Page 68 of Filtration Play
And now they could be one of those red flags tossed out.
If Meg decided Fin was too much of a hazard, they had no one.
Utterly no one.
The world spiraled around them, and the dizziness swept in fast and fierce. They remained on the ground, not moving. Forget their dreams of having a photography show getting dashed. Would Fin even have a job after this? A group of friends?
Usually, once they had a chance to lick their wounds, Whipped was their port in a storm.
It was the place they headed to for comfort, for refuge, for home.
Except now that home was under siege, and they didn’t know where they’d stand. A Dom getting publicly named and shamed wasn’t something easy to bounce back from. Their limbs numbed, their heart thumping so hard it was a shock Ollie hadn’t woken up yet.
Fuck, Ollie.
He just entered the scene, stumbling into new kinks and early days in scenes. If he tethered himself to them, his reputation would be ruined. Their chest wrenched.
They couldn’t do that to him.
He’d been the only one they’d let in after all these years. Fin didn’t know what it was—whether he’d been broken enough for them to understand or that he had the same black humor—but Ollie had worked his way into their heart.
To the point they’d been fantasizing about the impossible.
That they’d wanted to make him theirs beyond just a kink relationship.
Their phone kept buzzing on the tile beside them, an ever-present reminder of their life exploding before them. All the connections they’d made, the people they’d met, the time spent engaging with their community.
Gone up in smoke with a few well-placed words from Hera.
Meg had been right not to trust her.
Bile rose in their throat, their chest spasming.
Fin couldn’t drag Ollie down with them, no matter how much they wanted him with all their might. They weren’t sure where they’d go, but the buzzing inside their veins screamed run, run, run.
They had no home to escape to, and their safe haven had gone up in flames.
But they had a bike and the road.
Fin pushed up from the floor, their breaths coming in a little faster, a little more rapidly. They tiptoed to their dresser on silent feet, careful not to disturb Ollie. He slept soundly, but even with the early hour, he was a morning person, so the chances of him waking were high.
They trembled, a reflex they couldn’t stop, but they managed to slide on their clothes and slip on their sneakers. Fin clutched theirphone tight, hating the way it vibrated. They powered it off as if that might stave away their reality.
Finality settled in their bones. They had no idea where they headed, but that didn’t matter. Oblivion nipped at their heels, and they would make it chase them down the highway until they ran out of gas.
Their skin crawled, their nerves rioting, and each shaky breath was a fight. Their chest felt like someone inflated a balloon inside it, restricting their breath. The temptation to grab their portfolio of photos and set them on fire grew with intensity, but the digital versions were still in existence. Maybe they could smash their laptop with a metal baseball bat. The tug at their heels was strong, rising with a drumbeat.
Ollie lay there on the bed, innocent of the chaos. His dark brown hair drifted across his forehead, all tousled. His thick lashes and pretty mouth were more prominent in sleep, the smooth skin slipping out from the dips of the sheets. Their heart lurched at the sight of him.
Yeah, they’d fucking fallen hard.
They could admit it now because everything else had been stripped away. They had nothing left but a few truths they clutched to.
They were in love with Oliver Hale.
They no longer had a family or home to return to.
And in the wake of those two truths, they couldn’t drag him down with them. He was so much better than them, deserved so much more. They couldn’t stay inside this apartment any longer, their skin crawling so fierce they wanted to scrape it off with their nails. Breathing became a struggle, and all they knew was they needed to get out, out, out.
