Devil's Effect

Cut in Pieces

Chester checked his watch before he looked back at his line of shirts hanging in the closet in the upstairs bedroom of the loft. He checked his watch again, and then he pulled another shirt down, folding it neatly and dropping it into the bag.

"Stop it," Ryan called from the dresser. "We have plenty of time before they get home."

Chester looked over, the next shirt already in his hands. "I don't want to fucking see him, Ry."

"And you won't have to," Ryan promised as he took a stack of folded joggers from the dresser. He briefly glanced through the various colors and styles before he decided they were all Chester's. He dropped them into the bag he was working with, which was already almost full. "We'll have you out of here in no time and back over to Amir's."

"Good. I don't know what I'd even say to him. Nothing. I don't want to say anything to him." Chester's eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. It had been three days since his breakup with Mike. Three days since Mike had accused him and Ryan of cheating, and three days since Chester last saw his ex-boyfriend. Now it was finally time to get his stuff from the loft, and officially move on. "I should have done this days ago," he grumbled, pulling more shirts from the hangers.

"You've been in bed for the last three days," Ryan reminded him as he took a pile of underwear out of the dresser next, flipping through them, just to make sure they were Chester's. The last thing he needs is for me to accidentally put a pair of Mike's underwear in his stuff. I think Mike wears boxers though. He opened the next drawer, and sure enough there were two neatly stacked piles of boxer shorts. Ryan slammed the drawer closed. "What about the furniture?" he asked, turning around and scanning the bedroom. There wasn't much - the bed, and the two nightstands. The dresser, and the television mounted on the wall. Ryan scratched his head as he tried to recall what was and what wasn't Chester's.

"It's all Jason's," Chester admitted, his heart sinking a little as he scanned the half-empty closet. "It's been nice," he said softly, his piss and fire attitude from only minutes ago fading. His emotions had been amuck for the last three days, going from sad and heartbroken, to downright angry when it came to thinking about Mike and how things had gone. His therapist had gently pointed out that Chester had lost more that day than his boyfriend, and he needed to give himself time to accept and process all the casualties that went with it. Not only did he lose his boyfriend, but he lost his home, and his living situation with Ryan, which she had pointed out was very significant in Chester's support system. He'd gone from living on his own, to staying in someone's guest bedroom, so he'd lost his independence, and with his relationship ending, he'd lost the dreams and future plans he'd emotionally invested in as well.

It was a lot, and Chester wasn't coping with it very well. His moods were unstable minute to minute, and that was making everything twice as bad. "None of this is mine," Chester stated again, pulling down four shirts at once, and folding them all together. "The bed, the dresser, closet, the couch, it's all Mark's and Jason's. Or, just Jason's," he corrected quickly. He glanced over at Ryan. "You guys will be sleeping up here now." His eyes drifted over to the bed; it was neatly made, the corners of the red and black flannel blanket tucked and pulled, just the way he liked it, and Chester's heart hurt. He's still making the bed just like we always did. The way I like it. The way I showed him.

He looked down, shoving his hand across his face. He didn't want to cry. He felt like he'd already cried enough over the last three days to last him a lifetime. He stared down at his black and white sneakers, and the way his jeans barely fell over the top of them. He tried to focus on how important it was to finish getting his stuff, so he could leave the loft and never come back, but it wasn't that easy.

Ryan watched as Chester got very quiet, very still. He stepped across the space, to meet him in front of the closet. He wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. "It's okay, Chazzy," he whispered as he kissed the soft, curly blonde mohawk going down the middle of his head. "You can do this. You're so strong," he encouraged. "Come on, keep going."