By His Rules

by J. A. Rock

  provided a foundation for Aiden’s and Hera’s friendship,

  but now they argued constantly.

  He knew he needed to make other living

  arrangements, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. The

  idea of living alone terrified him. Being alone meant

  being alone with memories of Scott. He wasn’t sure how

  keen he was on living with strangers, but it might be

  better than this. Strangers, at least, wouldn’t badger him

  to eat or tell him he should consider counseling.

  He’d had an excuse to avoid food the first few days

  —the damage to his rectum made going to the bathroom

  painful, and it had been easy to refuse meals. But now

  Hera wanted him to eat three meals a day. Not going to

  happen. He was already panicked over what the missed

  gym time was doing to his body. No way was he going

  to lie around here getting fat. Even the idea of food made

  him sick.

  He could sometimes eat meals Kim prepared. Her

  vegan cooking wasn’t too heavy or greasy, and it tasted

  good. He liked the evenings when Hera and Sloane both

  worked and he could help Kim cook. They’d eat in

  silence or watch a movie, and Aiden would forget about

  Scott for a while.

  He tried to go out in the evenings. His plan was

  always to go to bars and meet guys he could spend the

  night with so that Hera and her fiancées could have some

  privacy. But he never made it to the bars. Something in

  him balked at the idea of spending the night at a

  stranger’s—at having sex. He spent a lot of time at the

  library or the coffee shop, trying to muster up the

  concentration to read a book, or else staring in frozen

  terror at his grad school applications.

  Auditions for the next community theater

  production had come and gone. He’d received a couple

  of texts from his Twelfth Night cast mates, reminding him

  to audition, but he’d never answered. He didn’t answer

  Scott’s calls, either. Please leave me alone, he begged

  silently whenever his phone buzzed and Scott’s number

  appeared.

  One evening he was walking downtown when he

  passed a two-story house with light blue siding and a

  ROOM FOR RENT sign out front. He knocked on the

  door and was given a grand tour by a short, heavy

  woman in a tank top and pajama pants. The house

  seemed to harbor far more people than there were

  rooms. The kitchen was messy and full of tarnished

  coffee cans that served as communal ashtrays. Still, the

  room was only three hundred a month, and living here

  would get him out of Hera’s way until he could reclaim

  his old apartment. He told the woman he’d think it over

  and call her tomorrow.

  Hera was outraged when he told her. “No way are

  you going to live in some slimy, overcrowded boarding

  house when you have a perfectly good couch right here.”

  “You know you don’t want me here,” Aiden

  protested. “I’m in the way, I’m not paying rent, and I

  know I’m not much fun to be around these days… ”

  “You’re perfectly fun. I love having you here.

  You’re pissy a lot, but who wouldn’t be after an

  experience like yours. Just relax.”

  Aiden tried, but it was hard. Especially once Sloane

  let it slip that he was keeping her up at night.

  He and Sloane were arguing about something

  stupid—which set of knives could go in the dishwasher

  and which had to be done by hand—when Sloane

  suddenly stopped and apologized. “I don’t mean to be

  so grouchy,” she said. “I’m just a lighter sleeper than the

  other two, and you make it really hard to get a good

  night’s sleep.”

  “What do you mean?” Aiden asked.

  Sloane shrugged. “We’ve all tried to be cool about

  it.”

  “Cool about what?”

  “Come on. Are you telling me you don’t wake

  yourself up, yelling like that?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Every fucking night, you scream in your sleep! It

  wakes us all up. Or it used to wake us all up. Now it just

  wakes me up. Kimmie and Hera are used to it.”

  Aiden’s throat tightened, and he flushed. Was he

  really shouting in his sleep each night? Why hadn’t

  anyone said anything before now?

  “Look,” Sloane said wearily. “I know you’ve had it

  rough—”

  “What do you know about how rough I’ve had it?”

  Aiden demanded.

  “I know your boyfriend beat you up and raped

  you.”

  Aiden slammed down the plate he was drying, too

  angry to speak.

  “Look… ” Sloane frowned. “Maybe you should

  think about seeing a psychologist or something. I know

  someone who—”

  Aiden walked out of the room. He barely spoke to

  Hera when she came home that evening, and he stayed

  awake all night, afraid he’d fall asleep and scream.

  Chapter Ten

  Keaton was packing up his office for the day when

  someone knocked on his door. “Come in,” he called,

  hoping whoever it was wouldn’t keep him long. His

  afternoon ceramics class had been fun. He’d had the

  students do “picture rants”—illustrations, in a medium

  of their choice, of something that had been bugging them

  lately. He enjoyed teaching, but it would be a relief to

  get home and spend some time alone in his studio.

  He looked up as Hera Bennings, one of his ceramics

  students, entered.

  “Hi,” Hera said.

  “Have a seat.” Keaton gestured to the chair in front

  of his desk. Hera sat down. “What can I help you with?”

  “I don’t know if you can help me or not. But I

  thought I’d ask.”

  Her seriousness alarmed Keaton. Usually Hera was

  in high spirits, laughing, joking. He’d noticed she

  seemed down today in class. “I’ll try my best.”

  “When we did our picture rants today—” She

  “When we did our picture rants today—” She

  hesitated. “Your rant was about how you spent all that

  money last year to have your guest room redecorated,

  but you haven’t had a single guest.”

  Keaton smiled. “It’s true. I painted those walls by

  hand— and have yet to host overnight company.”

  Hera picked at the chair’s upholstery. “I know it’s

  completely out of line for me to even suggest this. I’m

  presuming something about you that’s unfair and

  inappropriate, and I’m sorry. But I was thinking about

  the de Sade illustrations you showed us the other day,

  and—”

  The smile slipped from Keaton’s face. There’s no way

  she could know…could she?

  “I have a friend who’s involved in the BDSM

  lifestyle.”

  She looked him in the eye, and he struggled to keep

  his expression neutral.

  “I thought—My friend thought maybe he’d seen

  you at a leather club. Obey?”

  Keaton didn’t answer.
Letting the wrong people

  know about his interest could cost him his job. Hera

  didn’t seem like she was here to accuse him of anything.

  He waited.

  Hera sighed. “I’m making a mess of this. He—my

  friend recently had a bad experience with his top. He

  was injured, and now he’s… it’s bad. He gave up his job

  was injured, and now he’s… it’s bad. He gave up his job

  and his apartment for this guy, and he’s got nowhere to

  go. I just thought… if you were part of the BDSM

  community, maybe you understand more about these

  things than I do. Maybe you could talk to him. I’m not

  trying to like, pawn him off on you. I was just—Even if

  you could just meet him sometime and—if you had any

  ideas for—Shit.”

  Keaton held up his hand. “Slow down.”

  Hera stood up. “I don’t know what I was thinking.

  This is so inappropriate of me. I just don’t know what to

  do anymore. I’m so worried about him. And when you

  said you had a guest room available… But this so isn’t

  your problem. I’m an idiot.” She tried to smile, her

  cheeks bright red. “I’ll go now.”

  “Hold on. Your friend—is he—I mean, is he

  physically okay?”

  Hera nodded. “He’s healing. Or his body is. He’s

  still pretty jumpy. I mean, his top beat the shit out of him

  and practically raped him—well, I think he did rape him,

  but Aiden won’t—”

  “Aiden? Aiden Cole?”

  “You know him? Aiden said he only saw you at the

  club once, and you guys didn’t talk.”

  It was Keaton’s turn to blush. “I—talked to

  someone who knew him.” Keaton cleared his throat. “I

  also saw him a few weeks ago at Jackson Pier. He didn’t

  look so good.”

  Hera shook her head. “He’s not eating, not

  sleeping. Scott really messed with him. The man is

  fucking evil—sorry. I keep forgetting you’re my teacher.”

  “I think this conversation is already past the

  bounds of appropriate student-teacher interaction.”

  Keaton half smiled. “Where is Aiden living now?”

  “He’s crashing with me. But it’s a little, uh—

  crowded. I have—roommates.”

  Keaton wrote his cell number on a piece of paper.

  “I’d like to meet with Aiden. Tell him to call me and

  we’ll set up lunch or coffee or something. If he needs a

  place to stay, I’m more than happy to provide it. But he

  and I need to talk things through first.”

  “Talk things through?” Hera bit her lip. “You’re a

  top, right?”

  Keaton tried not to blush. “Yes.”

  “He’s not—I don’t want you to think… I don’t think

  Aiden’s looking for anyone right now. You know what I

  mean?”

  Keaton felt a rush of warmth toward Hera. She’d

  done a risky thing, coming here to talk to him about this.

  It was clear that she really cared about Aiden. “I know

  exactly what you mean,” he assured her. “If Aiden comes

  to stay with me, I won’t expect anything from him. I’ll

  give him a place to rest and heal and figure things out,

  and offer what guidance I can. As a friend.”

  Hera looked relieved. “Thank you.” She slipped

  Keaton’s number into her pocket. “I’ll have him call you

  this weekend. Well, assuming he doesn’t freak out when

  I tell him I talked to you.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re here?”

  Hera shook her head. “He’s not very good at asking

  for help.”

  Keaton smiled. “Well, luckily I’m good at giving it.

  Even when it’s not asked for.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Aiden reached the doors of the Corner Café and

  almost kept walking—it would have been so much

  easier than going inside. But he made himself stop, heart

  thumping, stomach clenched. He was still pissed at Hera

  for making him do this. He wasn’t interested in Keaton

  Hughes—or any top, anywhere, ever, for that matter.

  And no fucking way was he going to go stay in Keaton’s

  house and mooch off him.

  A vain part of him was ashamed that Keaton would

  see him like this. He’d dressed nicely, but there were still

  bruises fading on one side of his face, and he hadn’t been

  to the gym since the day of the cast party, almost two

  weeks ago.

  Oh well. It was either this or the fucking boarding

  house—or continuing to inconvenience Hera and her

  girlfriends. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  He saw Keaton right away, sitting at a high table in

  the corner with his notebook out. Aiden watched him for

  a moment, amazed that he could feel the sense of calm,

  of peace radiating from the man even across a crowded

  café. Keaton looked up and spotted Aiden. He smiled.

  For just a second, Aiden felt wonderfully happy, as

  though nothing would ever go wrong for him again.

  Then he remembered why he was here.

  He made his way to the table, head down, wincing

  as a waitress bumped him. He’d come to hate crowded

  places—people brushing against him, bumping him. He

  slipped into the chair across from Keaton. “Hey.”

  “Hello, Aiden.” Keaton’s voice was so warm Aiden

  couldn’t help but release the breath he’d been holding.

  Keaton passed him a menu. Aiden opened it, hoping

  Keaton wasn’t as fanatic about clean plates as he was

  about wearing coats. Aiden didn’t feel the least bit

  hungry.

  “How has your morning been?” Keaton asked.

  “Okay.” The pictures of soup and sandwiches on

  the menu made Aiden queasy. He slipped off his jacket

  and hung it on the back of his chair. “I wore a coat,” he

  tried to joke. The words came out a sullen mutter.

  Keaton laughed. “I am happy to see that.”

  The waiter came, and Keaton ordered a lemonade.

  Aiden asked for coffee.

  “Do you know what you’re getting?” Aiden tried to

  be polite. He felt angry for some reason he couldn’t

  pinpoint. He wished he was back at Hera’s lying on the

  couch instead of here trying to make small talk with this

  man.

  “I’m thinking seriously about a turkey club,”

  Keaton replied. “You?”

  “I might get that too.”

  “You look like you could use three or four,”

  Keaton teased.

  “I’m fine,” Aiden snapped. What the hell is wrong

  with you? he asked himself. When did Keaton imply you

  weren’t fine? “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  When Keaton didn’t reply, Aiden looked up to find

  the blue-gray eyes watching him with—not pity, not

  amusement. Just a steadiness, a quiet understanding.

  Aiden blushed and looked back at his menu.

  They ordered, and Keaton tucked his journal back

  in his bag.

  “What do you write in there?” Aiden asked.

  “Oh. Thoughts. Anecdotes. Ideas for projects.”

  “You’re an art teacher?”

  “A professor of v
isual arts. At Florence Community

  College.”

  “Hera’s in your class.”

  “Yes.”

  “She hates school. But she wanted to work in a real

  studio. She likes your class.” Aiden felt like he was

  babbling but didn’t know how to stop.

  “I’m glad she’s enjoying it.” Keaton took a long

  drink of lemonade. “She says you’re in a bit of a situation

  with your apartment.”

  Aiden’s head shot up.

  “Your tenant won’t move out for another month

  and a half.”

  Aiden nodded.

  “Did she tell you I’ve got a guest room in need of

  appreciation?”

  “Um… ”

  “Last year I spent an embarrassing amount of time

  redecorating my spare bedroom. I hand-painted the

  walls, got a new queen-size bed, new carpet, new

  curtains, the works. And I haven’t had a single guest. I

  have family and friends who keep promising they’ll

  visit, but they get too caught up with work or school, and

  so far nobody’s made it.”

  “Oh.”

  “So if you’re willing to do a poor art teacher a favor

  and occupy it for a little while, I’d be most grateful. It’s

  rent-free. All I ask is that you help me cook dinner

  occasionally.”

  Aiden shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I

  can… ” Keaton waited. “It just—doesn’t seem fair. To

  you.”

  “It’s perfectly fair. You need a place to stay, and I

  need someone who can appreciate my decorating.”

  Aiden managed a half smile.

  Keaton grew serious. “Hera told me a little bit

  about your experience with Scott. I don’t know the

  details, and I’m not asking you to share unless you want

  to. In which case I’m happy to listen. But I imagine an

  experience like that is difficult to recover from, both

  psychologically and physically. I can offer you a place

  that’s private, quiet, and safe. I won’t pressure you, but

  the offer is on the table. All you have to do is say the

  word.”

  Aiden picked a hangnail under the table and stared

  at the menu cover. Say the word and he’d belong to a top

  whose rules and expectations were unfamiliar. Sure,

  Keaton seemed friendly and patient, but who was to say

  the moment Aiden arrived at Keaton’s house, that

  wouldn’t change? That Keaton wouldn’t be just as

  demanding and brutal as Scott?

  “No, thanks.” He forced himself to meet Keaton’s