Before I wake - 1. Chapter 1

At last, the elevator doors dinged and Cyril rushed out of there. He didn’t turn around but could feel Stuart’s inquisitive eyes on him as he hurriedly walked to his desk. Eyes that had seen too much already. Would Stuart say anything to anyone about his bruises? Had he figured out what was going on? His parting words sure gave Cyril that impression. Offering help. As if he needed help.

If only they hadn’t argued about calling for help. In the tussle over his phone, it had fallen to the elevator floor and promptly died, leaving them without any means to contact the outside world. All they could do was wait. How long had they been stuck in there? With his phone broken, he had quickly lost track of time. His barely contained panic at being in such a confined space hadn’t helped either.

A quick glance at a clock on the wall beside his desk told him he was late. Very late. He cursed under his breath. Fred would not be pleased. After a brief inner debate about whether to phone his boyfriend from the landline, Cyril decided he should just get out of there as quickly as possible. As he walked through the winding corridors, he slipped into his coat. He had to restrain himself from breaking into a sprint. Dread pooled in his stomach, pushing it to the brink of rebellion.

When he exited the main gate, he spotted Fred’s car. Through the tinted windows, he could make out the silhouette of his lover. He remembered a time when the sight of his man made his stomach flutter for totally different reasons. Nowadays, a simmering fear was a more common feeling during the first few moments spent with Fred after a day at work. What mood would he be in? Had something happened at work to piss him off? Or was he the caring boyfriend?

Today, there was no guessing the mood. Fred detested him being late. To a degree, Cyril agreed with him it was a sign of poor upbringing, of laziness and lack of consideration. Of course, Fred would worry if Cyril didn’t do as he was told. It wasn’t so much to ask for him to be on time.

He gently tapped the car window and then slipped inside. Fred’s cold gaze made him shiver.

“Fred, I…”

“Where the hell have you been?” Fred didn’t let him speak. “I’ve waited here for over an hour! Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?!” His voice raised in volume with each word until he was shouting at Cyril.

“Please, I can explain…”

“Explain?!? Oh, this will be interesting. What could possibly be more important than keeping a promise to me, the man who loves you and cares for you like no one ever would?”

“The elevator…”

Fred leaned over toward him and grabbed his arm. His firm grip hurt, and Cyril knew he would have a few more bruises.

“You could have called! Are you so stupid and self-absorbed that you didn’t even think to call?”

Reaching into his pocket, Cyril withdrew his broken phone and handed it to Fred.

“My phone broke. I’m so sorry, but the elevator…”

“And that’s the only phone in your entire building? Do you think I’m a complete imbecile like you?”

Anger sparked inside Cyril, even if it was a very bad idea. His words came out too harsh and irritated. Another thing that would get him in trouble, but after all these years, he still hadn’t learned to entirely control his temper.

“Fred, would you let me speak?”

They both fell silent and glared at each other. Fred still held his upper arm in a tight grip, and squeezed even further as a warning for Cyril. He didn’t say anything, so Cyril took the chance.

“The elevator got stuck, and Stuart--the idiot who was trapped in there with me--managed to smash my phone, so we couldn’t call for help. I only just now got out of there, and I rushed right out because I knew you were waiting. I would never make you sit here waiting and not call if I could.” Cyril could tell Fred was mulling his words over and when the grip on his arm relaxed a fraction, a tiny hope lit up inside his chest. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “Please, don’t be mad.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Cyril realized it was the wrong thing to say. Fred was never “mad”, he was “concerned about Cyril’s lack of dedication to their relationship”. A renewed firmness to the grip on his arm confirmed his fears.

“Stuart? Who the hell is Stuart?” Anger and suspicion laced Fred’s voice.

“You know, that guy in accounting. You met him when you picked me up after the Christmas party.” Cyril tried to read the signs of Fred’s changing mood.

“The fag?”

The word muttered through gritted teeth felt like a slap in the face. Fred knew Cyril didn’t like that kind of vocabulary, but still he had no qualms about using the derogatory term. The contradiction between his harsh attitude toward other gay men and he himself living with a man was something Cyril had never understood. He’d tried to question it, but learned the hard way it was not a welcome topic for discussion.

“Stuart, yes.”

An uneasy silence settled between them. Then Fred let go with a shove and started the car. The drive home took forever. In his mind, Cyril went over all the ways this could end when they got home. None of the scenarios ended well, but maybe he could get Fred to think of sex instead. That was his best bet.

Cyril let his hand slowly caress Fred’s right arm.

“You look so tense, baby. Let me give you a nice backrub when we get home.”

A sideways glance had him retracting his hand, but at least Fred didn’t shrug him off or yell at him. Maybe this could work.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Before Cyril could stop himself, thoughts of how they met and that magical first year had him dangerously close to tears. He blinked hard. Fred didn’t like tears. There was no need to add fuel to the flames.

It had been such a fairly-tale. Cyril had been struggling to make it through college on a not-so-great scholarship. With his mom dead a few years since, an absent father and no other relatives, it had been tough. At times, he had thought about giving up, but knowing how upset this would have made his mother, he kept going. His lack of money set him apart from his fellow students. They seemed to have no cares in the world, going on trips for spring break and spending a fortune on partying, clothes, and gadgets. Their lives were an endless string of happy days, growing up in fancy houses, with nice cars and even horses of their own. Preppy was just beginning to describe them. Privileged was another word that came to mind. Everything that Cyril wasn’t but wanted so intensely.

Seeing how easy things were for them made Cyril resent them even though he tried to tell himself it wasn’t their fault. They were simply lucky. Still, since he couldn’t join in, this created a divide between them. Why couldn’t he have all those nice clothes and go on fun trips? Why did he have to wait tables in a restaurant to just get by? Didn’t he deserve more?

Then suddenly, there was Fred. The wealthy and handsome older man courted him like no one had before. It didn’t take more than a few weeks for Cyril to be hopelessly in love with this man. Money was no concern anymore. He could focus on his studies and never had to feel like the odd man out again among his college friends. Fred saw to that, showering him in gifts and a generous allowance. Cyril spent it on all the things he’d always wanted and more. Being able to go into a shop and buy whatever he wanted made him feel like he owned the world. He still couldn’t go away with his college friends for trips, but he couldn’t really fault Fred for not wanting him to go. Who would pay their boyfriend to leave on holiday with other people? Fred had to work, so he couldn’t go with them.

“We’ll go on a trip, just you and me. It’ll be so much nicer and you can show me just how much you appreciate the trip…” Fred smiled at Cyril’s blushing face.

It was true, though. Cyril did show his appreciation a lot. It seemed like the thing to do. Besides, Fred was so attentive and knew just how to get Cyril all worked up. They could hardly spend any length of time in a room without ending up having sex. Cyril remembered being relaxed and pleasantly sore most days back then.

The shift came slowly.

“Where were you this afternoon? I thought you were coming home right after class?” It wasn’t an actual accusation, but more a curious question. Still, Cyril felt a definite edge to the words.

“I did come home…”

“Not right away. We said we’d meet here right after.” Fred’s eyes had darkened, and they made Cyril nervous. “You came home at 6.42 pm. Class ended at 5 pm. You have less than a 20-minute drive. So, where were you? Or don’t you want to tell me?”

Confused, Cyril lost his ability to speak for a moment.

“No. I mean of course I’ll tell you. I was with Cara, and we had a coffee after class. We compared notes.”

“You didn’t call.” Again, not a question but a statement laced with resentment. “Who is Cara?”

“You met her. She’s the one from California. The blonde.” Cyril couldn’t figure out what was going on. He searched Fred’s eyes for clues, but the coldness in them pushed him back. “I didn’t think to call since I was only staying for a few minutes.”

Then, as quickly as the mood had soured, Fred suddenly smiled again.

“I’ll get you a phone, so this won’t be a problem ever again. You can just call me, so I don’t have to worry something happened.”

As realization swept through Cyril like a tidal wave, he wanted to slap himself. Of course, Fred had worried! What an idiot he was not to get that.

“Oh, god, I didn’t even think about you waiting.” He stepped closer to Fred and let himself be engulfed in the man’s arms. “I’m so stupid and inconsiderate. Please, forgive me.”

“Of course, silly.” A kiss was planted on his head. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

That night, their sex had been more intense than before. It was exhilarating to have Fred be so passionate, but Cyril felt overwhelmed.

“You’re mine. All mine. I can fuck you as hard as I like and you’ll take it. Because you want it, don’t you?” Fred was breathing the words in Cyril’s ear, holding his arms in a tight grip above his head. With each thrust, Fred pushed deeper inside and didn’t seem to notice Cyril squirming to get away beneath him. It was too much, too hard but at the same time Cyril was on the edge, longing to come. He couldn’t break away, and at the same time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

“I said you want it, don’t you?” A painfully hard squeeze of his wrists had Cyril whimpering but he nodded.

“Yes, I want it. Please, Fred, please…”

After he came, Fred rolled over and fell asleep. For a long time, Cyril stayed awake and wondered what had happened. Why did this night feel so different? Eventually, without an answer to his question, Cyril fell asleep.

Little by little, Cyril’s world started shrinking. He got his new, expensive phone and was ecstatic to show his friends his new gadget. They were suitably impressed, but for some reason Cyril couldn’t really enjoy the moment. Maybe because he saw the icon of the tracking app Fred had installed on both their phones. Just so they could always know where the other was. When Cyril had asked if that wasn’t what calling or texting was for, Fred’s eyes once again got a hint of that darkness. Quickly, Cyril smiled and kissed him, assuring Fred he was only joking and the app was perfect. What wasn’t perfect was the phone calls he got repeatedly if he strayed from his planned whereabouts for the day. At first, Cyril tried to reason with Fred, but after a few upsetting arguments, he decided it was easier to do as his boyfriend asked. After all, Fred was only concerned for him. Bad things happened, even in the daytime on campus, and gay men were especially targets for violence. Fred’s need to know where he was simply demonstrated his deep love. Or so Cyril tried to tell himself.

Besides, his life was so much more comfortable now, with no need to work part-time just to afford to eat. He was no longer the poor kid in the group. They could meet for study sessions at his home, and Cyril relished hearing his friends “oh” and “ah” over their apartment. Or well, Fred’s apartment to be exact. But who kept score?

That would be Fred.

“You were talking with that guy for a long time.” Fred’s breath smelled of beer as he spoke in a low voice in Cyril’s ear. He had joined Cyril at a college party, reluctantly agreeing to go so that Cyril could go. It was Saturday night and loving boyfriends always spent Saturday nights together. Cyril hadn’t been able to refute this but had managed to persuade Fred to go as well. A decision Cyril was beginning to regret. “Did you plan on ditching me here so you could be with him?”

The accusation shocked Cyril.

“What do mean? Why would I do anything with Pete?” Shaking his head, Cyril took a step back. “We have a class together and talked about an assignment.”

“An assignment? So, you plan to use it as a cover and sneak around behind my back? How convenient!” Cold eyes stared at him with contempt.

“You’re not making any sense.” After a quick glance around to make sure no one had heard him, Cyril continued in a lower voice. “I don’t sneak around. You should know that by now. And that tracker app would tell you if I was.”

“But not if you have an ‘excuse’…” The words were dripping with distrust. “I see how you flaunt yourself. Or try to at least. As if anyone would be impressed by your pitiful body.”

That particular arrow found its target easily. Fred had all his sore points memorized. Tears welled up in Cyril’s eyes, but he blinked them away. He would not be crying in front of his friends.

“I’m not having this conversation here.” Cyril turned to go, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

“Wait!” Their eyes met and once more Fred’s eyes were their usual gentle brown. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve been drinking and I don’t know what I’m saying. Please, babe. You know I love you. I just can’t stand the thought of you being with anyone else. It would kill me. Forgive me?” A goofy attempt at puppy eyes made Cyril’s heart melt and after an intense kiss, the evening continued. With Fred insisting on holding hands until he convinced Cyril to go home.

When they were just inside the door, Fred spun him around and pushed him face forward against the door.

“Don’t think I don’t see you wiggle that ass at other men. But no one else will ever have it.”

He struggled with Cyril’s pants but managed to push them down around the knees and somehow unbutton his own. His hard cock pushed against Cyril’s buttocks and soon found its target. Cyril could hear Fred spit. With a swift thrust, Fred entered him. The pain had Cyril yelling, but he couldn’t do anything to break away. Instead, he focused on relaxing. After fucking him for a few minutes, Fred grabbed hold of Cyril’s cock and started to jerk him in time with his thrusts. Cyril felt himself grow hard and he couldn’t stop himself from whimpering as he ground his ass back against Fred’s relentless cock.

“Oh, yeah, you like this. I know you like it when I show you who’s boss. You like it when I fuck you. Can’t help yourself. You little slut, begging for cock, aren’t you?”

With a yelp, Cyril came and collapsed against Fred. A soft chuckle in his ear made him relax. They were all right now.

“Come on, sweetie. I’ll get you to bed.” Sweet kisses trailed the skin on the side of Cyril’s neck. Once in bed, he let himself sink into warm embrace of Fred’s arms, feeling the tension dissipate. Usually, Fred would be in his best mood after getting to release his anger like that on Cyril. It was worth the sting in his rear to have a few harmonious days. And it was kind of hot to have a boyfriend who was jealous and couldn’t suppress his horniness. Cyril had almost convinced himself of this.

Cyril was brought back to the present by the slight jerk as the car stopped outside their house. Fred pushed the button to open the garage. He hadn’t said anything since they pulled away from the office. At least he wasn’t frowning. Cyril chose to take that as a good sign. Still, as they entered the subterranean garage, that familiar unease settled in the pit of Cyril’s stomach. Getting out of the public eye was not always a good thing for Fred’s self-control.

In the cramped space of the elevator, the tension mounted.

“I was thinking I could make us some soup. What do you think? It’s a bit chilly out and I just felt like it could do the trick.” Cyril knew he was babbling, but the words wouldn’t stop spilling out.

The frown was back on Fred’s face. It only increased the flow of inane utterings from Cyril’s mouth.

“Maybe we have some of that bread too? You know, the Italian kind with herbs…?”

The doors opened and not a word from Fred. Anger started to mix in with Cyril’s anxiety, even if he did his best to push it away. If he allowed himself to be angry, things could quickly spiral out of control. If Fred would just say something. Anything.

“I’m still annoyed you didn’t call me.”

Just not that. Anything but that.

“I had no phone!” The need to clear his name and make Fred understand he wasn’t at fault this time hijacked his brain. “How was I supposed to call if I had no phone? It wasn’t like I planned to be stuck in a tiny elevator, with a nosy and annoying coworker who wouldn’t leave me alone and badgered me with all his questions!”

When Cyril regained control over his mouth, he knew it was too late. He was never allowed to yell at Fred. Never. Stunned by his own stupidity, he simply stood there in front of his boyfriend, waiting for a reaction.

“Questions? What questions?”

“Nothing, just questions. I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Tell him about what?” It didn’t take Fred long to figure out just what the questions were about. “You don’t talk about us with anyone! How many times do I have to tell you that, you fucking idiot?”

He grabbed Cyril by the arms and squeezed hard. More bruises.

“I bet you’ve told him some of your pathetic lies to make him feel sorry for you, just so you can get him to fuck you out of pity. After all these years, you still don’t understand I’m the only one who can stand to be around you. Everyone else has given up on you. You don’t even have any friends, because you’re so pathetic.”

The stinging hurt inflicted by Fred’s words made him stupid.

“I don’t have friends because you drove them away with your jealousy!”

Fred’s eyes darkened, and Cyril knew what this meant. His body started shaking, and before he could stop himself, he had torn himself away from Fred and rushed into the nearest bathroom. After locking the door, Cyril collapsed with his back against the door.

“Get out here, you disgusting coward! Face me like a man. At least pretend to be one for once.”

The door shook from Fred pounding it hard. Cyril didn’t move. He couldn’t. He could hardly breathe.

“You know you can’t hide forever. The longer you stay in there, the more I’ll have to discipline you.”

That was true. He couldn’t stay in there for long. To run and hide was never a good idea, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Usually, he let Fred do as he wished since he knew it would be over sooner.

Wiping tears from his face, Cyril recalled the first time Fred got physical. His bruised eye had been very difficult to explain to the people at work. They kept asking him if he was all right and some even asked if he needed help. After a week of maintaining his stupid story of walking into a door, he simply quit that job, and Fred restricted his discipline to where it couldn’t be seen.

For some reason, Fred let him get another job. Perhaps he was feeling guilty after all. Who knew? This time, Cyril made sure to implement a “no friends at work” policy. It had gradually turned into a “don’t even speak to me” policy. He sometimes wanted to be less of a douche, but it was simply easier this way. Keeping people at a distance meant no need to explain anything.

Sitting with his back against the bathroom door, Stuart’s offer echoed in his head. It was madness to even think about getting help. He wanted to trust Stuart when he asked if Cyril needed help, but he couldn’t understand why the offer was made. It wasn’t as if they had spoken more than when necessary for work. Stuart had seen his bruises. There was no credible way to explain them, and he could tell Stuart knew. The idea made panic surge in him. No one could know. A surge of shame made his cheeks sting.

“Get out of there, you fucking coward! Talk to me like a man!” In angry frustration, Fred banged on the door with his fists. “I know it’s not really possible for a pathetic maggot like you, but you could pretend to be a man for once!”

The shouted words struck Cyril like blows across his face.

“You can’t even handle a simple disagreement. How the fuck can you stay employed? You must have fooled them completely, making them think you actually know anything worthwhile. They haven’t seen through you yet. It’s only a question of time and then you’ll be out of there. And who will be there to pick up the pieces? Not that you deserve it.”

More pounding. This time, the door seemed close to get knocked off its hinges.

“You always do this. Always! Fuck up and suddenly it’s all my fault. I bet you’re crying too. Ungrateful little bitch! Get out of there or I’m coming in! If I have to break this door, you will pay for it.”

Closing his eyes for a few moments, Cyril drew a deep breath. There was no putting this off any longer. He got up and opened the door. Fred stared at him in silence for a second. Then pain was all there was. Pain from the old but reopened injuries mixed with new hurt. Cyril let it happen, knowing he could do nothing. If he took it quietly, Fred calmed down quicker. It was only pain. He wouldn’t die or even get seriously wounded. Just a cracked rib at the most.

As intensely as it had started, as suddenly did it end. Cyril was laying on the floor, huddled in a tight ball to shield his stomach from punches. Everything turned silent. A slight rustle of clothes let him know Fred was kneeling next to him. A soft caress over his back made him twitch.

“Look what you made me do.” Fred kept petting him, long calming strokes. “That wasn’t so bad, huh? Let me get you to bed, baby. You look like you need to rest.”

Gingerly, Cyril got to his feet. He swayed for a few seconds, and Fred reached out to steady him.

“Come on. I think you should lie down.”

Together, they walked slowly to the bedroom. Cyril shuffled his feet, even though he knew Fred didn’t like that. The pain in his lower body was too intense to lift his feet, though. Luckily, his transgression didn’t matter at the moment.

Once in the bedroom, Fred gently helped him out of his clothes and tucked him in. Spooning him from behind, Fred peppered light kisses over his neck and shoulders. As usual, Cyril felt safe. No need to watch his step or guard his tongue. Fred would take a few days to recharge.

Cyril fell asleep exhausted after his turbulent day, the only cloud on his horizon was the knowledge he would quite possibly have to face Stuart at work tomorrow. In the middle of the night, he woke to a very horny boyfriend stroking him rhythmically. His body ached, and he tried to squirm out of Fred’s grasp.

“Don’t move.” As Fred pressed up against him, Cyril could feel a hard cock poking him. “I know what you want. Don’t you think I can feel you getting all hard?”

Cyril moaned involuntarily, as Fred pinched his nipples. After so long together, his boyfriend knew all his weak spots and how to turn him on. When Fred lowered his briefs and then entered him, Cyril was already panting. He wanted to break away, but his body wouldn’t let him. It wanted the release.

“Yeah, that’s it. Let me in. I’m gonna make you feel so good. Just like you want me to.”

Getting fucked in long, slow strokes, tension mounted in Cyril. He tried to speed things up, but all he got for his attempts was a firm squeeze around his cock making him wince.

“I decide when you get to come, you know that.”

Whimpering, Cyril could only lay still as Fred played his body like a well know instrument. After they both came, Fred instantly went back to sleep. Cyril lay awake next to his softly snoring boyfriend feeling that all too common blend of satisfaction and shame. Eventually, he drifted off.

In the office the next day, Cyril tried to stay in his room as much as possible. He thought he spotted Stuart as he passed a conference room, but he didn’t stop to make sure. His heart pounded, and he was afraid someone would ask him what was wrong. He didn’t need any more questions, not now.

After a few days, things were almost back to normal, meaning Cyril felt he could focus on his work without constantly thinking about bumping into Stuart. Then as he exited the copying room, he walked straight into someone and ended up dropping all his papers.

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

Cyril flinched when he heard the voice. Stuart.

“How are you doing…?” It was clear the question didn’t refer to their minor accident. The words were laced with compassion. Or more likely pity.

“Fine.” As fast as he could, Cyril gathered the papers and darted to the left in an attempt to round Stuart. A gentle hand to his arm stopped him short.

“Hey, I want you to know I meant what I said in there. If you need help, I’m here. Just ask.”

Cyril briefly looked up and met Stuart’s eyes. They were so full of compassion and understanding he couldn’t handle it. The sweetness of the man was beginning to undo him. His defenses were falling apart. All his carefully boxed in emotions threatened to break free. Unacceptable. Unthinkable.

“I already told you I don’t need any help.” Tearing himself away, Cyril hurried down the corridor.

Seeing Stuart at work on an almost daily basis at work rattled Cyril’s world. All he could think about was his colleague’s offer. Could there be a way out? As soon as the idea raised its head, Cyril pushed it down. Why would he want out? He had a perfect life, with a perfect boyfriend who gave him everything he could possibly want. No one else would ever be as generous to him. He didn’t even deserve what he already had.

Still, the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. It was as if Stuart’s presence picked at a sore that wouldn’t heal. Cyril found he couldn’t control his temper, and on one occasion, he even lost it bad enough to be lucky he only got a raised eyebrow from his supervisor. At home, he found it difficult to pretend nothing was wrong. It was clear Fred knew something was up, so Cyril made very sure to behave exemplary. For some reason, Fred needed an infraction to justify his disciplining. Without a reason, any physical correction would simply be a beating, and Fred didn’t view himself as an abuser. He was merely strict.

To find a way to process his thoughts, Cyril turned to his online journal. Since his late teens, he had a habit of writing short passages on an almost daily basis, but now he found himself writing more and more. All the pent-up confusion and sadness over his relationship poured out of him and onto the flickering screen. The journal became his only confidant, since he couldn’t tell anyone. No one could know. No one would understand. He found himself writing a lot about Stuart, as he tried to make sense of the battle between his need to trust and his fear of being revealed as a coward, a worthless, boring faggot that no one would love.

“Come watch a movie with me.” Fred appeared in the doorway to their bedroom, as usual not asking but demanding.

Startled, Cyril hurriedly closed his journal and flipped to his word processor. He had said he was working on a memo regarding a business case. Fred was suspicious, though. Working at home wasn’t a regular thing until recently, and Cyril hadn’t been able to make up a more credible story. Since he was very skilled at hiding open tabs on his laptop, Fred couldn’t outright accuse him of lying. In Fred’s warped mind, proof of a transgression was needed to make an accusation. Another way to deny his true nature.

The tension between them had been high for days and a storm was brewing. It was only a question of when and about what. Cyril could tell it would be a bad one. He did his best to put it off as he usually did but knew deep down it was inevitable. Fred was alternating between being caring and controlling, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on by tricking Cyril into talking.

He followed Fred to the den and sat down on the couch. Fred picked the movie, not even bothering to ask if Cyril was in the mood for something special. Nothing new there. After turning on some action flick, Fred settled down next to him. Close but not really touching. Cyril couldn’t concentrate on the screen. All he could do was analyze Fred’s mood. It seemed off tonight.

“You sit in there and tap away each night these days.” A hand snaked up Cyril’s spine and settled on his neck. “I’m beginning to think you should just quit. It’s not good for you to work so much.”

Cyril felt cold dread wrap around him so tight it became difficult to breathe. Not work? Being stuck in the house all day, only waiting for Fred to come home? It was suddenly clear to Cyril just how much his work meant to him. It was a sliver of freedom, a way out. Even if he was too scared to take it. The thought of losing it was almost unbearable. Thinking fast, he turned to Fred, all smiles and tilting his head just the way Fred liked it.

“It’s just this project. It’ll be over soon and then I won’t have to work as much. I promise.”

Fred eyed him, and he squirmed under the unrelenting gaze.

“We’re supposed to deliver at the end of the month.” For a moment, Cyril wondered how he would get time to write later on, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. He just had to get through each day in one piece, without pain.

Still not speaking, Fred let his hand slide towards Cyril’s chin. A thumb gently caressed his cheek. Cyril knew where they were headed and sat unmoving, anxiously waiting for Fred to make his next move. Grabbing Cyril by the waist of his jeans, Fred pulled him onto his lap. Cyril settled across him, legs spread and vulnerable. Deft hands unbuttoned his shirt and his jeans. With access granted, Fred wasted no time in getting him worked up and panting. Cyril flushed, feeling both aroused and ashamed. Pushing his hardening cock against Fred’s roaming hand, he moaned.

“I’ll set your priorities right. You’ll do as you’re told and you’ll like it.” Fred sounded slightly menacing, but Cyril was too far gone to care. He knew he had to give in to please Fred, but he wished he didn’t like it so much. Closing his eyes, he surrendered and felt almost grateful. There would be no pain that night.

His life continued to fray at the seams. With Fred getting progressively irritable and paranoid, Cyril escaped to his journal for longer periods of time, filling his entries with all the doubt, hurt, and, eventually, anger he felt. Underlining it all was his fear. What would happen if he did leave? Could he leave? Did he want to leave? Who was he if he wasn’t Fred’s boyfriend? A pathetic nobody doomed to be alone for the rest of his miserable life? Wasn’t that what Fred always said?

Seeing Stuart at work brought all his emotions to the surface in the one place he had always been in control. Cyril found it increasingly harder to remain his usual distanced self. Those sympathetic eyes saw right through him, and even without it being repeated, Cyril knew the offer was still valid. For some reason, it chafed to be in the same building. As if Stuart judged him for not accepting his help and leave. Logically, Cyril realized that wasn’t the case, but he still couldn’t get the idea from his head.

Walking into the house one evening, Cyril felt an almost physical longing for his writing. It was a need for him now, to make some order of all the thoughts whirling around in his head. A scary conclusion was building in his mind, but he wasn’t ready to accept it. Not yet.

Suddenly, his left foot slid out from under him and he tripped, hitting his left knee as he fell to the floor. Confused, he turned to see what brought him down. A bottle. An empty beer bottle rolling on the floor. Cyril froze. His senses came to full alert. The only time a bottle ever littered their home was when Fred was in one of his fouler moods.

The house was quiet, but Cyril noticed Fred’s work shoes were standing neatly by the coat hanger. So he hadn’t arrived home drunk. Something had happened while he was in the house. The realization made Cyril’s stomach clench. Damn. This was not good.

With trepidation, he slowly made his way up the stairs. There was still no sign of Fred. The living room was a mess of overthrown furniture and scattered cushions. In front of the fireplace, he saw the frame holding their favorite photo. It was broken, the glass shattered, and the photo crumbled. Cyril’s fear ratcheted another notch, but he couldn’t listen to the voice inside that said “Get out now!” Instead, he continued up the next set of stairs, driven by an unstoppable need to find out just how bad this was.

Upstairs was equally quiet. Cyril tried his best to move silently. Maybe Fred had passed out drunk?

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to figure it out?”

The slightly slurred words behind him startled Cyril. He turned and found himself opposite a red-faced and clearly pissed-off Fred. His usually calm and collected lover was disheveled with his hair in disarray and his shirt untucked. Deciding staying silent was the best policy, Cyril waited for what was to come. It wasn’t as if he could leave. Fred was blocking his escape route. Besides, Cyril doubted he could have moved even if he tried. Fear had him rooted to the floor.

“I knew you weren’t working. No one works that hard at a shitty job like yours. So, I decided to find out just what you were writing.” Fred swayed on his feet. “You’re so stupid, using your mother’s nickname for you as a password. Who is that much of an idiot?”

“I can explain…” The words sounded as hollow as they were, but Cyril didn’t know what else to say. If Fred had read his journal, he would kill him.

“Shut up, you little whore.” Fred was frighteningly angry and drunk as hell. Not a combination Cyril felt he could control. “I’ve worked my ass off for you. Given you everything, and you repay me by being a little shit behind my back!”

Fred took two wobbly steps towards him, and he retreated instinctively.

“You little maggot. Can’t even stand still when I’m talking to you.” Fred snorted. “Shouldn’t surprise me to read that crap. ‘He’s abusive. He’s hurting me. He doesn’t really love me.’ Can you blame me? When I have a boyfriend who doesn’t appreciate all I do for him?”

Moving surprisingly fast for a guy drunk out of his mind, Fred grabbed his arm and squeezed painfully hard. With his free hand, Fred slapped his face. Cyril tried to twist out of his grasp but ended up colliding with the wall. He had let himself get cornered by Fred. Fuck.

“Who is this Stuart guy? You letting him fuck you?” The questions were underlined by Fred shaking him so hard his head hit the wall. A few more slaps drove the message home. “You fucking slut! I’ll kill you!”

The stink of alcohol on Fred’s breath as he shouted the words made Cyril recoil, but there was nowhere to go. A fist punched him in the stomach and he doubled over, dropping to the floor on all fours. A swift kick to his side followed and then he lost count. The pain and fear shrunk his thoughts to only one: he had to get away. Now. But there was no escape. When Fred kicked him particularly hard in his back, he hit his head against the couch and blacked out.

When he came to, the room was silent. Cyril didn’t dare to move. He lay curled up on the living room floor and barely breathed. What had happened? Where was Fred? Had he left the house in anger?

After staying as still as possible and not moving for what felt like forever, Cyril heard a noise behind him. It was the distinct sound of snoring. Fred must have fallen asleep in his drunken state. Immediately, Cyril knew he had to take action. He had to get out of there.

He carefully unfurled himself and got up on his hands and knees. Glancing around the room, he spotted Fred passed out on the couch. Cyril shuddered at the sight of him. As fast as he could, he crawled into their bedroom and collected his laptop, his phone, and threw as many clothes as he could fit in his gym bag. He didn’t dare go fetch any larger suitcases, since he was afraid any possible noise would rouse Fred.

In the bathroom, he took his toothbrush, contacts, and other items. When he turned to head downstairs, the bag over his shoulder knocked over Fred’s aftershave bottle. It fell to the floor with a loud crash. Cyril froze and held his breath again.

“What the fuck?”

The mumbled words from the living room almost stopped his heart. Fuck. Fred had woken up. Cyril decided it was now or never. He had to risk it. Rushing out of the bathroom, he reached the stairs. He took the stairs as many steps at a time as he could without falling. He didn’t dare to look at Fred, but heard him shouting after him.

“Hey, you little fucker! Get back here! You piece of shit faggot!”

Cyril yanked his coat from the hanger and stepped into his shoes without tying them. The front door was locked, and he fumbled with getting it open. Behind him, he heard Fred coming downstairs, still unsteady and obviously drunk. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed a very angry Fred was closing in on him.

“I’m gonna teach you what happens to fucking idiots who think they can play me.”

Finally, the door opened and Cyril ran. He ran as fast as he could down the street. He heard Fred yelling, but with his heart pounding in his ears, he couldn’t hear what he was saying. Not that it took all that much imagination to figure out it wasn’t anything nice.

Cyril ran until his legs gave out, ignoring how every move made his chest ache. His ribs had really taken a beating. He collapsed by the side of the road. Exhausted, he cried from fear and hurt. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. Soon, he realized he had to go somewhere. If he stayed in the area, Fred would find him. That would be very bad.

Rising somewhat unsteadily to his feet, Cyril tried to get his frazzled brain to think. Where could he go? He had no one. No friends, no family. Fred had alienated him from everyone. Then one name came to mind. Had he been serious? Would he actually help? Then again, Cyril had nothing to lose. He might as well take a chance. After looking up the home address through the company intranet, he started walking. Waiting for a cab would leave him exposed for too long in this neighborhood, and Cyril felt a need to get moving. It wasn’t far, only about a thirty-minute walk. With each step, the anxiety grew in the pit of his stomach. Would he be turned away? Was he doomed to go back, go home to Fred? Cyril shivered at the thought.

With a shaking hand, he rang the doorbell. Stuart opened the door, his face going from neutral to surprised and then concerned in moments.

“Can I come in?” Cyril tried to keep his voice steady, but it cracked. He felt seconds away from cracking himself.

Stuart stared at him, and Cyril’s hope began to dwindle. Then the man moved to the side, pulling the door further open.

“Of course. Come in. You look terrible. I mean… You look cold. What happened?”

After grabbing Cyril’s bag and not really waiting for a reply, Stuart ushered him inside. A warm hand gently stroked his lower back. The welcoming touch, combined with the flood of relief at being safe somewhere at least for the moment, caused tears to well up and roll down Cyril’s cheeks.

“I meant what I said before.” Stuart patted him tentatively on the shoulder. “You can stay as long as you like.”

The hesitant words and awkward attempt at comforting brought more tears. Could it be true? Could he be free?