Shattered

Runaway

Mayson watched Jonathan glide around the kitchen in preparation of their meal. He hadn't said much over the last several days, spending most of his time locked within his own mental prison, trying to tunnel his way out of the mess he was in.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward before falling again as he watched his friend's back as he quietly made dinner. He didn't deserve this man in his life. He never had.

Jonathan Carson was the best thing to ever happen to him. He was the first that didn't beat on him for the thrill of it. He never raised his hand in anger. Thinking back he could only remember a few times Jonathan was ever even mad at him.

And when he touched him, he was soft. Jonathan had never touched him in any way sexual and Mayson didn't know how to process that. Jonathan always said he loved him, but if he loved him why wouldn't he want him? He looked down at his cloth-covered chest.

He saw through the black t-shirt to the multicolored, marred skin beneath. He thought of the many scars that lined his body, reminding him of a past he'd rather forget. Mayson closed his eyes as shame burned within him. He was disgusting. Ugly. Worthless. His entire life he'd been told these things and worse.

He knew he was only worth what someone could take from his body. Mommy's little whore. His mother's ruthless laugh echoed around his head before he felt the ghost of her hands on him, her body and mouth against him.

The air was purged from his lungs as her vile taste filled his mouth. His eyes watered involuntarily and somehow he got enough air back in his lungs to cough and choke.

Jonathan turned around at the sudden commotion behind him. Too engrossed in his task and his own thoughts, he hadn't been aware of the change in atmosphere. The scene before him made his heart race.

Mayson's face was beet red, his cheeks wet with tears falling in streams from those haunted green eyes.

"Fuck," Jonathan exclaimed before turning off the burner and stepping over to the sink. He grabbed a glass off the dish rack and filled it with water from the tap before rushing to Mayson who was still gasping for breath.

He took the water and drank it greedily, trying to dispel her memory from his mouth. He nearly dropped the glass he was shaking so badly.

"Mayson?"

Nothing. No reaction. Mayson's eyes remained focused in the distant past and didn't seem to be returning. Jonathan scanned Mayson's face with worried eyes.

"Mayson, come on, man, come back to me. Mace..."

Not knowing what else to do, and absolutely dreading the reaction, Jonathan slowly reached out and touched Mayson's shoulder.

"No!" Mayson shrieked, his eyes wide and unseeing, and in his haste to get away from her offending touch, threw himself off the stool he'd been sitting on. He landed with a hard thud that jarred his neck backward, throwing his head into the tiled flooring.

In his panic, the pain didn't register and he scrambled backward, his terrified howling, unlike anything Jonathan had ever heard. The sound cut Jonathan to the core and he felt as if his heart was being squeezed by a mechanical hand incapable of showing mercy.

Jonathan stood paralyzed by this play-by-play. He was completely transfixed by the terror written all over Mayson's face, in his screams, pouring from his green eyes.

As if something kicked him into gear, Jonathan snapped out of his daze and was instantly at Mayson's side. With only a moment's hesitation, Jonathan pulled Mayson into his lap, pulling him tightly against his chest.