Predator Prey - 28. Revealed

"We need to talk," Graham said, seriously, coffee in hand.

He looked up, startled. Then he swallowed hard at the words. We need to talk.

Over the past day or two, Graham had been quieter than usual, reflective. Once or twice, he had caught Graham looking at him speculatively, as if looking for an answer. It had made him uneasy. The tall researcher was a man who often reasoned and mused aloud. He has noticed Graham’s silences, and wondered about them.

The previous evening, Graham had begged off their usual night time together. There was a team meeting or something, so he said. His worries multiplied.

He’d had a bad night and an anxious dogwatch. Unable to sleep, he feared that Graham was having second thoughts about being with him. And who could blame Graham for that?

We need to talk.

A pit opened up at the bottom of his stomach. Words like that never meant anything good when he'd uttered them. And he'd uttered them plenty of times. "Okay."

He stared at the tattered copy of One Piece, still open in front of them. They'd been making their way through the manga at a snail's pace. There were always interruptions for ironic remarks, conversational tangents, or just a brief kiss. Or two. Their time together with the Japanese comic had given them a tangible bond, a cheerful base to their growing relationship.

At least, he'd thought so. Until We need to talk. Now, all the color seemed to drain from the page in front of him. Graham's words could bode nothing good.

They'd had perhaps nine, ten, glorious days.

"I just want everything to be clear," Graham stated.

Clear? None of this was clear. He'd never thought he'd be in this situation, so in love that he'd be scared to hear what Graham might say. He never figured he'd fall for anyone. Let alone for someone like Graham – brilliant, funny, confident, and sexy under all that nerdy exterior. He was completely unused to the feelings he'd experienced, unprepared for having his brittle defenses overwhelmed by the tall, sinewy scientist.

"What do you mean?" he parried, playing for time. He didn't want to hear what he'd told so many others: that it was time to end things.

Graham shifted in his chair. "I mean we need to talk about us. About what's happening."

So there it was. Graham was getting ready to end it. To separate Graham and Scott.

In the darkness outside, the Feigenbaum floated carelessly on a warm, gentle Gulf swell. It was a perfect analogy to the past week. He and Graham had floated along on the peaceful tide of romance; they'd spent every moment they could together; they'd been physical, they'd been loving, they'd been tender. They'd been floating along, utterly unaware of the current. He had been contented, almost blissful.

Until now.

"Happening? How about I kiss you?" he tried a diversion.

It didn't work. Graham shook his head, avoiding him. "You know what I mean. Don't be dense."

Actually, he had no idea what was motivating his boyfriend's ominous words. But he didn’t like this, not at all. He stared blankly back at Graham.

"Scott, we have to talk about what happens at the end of the week."

At the end of the week. The cruise would end in six days, on Friday. He'd avoided thinking about it. Friday was an open door through which he'd have to pass, staring out into a blackness he couldn't penetrate. He looked away.

"I…don't know…"

He felt Graham's warm hand covering his. "That's why I think we should talk now. We really haven't discussed what happens when the ship docks. Scott, you know I…" There was a pause. "I mean, we really don't know much about each other's lives on shore, do we?"

The question elicited a sharp little bark of laughter. He'd evaded that very subject at every opportunity. He’d been very good at it. He really didn’t want to think about Graham going back to some distant university campus. And what the hell was he going to do in six days, anyway? He'd have to find someplace to live. He wondered if he could crash with Javier and Oscar for a while until he could get an apartment or something. But would he be able to swing the cost? He had no idea. That was something he'd have to deal with later.

Right at that moment, dark, difficult thoughts were now intruding on his mind, shadows swiftly sweeping over the green landscape of his daydreams. Graham was trying to let him down easily. He was surely going back to his research lab, possibly hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away.

And even if Graham were located somewhere closer, why would he want to continue their relationship? Was their time together just an affair of convenience? He knew he had avoided talking about any of this, because anything deeper, anything lasting longer than this voyage would mean having to tell Graham the truth about himself. He wouldn't be able to hide it; it seemed like half the world had seen the party video. The man who'd found the way to unlock his heart would want to know the truth.

But why would this man, this man he thought of as his boyfriend, want anything more to do with him once he knew his whole story? He wouldn't be able to edit and spin it as he had done for Michael. Graham would have to know who he was. What he'd done. And then it would be all over. He'd been such a fool.

"Don't know. Finish up my courses, I guess. That's what I'm supposed to do, anyway," he said, wondering if there were a way to avoid the storm about to hit.

"No, I wasn't talking about classes, Scott. I'm talking about what happens to us."

The open chasm of inevitability yawned before him, and yet still he danced on its edge, hope to keep from falling. "You're going back to your lab, and we'll keep in touch, is that it?"

"Keep in touch? What kind of answer is that?" Graham asked, surprised and a little irritated. "Look, I just wanted to know…well, hell, I just don’t know you outside the ship. I mean, you never really told me about your life on shore, what you do, where you come from…"

There wasn't any choice but to get it over with. There wasn't any way to make it easy for Graham.

"How can there be an 'us' after Friday, Gray? You don't know what I am, what I've done."

He'd said it. There was no preventing the drop into the abyss now. Graham stared in shocked silence.

"Just what are you trying to tell, me, Scott?" Graham asked, his voice betraying a tremor.

He looked away, down at his feet. He couldn't possibly face Graham. But he had to know.

"I'm a predator, Gray. Was a predator, anyhow," he began.

"A what?" Graham started to interrupt, but he held up a hand, and the taller man fell silent.

"A predator. I was a dealer. I sold all kinds of shit; you wanted to get high, I could get you as high as the moon. I could get you whatever product you wanted, for a price. You wanted weed, I had more varieties than Ben and Jerry's. You wanted synthetics, I could get those, or high quality blow, or anything else you needed. I'd figure out what someone, anyone, had to have, and I was ready to supply it. I played on that. Preyed on that. I used people. You needed some kind of fix real bad? No problem, I’d have it. I'd just make you pay for it. And if you wanted some party action, I provided."

There was a noise of a chair shifting on the floor. He looked up; Graham hadn't risen to go, just moved a little further away in his seat; his face wore a puzzled expression, but he didn’t speak.

He continued. "Gray, I didn't just sell drugs, I broke people. I used their desires to get what I wanted. And…" he faltered. He had to admit this. "I used people sexually. I made them do shit…"

"I don't understand," Graham said faintly.

He took a deep breath. "Look. I'd find a freshman, a younger guy, usually, and I'd make all friendly and shit, right? I'd seduce him if I could, get him high if it helped, get him totally wasted if I had to. But then I'd fuck him; fuck him so he'd know he been fucked…because that wouldn’t just fuck his body, I'd have fucked his mind, see? And then, when the kid came to, he'd be…I don't know, broken. And I'd be there, ready to sell him shit to make it all feel better," he concluded bitterly.

God, how he hated himself. Scenes from his life, from what he'd done, voices of all the people he'd used and hurt, swirled and clamored for attention in his inner mind. He could actually smell the stink of smoke and sex. He'd known love only well enough to spell the word. How preposterous, to have thought he could let Graham love him.

He stole another glance at the man who, for a brief span of days, let him hope there might be daylight in his soul. Graham seemed stunned. Utter disbelief at what he was hearing showed plainly on his face.

He plowed on. "And later on, once one of my boys really needed that shit, I could get him to trade his ass for it. Willingly. I gave people away as party favors at the best blowouts on campus."

There was quiet. "How did you wind up here? On the Feigenbaum?"

He looked away again. He swallowed. It was hard to remember that, too. "I got taken down. My roommate and a guy named Ted did it. I hunted Ted, but Ted turned my own game back on me. I got drugged and…raped. Gang raped at a party in my own suite." He had to stop; he winced at the memory of the excruciating pain. But had that pain been anything worse than what he had inflicted on anyone else? "They…Ted and my roommate…they tied me down to my bed, threw a huge party. They let anyone who wanted to fuck my ass do it. I lost count how many guys did me that night. Anyway, while I was tied up and…being used, Ted and my roommate took everything, cleaned me out."

Another beat or two of silence.

"I got free, but I had to get out, get away. I was bloody and had nothing. I don’t think Ted and my roommate would have been any kinder the morning after." He tried to keep his breathing normal. "When I woke up, I escaped with my clothes and my laptop, and not much else. A while later, I crashed with some…someone I knew. Someone who put me up, even though I didn’t deserve it."

"And then what?"

"The guy I crashed with found me a job here. God knows how or why." He wasn't bitter, now. Just immensely sad. He looked up at Graham.

Graham looked away. "It sounds unbelievable."

He snorted ironically. "There's a video of the party out on the web. Someone uploaded it from their phone. You can find it when you get back on shore. There I am, tied up, splayed out and party fucked for everyone on the internet to see. It happened."

Nothing was said for a while after that.

"I don’t know what to think," Graham spoke, at last.

"I'm sorry," he said, to Graham, and to the room in general.

"Sorry? You’re sorry? For what? For the people you hurt? For the lies? What was I, your latest target, Scott? Easy prey?" Graham's voice was hard, and rising.

"No! It's not like that," he tried to protest, but even he knew how lame that sounded.

"You fucking fooled me," Graham spat.

"That's not who I am, not anymore," he responded, desperation ringing clearly.

"Who are you, Scott?" Graham demanded, eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you? To think I thought I knew you…" Graham's voice trailed off, sounding terribly troubled. He rose to his feet.

"Please," he was begging, even though he promised himself he would never, ever beg, "please, don't hate me, Gray."

"I don't…I can't…" Graham seemed to be having trouble finding words. "Look, I'm just going to need some time, okay, Scott? I just don’t know."

He couldn't even look at Graham as he stalked away, but he heard his footsteps fade down the corridor and up the ladder.

What had he done? He'd been completely honest for the first time in years. And it cost him the love and friendship of the first person he'd ever fallen for. He'd finally found someone who could make the scarred place in his heart whole, and he'd wrecked whatever relationship they'd had. He felt completely empty and desolate. Alone in the blackness of the night in his soul, he realized it was entirely the fate he deserved.

His parents would have been pleased.