231FADE INTO YOU
Chapter One:
A New Beginning
"You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could've, would've happened... or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on."
― Tupac
Truth is a bitch, and her middle name is Ruthless.
And Truth was telling me that I was alone.
A police siren wailed down the street, astoundingly loud in my empty apartment. The walls were a shade of yellow that made the place seem filthy, and I made the mental note to paint over it in a more pleasant color – white or even peach. My sage-colored sofa was shoved against a random wall, definitely not where it would be placed forever. Most of the things in my possession were new – new to me, at least – and I felt like a stranger amongst my belongings.
Outside, the sun had finally set. It was a long summer day, with record-breaking temperatures for the beginning of August. The dusty black curtains blocked out the neon signs that were posted on the shops around my quaint little abode, smack in the middle of a strip of bars, restaurants, and shops. It almost seemed like an accident, placing a three-story apartment building in the middle of the street. Or perhaps the rest of the land was bought up and mowed down to make room for business, and the apartment owner simply refused to sell.
Either way, spending a night in my apartment was never quiet.
The fish salesmen didn't close up until well after midnight. Who was buying salmon past 10:30, I didn't know. I did know, however, that the owner's wife was sleeping with his best friend, and the poor bastard didn't have plans to leave her.
You hear a lot when you're plopped in the lap of the neighboring businesses.
Three days in my new place, and boxes still littered the living room and bedroom. The walls were bare of trinkets or pictures – not because I had failed to unpack them. I just didn't have any keepsakes or photos from home that were worthy of mounting on the walls. After all, wasn't that the place I was trying to escape from? Painting my new life with meaningless nothings of my old life defeated the purpose in getting away, didn't it?
And oh, yes, I was getting away. I was too polite to say that, to the ones who threw my going away party, but I was running like hell from my miserable hometown, with all of its memories and unpleasant personalities.
However, when I paused to compare them, my new home wasn't very pleasant either. The street was too close to my bedroom window, the bar next door had frequent bar fights after midnight, and the constant sound of vehicles whirring by was beyond unnerving. And every time I turned on my TV or stereo, the sound permeated through the paper-thin walls and the jerk next door hammered on the wall until I turned it completely off. There was, though, one good thing to be said of my apartment.
It was far, far away from home.
I wondered, as I curled up on the couch with a book and a cup of warm tea, if my grimy apartment would ever become home to me.
Three in the morning, and my eyes shot open. Groggily, I changed positions on the couch and accidently kicked off my blanket. Panic filled me as I realized my situation – I'd fallen asleep on the couch again. I prayed, in the brief moment, that it wasn't morning, and strange relief seeped into my bones when I saw the time. 3:04AM, long before I was due at work.
Next came the anger, as it became blaringly obviously what had awoken me. Among all things, my neighbor was blasting old jazz music, the stuff from the 1940's. I liked the song, don't get me wrong, but no one particularly wants to hear Billie Holiday at three AM.
To make matters worse, it was the neighbor that always pounded on the wall when I watched TV or listened to the radio, not at such an ungodly hour. I contemplated, for a moment, if I could just roll over and ignore it. But then Ella Fitzgerald began to wail and I lost it. All traces of my previous proclivities – people pleasing, bashfulness, plain old aversion to conflict – fell away.
The slap of my feet against the warm concrete outside my apartment was disturbing, so I walked a little slower. I had never actually met my neighbor – none of them, actually - and I was overcome with the sudden hope that it wasn't some body builder. But what kind of body builder listens to Fitzgerald and the Inkspots? I hammered relentlessly on the green door that had a rusting number 9 nailed to it.
It took a moment, but the door swung open and I felt all anger and determination drain from my body. Leaning in the door frame was a man. His long-sleeved, red-and-white pinstriped shirt was completely unbuttoned, revealing a broad and modestly-muscled chest. His hair was a disheveled mop of long blond locks, straight and falling against his shoulders. His dark eyes looked me over in boredom.
"Can I help you?" The music spilled out from the apartment, reminding me of my purpose.
"The music. It's loud."
The blond male turned his head away from me and spoke to someone else inside the apartment. "Ruben, there's a guy without a shirt at the door." He glanced at me again with the same dull eyes. "He's… suitable."
"What are you jabbering about?" Another came into my line of vision, behind the blond with empty eyes. They both stood there, watching me, and I suddenly wished that I had enough brains to grab a shirt. "He's a little too tall, don't you think?"
The newcomer would be best described as "shadowy." Everything about him seemed dark. There was a dark, although subdued, look in his eyes, which were a hazy shade of gray. His clothes tended toward darker things – a black vest with a long-sleeved gray shirt beneath it, and a black tie. His hair was short and black as ink. He seemed about the same age as the blond: twenties.
I watched the two of them with wide, confused eyes.
"I don't know," sighed the blond. "Tall could be good for your purposes."
"Please," I manage to stammer. "Just turn your music down. It's three AM. People are trying to sleep."
The blond chuckled. "Well, you were awake."
My eye twitched. "No, as a matter of fact, I WASN'T awake." I turned to leave.
"Hey, wait. I'm Ruben." It was the dark one speaking, peering at me with heavy eyes. "What's your name?"
"Err- Dillon…"
"Elliot," declared the blond with a flirtatious wink. My throat dried up and I turned to leave again.
"Come and have a drink." Ruben shrugged when my eyes darted to him, as if it was the most casual thing in the world to have a drink with strangers at three in the morning. "It will only take a moment, and then you can return home. The music will go off," he added, sweetening the deal. Part of me realized how ludicrous it was, to strike a bargain with the one who was in the wrong. Still, I found myself nodding faintly.
"Let me get a shirt."
"No need. Really, it will just be a moment." There was darkness in those eyes that, in that instant, terrified me. I snapped out of it when the blond – Elliot – let out a harsh laugh.
"Don't be so uptight. I'll get the bourbon." He departed and I was left alone with Ruben. He watched me with calm, even eyes and I shuffled my feet in anxiety.
"Come in, please." I was definitely hesitant, even as he opened a welcoming arm. After all, I was in my pajamas – sweatpants only.
The apartment was cold and I immediately shivered as the door slammed shut behind me. Ruben tugged at his tie while Elliot motioned for me. I approached where he sat on the low-to-the-ground couch.
"Sit and tell us about yourself." I sat on the cushion beside his and a drink was pushed into my hands. "Start with your age."
"Uh… twenty-two."
"Appropriate," Elliot said to his friend with arched brows. Ruben dropped his tie to the coffee table and sat beside me, trapping me between the two of them. The creeping concept of danger worked its way into my brain which, it seemed, was convinced that everything was all a dream.
"I'm twenty-eight. But Ruben is twenty-six. Is that too old, you think?" His pale blue eyes watched me as his head quirked to the side. I shrugged, suddenly tense.
"Too old for what, exactly?"
"You're freaking him out, Elliot," grumbled the man on the other side of me. "You're too forward."
"How, in asking his age? Seriously, Ruben, if he's that easily scared he isn't right for it."
"Right for what?" I felt the need to stand, to put some space between myself and the strangers. "I should go. It's really late and I have work…"
"Oh, and where do you work?" inquired the blond.
"Goodnight." I stood and retreated toward the door.
"Elliot, you jackass," Ruben drawled in a tone that didn't convey a drop of anger. "Dillon, I apologize for my friend. He lacks social skills." The man stood and stalked toward me. "The fact of the matter is that we're looking for a…special individual." At my blank expression, he smiled. "I'm looking for an open, friends-with-benefits relationship."
Stunned, I managed to ask, "What does that have to do with me?"
"Nothing, if you don't wish it to. If you do, however, we could discuss it more."
"I'm sorry, but…no. Goodnight." I wanted to escape, and I did just that. His door slammed behind me in a blur of motion as I retreated to the safety of my apartment. Each lock clicked into place and I fell onto my couch, heart thudding. What a weird situation…
I dragged my feet all the way to bed and fell on my face.
Morning came with a vengeance. Groaning, I rolled out of bed just in time to ear my alarm squawk. The sky was already bright outside my window by the time I was ready for work.
My job as Silvia Rookstool's man-slave wasn't glorious, but it had perks. She paid for my coffee every morning, at least, but only because I was getting hers. By my third day on the job, I had my morning routine nailed – I could get in and out of Starbucks in three minutes flat. The steaming cup was on her desk before the clock struck eight.
Rookstool surrounded herself with tall, young male employees. It was something I could never really understand, except to guess that she enjoyed feeling powerful over men. She was the wealthy CEO of an oil company, and I was her assistant.
By the time I got home in the evening, every drop of energy was rung from my body.
"You look exhausted." The sudden voice startled me, and I jumped a little where I leaned against the apartment mailbox. I shut the door to my slot and watched Ruben with cautious eyes.
"I am. Good evening."
"Elliot is leaving the country."
I should've continued walking, ignored the stranger and his strange behavior. Instead, I felt compelled to stay, questioning when politeness became unnecessary with unusual people.
"He is my friend and my companion, but he's leaving. I need a replacement, to fill the carnal gap. My job is very stressful, and I need sexual release regularly." I couldn't believe my ears, especially since the look on Ruben's face was one of complete boredom. "It would need to be convenient and completely casual. Of course, with your living next door it could hardly be more convenient."
"I don't sleep with strangers," I practically spat, feeling disgusted.
"Oh, yes, well there would be tests performed first – a full clinical work up, I assure you."
"I don't mean that… I'm sorry, Ruben, but I'm not interested. Now if you don't mind, I need a cigarette."
Before I could even blink, one was extended toward me. I took it warily. As I lit it, I scanned Ruben. He was handsome, to say the very least. His jaw was square and masculine and his eyes nearly smoldered as they looked at you. I could see the subtle evidence of muscles straining against his business suit. "You should be able to find someone else rather easily."
"See, that's the thing." Ruben extracted another cigarette and pushed it between his lips. "Now that I've met you, I want no one else."
I actually have a plot in mind for this one, but it is my first real slash story that strays from cliche (at least I hope so!). Damn it, if this story isn't unique I'm going to shoot my foot off.
So let me know your thoughts. And save my foot by giving tips, pls. :D
Happy writing! -me