Page 58 of One
‘Friends’sounds too plain… insufficient. There’s no word to describe all that we were to each other. The soul-touching connection that bonded us together. But I nod at him. Words are not enough; I’ll show him after we’re done talking. With my mouth, my tongue, my fingers, and my cock, until his body and mind are full of me and only me.
“Why did you think I was dead?” He leans closer.
Even though I don’t want to remember that day, I told Michael I’d give him anything. “You put yourself in front of me when one of the sadistic nurses was having his fun beating me up. You hit your head on the floor, hard.” I swallow, closing my eyes, but his unmoving body is right in front of me again. So small and defenseless.
The feel of his warm fingers lacing through mine pushes my eyes open. “I’m here,” he whispers, only a few inches from me. His eyes are filled with tears. I let my forehead fall onto his and take a big breath. His spicy scent is like a soothing balm. “There was blood everywhere. And I thought he killed you.”
“I was tasered in the chest.” Michael strokes a hand between his pecs, frowning like he can still feel an echo of the pain.
“Yes. How…?” I pull my head back to better look at his face.
“I’ve been having dreams. I think they’re fractured memories from those years. Like my dissociated brain is letting some pieces slip.” He swallows hard. “I saw the piggy with one button, a dark room and other odd images. And bright, green eyes. Your eyes. I keep dreaming about your hand holding mine. It… comforts me. Makes me feel safe.” He softly brushes a finger on my cheek.
He’s remembering me.
“I promised to protect you,” I growl.
“I didn't need to be protected. I needed to be found. And you did.”
“Michael, I can’t lose you again. When it happened, I turned maniacal. When Meg found us, I was… I don’t know why she didn’t give up on me. I had to suppress your memory to function again. But you were always there. Like a lost arm I still felt, even though it was gone. And then I saw you sitting in that booth. Smiling at Meg. Laughing heartily at something she said. I recognized you straight away.” I grunt, remembering how it felt like a dream.
“After all these years,” he breathes out.
“I wanted to cross that street, grab you and take you away. But I was so damn angry at Meg, and Rague was with me. So, I followed you. You were more beautiful than I remembered, and still mine. Even though you didn’t recognize me. My One.”
Michael gasps when he hears the number. And I drink that sound with a slow, hungry, possessive kiss. When we part, he’s panting. His cheeks are red, lips shiny and eyes closed. All I want is to take off his clothes and fuck him raw and fast against the window, for the whole of Chicago to see. But we're not done yet.
“That’s why there was tension between you and Meg at dinner. You didn’t know I was alive.”
I grit my teeth. “She kept you away from me, Linda as well. For twenty years. They knew I thought you were dead. When I went to talk to Meg, I left before she finished explaining. I was too fucking furious.”
“I’m angry as well,” he confesses.
“You are?”
“I was the only one left out. Meg explained to me why, but I can’t stop feeling abandoned.” His voice is soft, and it breaks at the end.
“If I’d known you were out there, I’d have come and snatched you in a heartbeat, babe. Fuck everything else.” I tighten my grip on his head. “But you did good. So good by yourself.”
“Good?” He abruptly yanks himself away from me. With both his hands, he grabs fistfuls of his hair and pulls, shaking his head frantically.
“I’m not fucking good, Raph!” His eyes are wild. His lips have formed a straight line.
“Yes, you are. You found a way to overcome your trauma better than all of us.”
His bitter laugh bounces off the wall. “You mean my fuck-up brain decided to push all my memories under a rug, while I was taken away from the only person I’ve ever had a connection with?”
“Michael, you don’t know what fucked up means,” I growl.
“Are you talking about the fact that you’re a psychopath?” he suddenly says. There’s no fear, nor disgust in his tone.
“Meg?”
“She just confirmed my suspicions, I mean, your behavior at times is quite puzzling.” A half-smirk tilts his lips for a second. “I don’t care, by the way.” Of course he doesn’t. He’s mine.
“It’s not only me. My brothers aren’t psychopaths, but they are affected by other disorders related to what the scientists did to us, and not.” If he asks me what’swrongwith them, I’ll tell him. But he doesn’t.
He starts pacing. “Being a psychopath, or whatever else your brothers are, doesn’t mean you are fucked up! And I’m not normal either! Fuck, I hate that word.”
