LEO AND DECLAN 1: Under His Touch

6

By the time I slammed my apartment door behind me, my hands hadn't stopped shaking and I was no closer to keeping my sanity than I'd been five minutes ago. A scream threatened to tear out of my throat as I crossed the threshold of my tiny apartment, the normally familiar posters on the walls all looking alien tonight, like someone else had decorated the place. I hardly recognized anything.

I turned around in a hopeless circle. A Grimes album cover I'd printed out and tacked up stared at me, waiting for me to reclaim a single wisp of who I was. No such luck.

In my mind there was only room for blades and heartbreak.

There was nothing else: not for me, and not for whatever or whoever I was supposed to be, either. Declan's nice little gay sidekick who kept his mouth shut and didn't ever act difficult. The guy who always said yes and swallowed his hurt feelings with a smile. Not tonight. I couldn't. I just couldn't. My hands shook at my sides and I curled them into fists, not knowing what else to do with them.

I'd almost just died. Should I call the cops? Normally I'd call my parents, but they would certainly call the police, and I wasn't sure about that just yet. I mostly wanted to crawl under something heavy, bury myself alive, and then forget this entire day had ever happened. I could hibernate like a bear and wake up in a few months when this whole thing had blown over.

Seconds later I heard the door fly open again and Declan's footsteps pounded up the stairs.

I'd hopped out of the car the minute it stopped and practically bolted inside without another word, not even waiting for him. And since he'd stayed in the car I assumed he would just go home, but now here he was, back to. . .what? Torment me some more? I didn't think that was possible.

"Leo? Leo!" Declan's head popped into view on the other side of the railing as he climbed the flight of stairs. "What the hell, man?"

I ignored him, walking into my kitchen and shoving the ancient, rusty kettle onto a burner, trying to seem busy. I opened and closed drawers, slamming down silverware on the counter, looking for God knows what. "You should go," I told him, not looking at his face. "I'm fine and I have an early shift tomorrow."

"You have the day off tomorrow," he countered. "That why we went out tonight, remember? Leo, please calm down and talk to me. You almost just—"

"What? Died?" I threw my hands wide. Like you care, I wanted to mutter, but I'd seen the rage in him when he rescued me. He might not care the way I wanted him to, but he cared. "I was handling the situation, Dec. I didn't need you to ride in like—like Prince-Freaking-Charming—and rescue me!"

"Sure looked like you did where I was standing," he snapped back, voice rising.

I threw my arms wide. "Oh, I'm sorry Dec, I forgot for five seconds that you played football in high school, I know you think that means you're the only guy in town who knows how to throw a punch, but spare me your ego for five seconds. Not everything has to be about you."

He reared back, stunned. Then, some realization flickered in his gaze, and instantly the anger was back. "Wait a minute. Were you. . .fighting back, Leo?"

I crossed my arms.

Declan laughed, but it was clear he was more stunned than anything. "You were fighting back against some strung-out guy with a knife?"

"Strung-out?"

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Of course you don't know a junkie when you see one, just like you don't know a losing fight when you see it."