Page 75 of Getting It Twisted

For a split second, there’s stark pain in his eyes he cannot hide, but just as soon, his face morphs into an expression of fury.

“Fine!” he snaps. “But if you go now, don’t bother coming back. I won’t be here waiting for you.”

I don’t know how I make it out of the house. One second, I’m there, in the bedroom where Nathan endured so many horrors and where we shared so many precious moments together—moments that now turn sour in my mouth. The next second, I’m storming down the yard, eyes so blurry with tears I can barely see.

Damn him. Damn him! Why did he even come back? Why did he come back tome? Before he showed up, I was doing fine. At least I was somewhat stable, and not upended by all this goddamned frustration he awakes in me. At least I wasn’t in the pain I’m in now.

I needed someone to fuck while I was here. Might as well be you.

How could I have been so fucking stupid? I wanted, so badly, to believe that what we have is more than sex, but clearly Nathan isn’t capable of any real connection. Clearly he’s not capable of . . . of loving me. Considering what he’s been through, I shouldn’t blame him for it, but that doesn’t take away my pain.

I shove myself into the driver’s seat, wipe the furious tears from my face, and start the car.

Chapter 15

Nathan

I wake up tothe familiar hit-by-a-truck feeling of a wicked hangover. I groan and roll over, but I’m not in my mother’s bed; I’m in my own tiny one, and as a result, I slide off the mattress and into thin air. The pathetic thud of my limbs hitting the floor echoes through the emptiness of the house.

Right. Empty.

Daniel’s gone.

He left me.

As soon as my thoughts start spinning, the pain I’ve done my damnedest to avoid comes rushing back. I groan and roll onto my stomach, pressing my aching forehead to the floor.

Of course Daniel had to go snooping. I should’ve known. It was only a matter of time before his savior complex got the better of him and, in turn, only a matter of time before he found out the true extent of how fucked up I am.

I didn’t know where my mom stashed those photos, but I had my suspicions about her bedroom. Most of the pics no doubt ended up on the dark web, but for some fucked-up reason, she saved some physical copies. Why? Hell if I know.

When the time came, she and her boyfriend would give me some pills that made me sleepy. Otherwise, I would’ve put up a good fight. One time when I was seven or eight, I pissed them off so bad I had to flee into the woods and live there for days, in fear they’d kill me if I went back.

As the years went on, I grew older, stronger, and more defiant. Mom realized I wouldn’t put up with her bullshit any longer, and as her beauty faded and her clients dwindled, her alcohol consumption shot through the roof.

Her stash came in handy last night. Half a bottle of Jack took the edge off my grief yesterday, but now it’s coming back in a rage, worse than ever. Maybe I should drink the rest of the bottle to keep it at bay. Maybe I should become a drunk like her.

But that’s a temporary solution. Sooner or later, I’ll be sober and miserable again.

I need something permanent.

I try to move, but my head spins so bad I feel sick, and my limbs feel like I’m crawling through mud. Why should I get up anyway? Why should I get up, ever, if not to fetch my grandpa’s shotgun and put an end to my misery for good?

That’s a permanent solution if I’ve ever known one. But I’m not one to commit to permanence; I flit this way and that, like an unrestful moth in search of a light to burn me. Daniel kept me grounded for a while, sure, but it’s no surprise that I can never hold on to anything good in my life.

I let out a pitiful whine. I’m such an idiot. I deserve to be out here, alone. I deserve to wallow in this house where I endured so much pain. With Daniel, things could’ve been different. Thingsweredifferent with his help. The darkness in him merged withthe darkness in me and became something else—something brighter. Just like when we were kids. In the years I was away from him, shit wasn’t so good, but because of him—because of us—it was starting to get better.

I should’ve known all along it was a futile attempt. Sooner or later, people sniff out the darkness I have in me. For all that I trick and deceive, I cannot hide my true nature forever.

Back when we were teens, Daniel was the only one who got close to me without expecting my body in return, despite how he wanted me. Because of course I knew he wanted me. I noticed his lingering looks and the clench of his jaw when I looked at him. I wanted him too, but I couldn’t let myself have him. Instead, I went for mean-looking guys who held me down and fucked me like they hated me, hissing slurs in my ear. Guys who’d push me into the school lockers and call me a faggot after they’d just fucked my throat.

Unlike them, Daniel was kind. But I didn’t want kind; I wanted pain. So after the graduation party, I freaked the fuck out. Not only had he now proven he was just like the rest of them—by taking advantage of me when I was all but defenseless—I could not give him what he wanted. I couldn’t handle his love, twisted as I was. Twisted as we had become.

It took a long time to push all those memories to the back of my mind, to suppress them all like I’m so good at doing. Every day, I wanted to come back to him, but I couldn’t. Not for many years.

When I finally returned, I got it in black and white that he hated me enough to treat me the way I wanted. The fury and hurt in his eyes held all the fire I needed. No friendship, no love. Only hatred.

Hatred is the purest emotion, and when channeled into sex, it overrides everything. It takes me off and away, to a place wherenothing matters but pleasure, pain, and getting pounded into oblivion.