Cutting Cords (Cutting Cords Series Book 1)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “You have no confidence in yourself,” Max maintained. “I’ve been in this game a long time and know what I’m talking about. Start thinking seriously about your future because Klas will grab you before anyone else gets wind of you.”

  “Max, I’m really flattered. You have no idea how much this means to me, but I’m still not convinced they’d want me.”

  Max growled, suddenly furious. “Get up.”

  I did, letting him lead me to the mirrored bureau. “Look at yourself, Sloan. Take a good, long look. What do you see?”

  “A bunch of bones,” I replied sullenly, upset because I was completely naked and exposed. The scars stood out on my thighs, some still fresh, and I turned away quickly, ashamed.

  “You’re lean, yes, but fat isn’t in high demand around here. Compared to some other models, you’d be considered normal, and you have one extra feature no one else has.”

  “I’m not posing in the nude if you’re talking about my prick.” I had no intention of exposing myself in public, no matter how much money they offered.

  “No, darling, I’m not talking about your cock, although I will admit it’s spectacular.”

  “What then? What’s this special thing you refer to?”

  “No ego, my beauty. You are refreshingly humble for someone as good-looking as you.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Max. I’m not buying it.”

  “Is this why you cut, darling? You really think you’re ugly?”

  “No!” I said vehemently. He was demeaning me with his psychobabble, assuming he knew what made me tick when he didn’t have a clue. Words I tried to avoid rushed at me like invisible bullets—cutter, skinny, ugly, and loser with a capital L. Max’s relentless probing made me want to run instead of stay. It also made me think of blood.

  “I’m going to work on you, darling, teach you how to love yourself.”

  “Good luck with that,” I replied facetiously.

  He led me back to bed. “Come and sit for a few more minutes; then I’ll take you home. I want to discuss the scene we just had.”

  “It’s called fucking in my world.”

  “How many people have spanked you before getting off?”

  “No one, but I’m not exactly experienced, Max.”

  “The spanking enhanced the sex, didn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I admitted reluctantly.

  “For a few minutes, you forgot everything but the pleasure you were receiving at my hands.”

  “And your point is?”

  “The more pain you can take physically, the more intense your pleasure will be.”

  “I don’t know, Max. I’m a pro at inflicting pain on myself. I don’t need you to help me along.”

  “Are you at least willing to let me show you how this works?”

  “My brain is on overload; I need time to process.”

  “I suppose it’s better than a flat refusal.”

  “Let me sleep on this, okay?”

  “Okay, but I can be very persuasive.”

  “No shit.”

  Max smiled and whispered, “I want you, Sloan. In my bed, my studio, and under contract as my sub. I will have you, eventually.”

  I had no idea how to respond. I’d never been the object of anyone’s desire, and I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. I just knew that for one split second, I actually felt significant.

  Chapter 26

  Cole was sitting on the sofa in the dark, mulling over his earlier conversation with John, and the latest argument with his mercurial roommate. It had been several hours since Sloan left for parts unknown, and although Juliana had offered a distraction, Cole stubbornly refused to accept, choosing to wait it out instead. He didn’t have a clue what he was going to say when Sloan finally came home, but he wanted to be present.

  When he was first diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, Cole believed life couldn’t possibly get worse—he’d been wrong. Accepting his bisexual nature, and learning to live with his decision, would be a profound turning point in his life. One wrong move guaranteed years of misery, not just for himself but for his family and Juliana. Everything had seemed pretty clear until Sloan showed up. The sudden attraction had come out of nowhere. He couldn’t figure out why he was inexplicably drawn to a man who was a combination of traits that normally annoyed the heck out of him. Keeping up with Sloan was exhausting, but it also allowed him to forget he was going blind.

  Cole ran a hand through his hair and twisted around on the sofa, trying to ignore the erection pressing against his pants, a permanent state of affairs whenever he thought about Sloan. He was embarrassed to even admit it to himself. The hypocrisy of his actions, promising marriage to Juliana one second, while pawing Sloan whenever he got the chance, was reprehensible. Cole was surprised he hadn’t received another black eye. If the roles have been reversed, he would have beaten the shit out of him.

  And yet…despite all the reasons a relationship with Sloan couldn’t work, the attraction kept getting stronger rather than weaker. Perhaps it was this interesting mix of characteristics that held Cole’s attention. An impulsive pothead who was also an intelligent, introspective, and caring human being was hard to resist. Sloan was in turns rash and disrespectful but also remarkably astute and honest to a fault. And the kicker was his talent as a graphic artist. From the little Cole had seen after snooping around in his portfolio, there was no doubt the scholarship had been well deserved. Sloan was brilliant and could match him wit for wit. On the downside, he was young and didn’t give a shit about anyone’s opinion other than his own. Fearless with regards to his homosexuality, Sloan refused to compromise his true nature, another side of his personality Cole envied.

  Maybe if Sloan would consent to some marathon sex, he’d get him out of his system once and for all. The danger, of course, would be falling in so deep he’d be hooked for life, but it was a risk worth taking.

  Keys jiggled in the lock, and he sat up abruptly, finger combing his hair to look presentable. Sloan walked in and stopped dead when he saw him sitting on the couch.

  “You waiting up for me, mom?”

  “I fell asleep on the sofa.”

  “Now would be a good time to ask me how my evening went.”

  “Blow me, Sloan.”

  “You wish.”

  Without turning on the lamp, Cole got up and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, vampire boy,” Sloan yelled out. “What’s up with you and the dark?”

  “Turn ’em on. I don’t care one way or the other.”

  Sloan followed in his wake and leaned up against the doorjamb. “Seriously, Cole, why aren’t the lights on?”

  “I’m trying to save money.”

  Sloan snorted in disgust. “Right.”

  From his vantage point near the fridge, Cole only saw his tall shadow and nonchalantly waved away his concerns. “I know this apartment in and out. I can easily navigate my way around in the dark.”

  “Suit yourself, dude. I’m going to bed.”

  “Why? Did Max wear you out?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m completely fucked out.”

  “You’re a whore,” Cole hissed, burning with sudden jealousy.

  “I’m the whore?” Sloan hooted derisively. “You’re the one who’s playing musical beds between me and Juliana.”

  Before he could react, Sloan was pressing him up against the refrigerator door. He crushed his mouth aggressively, running his tongue along the inside of Cole’s lips and drawing out a tortured groan.

  Sloan felt for his erection and gave it a merciless squeeze, taunting, “Who’s my bitch now?” Shoving him away roughly, Sloan turned on his heels and walked out.

  Cole was breathing so hard he was starting to hyperventilate. Unfiltered anger leaked out of every pore, changing him into a man he barely recognized. Fiercely aroused, he wanted to tackle Sloan and rip off his clothes. Instead, he stumbled to his bedroom, locked the door, and jerked off. Despite the black void, he continued to see Sl
oan’s face, smell his breath, and recall his unique taste. He’d have given anything to shove his cock down Sloan’s throat or up his ass. The entire gamut of emotions from rage to uncontrollable desire fought for control over his body, reducing him to a whimpering wreck, and he fell on his knees while ejaculating onto the carpet, leaving him more dissatisfied than ever. He folded into himself and began to weep, disgusted with his actions but more certain than ever that he wanted Sloan.

  The next morning, they silently faced each other across the breakfast table. Cole had woken early to make a pot of coffee, going out of his way the day before to buy a new machine to brew the espresso Sloan favored. He even bought a box of Pop-Tarts, heavy on sugar and low on nutritional value. Anything to please his roommate who had no idea what constituted healthy eating.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Sloan said.

  “No, it’s me who should apologize. I had no right to call you a whore.”

  “Bingo.”

  “I realize I’m nothing but your roommate and shouldn’t question your whereabouts.”

  “Your choices have drawn the lines.”

  “Nothing has been resolved,” Cole protested.

  “Oh?”

  “Let’s say I’m starting to question everything.”

  In a voice laced with contempt, Sloan asked, “Can you be more specific?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but trust me, you’ll be the first to find out after I do.”

  Cole walked out of the kitchen with as much dignity as he could muster and tripped over Sloan’s backpack, which was in the middle of the hallway. It was off to the right, below him, and beyond his range of sight. He landed on his knees and cried out, shocked by the abrupt fall. Sloan was at his side in a minute, reaching to help him up.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Cole replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t see your stuff, I’m such a klutz.”

  “I’m sorry, Cole. I should have put it somewhere else.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cole replied, trying desperately not to break down. Last night had left its mark and emotions were too close to the surface. Hoping Sloan wouldn’t notice his meltdown, he pulled himself together and urged Sloan to leave. “I’ll be fine. Have a nice day, okay?”

  By the time Cole walked out of the apartment, he’d regained a fraction of control. He flagged down a cab and gave the driver the address for Lighthouse Guild. A part of him was happy they’d mutually apologized for last night’s altercation. If nothing else, a tentative truce had been established. Maybe it would pave the way for something more meaningful in the future.

  Chapter 27

  I had no idea why Cole was taking a cab instead of the subway, but I was lucky to find one in a town where they were always at a premium. With a new resolve, I instructed the driver to follow Cole’s cab, hoping I sounded like a sophisticated New Yorker, when I was actually freaking the fuck out. Something was going on with my roommate and I was determined to get to the truth. Cole had berated me time and again to maintain order, to put my things away instead of scattered throughout the apartment, but honest to God, my backpack had been in plain sight. How could he have not seen it and fallen so badly?

  I needed a cigarette, but the No Smoking sign on the Plexiglas divider between me and the cabbie was hard to misinterpret. I popped several sticks of gum instead, a mediocre replacement but enough to satisfy my oral fixation. Where the hell were we going? After miles of gridlock, we stopped in front of a building on the Upper East Side. The sign read Lighthouse Guild, which meant nothing to me.

  Cole walked through the main entrance, and I followed stealthily trying not to lose him but worried he’d spot me. He stood in front of a bank of elevators, and it must have been my lucky day because the security guard seemed to know him really well. They struck up a conversation, and although I only caught bits and pieces of it, I distinctly heard the name of Dr. Butterman. As soon as he disappeared into the elevator, I approached the security desk.

  “Is there a Dr. Butterman in this building?”

  “Fourth floor,” the guard replied without even looking up. So much for the great security.

  “What kind of doctor is he?” I continued.

  He finally lifted his head. “Are you kidding?”

  Irritated, I snapped, “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  “You’re at Lighthouse Guild, sir. There are only certain types of professionals you’ll find here. Mostly eye specialties or related fields. Do you need a referral?”

  I felt as dumb as I must have sounded, but how the hell was I supposed to know?

  “No, sorry to bother you,” I muttered and headed toward an inviting waiting area where I could hang around until Cole was done with his appointment. I hoped it wouldn’t be longer than an hour. I picked a sofa with a clear view of the elevators and plugged in my earbuds to wait it out with Freddie and his boys.

  After about forty-five minutes, Cole reappeared and left the building. He hailed a cab again, which I found very curious. For someone who professed to be saving a buck by not turning on the lights, he was wasting a small fortune on transportation. Again, I wondered why he didn’t take the subway. Was he traumatized from the incident the other night?

  When I stepped into the elevator and exited on the fourth floor, I was dismayed by the long corridor and the endless row of offices. I’d neglected to get the doc’s room number so I had to stop at each one until I found the mysterious Dr. Butterman. Finally, I stood in front of his office and knocked, relieved when a voice allowed entry.

  When I walked in, I was surprised to see the white-haired gentleman I’d seen with Cole on more than one occasion. “It’s you.”

  John Butterman looked surprised but quickly rallied. “May I help you?”

  I could have slapped myself upside my head for failing to recognize his name, but to be fair, I was out of it the day Emily and I had met him.

  “I’m so sorry, Doctor. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Quite all right. What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Sloan Driscoll. I’m Cole Fujiwara’s roommate.”

  “I believe we’ve already met.”

  “Yes, we have. I was wondering if we might talk.”

  The doctor leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and studied me. “Did Cole send you?”

  “No, I followed him.”

  “Without his knowledge?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s a serious breach of privacy,” he admonished. “Furthermore, I can’t disclose anything about Cole. There are HIPAA laws I need to follow.”

  “But I want to know what’s wrong with him.”

  “Why not ask him?”

  “So there is something wrong,” I pounced. “Tell me.”

  He shook his head.

  Frustrated and confused, I resorted to begging. “Please, Doc. I have to know so I can help him.”

  He must have heard the distress in my voice, because he asked, “Why the need to know?”

  “I care about him.” I didn’t want to out Cole, but I had to convey my true feelings.

  “And does Cole feel the same way about you?”

  Crap. “I think so.”

  “You’ve put me in an awkward position, Sloan. I’d like to help you both, but the law is clear.”

  “Can you at least tell me what your specialty is?”

  “I’m a psychiatrist trained to work with patients who are sight impaired. My job is to provide them with the tools they’ll need to resume a normal life despite the inability to see.”

  I was dumbfounded by his answer. “Are you talking about Cole or in general?”

  “You asked about my work, Sloan. Patients seek me out to prepare them for the inevitable blindness that will come as a result of their disease.”

  I stood abruptly, shaking my head and backing away. “You can’t mean Cole?”

  “You asked me what I do, Sloan. We are not talking about Cole or his
disease. Am I clear?”

  I nodded, trying to gather my wits. He must think I’m the dumbest guy on the planet for not noticing Cole had a problem. I sucked in a deep breath, praying he’d continue. We both knew we were talking about Cole, and I was grateful the doctor was bending the rules, but I was having a hard time wrapping my head around anything he was saying. “What would cause a seemingly healthy person to go blind?”

  “Have you ever heard of RP?”

  “No.”

  “Retinitis pigmentosa, also called RP in the medical world, is a rare, inherited disease in which the light-sensitive retina of the eye degenerates slowly and progressively. Eventually, blindness results.”

  “Why?”

  “The retina is the innermost layer of tissue that lines the eye. It contains layers of light-receiving cells called photoreceptors, which are connected to the brain through the optic nerve. If you think of the eye as a camera receiving images, the retina is the film on which the images are recorded.”

  “Can’t you buy new film? Or transplant it?”

  “I’m afraid not. There are two types of photoreceptors, Sloan, cone cells and rod cells. Cone cells are in the center of the retina and are responsible for central vision and color. Rod cells are required for peripheral and night vision. Both cone and rod cells convert light into electrical impulses that travel through several types of nerve cells to the optic nerve, which then sends the signal to the brain, where seeing actually occurs. With RP, photoreceptor cells begin to degenerate and eventually stop functioning.”

  “But there has to be a cure,” I insisted. “In this day and age, you can transplant almost anything.”

  “As of now, there is nothing to transplant or any way of halting the progress of this insidious disease.”

  The horrifying reality of his words were finally sinking in. I hadn’t known what to expect with my clandestine sleuthing, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. It felt like I was hallucinating on some tainted weed. My beautiful Cole, the man whose incredible blue eyes I so worshiped, was going blind. Tears welled up in my eyes and overflowed, rolling down my cheeks before I could stop them. I buried my face in my hands and broke down. Was it any wonder he was so combative? Hell, I’d rip myself to shreds or go on a monumental bender if I were in his shoes. I had to help somehow, but all I could think of doing was running home and cradling him in my arms. Apologize for being a thorn in his side and making him so miserable. If boning me helped to get through this, then he could have me. Who gave a shit if I was destroyed in the process? I wasn’t the one going blind. At least my mental issues were fixable, mostly.