Page 12 of Inferno
Undressing, I fold my dirty clothes into the laundry bag and take a quick, surprisingly warm shower, then get dressed into a clean pair of fleece pajamas. Turning on the hotplate, I make ramen in a pan and wish for the thousandth time that I had a microwave.
Taking my bowl to the bed, I climb beneath the covers and open up YouTube, scrolling until I find a clip of the firefighter show I love. There are never full episodes, but there are always videos of the best bits, and I sigh happily as the team rushes into a burning building to save a kid.
When my ramen is gone, I wash the pan and my dish in my tiny sink and put everything back into the cabinet, then grab a glass of water and climb back into bed. When I turn off my cell, I close my eyes and don’t even try to fight the dreams that I already know will come.
Just like the day before, I wake up coated in sweat and hard as a rock. My dreams weren’t as vivid as the previous night, but even the bits and pieces I can recall make my dick drip precum as I remember them.
Anders’s fingers in my hair, pushing my lips down onto his cock and guiding my movements as he calls me his good boy anddemands I swallow everything he gives me. Anders pounding into me, with my face in the mattress, my ass high in the air.
Anders holding me to him, my cheek pressed against his beating heart.
Anders, Anders, Anders.
The pictures my subconscious has created are fuzzy and blurred at the edges. But even though I’m now awake, I can still remember the way it felt to have his hands on me and the comfort and security I felt in his arms.
My fingers itch with the need to push my hand into my pants and fist my dick, but I clamp down the urge, determined not to indulge my fantasy any more than I have to. I can’t stop myself from dreaming about him, but I can stop myself from jerking off over a man that I might have to see again in real life.
Stripping, I take another shower, not bothering to try to get warm water and instead using the torrent of freezing cold liquid to sluice the desire from my body. One of the foster families I lived with insisted that all of the boys take a cold shower every morning to “purge the devil from our bodies.” And although that family was crazy, a cold shower is an effective cure for morning wood.
Once I’m clean, I get dressed in black jeans and a white T-shirt with a plaid flannel shirt over the top. Making myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I sigh wistfully when I remember I ate my last apple yesterday, then grab my bag and rush out the door to catch my bus to work.
Once I’m on the sidewalk, I hoist my backpack onto my shoulders and inhale sharply. The crisp morning air is cold but refreshing, and by the time I climb onto my bus to Rockhead Point, I’m feeling calm and almost centered.
The rest of the day passes just like every other day did before I met Anders. I eat my lunch alone at my desk, the same way I’ve done since I started working at the garage, and even though it’sfine and normal, I realize I hate it. When six p.m. rolls around, Parker and I leave together, but I’m not brave enough to invite her to dinner, and she tells me goodbye and heads to her car.
A part of me wishes I’d asked her to get a drink, or hang out, or do something that friends do together, but fear of rejection, worry about money, and the possibility that I might see Anders again kept me silent.
I get to work a few minutes early the next day, and I’m just settling into my desk when the door from the shop opens, and Parker steps inside.
“Morning,” she says, her eyes red, her posture tense.
“Good morning,” I say, running my gaze over her to check for some obvious cause of distress. “What happened?”
“I didn’t sleep very well,” she says, forcing a smile to her trembling lips.
Inhaling sharply, my mind runs through all of the awful things that could have happened to her, but I don’t ask, because my messed-up history isn’t hers. “You’re not a good liar,” I tell her, trying and probably failing to hide my concern.
“Fine, I didn’t sleep at all,” she confesses.
This has to be about Danny, and my mind instantly jumps to the worst possible conclusion. “What did he do?”
“Who?”
“Danny. What did he do? Did he hurt you?”
Her eyes go wide and slightly horrified. “What? God, no, nothing like that,” she rushes to assure me.
My whole body sags with relief. “Oh, thank God,” I blurt, so glad that my fucked-up past isn’t my new friends present. “So, if he didn’t hurt you, what did he do?”
“Nothing. I should get to work,” she says, avoiding answering my question.
Pushing out of my chair, I round my desk and cautiously pull her in for a hug. I have no idea if this is the right thing to do,but in my worst moments, I know a hug would have made me feel better. “I know we just met, but I’m here for you,” I whisper against her ear.
Without even a moment’s pause, Parker lifts her arms and hugs me back, holding me so tightly it hurts. But I don’t ask her to stop, because this is the best hug of my life.
“Oh, honey,” I coo, tightening my own grip, until the office shrinks to just me and my new friend, and the comfort we’re offering each other. I don’t know if this means to her what it means to me, but I feel like this just cemented something between us. We’re friends, actual friends who care for the other and want them to be happy and okay. I’m not sure I’ve ever had that, and I’m once again overwhelmingly grateful that this girl has come into my life.
“Is everything okay?” Penn asks.
