Identity Check Chapter 18

Identity Check

Chapter 18

"Colin?" Phil stared at Patrick across the snack bar table at work. He leaned across and kept his voice down. "Colin kissed you?" He shook his head, disbelief sketched broadly across his face. "No way! He's never registered so much as a blip on the scope. He's straight with a capital everything."

"Well, apparently not. I guess we have to at least put him in the category of bi-curious."

Phil snorted. "Or we put him in the category of very pissed up straight boy. You didn't...?"

"Of course not."

"Well, that's probably for the best." Phil sat back and sipped his coffee. "What did he say about it in the morning?"

"He claims not to remember anything about the whole evening."

"Ha! I'll bet." He chuckled. "Selective memory. Straight guys are very good at that. So, did you say anything?"

"No. I got the message. It's okay with me. I shouldn't have been kissing him in the first place. David was already in a huff with me. I mean I think he was, unless he really did just have a headache on Saturday. He was fine when I saw him yesterday and he'd have said something if there was a problem, wouldn't he?"

"How the hell would I know?" Phil said, frowning. "He's your boyfriend, not mine."

"Well, yeah. But you've been on the scene longer than me. You know more about men than I do."

"So? Do you think that means I have all the answers?"

"You usually have pretty good advice," Patrick said, with a weak smile, trying to mollify him, hearing irritation in his voice wondering what he'd said to bring that on.

"Yeah, well, I'm running out of good advice. Tend to get short of it when I have to listen to you boasting about your sex life all fucking day long."

A look of horror crossed his face the moment the words were out and Patrick guessed his own expression mirrored that look.

"I... I'm sorry." Phil shook his head. "Christ, I'm sorry, Patrick. Shit, I'd better go."

He jumped up, leaving his unfinished coffee on the table. Patrick stared after him, then jumped up and followed. He assumed Phil was heading back to the office, but instead he strode through reception and out of the door. Patrick checked his watch. Fifteen minutes more of their lunch hour. Maybe some fresh air is just the thing. When he got outside he ran and caught Phil's arm, making him stop. Phil didn't look at him.

"Want to walk with me?" Patrick asked. Silence for a moment, still not turning to look at Patrick, but then Phil gave a quick nod and they walked off together, falling into stride. "You okay?" Patrick said quietly.

"Mum's not doing so good." Phil didn't elaborate, but that explained his bad mood and the dark circles under his eyes.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"There's nothing anyone can do." He barked a harsh laugh. "Do you know, I sometimes wish that she had something different. Something that I could actually do something about. Give her a kidney, or bone marrow, or a lung. Whatever it takes. But there's nothing I can do for her."

"Phil, you do everything you can to make her life better."

"Better doesn't mean longer." His voice choked off.

Patrick slipped his arm through Phil's, making Phil look at the arm and then at Patrick's face, incredulous.

"We're not in the Triangle now, you know."

"I don't care." Patrick kept a firm hold of Phil's arm as they walked on. A couple of people gave them surprised or sneering looks, but Patrick decided he was telling the truth - he didn't care. Phil needed this support now.

"I'm sorry, Phil. I whine about my stupid problems and I don't know I'm born do I?"

"It's okay," Phil said. "If they're hard for you, then they're hard. Just because someone else has it tougher doesn't make your problems go away. It's just... it's hard for me, Patrick, to listen to you talk about your... love life."

Patrick frowned at that, not quite understanding. Phil could hardly be embarrassed, could he?

"What do you mean?"

Phil shook his head and laughed, an awkward edge to the sound. "Well, some of us don't have several gorgeous blokes on a string, you know."

"You can't say that you're jealous, because I wouldn't believe you. You don't even want a string of guys after you, do you?"

"I don't?"

"No. You're looking for Mr Right. Not just Mr Right-Now."

Phil stared at Patrick, as if he'd never seen him before. "You... you can tell that and yet you can't..." He shook his head looking exasperated and pulled his arm away from Patrick's. "Come on, we'd better head back."

"I can't what?" Patrick said, but Phil just shook his head again and wouldn't explain.

They walked back in silence, Patrick's mind wandering to David again. Perhaps tonight he should ask him flat out if he'd had some kind of problem at the party night. Maybe Patrick didn't want to hear about it, but maybe he needed to.

He couldn't just walk around oblivious to what others were thinking.

When Patrick arrived at David's flat that evening, David opened the door wearing only black jeans and no shirt. Patrick grinned, pleased with the sight.

"Well, hello. Don't tell me you started without me." He walked in, slipped out of his denim jacket, and hung it up. David hadn't said anything yet, just watched his every move. Patrick liked that intense scrutiny, got the feeling they were in for an energetic evening.

Smiling, he strolled over to David, taking his time, shaking out his hair as he went. Reaching him, he slid his arms around David's waist, some fingers running over denim, some over the stiff leather belt and his thumbs over warm, firm skin. David ran his hands up Patrick's arms, his large hands circling the biceps, thumbs stroking the cloth of the shirt, sending a frisson through Patrick as it rubbed on his skin. David smiled and spoke softly.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"What-?"

David grabbed the arms he'd been caressing a second ago and shoved Patrick, sending him stumbling backwards to slam into the wall. Patrick cried out at sudden, shocking pain as his back and head hit the plaster.

"David! What the hell -"

"Did you think I wouldn't find out about your whoring around? Did you?" His face twisted and flushed as he yelled into Patrick's face, shaking him, making his head bounce off the wall again. "Your fucking ex! Who else? Who else?"

No! Oh fuck, no! He knows. He knows about Easter. About Simon. How can he know?

"David, please listen." He wanted to calm David, but his own voice shook too much with emotion to be effective at that. "David, I'm sorry. Please believe me. It was only..." Once? Not quite. "That... that weekend you were away."

"I know when it was! How many times has he fucked you since then?"

"I haven't seen him since, I swear. He hasn't even called me. Check my phone if you like." He dug in his pocket, found the phone and held it up.

David took the phone as if he did in fact intend to examine its call logs. But instead he hurled it across the room. It hit the floor and skittered across the hardwood, in a couple of pieces.

Patrick stared after the phone, unable to believe what he'd just seen. He looked back at David, into his eyes. At that instant he knew he had more at stake here than the future of this relationship.

The relationship was over. The question now was if he'd get out of here alive.

"David, please let me go." He whispered it quietly, like a man trying to avoid triggering an avalanche. But this attempt at calming didn't work either. Too fast for Patrick to react, David grabbed his shirt front with one hand and with the other, back-handed him across the face. Blood from Patrick's nose and lip sprayed on David's chest and arms and Patrick understood why he hadn't worn a shirt. He'd planned this. This wasn't just hot, jealous rage. This was punishment - planned and thought about.

"Let me go!"

He screamed it this time, right into David's face, startling him enough that Patrick could shove him away and break his grip. But David recovered and caught Patrick's arm, swinging him around and punching him in the gut, letting him go as he fell. Patrick tried to scramble up, slipping on the polished hardwood floor, but David landed a kick to his side before he could, making him cry out and drop flat again.

Roll! His instincts told him, as David's foot slammed into his side again. He rolled away, but a sofa stopped him short and David pounced, grabbing his hair to pull him up. Patrick howled at the pain.

This couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare, surely. A nightmare he needed to escape from before David killed him. He was stronger than Patrick and that strength that had once been so attractive now became a source of terror.

"Who else?" David screamed, backhanding him again. "The Jew? Sob-story?"

"Nobody! I swear!"

"What about your house mates? Even straight boys like blow jobs, don't they?"

"What?" Outrage surged in him overwhelming the guilt he should feel about kissing Colin. "Nick's my cousin!"

"Like that would stop a whore like you."

"I am not a whore!"

David's foot slammed into his side again as he let go of Patrick's hair, letting him drop to the floor again.

"You made a promise to me and you broke it," David said, his voice almost a snarl. "Nobody betrays me and gets away with it. You belong to me, Dream Boy. I fucking named you!"

What the hell was he talking about? What if he really was out of his mind? The thought led to instant action, his shock-induced paralysis gone, replaced by pure survival instinct. As David's foot came at him again, Patrick grabbed it and shoved upwards and away. Knocked off balance, David hopped and then slipped and crashed to the floor. But he lay between Patrick and the door and he was already struggling up.

Patrick got up too and it was a bigger struggle. He couldn't straighten up, holding his bruised midriff. His head spun from slamming into the wall and just from the shock and horror. He slipped and his knee crashed to the floor. Up, up! His instincts told him he'd die on the floor. Get up! Get up!

David got back to his feet first, his face distorted with rage.

"How dare you!" He roared. "How dare you fight me! This is what you deserve, and you know it!" He grabbed Patrick's hair, forcing his head back. When he spoke, staring into Patrick's eyes, his voice was quieter, almost sorrowful. "Patrick, I'm sorry I have to teach you such a harsh lesson, but how else can I show you what you mean to me?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Patrick spat.

"Take the punishment you deserve and then we'll say no more about it. If you ever feel tempted by another man, you'll remember this and then you'll keep your promise. If you're a good boy, then this never has to happen again."

Patrick's skin crawled. David believed what he was saying. He really believed it. Patrick had to get far, far away from this... this lunatic. How could he have been such a fool not to see what was inside David?

"I'm almost done, I promise. Then we'll go to bed." He smiled, his familiar sexy and suddenly terrible smile. "Nothing like make-up sex is there?" He winked and Patrick thought he would throw up.

Eyes drawn there, Patrick saw the bulge in David's crotch. The beating had aroused him. Having Patrick's blood smeared on his skin had aroused him. He knew what that meant would happen next, and he wasn't waiting around to be raped by his own boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

His fist rammed hard into David's crotch. Yes, that definitely made him an ex-boyfriend now. Not much of a swing possible in the confined space between their bodies, so he made it a straight armed blow, bodyweight, rather than momentum giving it power. David screamed in pain and staggered backwards. He didn't let go of Patrick's hair and Patrick yelled as a clump tore out. After a few steps, David crashed to the floor.

This time David didn't get right back up. He curled up moaning. Patrick staggered to his feet, forcing himself to straighten up, despite the pain and dizziness. He looked around wildly and spotted his phone lying under the coffee table. He scooped that up and, adrenaline dulling the pain, ran for the door. David was half sitting up now, cradling himself, pale and shaking.

"Pat, please stay," he pleaded and wore a devastated expression, as if he'd been the one so horribly mistreated. "We can talk this out."

"Fuck you!" Patrick's voice shook so hard he could barely get the words out. "Don't ever come near me again, David! I'll kill you, I swear."

His own anger surged, demanding he take revenge. But his instincts were still telling him to get out, so he kept running, grabbed his jacket and ran out of the door, ran from the building. Didn't stop running until he ran all the way along the Quayside, to the foot of the steep street up to the centre of town.

That's where his legs gave out and he dropped.

Index