Blood to Dust

We eat together in the darkened basement. Nate blindfolded me because he can’t eat with his mask on. I don’t need to see him to know that he’s here.

“Thank you for the food, Beat.” I munch on my rice and bean burrito. He grunts in response. Back to being a caveman.

“Why did you get thrown in prison?” I ask, sucking sour cream from my finger with a moan. I miss good food so bad.

“You want the long or short version?”

“Does it look like I’m in a hurry?”

He lets out a chuckle. His voice is great. Baritone, gruff and throaty. Not that it matters, I remind myself. He’s business.

“Manslaughter. I smashed a vase into my dad’s head. Fractured his skull.”

By the way his leg nudges mine playfully, I’m guessing that he’s sitting with his knees drawn up just like mine.

“That’s your long version? Gee, how many words do you use for the short one?” I snort.

“One. Destroy. I’m pretty good at ruining things.”

“That’s harsh. And false. For one thing, you can football-tackle a girl like a pro,” I joke as Nate passes me a bottle of water. I take a sip and give it back to him. “You didn’t want to take me hostage. You cared when Ink hit me. . .” I trail off. “Maybe you’re good.”

I feel him chuckling against me.

“You hate your roommate,” I say.

“I hate everything,” he deadpans.

“That’s not true, you just don’t care.”

“Maybe that’s how I started this morning. Indifferent. But, today I did things I cannot undo. What’s more—I don’t want to undo them. Maybe I’m a monster.”

“I know monsters, Beat. I know them real close. You have a long way to go until you get to that point.”

I toy with the foil between my fingers. Nate is done eating by the sound of it. He is opening up to me. Something made him fragile and attentive today. Not really sure what, but I need to make another move before he slams the door to this opportunity in my face.

So I go bold.

I press my head against his huge, hard shoulder.

There’s silence, the questioning kind, and I swallow every feminine fear I have of being rejected.

He shakes his shoulder lightly, brushing me away. “What the f*ck, Pea?”

“I need human contact,” I whisper. This time, it’s not another half-lie I spew on autopilot to draw him closer to me. “You can use a cuddle, too.”

I place my head on his shoulder again, and this time, Nate doesn’t move. His hair tickles my ear. It’s glorious. Shiny, straight and jet black. I’ve seen it plenty of times falling across his Guy Fawkes mask. Short and buzzed on the sides, long at the top.

He sounds beautiful. His walk’s beautiful. His body’s beautiful. And I’m positive that behind the mask and the blindfold awaits a man that’s about to crush every single promise I’ve made myself about men.

To stay the hell away from them.

“You know what you need to do, right?” I snuggle into his shoulder. “Run away.”

He doesn’t answer, because he knows that I’m right. I don’t know how he got tangled up in all the mess that he’s in, though I have a feeling his little red diary will soon spill the beans. One thing is for sure, this place is killing him slowly from the inside. Godfrey, Seb, Ink, this job he hates. . .his happiness is compromised by his circumstances. But I can set him free.

I clear my throat, hoping he’ll take me seriously. “You know I’ve got money on the outside, right? Enough to run away and fix you up with whatever you need to start a new life. I have drug routes in Oakland, Richmond and Stockton.”

Nate shifts to face me, raising his palm and flattening it over my neck, wrapping his fingers around it gently. My throat constricts.

For the first time in years, I feel something that’s so strange and scary, I almost tip over and collapse on the floor. Aroused.

“Yet you’re here in my basement, and Godfrey’s out and about.” His voice is low and dark. “Funny how life works, huh, Silver Spoon?”

“That can, and will, change soon.” My daring statement sounds thicker under the pressure he applies on my throat.

It’s hot, confusing and completely unwarranted. Since I normally don’t do sex, why is it that I want him to squeeze hard and f*ck me even harder? I don’t even care what his face looks like. It’s a torturous foreplay, the wickedest kind. The one that isn’t meant to be fulfilled.

“If Godfrey was stupid enough to throw together two people who have the exact same shit list, it’s his problem.” I pinch my lips together between my teeth, gaining strength for what’s about to come out of my mouth. “You don’t have to tell me who screwed you over and chained you to this situation, Beat. I already know. We can be a team. We can take our freedom back.”

“Yeah? You think my parole officer will be down with that shit?”

“I think you sticking around here with manslaughter on your record and Godfrey barking insane orders at you, sinking you into deeper trouble, is just as restricting as San Dimas. What do you think is going to happen if your parole officer pays you a visit while I’m down here? You know I’m going to yell my lungs out. You can gag and tie me, but I’d still use my body to draw attention. Where would it leave you? The only reason you’re still here is because you can’t afford not to be. Get out of the States, Beat. Start fresh.”