Page 18 of Aftermath

The newest thing was his odd fixation on Cam, but he was aware now that it was only his realization that was new. After all, they'd leaned on each other for months, and Austin had no problem admitting that he wanted to be close to Cam. It still felt weird not to wake up in the same room with him. Perhaps they argued heatedly—sometimes over nothing—but given the circumstances, it would be weird if they'd become all buddy-buddy right away in that metal cage. They'd had more important things to worry about—like staying alive.

Nevertheless, the thrill that had shot through Austin when he'd originally thought about Cam getting off to gay porn had now been identified.

It was excitement. Pure fucking excitement. Something that made him feel alive.

He should probably worry about that.

"Are your shoulders okay?" Angelo asked, yanking Austin back to now. "Any pain?"

"Everything's a pain," he grumbled and sat up. "When's our next session?"

"Oh, this isn't over yet, Huntley." Angelo smirked. "You say you're done; I say you're not." He pointed to the four exercise bikes by the mirrored wall. "Twenty minutes to work those thighs. Come on."

Austin bitched under his breath, grabbed his towel and water bottle, and followed the devil over to the bikes.

It all came down to control—again. Not being able to reach the goals set for him made him feel weak.

It had happened before.

"Damn it!" Austin yelled, pushing himself off the floor. The fatigue was getting to him, and it made him furious. No matter how much he worked out or how many times he pushed his own limits, he was getting weaker. Not stronger.

"Easy," Cam cautioned, still on the floor doing his sit-ups. "Take five then get back to it."

Before Austin could reply, the familiar sound of Psycho's arrival halted them. As he announced it was dinner time, Cam and Austin were quick to get rid of their clothes. Since the water was about to be changed and refilled, they used these brief moments to soak their underwear and T-shirts in the bucket, roughly scrubbing them with the bar of soap.

The days had long since started to blur together, and the men began to feel more like cattle than humans. Or wild animals. Unkempt, always hungry, restless, on edge, scared, caged, and weaker with each day that passed. Like moths, they were drawn to the poor light, and when the light was out, they moved around silently in the darkness.

There was little to no pride left, and there was no room for embarrassment or privacy. Everything happened with one man watching. Whether it was taking a shit or keeping emotions bottled up as they all missed their families, it all happened in front of a cellmate.

It was a psychological breakdown. Bit by bit, the madman in charge of their lives was stripping the guys of dignity, strength, and willpower.

It had been a while now since James had killed himself. Cam's bruises had yellowed and faded, and Chris, who'd been the last man to see the inside of the tiled interrogation room, was slowly recovering from his own battle wounds.

To Mr. Whoever-the-hell, Chris was named Thomas, and he'd apparently been their kidnapper's old boss. In comparison, Cam had been treated nicely. Pete, who shared a cell with Chris, had told the others that Chris was completely bruised. From head to toe. He'd also cracked a few ribs, dislocated his shoulder, and broken a finger. It had taken days before Chris could even stand up.

Boredom and fear were a dangerous combination, and it was exactly what their captor pushed on to them. He left the ten—nine…the nine men to their own devices for days, only appearing to deliver food. Then he'd shake them up with torture and mind games. Sometimes he came down to announce a new name or wish them a happy Easter or "remember that it's Memorial Day," and he loved to play with the light switch. He said good morning when some men were sure it was closer to evening, and he said goodnight when a few others had just woken up.

The food remained the same. Chicken soup, stale bread, lukewarm milk, and new water for their buckets. Approximately once a week, a new roll of that sandpapery toilet paper was also tossed inside each cell.

Those who refused to carry out his commands, such as returning medical kits or putting on the cuffs again, had to go without food and water. In other words, it never took long for the men to admit defeat.

One day, the kidnapper was feeling nice. He gave the men toothbrushes and toothpaste.

It was a relief for the guys to clean their teeth with something other than soaped-up fingers or the sleeves of their shirts, but it hurt, too. Their gums were sore, some inflamed, and a couple men cursed about cracked fillings and cavities.

Not knowing exactly how long they'd been here made Austin go nuts. He was thinking about how quickly they were all deteriorating and wondered, realistically, how fast it could happen. The only thing each man was in agreement on was that it'd been more than two months now. Cam and Austin believed it had been more than three, too, but they couldn’t be sure. Lance and Victor thought they were approaching four months, but no others could imagine that to be true.

Fueled by anger, Austin pushed himself to the limits on the bike. He needed routine back in his life, but that was pretty fucking hard to achieve when you didn’t know what you wanted. Going back to work would be easy, but he reluctantly admitted to himself he wasn’t ready to put in all those hours. So, what else was there? Because when he thought about it, there wasn’t a whole lot more. Sure, there were the laps in the pool he did on weekends and a few weeknights; maybe he could make that a daily thing. Same went for waking up at the same hour every day and getting back to his morning routine—shower, shave, etcetera.

Then what?

There were a few things he did with Jade, but those felt stifling these days. He had no patience to sit down and watch a movie with her, because unlike Riley, who didn’t really care if he was watching—as long as he sat next to her—Jade wanted his full attention on the movie so they could discuss it afterward. Dinner parties with their neighbors didn’t appeal to him either, nor did he feel like taking his wife to plays and musicals. Actually, Austin hadneverenjoyed those things, but he'd never spoken up about it. They hadn't bothered him that much in the past. Content to be content—that was Austin. Until it wasn’t anymore.

What was so wrong with just going to a bar to grab a beer? No, it had to be restaurants, wine, and afuckingshow. Peanuts weren’t enough; it had to be tiny appetizers with French names. God forbid if he wanted to stay home and catch a game. And he didn’t have his old buddies left. Well, they were there, but there was no such thing as a guys' night. Everyone was paired up, and those who didn’t live behind a picket fence had gates. You couldn’t call up a friend and do something spontaneous, because the wife had to have a say, and babysitters had to be brought in.

He was bitter, but he didn’t know if he had the right to be. There had been at least a hundred opportunities for him to speak up, yet he hadn't. Okay, he had suggested several things he'd wanted to do, and Jade had shut him down, but if he wanted it enough, perhaps he shouldn’t have caved.

How had he allowed himself to become a doormat?

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