Love Starved (12 page)

Noticing a dried splash of blood on his knee was Micah’s breaking point. It sent him into a gasping, sobbing frenzy. A scalding hot shower and throwing the pants away calmed him somewhat, but even then, he still felt as if he was balancing on the edge of a belated breakdown.

If only he could talk to someone.

Claudia could be here in a heartbeat, he knew. One phone call and she would rush to him, offering comfort and support and a shoulder to cry on, should he need that. And it would help so much just to be able to talk about it—about how terrifying it had been, how his hands still shook and his heart raced because Angel could have
died
here, on his hands, and Micah had felt so completely, utterly
helpless
, unable to fix it. The weight was almost too much to bear.

But he had to bear it. There was no one he could tell without wading further into lies, without getting his family more involved when they already cared about Angel too much. He had to deal with this alone.

No one said he had to do it sober, though.

It was much easier to deal with blood when he was completely numbed by hard liquor. It didn’t feel real at all, just like a spooky, gory dream: spilling the coagulated blood and red-soaked tissues from the bowl, carrying it—clean but tainted with the memory forever—and the ruined rug out to the trash, scrubbing the floor in front of the couch until his hands hurt. None of this was real; his body worked, but he felt as though he was watching it from the sidelines, unattached and unconcerned. He turned off the music, cleaned up the spilled wine and put the glasses in the dishwasher. He straightened the table and the pillow and left the window open to get rid of the lingering scent of blood. Then he took another hot shower, downed yet another double shot of whiskey and fell into bed and deep, dreamless sleep.

Waking up with a wicked
headache was never good, but waking up with a wicked headache and remembering what caused it—or rather, what caused the drinking that caused the headache—made Micah want to dive back into blessed unconsciousness, hoping to wake up to a better, gentler reality. But he knew that wouldn’t happen. Besides, his stomach was rebelling, which only brought back more memories, which didn’t help anything.

It was not a good morning.

Micah was grateful for the foresight and stubbornness that had made him clean up so thoroughly last night. Not that it made the memories any less vivid, but at least no additional stomach-turning scent or visuals were added to the mix.

It took an hour before Micah felt ready to face the day, and when he did, he decided to stop by the hospital on his way to work. He couldn’t stop worrying about Angel; he would be too distracted to do anything productive until he saw him and made sure he was okay. Sure, they weren’t really together—hell, Micah hadn’t even known his real name until last night—but that didn’t matter. Whether it was because the guy almost died in his living room, or because of everything that had happened before that, he cared about Angel’s wellbeing. He wanted to know that he was okay, wanted to help if help was needed. There was a connection between them that might not be romantic, not even friendship, but it existed and it affected Micah more than he cared to admit.

Micah had cleared his morning schedule, expecting his time with Angel to go long into the night. So now he loaded up on coffee, bought a bouquet of gerbera daisies in the little flower shop down the street and followed the route he’d taken last night in such a hurry, right to the reception area, where another middle-aged nurse sat at the computer.

“I’m here to see Aiden Reeves.” Micah did his best to smile pleasantly. “Could you tell me which room he’s in, please?”

The nurse tapped some keys and shook her head. “I’m sorry sweetie, but Mr. Reeves isn’t accepting visitors.”

“What? But… I’m his boyfriend.” The lie fell off his lips way too easily. It was becoming a habit.

A flash of recognition ran over the woman’s face and she frowned at him. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Micah massaged his pounding temples. “Can you at least tell me how he is?”

She shook her head, her lips a hard thin line now. “Sorry. You’d have to ask to see his doctor to learn anything more, but unless you are family, you are not entitled to the patient’s medical information.”

There was no use arguing. Micah had a worrying suspicion that the story of Angel’s injured back had travelled around the ward. No matter what he said, he could only make matters worse.

“I understand. Could you get these to him, please?” He handed the flowers to the nurse before leaving, still keeping the polite smile glued to his face.

Well, at least he knew Angel was alive and lucid if he’d refused to have visitors. Micah would just have to contact him another way.

He took out his phone as soon as he got to the office and called Angel, but he wasn’t too surprised when the call went to voicemail. Hospital days were ruled by a different schedule than normal life, he knew. Besides, Angel might still be sleeping off last night’s events.

During the next eight hours, Micah called twice more and sent three text messages, all of which remained unanswered. On his way home a realization struck him: Angel probably didn’t have his phone. Unless he’d had it in his pocket when he was taken to the hospital, the device was likely in his bag, which was still sitting beside Micah’s couch.

Angel’s bag was open, the way Micah had left it. He didn’t intend to look inside, really—he just wanted to gather it up and drop it at the hospital the next morning. If Angel still didn’t want to see anyone, Micah would leave it with the nurses and maybe, if he was lucky, he could learn something more about how Angel was. But when he picked up the bag, the wide opening revealed something that made him pause.

A clear plastic package was visible, and the obviously phallic shapes within left very little doubt about its contents. Feeling more creepy and inappropriate than ever, Micah took out what turned out to be a simple cosmetic bag. Nestled inside were two black dildos—one thin and curved, with a different-sized “head” on each end, the other shaped like a particularly large penis, complete with veins along the shaft and testicles at the base. Next to them was what he assumed was an anal plug, deep green and surprisingly pretty, with a loop on the opposite end. A bottle of toy cleaner and two silicone rings completed the collection.

Was that what Angel meant by coming prepared? Because wow, if he did, then he was seriously overestimating Micah’s expectations. Or his experience. Micah had never owned a sex toy in his life. He’d had a vibrator used on him once upon a time, but the most sex-related purchase he’d ever made was personal lubricant, and he still blushed like a virgin every time he went out to buy that. That didn’t happen often—his solitary sex life was hardly a busy one. And then there was Angel, arriving prepared to do all kinds of sexual things that Micah never considered doing with him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Micah reached into the bag to see what else was there. Another, smaller plastic bag came out, this one containing a handful of little bottles with different kinds of lubricant and several strips of condoms, including some marked as XL. On the bottom of the messenger bag was a package of moist towelettes, a small black pouch that revealed a little silver vibrator, and a pair of black leather handcuffs, which froze Micah’s brain for a moment. A side pocket held a small stack of Angel’s business cards, just like the one Daphne had given Micah forever ago, and a large, almost-empty bottle of ibuprofen.

That was all. No phone, no keys, no other personal belongings.

Micah couldn’t take that bag to the hospital.

If Angel still refused to see him—and he had no reason to think that may have changed—he’d have to leave the bag with the nurses, asking them to pass it to their patient. If, by any chance, anyone caught a glimpse of the contents… well, Micah would probably never show his face at that particular hospital again. But worse than that, Angel’s private life would be under scrutiny—his profession might be revealed. And although Angel had never shown any sign of being ashamed of what he did for a living, and Micah didn’t know how secretive he was about it, he was sure that people would judge him, and judge him harshly. Whether or not that could affect the quality of care he received, Micah wasn’t willing to risk it. Being in the hospital, sick and vulnerable, was enough for Angel to deal with without additional drama.

Micah would just keep Angel’s things for him until the next time they met. There wasn’t anything in there that Angel would need right now, anyway.

The bag repacked, closed and safely hidden away in the closet, Micah grabbed his phone and sent another text message to let Angel know his belongings were safe and waiting for him. Again, there was no answer.

A morning phone call to the hospital confirmed that their patient still didn’t want visitors, and they still couldn’t tell him much about how he was, so Micah did what he did best: buried himself in work. Periodical re-testing of the long-time clients’ networks was usually the twins’ job, but it was just tedious enough to require his full focus. And when he discovered a major problem with one of them that took him and the company’s IT department late into the night and most of Thursday to fix, it seemed like exactly what he needed. Something normal, familiar and practiced, and in no way life-threatening.

Friday Micah called the hospital again. He hadn’t heard from Angel since that horrible Monday, and Claudia wanted to meet him or, preferably, them for lunch next week. Micah would find it much easier to talk about their fake break-up if his heart wasn’t in his throat with worry over Angel’s health.

Maybe if the hospital wasn’t treating him like an abusive boyfriend, he’d be able to learn more.

“Hello,” he said when the call was picked up, lowering his voice just in case someone remembered his previous calls. “I’ve just learned that my friend has been hospitalized. Would you be able to tell me where I should go to see him and what the visiting hours are?”

“Of course,” the young, upbeat voice in the receiver said. “What’s your friend’s name, sir?”

“Aiden Reeves.”

“Just a moment.” There was a pause and a soft sound of typing, then the woman spoke again. “Actually, Mr. Reeves was released this morning, so I suggest giving him a call and visiting him at home.” Micah heard a smile in her voice, as if it pleased her to deliver the good news.

“Oh. Already?” he said, stunned, and then caught himself. “That’s great. Thank you very much. Have a good day.”

“You too, sir.”

Micah put down the phone and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Angel was fine. He was home. Now he would finally contact him, and Micah would be able to stop worrying and go on with his life.

Five days, a dozen calls,
and two unanswered emails later, Micah was frustrated. He had so many things to do—things he hadn’t been able to focus on properly because of his lingering worry about Angel.

On Wednesday, he put Angel’s bag in the trunk of his car as he was leaving for work and that evening he parked in front of a dilapidated apartment building, the address of which he remembered from Angel’s driver’s license. Or he hoped he remembered it because it definitely didn’t look like a place someone making at least a thousand dollars a night would ever choose to live in.

The area was less than stellar, and the building clearly offered cheap, basic accommodation for those who couldn’t afford to care about its neglected state. Micah knew the type—he’d lived in one just like this with Daphne. Lots of students did.

Perhaps Angel had moved but hadn’t bothered to get new documents? Micah really hoped that wasn’t the case. He just wanted to drop off the bag and be over with it.

There was no elevator, so Micah ran up the dusty stairs to the third floor and knocked on the green-painted door with no name or apartment number on it. When it opened a moment later, it was to reveal the very man Micah was hoping to see, alive and looking quite taken aback when he realized who stood at his doorstep.

Angel wasn’t nearly as pale as the last time Micah had seen him, but he still didn’t look well; a gray tinge substituted for his usual healthy glow. His black yoga pants and T-shirt hung loose on him, their color only highlighting the thinness of his body. He looked as if he’d been through hell and back, and Micah’s annoyance evaporated in a blink.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve been trying to catch you.”

“Looks like you just did.” Angel frowned and crossed his arms. “How did you find me?”

“Your driver’s license. I needed to know your real name when the ambulance came, so I took a look.”

“Oh.” Angel looked down and away. “Listen, I know I still owe you that night. And I will deliver, I promise, I just—”

Micah’s eyebrows shot up. “You think that’s why I’ve been trying to contact you?”

Angel glanced up at him, and then down again. He looked so different from the confident, vibrant man whom Micah had learned to know these past few months that his heart ached.

“No, you’re right. I’m sure you’re too grossed out to consider it now. I’ll transfer the money back to you. Just give me a few days, okay?”

“Hey. I’m not grossed out and I didn’t come here to ask about the damn money or the sex.” Micah snapped. “I just wanted to know how you are, Angel! Last time I saw you, you were unconscious on my floor after throwing up tons of blood. I sat in that damn waiting room for two hours waiting to hear anything. I played the kinky boyfriend to explain your bloody back; I let people in the hospital look at me like I was a fucking abusive husband, and you think it’s about the money? Didn’t you think I might worry about you? Would it hurt you to send one stupid message to let me know you are fine?”

He was breathless when he finished, his flash of anger gone as fast as it had come. Angel was looking at him with wide, incredulous eyes.

“You went to the hospital with me?” he asked quietly.

“I followed behind. They didn’t let me go with you. But yes. I waited. I
worried
, Angel. Not that they told me anything, except for ‘He’ll be fine.’ I tried to see you the next day, too.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I was told you didn’t want visitors. Didn’t you get the flowers?”

“I did. Thank you. But… I didn’t know you wanted to see me. I thought you dropped by to ask when I’d be out or something and you didn’t care to visit. I never told them to turn down visitors.”

Micah frowned. “Huh. Looks like they decided for you then?”

Angel stared at him in silence, long enough that it became unsettling. Micah nervously fingered the strap of the bag, remembering the official reason for coming here.

“Oh, and you left this at my place.” He slid the bag off his shoulder and passed it to Angel.

Angel uncrossed his arms to take it, and that seemed to break the spell. He opened the door wider and stepped aside.

“Come in. Sorry for the mess.”

The apartment was small—a tiny bedroom attached to a cramped living room with a kitchen annex—but it was bright and cozy despite the bare pipes running overhead. The double bed visible through the open doorway was unmade and there were a few dishes in the sink, but it was hardly a mess. Angel led Micah to a worn-out green couch tucked under the window; a plushy cream-colored blanket was thrown carelessly over the armrest.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee?” Micah asked hopefully, sitting down. His head, which had been aching slightly for hours, was beginning to throb.

“Sure.” Angel moved to the kitchenette and pulled out a small Italian coffee maker and a bottle of milk. “Latte?”

“Please.”

They didn’t talk as the coffee bubbled on the stove. Angel seemed focused on the meticulous process of heating the milk and frothing it with a handheld device, so Micah busied himself looking around the room. Nothing betrayed Angel’s profession. Not that he expected sex toys on display or porn magazines lying around, but this was a room that could have belonged to Micah’s college self if it weren’t for the lack of a high-end computer station.