Tranquility

by Ava O'Shay

  “Let’s get a drink and pick up on this later.” Assad laughed while trying to straighten his clothes.

  Rachel crawled back across the console and straightened her skirt, still giggling. “Sounds good. Let’s go.”

  Assad had Rachel pinned from behind against the bar, his hips grinding into hers in anticipation of a night that would push Quill out of his head if he had anything to say about it.

  “I got to go to the bathroom.” Assad leaned in to Rachel’s ear. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Assad made his way toward the seedy hall that housed the bathroom of the club.

  Memories of the first night he saw Quill snuck into his head. As he rounded the corner into the hall, he didn’t need memories. Quill had a girl pinned against the wall with his thigh supporting her as he finger fucked her in the middle of the club. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. Assad stood frozen to his spot watching as she bit into Quill’s shoulder, suppressing a scream.

  He wanted to throw up.

  Quill’s expression wasn’t one of pure euphoria, it was one of hard desperation. It made Assad’s already confused heart hurt more.

  Quill must have felt his presence because his gaze met Assad’s. A look of disappointment filled those beautiful green eyes he couldn’t get out of his head. Assad dropped his gaze first, looking at the littered floor around his feet. With a shake of his head, he left Quill to finish what he started.

  .twenty-five

  Quill Diaz

  November 15

  11:00 p.m.

  True to his word, Quill had scored some weed and downed a half a bottle of Everclear he’d bummed off a girl in the parking lot after a short make out session.

  This was who he was. These people accepted that, accepted him. The only expectation was a friend to get wasted with and a guy willing to cop a feel and make you feel good. No strings attached.

  It didn’t take long for the alcohol to kick in and for Quill to decide the shitty luck he’d been carrying around for the past few weeks was all Assad’s fault. Assad was the one that pushed Quill. Made Quill question what the men had told him. Made him act on it and now God dammit, made him miss Assad.

  Quill left the party in the parking lot and headed into The Warehouse. It hadn’t dawned on him this is where he’d find Assad. Cori said Assad was taking a break and pushed Quill’s debut out a week. Cori didn’t have to tell him Assad was avoiding him, he already knew.

  Quill stopped in the middle of the doorway, getting slammed in the back by the girl who followed behind him. Assad was leaning against the bar with a girl nestled between his legs.

  His eyes were closed, and he was nuzzling her neck. A different band was playing, and the bass was turned up to a teeth rattling level. Quill watched Assad’s hands move over the girl’s ass and up her back, cupping the back of her head before pulling her mouth to his. Quill clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. He couldn’t watch Assad touch another person the way he’d touched Quill. He swore to himself for ever thinking their time together had meant more to Assad than a quick lay. He headed to the bar on the other side of the room.

  Beer in hand, he scanned the room for someone to fill his growing need.

  “Want to try and make some memories you’ll remember?” Anna plopped down next to him.

  Quill gave her a cool smile. “Can’t guarantee I’ll remember tonight.” He downed the beer in his hand.

  “Messed up again?” she asked, spinning around to grab a handful of peanuts. “What’s your deal?” he asked.

  “No deal.”

  “Why are you stalking me?”

  “Me.” She giggled. “I’m not stalking. Just a happy coincidence.” “You looking to relive the past?” Quill flirted.

  “I remember it, so hell yeah.”

  “Let me see if I remember.” He held up a finger, ticking off the list she’d given him. “The car, stairs, and bed?”

  “I used the term bed loosely. Ended in the bed, started against a wall.” She tossed a peanut in her mouth.

  “Let’s dance.” Quill grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dance floor. The band wasn’t bad. Great music for grinding. He shoved his thigh between her legs and pushed against her crotch. Before the song ended, he had his tongue down her throat. Why had he ever thought he deserved something other than this? This was what he did. He wasn’t made for normal. This was his normal. “Let’s get out of here.” Quill pulled her after him, heading for the bathroom.

  Just as before, he pushed her against the wall, pulsing his hips into her, running his hand down, undoing the front of her pants, his fingers finding their way under her panties and into her warmth. She moaned and pushed against his hand. This is what he needed to get his head on straight. Missy left him feeling empty and inadequate. Anna made him feel powerful and in control. Neither of them made him feel wanted, but that wasn’t in his cards. His make-up was something far less noble but just as satisfying—at least it used to be. He could feel her clenching against his fingers, pushing for him to touch her, massage her. He moved with her, loving the knowledge he could push her over the edge with a touch.

  She bit into his shoulder, suppressing a loud moan as she came on his hand. He cringed at the pain and turned his head, feeling another presence with them. Assad stood at the end of the hall, watching. With a slight shake of his head, he turned and walked away.

  “Shit.” He pulled his hand free. “I got to go.” “What?” she drawled.

  “I got to go,” he repeated, pausing. “Uh. Thanks.” He took off after Assad.

  He found Assad at the bar, positioned behind the girl, his arms fencing her in against the counter. His hips were moving in slow circles against her ass. Quill ran a hand over his jaw, chastising himself for the feeling of betrayal he held. Not a minute ago he had his hand buried in a girl’s pussy.

  “Shit,” he swore before stomping across the bar. “I need to talk to you.” He grabbed Assad’s arm.

  Assad shook him loose and ignored him. “I need to talk to you!” he yelled louder. “I’m busy,” Assad said over his shoulder.

  Quill looked hard at the eyes he had put so much trust in. “I need to talk to you.” The band started up again and he knew it was too loud for Assad to hear the words, he hoped Assad read his lips and got the message. “Please,” he said a little louder.

  Assad rolled his eyes then whispered something in the girl’s ear. Her head turned quickly to look at Quill, an unhappy expression staring him down.

  “I just need a minute.” Quill smiled.

  The girl grabbed Assad’s chin and put on a kissing display for Quill’s sake.

  When Assad had enough of her attempt at tonsil hockey, he pushed her back, slapped her ass, and waved for Quill to follow. He led them out the back door to an area where pallets where stored for the deliveries. The door shut behind them, muffling the music.

  Assad leaned against a stack of pallets and crossed his arms.

  Quill lifted his hat off his head, replacing it firmly before he found his courage. “I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” Assad tried to get back through the door, but Quill blocked him.

  “Look. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s been weeks. I don’t have time to waste waiting for you to grow a pair.” “I’m sorry,” Quill repeated quietly.

  “About?” Assad crossed his arms again. “Everything.”

  “That’s a cop out.”

  “I told you, I destroy everything. I warned you I had fucking baggage. I was honest.” “Jesus Christ. What a load of shit. You weren’t honest, Quill.” Assad laughed dryly. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means you didn’t tell me shit. I apologized, and I don’t even know why.” “What’s it matter?”

  “Apparently a lot since you took me out.” Assad touched his jaw. Quill paced back and forth. “You fucking push and push.”

  Assad’s jaw clenched tight, his h
ands fisted. “Don’t. I’m not that fucking guy. I didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to. Don’t make me out to be the bad guy. I asked you. I stopped, and then you tell me, oh I think of you when I’m balls deep in a girl. How much more of an invitation were you going to give?” Assad pointed a finger in Quill’s direction. “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you!” Quill yelled back.

  Assad rubbed his temples. “I took it slow. I stopped when you needed me to and let you breath. I let you feel… “ He turned his back to Quill. “All I got out of the deal was a swollen jaw and silent ride home. Like a fucking whore, Quill. I won’t be treated like that.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  Assad turned back. “Two fucking seconds ago, after I catch you with your hand up some girl’s pussy. It’s been weeks, Quill. You let me feel like shit for weeks and now everything is unicorns and cotton candy because you said you were sorry? Why? Why are you sorry?”

  “You know why. And who are you to talk? You’re here with a girl. A girl that just did a tonsil check on you.”

  “Why?” he asked again.

  “Because I shouldn’t have hit you.” Quill threw up his hands. “No! Asshole! Why did you hit me?” Assad yelled.

  Quill covered his face. “It doesn’t matter. I said I was sorry.”

  Assad took two quick steps, grabbed Quill by the jaw, and pushed him up against the outside wall of the club. “It matters to me. Talk to me, God dammit.”

  All the emotions Quill had buried inside came rushing out. He grabbed the back of Assad’s head, twisted him around and slammed him against the wall, pushing his body into Assad’s. “I can’t fucking get you out of my head. What did you do to me?” He pressed his mouth against Assad’s. He was sure Assad expected a hard, rough kiss after the violence of the past few minutes, but the kiss was light, soft, and filled with the need for someone to show Quill they cared.

  Assad’s mouth remained still. Quill’s thumb lightly caressed his cheek while his lips pleaded with Assad to kiss him back. He pulled back, moving his thumb over Assad’s lower lip. “I can’t get you out of my head.” He touched his mouth to Assad’s again.

  Assad groaned, ran his hands up Quill’s back and opened his mouth to let Quill in. The kiss deepened, their chests bumping against each other, gasping for air when they finally parted.

  Assad whispered, “I can’t do this with you if you won’t be honest with me. I won’t.”

  Quill stepped back, lowering his head to look at the trash around them. “You surprised me. Nothing more.”

  “You puked up your guts after I touched you.”

  “I told you it was something I ate,” Quill insisted.

  Assad sighed. “I can’t walk on egg shells because I don’t understand your triggers. I have a date waiting for me inside.” He reached behind him and opened the door, his gaze never wavering as he left Quill standing alone outside.

  Quill slammed his hand into the metal sheeting of the wall, splitting open his knuckles. Anna seemed to have a Quill radar and found him bleeding outside on a stack of pallets.

  She’d dropped her pants and let him fuck her, adding outside a club to their list of unusual places to get it on. He had no desire to return to the club and watch Assad on a date.

  He wanted to lie next to Assad in his bed and talk like they’d done weeks ago. Quill just couldn’t tell Assad what he wanted to know.

  Quill gave Anna an obligatory kiss after letting him have his way with her in a garbage filled back alley and took off to find his car and his cell.

  “I need a ride,” was all he needed to say.

  “I’ll be there in a few.” Ren hung up on him.

  He laid across the front seat of his car and let the lazy sleep of over-indulgence take over.

  He didn’t expect the dream to come, but he should have.

  Quill was exhausted. The lady had come into his room last night and had started caressing him. He wanted to sleep off a day of drinking, but his dick had a mind of its own. Before he knew what was going on, his pants had been removed, and she was straddling him, bouncing up and down, grabbing her breasts in her hands and pinching her nipples. His hazy brain took a moment to realize he wasn’t having a wet dream. She was panting and groaning while his body reacted in ways he had no control. He prayed she would get what she’d come for, crawl off him, and let him go back to sleep. He was living every twelve year olds dream, but after five days of weed, alcohol, and sex, he was beat. With a deep and pleasure filled yell, she came, ground her pussy against his smaller body, then climbed off, grabbing her pants on the way out the door. Quill pulled the sheet over his naked body and rolled into his pillow, searching for peace.

  It didn’t come.

  He heard the lock click and wondered why the lady had returned. She rarely came back for another round in the same day. Especially not this soon.

  But it wasn’t her. It was the hairy man his mom was spending so much time with. He pulled the sheet down Quill’s hips until the cool air of the room chilled his skin. The man’s rough fingers traced a line down Quill’s side then cupped his small ass in his giant hands. Quill squeezed his eyes shut pretending to sleep, willing him to go away.

  But he didn’t.

  His hand continued to caress the smooth skin until he abruptly stood up. Quill let out the breath he was holding. Thinking he was leaving. Praying he would.

  But he didn’t.

  The sound of a zipper going down and the rustling of his jeans hitting the floor made Quill’s blood run cold.

  There was a sound he couldn’t place, a squishing, glurking noise. Then a cold finger touched him, rubbing the cold liquid around his ass.

  The man climbed in bed next to him. Quiet sobs were coming from Quill, but the man didn’t seem to mind. He grabbed Quill firmly around the waist. The pressure against his ass was intense, the pain shooting through him as the man moved into him, causing Quill to scream out. Call out for the mom he knew wouldn’t come save him. The man placed a smelly hand over his mouth, muffling the screams. His rough chest hair rubbed against Quill’s back until he finished, whispering in Quill’s ear, “You’re so sweet. Such a beautiful boy.” The man caressed Quill’s ass. “You and me babe. A fag now and forever. If you tell anyone, I’ll tell all the girls in your school you suck cock for fun. And I’ll make sure you never get back to your sister. Keep your mouth shut.” He pushed off the bed, leaving Quill’s broken body in a pool of blood on a dirty bed in a drug house.

  “Quill.” His name and a hard kick at his boot drew him out of his nightmare with a start.

  Reflexes had him scooting into the car, away from his assailant. “Hey, it’s me.”

  Quill’s eyes tried to focus a blurry image of Assad leaning over the door of his car. Quill shook his head, trying to clear the dream. “God damn.” Quill wiped at his face, finding it covered in tears.

  “Are you okay?” Assad rested a leg on the door frame of the car.

  “Huh? Yeah. I was just… “ Quill felt around his body. Checking if he was indeed all right. The dream had taken him back to the day he lost everything but his fight to keep him and Ren together.

  Assad pushed Quill’s feet to the side and got in the car, shutting the door behind him.

  Quill shifted from feet hanging out the driver’s side door to sitting completely on the passenger’s side.

  “I thought you had a date?” Quill’s words came out angrier than he had intended.

  “I do. She’s in there dancing with some friends who showed up. I was worried you were going to try and drive.”

  “I’m fine. Ren’s coming.” Quill wanted Assad out of the car. The dream had fucked him up, and the air was too heavy with Assad so close.

  “You were talking.” Assad glanced over at him. “Then I heard you yelling, so I came over to make sure everything was okay.”

  “I told you I was fine,” Quill snapped.

  “You were saying stop. Who were you telling to stop?”

/>   “You. Fucking stop already.” Quill cupped the brim of his hat, wishing Assad away.

  His emotions were too raw. He was afraid what he might do.

  “What’s going on?” Assad whispered. “Talk to me, Quill.” “I can’t.”

  “You have to talk to someone.”

  “No, I don’t. I need to drink, smoke, and fuck girls in the hall. What I don’t need is you.” He pointed at Assad. “You make everything worse.”

  Assad’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I care about you, Quill. I care a lot.”

  A lump began to form in Quill’s throat. “Want to get out of here?”

  “I have someone expecting me back inside.” Regret filled Assad’s words.

  “Tell her to take a hike.” Quill sat up straighter, trying to regain some of his confidence. “I won’t be your random fuck to get a piece of yourself back. Figure your shit out, and then call me.” Assad got out of the car, leaving Quill alone once again.

  .twenty-six

  Quill Diaz

  November 18

  1:30 p.m.

  Cori and Quill had been working all afternoon on a song done by Taylor Swift, and the lead singer of Snow Patrol, The Last Time. It had a country rock twang to it, and they were trying to get it down in a minor key. Assad had bailed again, not surprising after the fiasco at the club, so the two of them were holed up in Cori’s practice room in what he now considered his home away from home.

  Cori put her hands on top of the piano and laid her head on them. “So, you and Assad huh?”

  Quill looked up from the cello he’d been playing. “No. “Did you apologize to him yet?”

  Quill narrowed his eyes at her. “Apparently you’re in the know.”

  “Assad and I have been friends since I was in kindergarten. We talk. But he didn’t have to say much for me to know you hit him,” Cori said.

  “I apologized. He wasn’t interested.” “Maybe you didn’t sound sincere.” Quill gave her his ‘what the hell?’ look. Cori shrugged.

  Quill sat back and blew out a breath. “Basically he said I was a fuck up, and he didn’t want anything to do with me until I got my shit together.”