Mongrel [bxb] | Bad Moon Book III

Chapter 18: behave

an; again...trigger warnings

On the nights when Bailey slept in his own bed, he dreamed of Cowboy.

On the nights he slept in Rico's, he dreamed of his mother. She laid in the morning sun, face-down on the dining room table. Her white robe sprinkled in red petals, her hair black and rippling into her luke coffee. Her shoulders felt like cold stone and he remembered thinking what is this thing that looks like my mother? What is this thing that doesn't feel like her at all? That morning, his mother never woke, but in his dreams, she did. She raised her head and looked at him, a hole for each of her soft drooped eyes.

Did I scare you, Bear? I'm so sorry.

Her black holes blinked and a smile pulled over her face like a long, crooked fold.

I'm so sorry, Bear.

My little Bailey Bear.

And as she reached for him, Bailey turned to run. His feet found nothing and he fell into the cradle of a fresh dirt pit. Danny laid beside him, decayed flesh and sprouting bones, saplings growing from the fermented dirt of his empty eye socket.

Soil crashed against Bailey's back and he twisted to the silhouette that stood at his graveside, crying and clutching his ribs. And when the clouds shifted and the moon poured down on his blackened face, and Matt's agonizing expression shown down on him, something deep and hollow splintered inside.

Bailey woke after that, pain wracking his dented rib. The bed where Rico had been was empty now, but the stink of him cemented to the air and the wood in the walls. Bailey's empty stomach heaved and he stumbled to the floor just as the bedroom door clattered open.

Gabe nearly dropped his tray at the sight of him, catching the edge as silverware rattled. The flesh of his back burned and Bailey stayed there like that, knees on the filthy floor, hair hung over his face. Empty sick welling his throat. If you ask me what happened, he wanted to say, I'll kill you this time. I swear to God I'll kill you.

Gabe didn't ask. He set the tray aside and fetched an aid kit from the closet.

For twenty minutes, he tended to the fresh marks on Bailey's back, wrapping him in a layer of gauze that would require a blade to remove. And when he was done, Gabe sat on the bed beside him, head low and shoulders small.

"Rico left so I thought I'd sneak you breakfast."

Bailey was weak with hunger. The flames in him licked at the smell of grilled ham. Nothing here went unpunished. "He'll know."

"Maybe you can get out if-"

"No," Bailey said. Before, maybe. Before he'd burned down Black Hole. Before he'd double-crossed Ricco. If he'd told Quentin the honest truth then, maybe he'd have sanctuary somewhere. But he was a traitor to the North West, a traitor to the rogues, a traitor to Cowboy. He had nowhere to go.

Gabe was the only one allowed to touch him here, the only one who didn't make his insides writhe. Maybe it was because he was more effeminate than most, maybe it was because he touched so gently. His hands had always been a thing to trust-fall into, but they felt like spikes now. When he took Bailey by the cheek and turns his head to kiss him, the hound tore away.

There was a moment of gentle pause. Then Gabe nodded in understanding and clasped his hands between his knees. "I do care about you, Bailey."

"I'm not in the mood for a confession-"

"I don't love, Bailey. Not like that. Not like you do."

Bailey hated the way his tired voice tore when he said, "Good."