Chapter 5 LOUIS

LOUIS

"Excuse me," a nurse said from behind me.

Immediately, I remembered myself and stepped away.

"Sorry," I muttered softly, avoiding the man's gaze.

A nurse came to take him away, probably to clean and properly stitch him up. I stood aside, suddenly feeling out of place.

His wound seemed deep, a slow trickle of red still seeping through the makeshift towel I'd pressed against his side. But from the moment our eyes met, I knew this wasn't his first scar. The way he carried himself, despite the pain, was proof of a man who had survived far worse. And that was enough reason for me to stop this silly infatuation I was beginning to have for him.

But I couldn't get him out of my head.

Not the weight of his gaze.

Not the moment our skin made contact and a jolt raced through my chest like lightning in a thunderstorm.

He saw me.

"Saw what?" Jamie asked from behind me.

Shit. I guess I said that out loud. I turned to face him.

"Nothing, Jamie," I replied. He looked at me for a moment before he spoke.

"Don't get involved with him, my boy," he said, concern etched over his features. "He can't be good for you. Scratch that, he isn't good for you."

My eyes wide open, I quickly rushed to defend myself.

"No, Jamie, it's not like that."

"Don't worry Louis," he said, a kind smile on his face. "You don't need to explain yourself to me but just be careful."

I nodded in acknowledgement of his words and he left.

After that, I finished my shift in a daze, the background noise fading away as I punched out and slipped my ID badge into my back pocket. My body ached with old and new familiar bruises, but the real pain was internal, still and empty.

The city night was cold when I ventured out, wind biting at my face as I made my way to the corner store. The bells jingled overhead as I pushed in and grabbed the cheapest six-pack beer I could find, and tossed a few rumpled bills on the counter.

"Is that all," the bored cashier asked from behind the counter.

I gave a single nod and stepped out, my father's beer in hand. This six-pack is his tradition. His vice. And every time he indulged in it, something in me broke a little more.

The home walk was quiet, the half-asleep streets littered with shattered bottles and shady men and women, looking for their next target.

"Hey little boy," one said approaching me. "Where are you off too?"

I walked faster and rubbed my pocket knife for comfort. After a while, I realized the person wasn't following me again.

Climbing the stairs to our run-down apartment, I unlocked the door, and slipped in quietly.

"The beer," father said as I walked in, his hands outstretched.

"Here it is," I said, passing the sixpack to him.

"This," he said, waving the beer in the air. "Is the only thing you're good at. Now get out." With that he turned again to face the TV, opening a bottle and gulping its contents.

I retreated to my room, closed the door, and locked it.

I was safe, for the time being.

The bed groaned beneath me as I collapsed onto it, rolling up onto the old mattress like a child fleeing the storm. My body hurt, but I was used to that. What I was not used to... was feeling anything.

Anything at all.

Him.

The red-haired giant with brown eyes. The full beard. The massive height. He was a giant of a man that was wounded, bleeding... but alive.

His powerful yet terrifying aura shook me for a moment. But it was his beauty that completely enraptured me.

Why couldn't I get him out of my mind?

It was ridiculous. Stupid, even. I was pathetic.

Just another desperate, broken gay boy pining over someone he'd never be able to have. And not just anyone. A dangerous man. A man who exudes power. Who probably left a trail of broken hearts and broken bones in his path.

And yet, if I closed my eyes, I could still feel the heat of his hand on mine.

The way his gaze remained on my bruises.

He saw them. Looked at them. And he didn't flinch.

I let out a heavy sigh and rolled onto my back, unlocking my phone. My cracked screen barely registered my touch as I scrolled through my notifications. Nothing new. A few spam emails and a message from an address I didn't recognize.

A call came in then from an unknown number and I picked it up.

"Is this Louis Durant," a male voice said from the receiver.

"Yes," I replied. "Who am I speaking to?"

"This is the manager of Allure," my heart skipped a beat. "We're calling to inform you that your application was rejected."

No, no, no.

"After careful consideration," the voice continued. "We regret to inform you that we have decided to go with other candidates whose experience better suits our current needs."

I couldn't reply for a long moment and then, "Mr. Durant?" the man said.

"Please, call me Louis," I hated when people called me a name that my father used. "And I've gotten all that."

"Ok then. We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors." With that the call ended.

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

The man's words swam before my eyes, cold and unforgiving.

Rejected.

Why had I even bothered?

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I tossed the phone aside, letting it drop to the side of the bed. My chest ached differently now-a hollow type of pain, one that had not been inflicted by fists or knives, but by disappointment.

Stupid. I was so stupid.

I should've known better than to hope.

Who the hell did I think I was, dreaming about escape? A better life? Someone like him?

I scowled up at the ceiling, the cracked paint lines forming senseless patterns above.

Perhaps this was it. This dingy room. This rotting building. My father's snarls. My silent sobs. My empty future.

"I can't even get peace in this world, can I?" I muttered to no one in particular.

But even in the darkness, I couldn't stop my mind from straying.

My eyelids drooped, the ache in my chest slowly numbing to a hum. I pulled the thin blanket over me, trying to shut the world out. But before sleep took me, one last thought leaked through the gaps:

What if someone... wanted me?

Sleep claimed me with that image branded on the back of my mind-me, snuggled into the side of a man who should have frightened me, but hadn't.

And for the first time in a long, long while...

...I dreamed of safety.

Of home that wasn't a place, but a person.

I dreamt of him.