Page 3 of Threads of Fate

He’d arrived just in time for Nix to catch him red-handed, throwing bags into the trunk. That Jamie would try to sneak away had made him so mad. Didn’t he know Nix loved him? Didn’t he know Nix felt like he was going to die without him?

When the Rhodes had honked their horn and Jamie had given him his first kiss, it made him even sadder that it had been a goodbye. Nix had felt something crack open in his chest and he hoped that soft press of lips through snot and tears would help him fight back the ache that was sure to be overwhelming in the days to come.

But the fear that weighed him down as he watched Jamie’s car fade from view was like nothing he’d felt before. There was an all-consuming dread that this separation would set into motion something terrible; something that would make living unbearable.

And when Nix was nineteen, he met a man who would prove him right.

Chapter One: Nix

Nix

Two minutes left.Checking the time as he watches the boiling pot, Nix is careful not to overcook the noodles. Dawson hates soggy noodles and has a verypersuasiveway of helping Nix remember it. He checks the table, careful that everything is exactly how it should be, slipping the ruler he used to measure the setup into the drawer. He takes a quick sip of water from the faucet to hold off his hunger because his boyfriend of five years demands his meal be ready the minute he’s home.

Acting on autopilot as he drains and finishes the pasta, forcing down his mounting anxiety, he wipes his hands on his worn t-shirt. Nix plates the side dishes and waits until he hears the door lock disengage before turning to fill Dawson’s plate with spaghetti.The hot food sloshes a bit over his hand because of his broken fingers (slammed in the bathroom door for a wet towel on the floor) and the shaking from what he knows must be low blood sugar.

He’d been denied food again after bringing home a poor-quality apple yesterday. It had a bruise, so Dawson had then thrown it at him. The bruise on his face would be a reminder to do better. Throwing the perfectly good apple out afterward in front of a hungry Nix had hurt almost as much as the bruise. Hopefully tonight, he’ll be allowed to eat some leftovers.

“Honey! I’m home!” Nix had never been more grateful that Dawson found himself funny because Nix hadn’t felt that way for quite some time. “Come, kiss me. I’ve had a great day.”

Nix leans in to accept Dawson’s sloppy kiss on his cheek. The nausea from his proximity and that faint rotten fruit smell makes it a struggle not to flinch, especially when Dawson takes pleasure in pressing down on the still-blooming bruise, licking it for good measure. He presses his nose deep into the bruise and sighs. “You smell so good, Austin. Now, my love, why isn’t dinner on the table?”

Austin.It’s the name on his birth certificate, but he’d never been called that until Dawson had decided it suited him better than his middle name, Phoenix. Nix hadn’t been asked which he preferred, but it hasn’t changed how he thinks of himself.

Dawson takes a minute to slide the tag pendant out of the neckline on Nix’s shirt and gives it a hard tug. “There we go. Just the way I like it.” The pendant had been a gift during their dating days, and Dawson insisted he never take it off. The only time he had was a night Nix had tried to block out entirely. It was stainless steel, and Dawson had told him the symbol on the reverse meant eternal love. In the coming years, Nix knew that tag was more about Dawson’s ownership than any love and tried to keep it hidden, even from himself.

A frisson of fear skates down his spine at his boyfriend’s manic mood, and as he takes his seat, Nix can see him mentally measuring the placement of the tableware, looking for a point of contention. When he can find none, Nix relaxes a bit and, in his relief, forgets his weakened, un-splinted broken fingers. With detached horror, he watches the food slide onto the pristine floor, with the sound of the shattering plate close behind.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” Nix hears his desperate apologies, futile though they are. Apologies never work, and begging only made Dawson draw out whatever punishment he had in mind.Nix wants to run and hide in his closet, but he knows that if Dawson has to chase him, it will be much worse. Another lesson he’d learned the hard way.

Time seems to slow as it always did in Nix’s moments of horror, but it isn’t long before Dawson has him by the hair, forcing him to his knees into the still-hot food and broken glass. “You stupid bitch! Day after day, I’m forced to take care of you, and all I ask is to have dinner on time. Clean this shit up.” He flings Nix back, and in doing so, Nix hits his head on the cabinet. His vision goes black around the edges, but he scrambles to his knees, forcing glass from the shattered bowl through his thin sweatpants.

“For fuck’s sake! Get up!” Dawson grabs Nix by the arm with such force he feels his shoulder give way. Dawson was so strong. He didn’t look like it, with an average build and a height shorter than Nix’s own, but he was vicious, always eager to use it to cause pain. Nix’s shriek seems to urge Dawson into a frenzy, like a dog with a squeaky toy.

“Stop that noise! You’ll annoy the neighbors, and if I get one more noise complaint about you, you’ll be even more sorry than you were the last time.” Dawson’s smile is darkly self-satisfied with his remembrance. The last time had involved Nix naked on the concrete floor of the balcony overnight. In October. After Dawson had used him and made him bleed. Remembering that silences him immediately.

Dawson dares to look disappointed.

Biting his lips to hold them closed, he reaches for the towel with his good arm. Dawson stands with his arms crossed and watches him struggle back down to his knees, trying not to jostle his arm. Blood from the glass is already seeping through his threadbare sweatpants. With obvious enjoyment, Dawson grabs a beer from the fridge as if he is settling in to watch a favorite game.

Nix startles and goes still like a prey animal when Dawson’s text tone sounds. Sighing at the distraction from his favorite sport, Dawson retrieves his phone. Reading the text, he belches.

“Well, Austin, I’m going out now. Who knows for how long? Better get this mess cleaned up before I get back. I’m getting tired of teaching you a lesson every time you fuck up.”

Leaning over, he pats Nix’s sore shoulder with a chuckle and lumbers out the door. Nix doesn’t move. He wouldn’t put it past him to jump out and scare him. He’d done it before. After he counts to two thousand, Nix slowly gets to his feet. Letting himself cry is not an option. When was the last time he’d allowed himself that show of emotion? Years.

But now, Nix has to take stock of the situation. The pain radiating from his arm is intense, and he’s afraid it may be dislocated, which means an emergency room.Shit. He’s been to every ER in a fifty-mile radius. Repeat visits were not allowed under Dawson’s rules because bleeding-heart nurses asked too many pointed questions about domestic abuse.

The last time he’d gone to the same ER, he’d had the misfortune of getting the same nurse as the previous visit. Dawson had taken him for some broken ribs, and when he’d left the curtained med-bay to take a call, she’d asked him if he needed help. So sincere. He’d wanted to say yes. Beg for her to hide him, shield him, and call the police. But he couldn’t.

Dawson had made a promise that Nix knew hewouldkeep. A promise that Dawson would track down his MeeMaw and make sure she knew it was his fault before he did to her every single punishment he’d given Nix over the years. Nix had seen the list. A detailed spreadsheet of dates, times, and injuries. Sometimes, with photographs. Dawson knows all of Nix’s soft spots and relishes telling Nix in explicit detail how he’ll regret it if he ever thinks of leaving.

Finding his wallet tucked inside, with his TenCare health card, bus pass, and the only treasure he allowed himself to keep from his old life hidden in a tear in the fabric lining, Nix bites his lip to stifle a sound, sharp pain shooting through his arm like bolts of fire. Even putting aside the obvious motivation to avoid punishment, Nix genuinely likes his neighbors and hates to worry them any more than he already does. He always tries to meet their sympathetic faces with cheer, shaking off their concern for his bruises with claims of accident-prone impacts with door frames and clumsy falls when they cross paths in the hall.

Making sure the door to the apartment closes firmly, he makes his way to the elevator to see if he can get the bus to yet another new hospital and be ready to tell yet another new set of lies. He distracts himself by imagining what exciting new story he could weave for them and still make it believable. Was it a water-skiing incident? Zip lining? He wants to smile at the ludicrousness. He’d never been anywhere like that since coming to Nashville six years ago or before.

Despite living within thirty miles of the coastline in Jacksonville when he lived with his grandmother, they’d never even been to the beach. There hadn’t been the funds nor the time for any excursions, as Nix had tried to focus on his studies, hoping he could study on a scholarship at a university in Nashville.

But oh, how he missed the beach and Ja—

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