from him as if I'm some sort of... I don't know, stalker or pest, or something. Then when I say, 'with pleasure', he sticks to me like a rotten band-aid only to make my life a living hell. And he doesn't even talk to me like a normal person,"—he scoffed—"Oh no. He exists around me only to laugh at Ben's homophobic jokes like a teenage girl hoping for a free ride. I lost count of all the 'fag' and 'sissy' and 'fruitcake' that came out of his mouth. Picture a bad caricature of a redneck homophobe and you're not too far..." The streams of words left him panting with anger surging through his poisoned blood. His fingers closed and his vision blurred again. Fuck that. Samuel won't have him cry like a little kid. "Fuck!" Faster than a piton, his fist punched the drywall, leaving a dent in the pristine white.

The hit traveled up his arm and reached his brain, sparking the synapse. Leah. From two feet away, she stared at him with saucer eyes. Frozen.

"Lee...I'm sorry." With his arms high and a cautious step, he moved closer. "Are you OK?"

Leah nodded, but the shock still hadn't thawed from her gaze. Did Adam apologize right after, too?

Rivers halted and passed his shaky hands over his head. Rage had been a stranger for a very long time, but she'd come back with a vengeance. From Samuel, with hate.

Fuck him.

Gravity was a nuisance that day. He slumped on the breakfast stool and, leaning his elbow on the counter, he buried his face in his palms again. "I'm sorry, Lee. I fucked up."