Apology Not Accepted

Chapter 17: Morning After

Something was bright. Like, annoying and persistent bright. Philip refused to open his eyes until it went away. It wasn't a school day so he didn't have to get up, he was comfortable and warm so he wouldn't get up and risk losing both of those. Yet, the light was still there, ruining what should have been a perfect day. He grumbled and shifted a bit, hoping the sun would just disappear.

"Go back to sleep. It's still early," a deep voice rumbled.

An arm circles his torso and pulls him back into a firm chest, lips pressing against the nape of his neck. It took Philip a second to remember where he was and who he was with. "Eacker?" He guessed. The man groaned and put his chin on the top of the other's head. "Who else?"

"Satan coming for my soul?"

"You have to have a soul first in order for him to take it, Hamilton."

Philip turned over and kicked at the still half-asleep man. "I do have a soul," he objected. Eacker chuckled and pecked him on the lips, only to come back and deepen the kiss. He tried to roll on top of the other but the younger pushed him back. He frowned and grabbed for Philip's waist, once again, foiled by the  Hamilton by the boy rolling away and sitting up. Bruises littered his body beautifully and if it weren't for the blankets pooling around his waist, there would be even more on his ass and thighs.

The freckled boy stretched and winced at the soreness of his entire body and the cracking of his spine. George sat up on his elbows and kissed the back of his neck, smiling when he hummed. "You know I could go for another round-"

Philip turned and shook his head. "Oh no, not again. I'm too sore and I have to limp halfway through the city to get home today," he said, standing up and showing dark purple handprints on his hips. He bent down to pick up his clothes only to see his shirt destroyed along with his underwear. "Dammit, George. How am I going to explain this to my family?" Eacker shrugged. "I don't know, just wear something of mine."

"I was wearing this the last they saw me. If I show up in something else, they'll get curious."

George groaned and fell back against the comforter again. "It's too early for this, just go back in a few hours." He pulled the blankets over himself and looked at the boy. He watched as Philip frowned and picked up his scattered clothing. "You know I can't do that. I have a pregnant mother, a sick father, and six siblings to watch over," he listed, pulling his breeches on and throwing his over coat on, shoving the torn shirt and underwear in his pockets. Picking up a hairbrush, he tried to tame his curls enough to cover his neck but they were too tangled. He put the brush downs in turned to the man in bed. "Do you have any make up?"

Eacker was silent for a moment. "No, but I'm sure my maid does in her room."

"Do you even know her name?"

"Hell no."

Exasperated, Philip left the room and jogged down the stairs. He probably slept most of the day away and refused to stay any longer. He could hear Eacker coming after him, cursing when he fell a few times. It was his fault. He shouldn't have done it and can't believe he has. Every throb in his body reminded him of the mistake he made. He didn't mean to. Right?

George managed to catch him halfway down the block and snatched him by the arm. Somehow, the man was dressed to perfection. "Philip, what's your problem?" He asked, brown eyes staring into hazel ones. Just think, these same eyes were dark and lustful only a few hours ago, giving Philip a rush he has never known with any female. Instead of responding, the boy started crying. Full-on sobbing, Philip began tugging away from the man with so much desperation that Eacker couldn't help but force him into a hug. "Hey, Hey.... it's going to be alright," he whispered, fingers working magic and untangling the other's curls. He wouldn't let go even when Philip punched him in the chest with all his might.

"I shouldn't have done this. Ma hates me, she's going to hate me and tell Pops, then..then He's going to hate me too and kick me out and then I'll be killed for it," he choked up between cries. The past forty-eight hours are catching up to him and he feels like he can't breathe.  It's too soon for this, he should love a girl but George wasn't a girl, he was a man, a man. A man. He just slept with a man and he's going to get disowned. He was warned and he did not listen and now he was going to die.

Eacker let go and tilted his head up, face showing strong concern. What brought all of this on? What was going on in that head of his? "Philip-"

"Don't call me that."

"What?"

"It's my fault. All my fault. I said we should and you tried to," at this point, Philip was hyperventilating and scared. He should have declined the offer to go to the theater, let Eacker walk home alone, should have left the man alone and went to sleep. Shame crawled inside the boy and wore him like a fur coat. George tightened his grip and leaned closer, the ever closing distance beginning to spiral the curly haired boy further into the abyss his mind pushed him in. Right before their lips even brushed, Philip spat out the words that he should have said the night before.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

This stopped the other in his path. George's warm breath ghosted over Philip's cheeks and his hands relaxed. "Philip," he whispered. The boy shook his head and took a step back. "No," he said, "I can't see you anymore."

"Philip,"

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?"

"Please, think this over, tell me what happened," Eacker begged. He searched the smaller's face for any give but felt his heart ache when he saw no signs. "Please."

Shaking his head, Philip began backing away before turning around and breaking off into a sprint, tears cascading down his cheeks. He has to get home and fast. He has get as far away as possible.

Bursting through the front door, Philip froze. There standing in the middle of the living room was his father, holding his youngest daughter in his arms and kissing her face. Philip felt his lungs scream for air as he refused to breathe, in fear this something his mind conjured up to hurt him even more. Alexander turned slightly and stared at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern and confusion at the distraught of his oldest son.

"Whoa, Philip, is everything alright?" He asked, setting Eliza on the ground and turning to the boy. Kicking the door shut, Philip rushed forward and hugged his father. "Pops, I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

"What for?" Alexander asked, running his fingers through the soft curls. He looked down and saw the loud bruises coloring the boy's neck. "Philip..."

"I'm sorry, Pops."