Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 32

Your life is worth more than your honor.

That young sailor had thought the same. Too little, too late.

Leah's plea had been living rent free in Rivers' head for days, nagging at the hidden part of his brain that agreed. The water fell heavy on his body, adding to the oppression. He hadn't scrubbed so thoroughly in years when thick blood had coated his hands.

You're only a fag if you take it.

It was the second time Samuel called him a faggot. Would he sell him with a kiss on the third? Point taken. Samuel held the knife by its handle.

If only he could see the future. Would he end up like Joel? Would he pull the trigger, or would Samuel do it for him?

When was the last time you were truly happy?

The sweaty white tiles met Rivers' forehead like a chilling thought. None of it was real—Joel was a ghost, Ed a concept and Samuel a lie. He was also a lie. A fucking farce.

And yet, giving up had never been an option.

Until now?

Your life is worth more than your honor.

What honor? A Marine never lied unless it was convenient.

Convenient to whom?

He was no Superman. How was he supposed to save the world when he couldn't even escape his cage? Superheroes wore masks, too, but no regular guy hid behind his disguise; only more lies to peel. The realization dawned on him like the downpour on the nape of his neck and, in the momentary blindness, he swayed as if at sea. After a shiver, a warm wave spread through his body, relaxing his petrified muscles. Three more weeks and it would be just him, his father, and the Atlantic Ocean.

Maybe it was time to give up. Who was he destroying his integrity for? Ten years had passed and barely any progress had been made. He was still hiding. Maybe he should take the plunge and become one with the water. If he bought a boat of his own, he could sail down to Mexico and head for the Caribbean–

Rivers' heart thumped with the slamming door. He jumped back to real life. Footsteps grew heavier and the shower curtain swung to the side.

"What the fuck?"

Samuel's stormy, bloodshot eyes bore into Rivers. A tight jaw framed a murky face with no traces of beauty left. All it took was a blink and Rivers' spine hit the wall. Strong fingers clutched his neck and wrist and Samuel's shaky mouth landed on Rivers' lips that suddenly tasted of blood. The metal on his tongue awoke his blindsided brain.

Rivers' shove met no resistance, and Samuel stumbled back.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

The shower kept running, soaking Samuel head to toe. He didn't move, nor uttered a word. Only their panting accompanied the falling water.

Like thunder, a sob broke the heavy air, bringing Samuel to his knees.

What in the actual fuck was going on?

Rivers glanced to the bathroom, but Samuel had brought no witnesses. His tears mingled with the now cold drops, but they were every bit as real. What was he supposed to do? Comfort Samuel so he could call him a faggot again? He had blown way too many chances.

Samuel's chest shook with another loud cry. "I'm sorry. I hate myself."

Fuck.

How long before a gunshot?