CARNIVORE [MxM+]

Chapter 4 [REVISED]

Alexei Abbots.

I WAS DRIFTING. Mentally and physically. My surroundings were nothing but background noise as my head filled to the brim with thoughts, and I didn't have the energy to look up as I walked, so I decided to see where my feet would take me. I continued at this slow pace, my shoes dragging against the concrete. I only hoped my body was taking me somewhere safe. 

In my mind, I was falling into the Earth. The dirt was giving out around me like quicksand, dragging me deeper and deeper into the dark. The despair was winning like it always did. It felt like dying.

It's been weeks since I've felt this way. I felt like an addict going through rehab, except nothing was working, and every time I took one step forward, I took two back. Dr. Salem won't be happy with me, but I feel like I have an excuse this time. 

Everything just hurt. I don't think it actually hurt, because he didn't kick me in the chest or stab my heart, but it felt like it. I had never even met him, and all it took was a fucking punch for him to steal what little my body had of my soul. I'm so tired of being this way. I'm so tired of being weak. I can't control it. It's like something else is constantly whispering in my ear, telling me to feel this way, and of course, I listen. Little old Alexei can't think for himself; he just abides by the rules that are set in stone. 

The rules are nonnegotiable, like they're carved in my ribs so I'll never lose them. They tell me I'm weak, so I am, and as much as I hate these rules, I can't help but be grateful for a bit of guidance right now. They're telling me I'm in pain, so that could explain why it took so much effort for a steady breath. For a second, that panic rushes in, and I think that maybe I can't actually breathe, that maybe my lungs just don't want to work anymore. But I bite it all down because I don't really think I feel anything, so I tell myself to get up because it doesn't matter. So I get up.

I don't know how much time has passed since what happened, but I could feel my swollen cheek and the coffee burning at the skin on my arms was still hot enough to get my attention from time to time. I'm sort of thankful Riley's coffee didn't have any sugar in it because I hate the sticky feeling. Oh God, Riley. 

I have to get home. 

I look up for the first time in ages. Luckily, I recognize the street I'm on. I was subconsciously going home. That'd make sense, that's my haven. I huff, gathering the gull to put some stride to my step. My mind shifts away from my own issues and onto the worry Riley certainly feels right now. 

I pray it isn't obvious that something happened. I'm hopeful, which I know is useless, because as I mentioned earlier, my cheek was visibly injured. Tycho had a hard punch, I'll give him that. 

I groan at the difficult situation ahead of me. I know I'm going home to two men who would never let a serious subject like this just drop. They're problem solvers, and as much as I love that about them, I can feel myself doing that thing where I deflect on every issue I have to trick myself into believing they don't exist. I live in a fairy land sometimes, and I hate it. I knew I didn't have the strength to tell them what happened. I'm weak like that. 

The sun's position in the sky tells me it's around noon. I left the coffee shop at eleven, so that means Riley would have expected me home forty-five minutes ago. I let out a swear, reaching into my jeans pocket to dig out my phone to confirm my suspicions. I swear again when my thumb comes in contact with the phone's screen, feeling a sharpness you wouldn't expect to be there. I take out the phone and examine the screen, taking note of its fractured glass. White, serrated lines spread across its entirety like a spiderweb. That's fucking perfect. I already feel like a burden, and now I'll have to ask for a new phone.