How We Are: A MFM romance

Regerts

Cain

No regerts. My mother had that tattooed on her wrist unironically in a drunken stupor. Although the brainless whore had no shred of decency she did have a point there. No regrets. To regret is useless because it's not like you can change anything, right?

So may as well save your energy. The ride to Ezra's childhood home is silent. He stared out of the window aimlessly watching cars go by.

The silence on my end is usual. I didn't even think Ezra was capable of long lasting silence, without his jaw wired shut. He'd be cute with his jaw wired shut actually.

I look over at him. He doesn't meet my eye. I narrow mine, and clear my throat, waiting for him to start up some nonsensical conversation I'll get tired of in a second.

He doesn't.

"We're only a few hours away," I inform him.

He shrugs, rolls the window down, and leans further out. As if he couldn't bear to be next to me. As if this isn't his fault.

"Is this about the cigarette?" I ask.

He just shakes his head.

I narrow my eyes again. "Then what?"

He sighs, rolls the window up, and I just watch him. "S nothing. Just thinking."

I would normally grunt or chuckle to indicate that thought is laughable but I hold onto it for now.

"About?" I prompt him.

He shrugs again. So much shrugging from him today, who does he think he is?

"Speak," I demand.

But Ezra doesn't quiver in fear or even excitement. He just looks at me. Says nothing. My fingers strangle the steering wheel.

"I had to punish you for what it did," I explain. "You know that. You need it. You asked for it."

Ezra nods, folding his hands in his lap. I look down at them. Pretty. Covered in the blood of innocents but pretty.

"I know. I'm just thinking."

But he doesn't have thoughts I don't know. We ride silence for another stretch.

This is his fault and I won't feel guilty for putting him in his place for it. At least that's what I tell myself. Ezra is often petulant, needy, clingy. Playful. But never truly sad. Never truly hurt. It's all a game to him.

So I fucked him hard, didn't let him come, called him a few names and snubbed a cigarette out on him. Usually he'd be jizzing in pants for this shit.

Why is it whenever I'm having fun...it's wrong?

But I'm an owner. And when you own something and you care about it, you have to put it with idiosyncrasies. Maybe he's gotten softer. Maybe he can't handle that level of discipline anymore. I clench my jaw. It's a pain, but I'll have to talk a little more.

"Was I too harsh? I thought —"

"No, no it's fine." He shakes his head. "Actually do you have one?"

I offer the box of cigarettes. He's not a fan really never was, but he will do it occasionally if I am. But not usually without me. With ease, he finds the lighter I keep in the glove box, lighting it.

He puts it in his mouth, cracking the window again. I wish this was another one of his ploys, I could just ignore it. But it's not. I know him. I've crossed a line. I hurt him.

I grab his wrist, trying looking over it while keepsake my eyes on the road. Ezra wretches it away with an awkward laugh. "Fucksake. It's fine. I'm stronger than I look. I can take it."

I frowned. "You had to be punished," I remind him again.

"I know. Thank you." Ezra takes a puff. "You don't hafta go though. I can do it. I can do it all alone. You know I can." He smiles. It falls flat.

"What's wrong?"

Ezra sighs and looks away. "Nothing. I just...feel bad. For making you go out of your way..."

He leans on his hand, watching the scenery pass. "I'm okay. Just thinking, honest. Thanks for caring, Cain." He grins and leans on my shoulder, but not normally.

He doesn't lean in really, just slightly, just enough that his ear to just barely touch my brushes my shoulder but not enough for him to actually lean on me.
It feels fitting.

"Don't thank me," my eyes dart to the rear view. I look so...angry. All the time. Even when I'm not. Maybe I'm never not angry. I wonder if he sees what I see when I look in the mirror. In those eyes.

I hope not.
I didn't think you were an Abel. It was these eyes wasn't it?

I count how long he stays in the awkward position. It's 5 seconds.

Just a second too long to be genuine. My stomach turns.

"I know you love them. I know..." i clear my throat and pause. Fuck I hate talking. "I know you come when they call. Like you do for me. You just want them to love you."

Ezra doesn't look at me. Since I started asking about it, he plastered this fake smile on his face, forcing this odd little smile, trying to make himself sound playful.

"Oh yeah? News to me." He shrugs.

I clench my jaw. "I'm your owner. You're my home. If I'm doing a bad job you need to tell me —"

"Cain," his smile drops, his voice does too. There he is. The crazy bastard. The berserker. It's been a minute since we met. But he doesn't threaten violence or make up some fucked up little story. He just stared at me empty. "Drop it. I'm fine. I'm not weak or anything. You don't have to be nice to me."

I purse my lips. "I could be."

"No you couldn't. Because you don't really like me. You're just stuck with me. And that's my fault. You need to be mean. It's fine. You can be mean to me. You can hurt me. I won't break. I can take it."

I get off the interstate, pull into a Denny's parking lot and look at him.

He looks back.

Then he smiles. It's repulsive. It's fake. But not for his benefit. For mine.

"Just...let's always be Cain and Ezra, okay? It's all I need." He offers another smile.

And though there's a million words on my tongue, apologies, and explanations and comfort, validation—I say nothing.

I offer him a smile of my own, squeeze his thigh and nod.

It's not enough. He takes it anyway.