Just a few minutes to clear my head, I’d said, a few minutes of peace to get myself together. That was, I glance down at my watch, an almost hour ago. An hour of sitting in silence, letting the cold breeze of nightfall wash over me, blocking out everything. Completely numb of thought and emotion. Well, that was the intention. To forget everything while I sit here alone under the starry skies of Kuala Lumpur.

No-one’s come to find me, thank god. I really don’t feel like the company. I haven’t for a long time. The people I really want to be with don’t want to know me and I know I don’t deserve to be with them anymore than they want to be with me. Well, I guess that’s not strictly true. One doesn’t hate me. The one who has most cause to despise my very presence, to loathe me for what I did. I don’t think it’s possible for him to hate anybody, no matter what their crime. And mine was certainly as malicious as you get. When the pain was still raw, fresh in his mind, maybe, but in the sober light of day it’s as if he’s silently forgiven me.

I don’t know why. And I’d never ask.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t see the pain in his eyes, the hurt, a sense of betrayal, not to mention pity. Eyes that stare straight into my soul, asking me why. Just wanting to understand.

And for his sake, I’ve avoided him, stayed away. Rather he believe I don’t care than let him feel sorry for me. He deserves more than I can give him, he’s more than I deserve and I just think it’s best to stay away. Not to fuck up his life any more than I already have.

I lean back against the wall, crouched as inside the blaring music seeps out of the bar, coupled with the sounds of many voices talking and laughing. I think to myself that this is the last place I want to be; the uncomfortable memories of a year ago still inflicting immeasurable pain on my conscience. Another season over, another one around the corner. But first, I have to survive this, the post-season ‘party’. I’m actually quite surprised at myself. Usually I’m the first to hit the bar and the last to leave but tonight I can’t face drinking. Well, if I’m honest, I’d like nothing more than to drink myself into blissful oblivious for a night but at least if I’m sober I can keep a grip on my actions. Not do something stupid.

Not being able to stand the sound of people enjoying themselves any longer, I take a deep breath and haul myself to my feet. I just want to go home, back to my hotel and then leave first thing in the morning; to get as far away from him as possible. I allow myself a barely visible ironic smile. Strange, I’m in agony this year because he’s here but maybe this year wouldn’t have turned out as awful as it did if he’d been there last year, if I’d been able to vent my anger out on him then and there. Instead, he wasn’t and ...

I feel the back of my throat suddenly tighten as I fight to choke back the tears. For god’s sake, get a grip, I curse myself out loud for caring, for letting it get to me like this. Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I push open the door leading back inside. I don’t know whether they believe the excuses I give them for leaving but quite honestly I don’t care.

They’re still in there, and I even allow myself a small smile at the sight of them, wearing those ridiculous wigs. But they don’t care, this is their night. Japan was too close and still incomplete, realisation hadn’t sunk in but now they’re enjoying it, celebrating both victories for all they’re worth. I can’t begrudge them that, I don’t begrudge them that. Because for all the feelings of bitterness and sadness welling up inside me, my end was my own doing.

I tried to take the first step in Japan, try to help ease the memories of a year gone by with a simple ‘well done.’ Like it was enough! But, to my surprise, he accepted it. 

And for some reason that’s made it even worse. Because he accepted my congratulations not as a friend or lover but just as any other competitor. That’s why I’m on my own, because I’ve finally grown up, finally realised my mistakes but it’s too late to change what’s happened.

The toilets are empty when I enter and a quick glance in the mirror tells me I look as bad as I feel. Dark shadows circle eyes which seem to have lost their usual sparkle. I run my fingers through my hair and shake my head. The cold water feels good as I splash my face and try to sort out my hair, out of habit rather than any care about my appearance.

“You look like hell,” a voice causes me to jump and my heart leaps into my throat at the sound of it. Biting my lip I curtly reply, “I know,” but I refuse to turn around to face the speaker, instead I turn away and dry my hands on a nearby towel. I ignore him when he crudely snatches the towel out of my grasp to get my attention. I suddenly feel the desperate need to escape and make for the door but I’m rooted to the spot.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” he continues, slightly slurred from drink and almost whispering the words into my ear.

My body involuntarily shudders at the sensation of his hand on my back and I bit my lip harder, concentrating on the pain rather than the sudden surge of desire.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d turn up.”

If I close my eyes I can almost taste the alcohol on his breath and hear the disdain in his voice and something in me snaps. 

“For god’s sake, what d’you want from me, Michael?”

I surprise myself with the unnecessary ferocity in my voice and I hear my inner voice screaming at me to get the hell out of here. The next thing I’m aware of are two strong hands pinning me against the wall, working their way up from my waist to rest on my shoulders. He must feel me flinch but still presses me further back trapping me between the cold hard wall and his hard hot body. Any protests I may have are instantly engulfed by his hungry lips and in my confused and fragile state submitting seems the only thought on my mind. 

His fingers tease the skin on my cheek, curving around my neck and I can only inwardly cry out when they work their way down my chest, carefully undoing the buttons on my shirt to caress my exposed torso. The room seems to spin from lack of air but I still pull him closer to me, begging him to deepen his kiss, clutching him with  uncontrollable desperation. My own body quickly hardens under the rhythmic movements of his groin against mine and as his lips leave mine to brutally kiss my neck, the pain is all the more arousing, surpassed only by the sensation of his covered erection against mine.

I can’t think, I don’t know what the fuck to think as I slowly drown in his embrace and I’m only dimly aware of two hands slipping open my jeans and a hand sliding slowly inside. I let out an uncontrollable cry as his hand clamps around my throbbing cock, roughly caressing it while his other hand slides down my back, gently moulding my ass as determined lips work down my chest to my abdomen and further.

“Christ! Oh fuck, no, Michael,” I struggle in vain but my hoarse words sound unconvincing and I can only close my eyes, anticipating the flood of pleasure which I know will swiftly rush through me when he claims me. A single lick sends shivers up my back and a wordless moan escapes my lips.

“Are you sure you don’t want this?” he murmurs, a husky whisper he knows will fuck me up completely as he kneels in front of me, forehead gently pressed against my stomach, hands idly stroking my inner thighs. My voice sounds pleading, desperate as I give him the answer he expects.

“Thought so,” he replies, a humourless laugh falling off his lips.

Every muscle screams with a pleasure verging on pain as he skilfully works my surrendered body, hands knowing exactly how to arouse me, tease me, keep me in my state of submission. My hands grip his damp hair, holding him down on me, tightening with the onset of orgasm.

“Please, don’t stop,” My voice trails away into little more than a moan as he breaks off me to stand up. A hand gently cups my face while another rises and falls on my chest with my erratic breathing. I whisper the words again, this time with more urgency. As I meet his gaze, he instinctively looks away, unable to look me in the eye.

“Please,” I whimper again, reaching out to pull him round, and this time he takes my gaze. And suddenly I can’t breathe, fear building up in the pit of my stomach while arousal still flows through my veins.

“Please don’t look at me like that, Michael,” I whisper, on the verge of tears, “Please don’t look at me like you hate me.”

He looks at me impassively for a few moments before taking my lips in a deep kiss. He knows he’s hurting me, knows he’s crushing every hope I might have ever held that we might still have something between us. That he might still somehow love me. Even so, I don’t resist, allowing him full access to my mouth, letting him do as he pleases because, fuck, I know I don’t deserve any better.

When he breaks the kiss I can’t hardly dare to meet his eyes but he forces me to look at him.

“What do you want me to say?” he begins, his voice quivering slightly, “that this even comes close to what you’ve put us through? That I can forget what you’ve done, somehow forgive you?”

There’s no trace of anger or rage in his voice, but my heart cries out at the thinly disguised disgust. Tearful and panicky, I try to say something, anything to end the awful silence but none of my words can heal this gap, none of the stuttered apologises nor begs can help.

“But ... but why ...,” I stutter through tears but he simply silences me, his thumb pressing roughly against my lips.

“Eddie, I don’t love you.”

It’s as if my world comes crashing down but all he does is simply wipe away the tears staining my cheek. I’m barely aware of his lips collecting mine again briefly.

“This is all I want,” he mutters, in-between kisses. My eyes close tightly, unable to look at him, knowing full well what he’s silently asking me. He wants me to push him away, leave now, just to prove that I still have some integrity by not letting him use me like this. Prove that I love him as much as I say I do.

I inwardly scream at myself as my body betrays me. His kisses break me and I can’t do anything but allow him to pull me around to him, my back now leaning against his toned chest. His lips against my already bruised neck become more brutal, the pain  delicious, helping to block out my anguish. Giving incompletely, I block all thoughts from my mind, letting him do what he wants. His demanding thrusts as he presses me forward against the wall and takes me powerfully re-ignite my physical arousal and ashamedly I lose myself in his rhythmic movements.

His name leaves my lips in a low moan and I fight to catch my breath as I reach and pass orgasm. With my eyes still shut, my breathing slows as I listen to his harsh quick breaths approaching climax, concentrating fiercely on his thrusts in a desperate attempt to block out realisation A loud gasp comes from his lips as I move against him, allowing him to slide deeper into me and it’s not long before the sensation of his orgasm runs through me, his cry of pleasure a long-awaited release.

Our breathing, now deep and heavy, synchronises as strong arms wrap themselves around my waist and I involuntarily groan when I feel him slip out of me. After being barely aware of the pain of his entrance or the violence of his thrusts, a dawning sensation of pain breaks through the fog of arousal which I try my best to ignore.

These precious moments seem like hours, and rather than pull away he doesn’t resist when my head comes to rest on his shoulder, nestling on his neck. Rather his arms tighten around my body as my lips brush against his soft skin. It’s a cliché but my heart skips a beat as his lips meet mine in a demanding kiss.

And I allow myself the faintest hope that he’s changed his mind, that his kisses prove we have something to save. That he does actually care for me. That he loves me still, despite everything.

And when our eyes meet again, I search for something, a glimmer of hope, a reflection of affection in those startling orbs that will tell me I mean something to him.

Nothing.

He leaves me quietly, ignoring my screams, curses and pleas. Leaving me broken and crying. But I can’t beg him to stay, my words of sorrow and remorse are worthless. So I watch him leave, let him go back to his adoring crowd out there, every step away from me wrenching my heart with accepting agony.

So, this is it. Away from the crowd, away from the noise. Away from him.

Alone and weeping, my body convulsing with violent tears that soak the pillow in which I bury my head. The shower washing away his touch, the vodka to now wash away the memories and the pain.

And still the world goes on, while a piece of me dies in this lonely hotel room.
 

~ The End.