Adrienne Wilder Darwin's Theory 1 Pain

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Atlantic Bridge

www.atlanticbridge.net

First published in 2011

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Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

CONTENTS

Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five

* * * *

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge

Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana.
Copyright 2011, Adrienne Wilder. All rights reserved. No part
of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the
prior written permission of the authors.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and

dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are
not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events
or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Blurb

My name is Darwin De Groi, and I'm in love with Peter

Forbes. But Pete has this dream of becoming a metaphysical
scientist and that means all his time—his attention—is taken
up by college and studying. So in order to deal with the pain
of watching Peter and never having him I spend most of my
time in the Gray Zone, the no-man's-land between the city of
Atlanta and the Dens. There I'm free to drown myself; with
drugs, with booze...

With the inhuman.
Lesser-Breds. Kin hybrids. The offspring of Humans and

Dragons.

But then an act of revenge led to a stupid college prank,

which put Peter right into my arms.

A better man would make the right decision and tell Pete

no.

I am so not that man.

Dedication

This series is dedicated to my beta readers and very good

friends Linda, Racheal, and Larry.

And my Special Agent beta readers:
Karen Mullian and Ann Olson
Who are not afraid to kick my ass and stab me between

the eyes with a red pen.

In no particular order.

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by Adrienne Wilder

Last but not least, the author who gave me the courage to

write Darwin as he was meant to be written. Jordan Castillo
Price, you may not know me, but your bravery and creativity
as a writer gave me the brass cojones to create without
restraint.

Thank you.
Last but not least, my mother. I love you.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Chapter One

I think I was stoned or drunk. Hell, maybe I was both.

Inebriation, either legal or illegal, is simply a way of life for
me. Well that and spending every waking hour that I didn't
have to be in class in the Gray Zone with Lesser-Breds: the
metaphysical bastard descendants of Kin and Humans. They
aren't quiet as dangerous as full-blooded dragons. Not like I'd
care if they were.

'Cause in my book, getting laid was getting laid.
See, the drugs, the booze, the sex, it kills the pain. A deep

empty ache that set up in my chest somewhere around the
age of fourteen. I'm pretty sure by the time I hit twenty I'd
tried just about every chemical combination possible to ease
it. Even with my expertise in self-medication, self-indulgence,
self-pleasure, I've yet to figure out how to fill it up or snuff it
out. And believe me, I tried. Every. Fucking. Day. Never
worked. And yet, my perpetual failures hadn't slowed me
down.

What is it they say about insanity? It's doing the same

thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Or maybe that's scientific theory. Whatever. Who cares? I

was fucked up, and as far as I was concerned the goddamned
planet could catch fire and burn away. Might even be an
improvement, come to think of it.

With my face smashed against the cafeteria table, it was

hard to tell if the person talking was talking to me or
someone else.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

"Darwin..."
Oops, my name, so that meant me. Which sucked,

because that meant I had to pay attention. Normally, I
ignored people who bothered me while I was recovering from
an all-nighter. But going by the voice it was Shelly, Peter's
friend, and that meant I had to at least act remotely human.

"What?" Against the table my voice was muffled.
"Aren't you gonna eat something?"
A smooth flat surface prodded my arm; I smelled eggs,

and toast, and bacon. It smelled good, no doubt, but it wasn't
what I wanted.

"No thanks."
"Jesus, Darwin, you need to eat."
I picked up my head and gave Shelly my best go-to-hell-

glare. It's way more effective when I'm not drunk, or stoned,
or ... fuck it.

"Chocolate."
"What?" Shelly propped a fist on her hip which promptly

shot out a ninety degree angle. I think she liked me. Scratch
that, she liked me enough to sleep with me if I were to ever
put the moves on her, just not enough to put me out if I was
on fire.

But she was Peter's friend and that meant she was off

limits.

"I said I want chocolate." I pushed the tray away. It

contained the standard Georgia Tech breakfast cuisine decked
out on an ugly yellow plastic square in an equally tacky
Styrofoam plate complete with a Christmas tree motif.

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by Adrienne Wilder

Hey, it was September. I guess Tech was getting a head

start.

"You don't need chocolate. You need to eat some real food.

Peter worries about you. He says you don't get enough
protein." She huffed and tossed back her hair. Cut in a bob,
there wasn't a whole lot to shoulder, but she'd only started
wearing it like that this year so I guess old habits died hard.
"Trust me, the only reason I bought you this was for him."

Shelly shoved the tray under my nose, which put the cuff

of my duster smack in the middle of the eggs. I made an
angry sound and sat the rest of the way up. Before I could
squeeze off a fuck-you, Shelly stuck a spoon in my hand, and
Terry Sherman and her boyfriend Danny Bowman walked up.
They had trays, too. Terry's contained two plastic bowls of
Fruit Loops, and Danny had a small mountain of Hostess
goodness.

"Trade you." I tried not to eyeball the cupcake on the edge

of Danny's tray too hard. He didn't like me either, and unlike
Terry and Shelly, Danny was rude enough to be blunt about
it.

"Buzz off, asshole ... you've got food."
Yeah, but it was nutritious. I didn't want nutritious. I

wanted fattening with lots of sugar and cholesterol, so I could
be sure my miserable existence on this good-for-nothing ball
of dirt was as short and deliciously tasty as possible.

And since Danny already hated me...
I snagged the cupcake and ripped it open. Danny barked

out a protest and made a grab for the thing. Much to his
disappointment, I slobbered my tongue across the top,

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by Adrienne Wilder

turning the dusty brown icing cap into a glistening, melty
mess.

Mmmm, it was good. "I'm sorry ... did you want this?" I

held it out and Danny recoiled. Which of course made me
shove it all that much closer.

"That's gross, D. Keep it."
Yeah, gross. Something told me that Danny-boy had no

idea what gross really was. I ate the cupcake while Shelly and
Terry glared at me.

Fuck 'em, I didn't owe them anything. Hell, I didn't even

like them. Nope, only two people were on my friend list, and
that was Peter and myself. And I trusted Peter way more than
I could ever trust good ole' me.

While they stirred up a conversation, I worked at licking

the icing off my chocolate goody. I didn't listen to what they
were talking about, not really. It didn't concern me. I only sat
here because Peter sat here. Peter Forbes, my best friend,
the love of my life, my soul mate...

Speaking of... I glanced at the clock. Pete was late. He had

a ten o'clock metaphysics class with me, then we had
American lit, after that I think it was calculus. Might have
been trig. Honestly, I usually slept during that time so it could
have been advanced knitting techniques for all I knew. Hell,
the only reason I was enrolled in this shithole university was
because Peter was here.

See, Peter has a dream. He wants to be a metaphysicist.

Why? I don't have a clue. But the idea of science that breaks
all the rules of physics intrigues him. Unfortunately, unlike
things that belong to the physical world, metaphysics isn't

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by Adrienne Wilder

very predictable. Which makes understanding how it works
almost impossible. That means a person not only has to have
brains, but they have to have that uncanny ability to know.

And my Peter? Well he has that and so much more.
Peter, smart and sexy. If he only knew.
Behind me chairs scraped against the floors, and tables

were moved around as the fulltime frat boys filled up their
usual spot, laughing loud and sounding a lot like the
jackasses they usually were. All we needed now were a few
chickens and a cow and we'd have a regular Old MacDonald's
farm.

Although, I had to admit, today they seemed to be

unusually loud. Unusually annoying. I guess everyone has to
have a goal in life.

I glanced over my shoulder while swirling my tongue

against the remnants of chocolate icing. When I hit the
spongy cake I drilled it, collecting white creme filling and bits
of chocolate cake on the tip of my barbell. A couple of them
glanced my way with fuck-you stares, and I made a show of
flipping the end of my creme-covered tongue.

No doubt, there isn't a grain of love lost between me and

the majority of the guys who tossed the pigskin. Not because
I was jealous or anything like that, but because of Peter. See,
Peter has morals. Big ones. As high as the goddamned Empire
State building. Maybe even bigger. Yeah, definitely bigger.
Last month, when a bunch of those assholes tried to buy their
term papers from him, he turned them in.

Personally? I would have just taken the money, printed off

some overused internet version, made sure they got caught,

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

then bought something nice and fancy to wave in their faces.
But not Peter. Oh no, he just had to do the right thing.

And the frat boys, being who they are, of course, had to

make a few threats, push Peter into a locker or two, corner
him in an alley, rough him up and threaten to break various
limbs on his perfect body. As if that wasn't enough, they put
a dead cat in his locker. A three-day-dead cat in his locker.

Yeah, after that sick little stunt, it was all-out war.
Being the friend that I am to Peter, gentle Peter, kind

Peter, not-a-mean-bone-in-his-body Peter, I evened the
playing field by setting their fancy cars on fire.

Who would have ever known basic Chemistry 101 would

actually have some real-life applications to it?

Mark Tolbert took the loss of his shiny new Camaro

especially hard. Of course, his insurance refused to make the
payoff so that was probably why.

Oops.
I actually felt a little guilty for that one—for about two

seconds—then I remembered how Peter looked after that
asshole gave him a black eye and a busted lip because he
wouldn't recant his story to the Dean.

A wave of laughter rolled up from the circle jerks while

they gathered around a cell phone Tolbert had in one of his
gorilla-like hands. With the way the screen flashed and how
they kept yucking it up, I assumed they were playing a video
of their latest and greatest conquest. Or maybe comparing
the technique of dropping cherries into an empty beer bottle
with their ass cheeks.

I sucked a wad of chocolate off my thumb.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

"D..."
I looked at Shelly. "Yeah?"
"Your cell is ringing."
Oh. Yeah. I guess it was. And here I thought someone was

just playing Manson really loud and it was leaking out of their
ear buds. I crammed a hand into the pocket of my duster,
shoved my way past a pen, a piece of paper, a few joints, and
last but not least, a collection of empty condom wrappers

Found it.
I pulled it out and actually managed not to litter the floor

with Trojans.

I peered at the thing. It wasn't a phone call but a data

message. I squinted at the screen trying to place the number
and couldn't. Then three more phones went off. Terry's,
Danny's, and Shelly's. The girls had cute little ring tones.
Danny, however, hadn't integrated into the world of
personalized sound and his was an electronic version of a
landline. Knowing him, it was probably the only sound he felt
wasn't a direct threat to his manliness.

"I take it everyone here is looking at a six-seven-eight

area code?" I glanced up, and they were all doing some sort
of nod while flipping open their phones. I followed suit. I was
expecting to see a party advertisement, you know, one of
those flash notices about a rave being held at an empty house
or an abandoned building, but instead of a text message it
was a video. And damn it, I couldn't see it. Unlike everyone
around me, my phone was old, cheap, and technologically
challenged. Not to mention I'd dropped it in the toilet two
nights ago, and the screen hasn't worked right since.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Piece of shit.
I looked over Shelly's shoulder. Danny joined me.

Apparently he couldn't see it on his phone either. The idea
that Danny and I had something in common was kind of
scary. Him in his nice Polo shirts and ironed khaki pants, me
in my bondage skaters and band tees.

Or maybe his phone was just older than mine.
"The file must be pretty big, it's taking forever." Shelly

looked at me when she said it. I don't know why. Not like I
knew anything about cell phones. Hell, half the time I was
lucky if I could figure out how to work a microwave. My
expertise stops at putting on a condom with my hands tied
behind my back.

"Mine's up." That from Terry. She gave us a quick look up

from her phone. A second later it was on Shelly's, too.

The screen came on. I saw a leg, a hip, one smooth, round

ass cheek.

It didn't take very long for me to figure out that this was a

video of some guy giving another guy head. Thanks to
Shelly's sparkly new iPhone, we even had sound effects.

"Oh gross..." Danny yanked his head back and made some

very realistic gagging noises. "Jesus, do people really think
folks want to see that shit?"

Well, considering three out of the four people sitting at our

table still had their eyes glued to the screen. Uh... Yeah!

Too bad the screen was blurry, and it was hard to see

much more than a hip, an ass cheek, some chin and a dusting
of pubes. I titled my head. Maybe at this angle I'd be able to

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

see more detail. The camera jiggled, and a set of lips slid into
the scene.

Fuck, whoever it was, they sure could choke down dick like

a pro.

And the guy getting worked over apparently knew how to

appreciate being deep throated like that. At least that's the
impression I got going by the sounds he was making: grunts,
groans, gasps. I think I even heard an "oh, God" or two.

The camera jerked back, and the screen shimmied in a

way that suggested whoever held it might be trying to hide
the fact he was getting the act on video. But the new angle
caught a terrific side view. I caught a glimpse of brown curly
hair, a tan hand. Then my brain tripped and broke an ankle.
The picture was still blurry as hell but...

Fuck me sideways, I knew that face. No way. No. Fucking.

Way.

I was pretty sure I knew why my virginal Peter was able to

deep throat a cock that big. Eyes half-lidded, face slack, he
was more out cold than he was into it. He wasn't completely
out though. No, just drunk enough or stoned enough to really
put a damper on his gag reflex.

Behind me, the table of jocks burst out in another round of

hee-haw. And I made the mistake of turning around. Tolbert's
beady little eyes were looking right at me. Yeah, I was feeling
some serious regret for setting his car on fire right now.
Regret that I hadn't made sure the motherfucker was inside
when I did it.

"D..."

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by Adrienne Wilder

Shelly's hand landed on my arm. She said my name three

more times before I looked at her.

"Don't..."
I raised an eyebrow. "Don't?"
Beside her Terry shook her head and said, "Is that who I

think it is?" And her tone clearly conveyed the impossibility it
was Peter. Impossible, not improbable. Because we all knew
Peter was high on his virtues. Out and proud, but he wasn't
into casual sex. Fuck, he wasn't even into casual kissing.

Trust me, I'd tried. And begged. And offered to pay him

money.

The fact we were still friends sometimes amazes me.
I looked at the bright side and refused to complain about

only being his best bud and roommate. At least he was in my
life, someway, somehow.

'Cause as far as I was concerned, Peter was the only bright

side of my life, my only reason to get up in the morning, to
breathe, too...

Terry gasped and pointed at the screen. "Oh my god, it is

... it's..."

"Shut up..." I didn't even want to hear her say it. Saying

made it real, and I did not want it to be real.

Her eyes went big, and she tossed a look at me, then

Shelly. "I wasn't..."

"Then shut up." The threat rolled out of my throat on the

back of a growl.

She did. Thank God. I stared at the screen of Shelly's

phone. The video clip was over leaving the moment of climax
frozen in place. Even blurry, I could see the porn star's worth

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by Adrienne Wilder

of jizz on Peter's chin. For whatever reason, I caught details
like how his bangs flopped in his eyes, how his cheeks were
flushed, and the color of his shirt. It was dark blue, with
yellow stripes.

I should have gone back to the apartment last night.

Instead I'd been out on the town, specifically the Pit, getting
screwed over because it made dealing with this shithole
existence easier. And Peter? He'd been getting mouth fucked.
Obviously against his will and maybe even his knowledge. The
backdrop looked like the locker room. It probably was the
locker room. After all, that's just the kind of place Mark
Tolbert hung out. I don't know how it happened or why Peter
would have been in there. And at the moment I really didn't
care. No, I only wanted one thing, and that was to see Tolbert
screaming in agony, preferably while he was bleeding
profusely, maybe even begging for his life.

I yanked my arm out of Shelly's grip and stood up. She got

in my way again. Her vice-grip landed on my elbow, and her
thin little fingers buried themselves up in the sleeve of my
duster. I glared at her, and she pleaded with her big blue
eyes.

"Jesus, D, don't. It's obvious they did it against his will.

Just take it to the cops."

"The cops?"
"Yes, they'll arrest Tolbert. And he'll get more than a

suspension. He'll get kicked out and go to jail."

Poor, Shelly, she hadn't figured it out yet. The "it" being

that wheels of justice didn't work on a one-hour time limit
with Hollywood precision. The bad guys don't always get

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by Adrienne Wilder

caught and when they did, they rarely got what they
deserved. And the innocent people, people like Peter, were
the only ones who wound up suffering.

"And tell them what?"
"Tell them that he raped Peter." She said "rape" in a

whisper, and at the same time flicked a look around. Her eyes
locked on the frat boys behind me. A blush flared in her
cheeks at the same time her mouth thinned out into an
unhappy line. I was willing to bet Tolbert was giving her eyes
now.

"Face it, Shelly. They won't be able to do anything." Won't

be able to. Won't want to. Hell, the worst anyone had done
about the threats and abuse was suspend the bastard from
playing his oh-so-precious football game.

"They're the cops."
"Yeah, they're cops. And when you go to the cops you

have to have evidence." She wiggled the phone at me, and I
snatched it out of her hand and shoved it in her face. "Real
evidence, Shelly. Disposable number, only Pete's face in the
shot. Do you really think the campus po-po are gonna give a
rat's ass? Even if they did, like they could do anything about
it. And trust me, they don't give a rat's ass."

Shelly made a face. "Not all cops are bad, D."
Yeah, sure. Just the majority of them. But Shelly would

never be willing to believe that. Then again, she'd never seen
a group of boys-in-blue kick a Lesser-Bred to death. I had.
Twice. Atlanta might be nicknamed the City of Dragons, but
there's no love lost for Kin, especially their less-than-
purebred offspring.

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by Adrienne Wilder

I think people are just afraid of them. Afraid of what they

might represent. That Humans and Dragons aren't all that
different after all. That maybe we have a lot more in common
than the ability to procreate together. But then what did I
know? I hung out with them because they were safe sex and
always willing. At least for the right price.

I pushed Shelly's phone back in her general direction and

turned. She was suddenly too busy trying to keep from
dropping it to hang on to me.

Mark stood up as I approached his table. A few more

goons in his six pack of dumbasses followed his example. As
if one extra large moron wasn't enough to cream my ass.
Even in my elevated shitkickers the majority of the guys
sitting at that table had almost a foot on me. And I have an
inch on Peter. Even without the boots.

I stopped short of the black dude with the buzz cut. I

didn't want to get too close in case he decided he wanted in
on the fun. And that fun would be snatching up my pasty ass
and breaking me over his knee. Mark was big, Tom Dukes
was ginormous.

Mark planted his beefy fists against the tabletop. As he

leaned forward the table groaned in protest and his massive
shape cleared the space between us. "I hear your friend Peter
is going into the porn business." Tolbert's gray eyes gave me
some up and down, and his thin pink mouth curled up. "Still
think setting my car on fire was a good idea?"

"Fuck, yeah!" One of these day's I'd learn to shut up. My

mouth, it gets me into all sorts of trouble. It's almost as

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by Adrienne Wilder

dangerous as my stupidity. Although I had to admit, my
tongue had yet to blow anything up.

The smile on Mark's face turned ugly, and he cut a glance

in the general direction of his Samsung being held by one of
his fuck buddies. "You know, I'm thinking maybe the Dean
needs to see this? Maybe the head of the metaphysics
department? That's who writes pretty boy's meal ticket, right?
The one where the fine print reads, recipients must maintain
an image of ethical behavior? I'm pretty sure sucking dick
would fall under their ethics clause. Don't you?"

I leaned closer too now. It was stupid. It was dumb. It

gave Tolbert a total Mike Tyson opportunity. But hell, I'd been
slowly trying to kill myself for the past six years. Maybe it was
time to just get it over with. "What's wrong, Tolbert, can't get
a date so now you have to pick on someone half your size and
drug him up to get a piece?"

Tolbert didn't smile, he didn't gloat, his mouth stayed in a

firm snarl while he told me how I was too mentally impaired
to know my ass from a hole in the ground—which was
probably true most days. And while his face held an
expression of disgust, his hands balled up in fists, and he
gave me a look of complete revulsion at the suggestion it was
his dick getting sucked, his eyes said something else
completely.

You know, until then, I hadn't really entertained the idea it

might actually be Mark Tolbert's cock getting stuffed down
Peter's throat, but in that moment, I knew it was.

It was the look he gave me that gave him away. His

cheeks pinked up, and his dark eyes went all hot and glittery

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by Adrienne Wilder

like he'd done something he knew would be the envy of the
world and now he was all too proud of himself.

Okay, the envy of my world.
As if it was any big secret I had the hots for Peter. I made

it my life's goal to have all my classes with him. I even pulled
punches to do it. Like calling my parents and asking them to
bend the rules for me. They donated a lot of money to Tech,
and the Dean came over every Christmas to eat dinner with
them. Their buddy-buddy relationship was the only reason I'd
yet to be thrown out. That and as long as my extracurricular
activities took place off campus, in the Gray Zone or all the
way in the Dens, then technically who I fucked, or what I
snorted or smoked wasn't against school policy. The fact I
rarely waited for the effects to wear off before coming to class
was beside the point.

Thing is, I don't know what was worse, the fact Tolbert

had actually done such a sick, shitty thing to my best friend
or the fact I really wished it had been my dick instead. Rufies
or not, at least I would have kept it a secret.

I sure as shit wouldn't have Facebooked the goddamned

event.

"You know what, Darwin..." By the way, I just loved the

way Tolbert says my name. Like it's made of taffy and tastes
like shit. "If I were you, I think I'd find a good lawyer and fess
up to your crime. That way you'd go to jail and the insurance
would replace my car."

Yeah, like I mentioned earlier. Evidence. See, I made sure

any evidence I left behind went up in a big ball of smoke and
beautiful eye-watering, pyrotechnic effects. Ever seen a car

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blow up? Ever seen one blow up with a full tank of gas? Ever
seen one blow up on a full tank of gas backed up by some
basic chemistry?

It's almost as glorious as the big O. Unlike the Neanderthal

standing in front of me, I didn't need to YouTube the event.
Nope. Not with his car parked out in front of the Varsity. A
fire that big and that close to I-85? Son-of-a-bitch lit up the
highway like a goddamned sunset.

As if that wasn't enough to make my day, the parking lot

was small, and five of his fuckbuddies happened to be parked
nearby. Talk about hitting the jackpot.

Marky Mark's shiny new Camaro burned so hot that they

had to replace the big V on the front of the restaurant along
with most of the glass in the windows. Unfortunately, Mark's
insurance company didn't cover destruction via fire, unless, of
course, it fell under their vandalism clause. And since I'd done
such a good job at burning up the evidence, I guess they'd
stuck to the police report of "unknown cause." And that
meant they didn't have to pay up, and Tolbert did.

With a forty thousand dollar ride including interest, tax,

tag, and title? That had to be a good honking six hundred
bucks out of his allowance every month. And to top it off, now
he had to take the bus.

And they say revenge isn't sweet.
Thing is, bringing Peter into our battle was dirty.
Apparently I'd wallowed in my pig trail of memory lane too

long because Marky Mark said, "Well?"

I grinned. He obviously didn't like my grin. A couple of his

buddies threw looks back and forth. They didn't like my grin

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by Adrienne Wilder

either. Course, the last time I grinned at him just like this was
after he stuck that dead cat in Peter's gym locker and right
before I torched his fucking car.

I could only imagine the inventory of flammable items he

owned going through his head at the moment.

"You better pray, Tolbert, get down on your hands and

knees and fucking pray."

For a split second he was afraid of me, and then he

remembered he had half of Tech's biggest, baddest, and
dumbest on his side of the cafeteria. And me? I was a
hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet and wearing the duster.
Not to mention I was probably the size of his kid brother. His
ten-year-old kid brother.

Hence the reason I wore shoes with the two-inch soles.
The dramatic silence hung like a bad smell until my ring

tone broke it. Mark laughed, one bark that made him sound
every bit the dog he was.

"You gonna get that?" Actually, no I wasn't. That's why

they invented voicemail. The fact I never answered my
voicemail was a whole different matter. But then Marky Mark
looked at his watch, and his nasty little smile went wolfish.
"Peter boy's late, don'tcha think?"

The cupcake I'd stolen took a turn for the worse. I backed

up, fished out my phone. Peter's name showed on the screen.

I answered. "Yeah?"
"You saw it." Not a question. But then Peter always could

read me like the Atlanta Journal and Constitution.

"Yeah."
"You're not going to do something stupid are you?"

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by Adrienne Wilder

Of course. Did I ever do anything but stupid? I cut a look

over at the circle jerks. "Nah, just having a talk is all."

Silence. Then he sighed. Peter has the greatest sigh.

Tragic and seductive, and he doesn't even try. "I don't think I
can show my face in class today. Will you come back to the
apartment after physics? I don't want to be alone."

"I'll be there in five." I shut the phone before Peter could

chastise me on skipping class. And he would chastise me. For
him, nothing short of being dead was an excuse to skip class.
I turned to stomp off, and Tolbert said my name. It sounded
particularly vicious this time. Particularly nasty. Looking at
the asshole was a mistake. So, of course, that's exactly what
I did.

"Just so you know, that was only a thirty-second clip. You

don't turn yourself in, and I'll air the whole big gay moment
on every porn site I can post it to. After I send it to everyone
who's listed in the campus directory, including his parents."
Tolbert leaned back, stroked his chin and went all dreamy
eyed. "Yeah, yeah, I wonder what Peter's mommy and daddy
would say when they opened up their email to that?" The frat
boys laughed.

Thing is, I didn't have to think about what Peter's parents

would say. I already knew. They'd blame me. But then again,
they blamed me for everything bad in Peter's life.

Wish I could argue and say they were wrong.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Chapter Two

The apartment my parents own was only a five-minute

walk from campus, so I always drove. My car, which was
mine, bought with my own money—not the money my
parents doled on me—was a piece of shit black Dodge Neon
with a red door, held together with duct tape and baling wire.

And parts still occasionally fell off.
It backfired a lot. Loud enough that when I drove in the

wrong part of town and it let loose with a gas fart, people
actually ducked for cover. No one did that in the Zone, which
is where I usually partied. Considering the kind of condition
the Gray Zone was in, old buildings, falling down buildings,
streets neglected to the point they made the surface of the
moon look smooth, my little rattletrap fit right in.

People didn't pop shots off there. No, the only time anyone

pulled a trigger was if they meant to kill what they were
aiming at. Which was usually scaly, moving faster than the
human eye could follow, sporting teeth and long, wicked
claws.

Nope, in the Zone no one gave my car a second look.

However, this close to the yuppies, the high-dollar condos,
with all their shiny new BMWs, Mercedes, and Audis, I got a
whole shitload of disgusted glares.

Which was totally sick.
I found a parking spot between two gleaming SUVs and

took it. When I got out, my door smacked against the
burgundy one hard enough that it left a scuff mark. I was

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by Adrienne Wilder

genuinely surprised it didn't set the car alarm off. I didn't
bother locking the doors, not that I could have locked them
even if I'd wanted to. I'd long ago lost the keys to the ignition
and had to resort to using a screwdriver to start it. Besides,
the radio was crap and not worth taking. As for the rest of the
car? Looking at the dents, the big rust marks showing
through the black primer, and the cracked front and rear
windshields, if someone actually took the shitty little Neon
they'd be doing me a favor.

Then I'd have an excuse to go out and get another even

more disgusting tin can on wheels, just to see the look on
people's faces.

At the door I punched in the security code to let myself in.

The apartment was on the second floor, one bedroom and
one bath: your typical, overpriced downtown walk-in closet.
Like all the other units in the area, the luxury hole-in-the-wall
was the end result of some rich real estate tycoon's attempt
to better the neighborhood by buying up all the old factories
and turning them into weekend hangouts for the millionaires
who think they're getting down and dirty with the homeless
by hanging out here. There are no homeless around here, by
the way. No, they'd been humanely relocated to a more
suitable section of town.

Most students stayed in the dorm. But unfortunately, the

dorms just weren't an option for me.

Okay, technically the dorm was an option for me until two

weeks into the first semester. See, I got myself banned from
campus housing for attempting to do one of those "do not do

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by Adrienne Wilder

this at home" Myth Busters experiments. Apparently, even
my parents couldn't woo the Dean into overlooking that one.

But seriously? How the hell was I to know those Black Cats

would pack such a punch? If I hadn't of been so high, I might
not have put so many in the steel pipe or at least lit the steel
pipe outside.

The fact I set my half of the room on fire and took out

most of the exterior wall was an honest-to-God accident.

I have to admit, I don't know what my parents pulled to

keep me enrolled, especially since the Tech bigwigs were
throwing around words like "terroristic threat" and "menace
to society." I was allowed to stay only after I agreed my
illustrious presence would not be left on campus before nine
a.m. and after five p.m.

Which is fine with me, seeing I hate mornings.
After that happened, you'd have thought asking about the

apartment would have spurned some instinct for self-
preservation on their part. But it didn't.

Maybe they really hated the neighbors?
To top it off, my parents didn't even blanch when I told

them I painted the walls black, which I didn't. Only because
Peter asked me not to. He said when I did it to our dorm
room, it made him feel claustrophobic, not to mention it
played hell with the lighting.

Pete didn't have to stay with me in the apartment. The

bigwigs at Tech knew the fire wasn't his fault. Nah. Unlike
me, Peter was born a good kid. The most risque thing he'd
ever done was eat Pop Rocks and drink a diet soda.

Which of course, made him throw up.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

See, Peter stayed with me because he's my friend and he

loves me. That's what he said. And while that's true, I'm
pretty sure he also knew he's the only one who had the
remotest chance of keeping me out of trouble, or at least
prison. Another reason I spent most of my time in the Gray
Zone. There, as long as you don't take what isn't yours, most
people ignore your existence. And in the Dens, in the Pit,
Atlanta's hottest all-you-can-fuck nightclub, they wouldn't
give a shit if I set myself on fire and offered up bits and
pieces for barbeque.

Considering the place is crawling with Kin, they'd probably

enjoy it.

I never brought my extracurricular activities back here

either because Peter likes his quiet and he had to study. So
aside from the band posters I tacked up on my side of the
bedroom, the place was pretty much his abode.

You know, it really shouldn't have surprised me that my

parental units said yes about letting me use the apartment. I
mean, it's not like they've ever told me no before. No, my
parents are all into that new age, hippy, be-one-with-your-
inner-child shit.

Encouragement, not discouragement.
Personally, I really wished they'd taken the time to beat

my ass as a kid.

If it had just been me, I would have never asked about

utilizing their luxury hole in the wall. But Peter would have
never let me sleep under a bridge alone. And since I wouldn't
let him sleep under a bridge at all...

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

I have to admit, sometimes I wondered why my parents

even had me. It sure as hell wasn't to complete the family
unit. Maybe they thought they had something to add to the
gene pool? That together they could create some super
genius offspring who would go on to become President, solve
world hunger, and bring peace to the nations.

Too bad they got me instead. Probably why they never

tried again.

I let myself in the door, and the living room furniture was

there to greet me. Big screen TV, overstuffed leather couch,
shiny heartwood pine furniture that was almost as glossy as
the shiny heartwood pine floor. The furniture came with the
place. If I'd decorated, everything would have been black. Or
red. And made of material that could be washed off by taking
a hose to it.

I walked over to the bedroom door, which was closed, so I

knocked. "Peter?"

"Yeah..."
I took Peter's response as an okay to come in, so I did.

Unlike the living room, the bedroom isn't small. Nope, it's
nothing short of huge with wide glass windows framing the
cityscape and a bathroom to die for. There was more room in
this part of the apartment than the living room and kitchen
combined. It's why we shared it.

Peter was on his bed, dressed in a nice T-shirt, some

carpenter jeans and a pair of argyle socks. It's his thing I
guess, to wear socks like that. Like my thing is piercing
everything I had and putting red and black streaks in my
platinum hair.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

His eyes stayed on the ceiling and I stayed near the door.
"You okay?"
He shrugged. Then he blinked. And I noticed there was a

high gloss shine to the skin under his eyes. One hand was
tucked behind his head, the other fumbled with the hem of
his shirt. I walked over even though he didn't invite me to do
that either and plopped down in the space next to him.

Even in a twin size bed, we both fit.
I reached over and took his hand, and his fingers slipped

between mine. We said nothing for a really long time. Just me
and him. Like old times. When his parents were fighting and
my parents were making love not war.

Finally, Peter asked, "How many people did he send it to?"
I didn't know an exact number, which was probably a good

thing. Seeing how pissed off I already was. "Terry, Shelly,
and Danny for sure." And the jocks at the table, but they'd
been sharing a phone. Probably Mark's phone. So I didn't
mention it. No need to pour gas on an already raging inferno.

"Yeah, Shelly sent me a text right before I called you. I

knew about her. She didn't say anything about Terry or
Danny." Peter took a breath. It sounded enough like a sob
that it made my heart ache for him. "Do you think Danny and
Terry will ever talk to me again?"

"Who the fuck cares?" Oops. "Sorry ... I mean..." Yeah, I

meant exactly what I said. Who the fuck cares what Danny or
Terry or anyone thought? It was a shitty thing to do to Peter.
A really shitty thing to do.

"I'm probably going to lose my scholarship over this."

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Yeah, well, over my dead, maggot-ridden body maybe. I'd

pay his tuition if it came down to that. My parents didn't have
to know what I did with my money. They gave it to me with
no strings attached, after all. Going back on my declaration to
never touch that bank account might sting a bit, but I'd get
over it. For Peter I'd get over anything.

"Don't worry about the stupid scholarship. Anyone with

two brain cells can see you were under the influence."

This time he snorted. A classic Peter snort. One that

emphasized he'd figured out the riddle five minutes ago. But
then Peter is smart, genuinely smart. Me? I do good to
remember my own name. Unlike me, Peter was born with
brains and the common sense to use them.

Once upon a time I might have been born with brains, but

I'd been doing such a good job of killing off my gray matter, I
was often surprised I knew the days of the week. As for the
common sense part? Yeah. Right. Just look at the kind of
stupid shit I did.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, and his mouth thinned

out. He has the best mouth with full lips. Just enough to give
it a pout. It matches the rest of his face—round, sweet, kind.

Perfect.
"Would you believe me if I told you that wasn't me in the

video?"

I thought about that for a minute. Yeah, if he wanted me

to, I'd believe him. I'd force my brain to shift gears, swallow
down the lie. Fucking choke on it if I had to. Of course, if
Peter wanted me to believe he was the President of the
United States, I'd be just as willing.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Hell, it might have even been easier.
But then, I'd do anything for Peter. See, he commands me

by the invisible strings tied around my heart ... and my dick.
He just didn't know it. Or maybe he did, and he was just too
good to use it to manipulate me with.

It dawned on me then what he was saying or trying to say.
"Look Pete, if you were rufied, it's normal to not remember

anything." Yeah, normal. Because I had personal experience
with its amnesia aftertaste. Not because I ever rufied anyone,
but because there were times I'd dropped a few of my own
free will. Sometimes even I did things I didn't want to have
nightmares about. "You were rufied right? I mean, you didn't
just get drunk and..." Damn myself to hell, but if he had just
gotten drunk or stoned of his own free will, I was going to be
totally jealous. And to make matters worse, my phone
wouldn't even display the wank fodder for future reference.

I deserved to burn in hell for that thought alone. But I'd

get off first. At least a dozen times if not more. Maybe the
Nokia store down on the corner could switch my Sim card into
a new cell. Would I lose the video? I had to try.

Hell. Me. Definitely.
Peter's eyes came back open. "It wasn't me, D."
I propped up on an elbow so I could look at him, stare into

those beautiful brown eyes of his, and see if he really
believed what he was saying. Which he did.

Shit.
I pulled up Pete's hand and pressed it to my cheek. His

grip tightened, and I could feel him trembling. No tears

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by Adrienne Wilder

though. Not my Peter. He was stronger than a lot of people
gave him credit for.

In a small voice he added, "I'd hoped you'd be able to tell

it wasn't me."

I blinked.
Thing is, I did believe it was him. Fuck, and I still believed

it was him. And Peter obviously thought it wasn't.

He saw the look on my face and shook his head. "I swear,

Darwin, it wasn't me. I was here last night. All night. I didn't
go out, I studied, I worked on my exam paper. Hell, I even
looked at some Internet porn." He laughed, but it trickled off
way too fast. Peter took another breath, a deep one, and I
laid there thinking about everything he said.

"You're serious?"
"Yeah..." His long lashes fluttered against his cheek again

as he closed his eyes. Just like his mouth, they're perfect,
too.

I flopped back over and stared at the stucco ceiling. Peter

said it wasn't him. He'd been here, studying. Okay, that made
me feel slightly better about the wank fodder thoughts.

I pulled out my cell phone, then remembered I couldn't

view the video.

"Where's your phone?"
He dug it out of his pocket and handed it to me. I sat up

so I could work the damn thing. Peter likes texting, and his
phone had lots and lots and lots of buttons. I found the clip.
Played it. Watched it. Studied the fucking thing. The fact I
didn't spring wood was a plus.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Just like before, the camera angle was off, grainy, and

close and far away at varying intervals like the person
working the thing didn't want the subject to know it was
there. Or maybe they'd done it to make it look that way.
When it ended, I played it again. The guy in the video had
blue eyes. Blue? How the fuck did I miss that before?

"It's not you." God, I sounded relieved, really relieved.

"Holy shit, Peter, that guy, could be your twin except..."
Wank fodder thoughts side railed me again. For a split second
I wondered if old Marky Mark had gotten the dude's name
and number. Better yet, would he give it to me? If I couldn't
have Peter, I could at least live the fantasy right? Apparently,
Tolbert had.

Lucky bastard.
Peter jabbed me in the hip with his finger. "I told you..."
Yeah, he did. I felt like a total asshole.
I watched it again. This time I noticed a mole on the guy's

chin, and Peter didn't have a mole. He had freckles. Small
dark ones smattered across his nose and cheeks. His
naturally tanned skin almost erased them.

"What am I gonna do, D?"
"It's not you." What did he need to do? "Plain as day, it's

not you, Peter."

"But you thought it was."
"So?"
"If you thought it was me, so will everyone else."
I opened my mouth to deny that statement, but the words

never made it out. He was right. Goddamned me, he was so
right. To make matters worse, I even knew Peter, and I'd

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

been ready to believe he'd gone to some party, gotten drunk,
stoned, or rufied and given a blowjob. Or forced to give one
... whatever. Yeah, now I really felt like a complete dick.

Worse than that, it would be a lot easier for others to

believe it was him. Hell, the way Human nature was, they'd
want to believe it.

The really sad part? I think a little part of me wanted to

believe it, too. That way he wouldn't be so perfect.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Chapter Three

Like he'd read my mind, Peter turned those big brown eyes

on me. Even though he didn't say a word, I saw the hurt in
their chocolate depths.

My chest tightened, but I refused to cry. Not only would

crying smear my eyeliner, but I would've totally ruined my
badass, emotionally detached image. Instead, I laid back
down beside him and picked at a curl threatening to slide into
his eyes. I pushed it back, taking my time to align it with a
few others. Like everything else, Peter also has perfect hair,
thick, brown curls with a tinge of gold and red. In the summer
it gets some really nice highlights, giving him a total beach
bum look.

And that totally gets me off.
But then everything about him does.
"I'll fix it." Just like always, I spoke without thinking first. I

wasn't sure how to fix this other than to keep it from going
any further. And according to Tolbert there was more, and he
was willing to play as dirty as he had to. Which meant he'd
send it to every cell phone number he could get a hold of. Not
to mention posting it on the Internet.

Even though the guy in the video wasn't Peter, and even if

I could convince the world it wasn't Peter, the idea of it being
him would hurt him. And I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't
let Peter get hurt.

"How are you gonna fix this, D?"

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by Adrienne Wilder

"Don't worry about the details. I just will. I promise." This

time my tone was different. It not only sounded different in
my head, it felt different in my heart. Not just because I
meant it—because I always mean what I say to Peter—but
because I knew the repercussions of my actions.

Arson was a big thing. As in Felony big. And that meant jail

time in more than the drunk tank.

"D, please don't ... don't do anything..."
Stupid. That's what he wanted to say. Stupid like burning

up Tolbert's car, the stupid thing I'd already done that
dragged Peter into this mess.

The fact that this was all my fault hit me in the chest like a

ton of bricks. God, sometimes I really hated myself. Really,
really hated myself. If I wasn't such a coward, I would have
tossed my ass off the top of the Westin years ago.

So much for not crying. It was only one tear, though. But

unfortunately Peter saw it. He caught it on his thumb and
frowned.

"D..."
"I'm sorry, Pete. I didn't mean for this to happen. Or for

you to get hurt. I'll make it right. Just trust me. I'll make it
right."

"What are you talking about?" Peter touched my cheek. I

would've rather had him touch me somewhere else, but that
was fantasyland and I knew it. Besides, he was too good for
me. I'd ruin him. Totally ruin him. Hell, I'd already put his
education, his scholarship, his public image, in dire jeopardy
... and I hadn't even so much as kissed him yet.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

See, this is exactly why I could never figure out why we

were still friends. Because of me his life was way more
difficult than it had to be.

I sighed. "Mark wants me to confess to setting his car on

fire."

Peter made a face. "You set his car on fire?"
Oh, shit. I'd forgotten about how I'd neglected to inform

Peter about that small detail. Like everyone else on campus,
he didn't know. No, the only ones who knew for sure were me
and Marky Mark. Because I made sure he knew. That way I'd
be able to gloat and leer and be a general pain in the ass
about it.

I stared at Peter's shirt collar so I didn't have to look him

in the eye. "Yeah, uh, about that..."

"You set his car on fire?" The tone he used made me

wince. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was sad.
"Jesus, D. Why the hell..." Peter flopped over on his back and
covered his eyes. "Because of the cat. You did it because he
put the dead cat in my locker."

"And ruined your shoes." That cat had been three days

dead at least, probably scraped out of the road, and its
insides had melted all over Peter's favorite shoes. It'd been
bad enough he had to toss out two pairs of socks, his jeans,
and the shirt I'd given him for his birthday, but the shoes had
been a gift from his older brother. And James was dead.

Pete tried to pull off losing the shoes as being no big deal.

But it was a big deal. See, James and him hadn't been
particularly close. Mostly that was James's fault. He had a
problem with the idea of having a gay brother. James, being

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by Adrienne Wilder

ten years older, thought that it was all a phase Peter would
outgrow. Yeah, a phase. One he started when he was nine
and at twenty-three was still going strong. Most of their fights
were because James kept trying to set Pete up on blind dates.
With girls. Which of course would tick Peter off. Not only did
he not go for anyone with two X chromosomes, he didn't go
for anyone but me.

Telling James that was impossible, and it always led to a

fight. Then their mother would get involved and she would
cry, and Peter would have to listen while his father read him
the riot act.

When James got engaged, everything calmed down. Over

the last two years Pete and him had been trying to patch
things up. As a peace offering, James gave Pete a nice pair of
Birkenstock loafers for his birthday. And then a week later
he'd died in a car crash.

I knew Peter really wanted to save those shoes no matter

what, but there was just no getting the smell or bloodstains
out of the leather.

Trust me, I tried. Peter didn't know, but I dumpster dived

them out of the back alley and took them to a shoe shop. But
the damage was done. No matter how much I'd been willing
to pay, they said getting them clean was impossible because
the suede was so porous. Although going by the look on
Peter's face at the moment, no matter how much he loved
those shoes, it was obvious the idea of me setting fire to a
car over them was so not worth it. But it was more than just
the shoes. That's what I wanted to tell him. Only I lost my
nerve.

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by Adrienne Wilder

Instead I said, "Don't look at me like that."
He sighed, and I was close enough to feel his breath on my

lips and taste the Altoids he'd eaten on my tongue.

"Please, don't Pete..."
"D..."
"It was stupid, I know that ... I'm sorry, I didn't think..." I

swallowed. Twice. "I didn't think he'd up the ante."

"We're talking about Mark Tolbert."
Yeah. We were. I should have known damn well he'd up

the ante. Triple it.

I scrubbed my bangs out of my eyes and said, "I should

have just killed the fucker."

"D!" Peter gaped at me.
Damn. I didn't mean to say that out loud either. Really I

didn't. "I mean..."

"I heard what you meant."
"He hurt you."
"It was a dead cat in my locker and a pair of shoes for

Christ's sake."

"And a black eye. And a busted lip."
"A bruise. And the busted lip was nothing more than a

scratch." Lucky for Marky Mark that's all it was. "Just let it go.
He's still suspended from playing."

"For another semester, then he's back on the team." A

punishment that wasn't even worth the paperwork it had
been written on. I could have thought of far more fitting
punishments. They involved matches and lots of flammable
liquids.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

"Please, D. Let it go." Peter took the cell phone that was

still clutched in my hand and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he
held my wrist, played with my fingers, kissed the back of my
knuckles.

His lips on my skin—God—my nuts suddenly felt spring

loaded.

"I need a cigarette." But I was fresh out. Unless... I felt

around my inside pocket and found a half-crushed pack of
Camel filter frees. They were the most dangerous ones I
could buy at the little store on the corner. Aside from rolling
up an arsenic dooby, they were the quickest ride to lung
cancer I could find.

"Don't smoke..."
"I'll go outside." I never smoked inside anyhow. I didn't

want him to inhale it. Peter snatched the pack out my hand
and threw it off the edge of the bed before I could stop him.

"I mean, don't smoke at all."
Okay. Sure. Now what did I do? Peter had my hand again.

Maybe with any luck he wouldn't kiss it again. Or maybe he
would and the power surge would go straight to my heart
instead of my nuts and kill me dead on the spot.

To tell the truth, I couldn't think of a better way to die.
Peter's grip tightened. "Why'd you do it, D?"
He was asking about the car. The goddamned car. I knew

why, so I shrugged. He didn't need to hear how I'd done it for
him. How I'd done it because he was too good and kind to do
it himself. How Tolbert deserved to hurt and hurt bad. See, I
knew Pete would never agree with my dark train of thoughts.

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by Adrienne Wilder

Peter brushed my knuckles against his lips, and I went

back to staring at his shirt collar.

"You'll go to jail if you admit to it."
I nodded. Yeah. Yeah, I would. "But if I don't, he'll post

that shit everywhere." And people would believe it was Peter.
Chaste-as-fresh-snow Peter. Always-tells-the-truth Peter.

Trustworthy, noble, and good Peter.
And then he'd lose his scholarship, and his parents would

be angry, and his dead brother would probably roll over in his
grave. They'd blame it on the fact he was gay. And they
blamed that on me. Like it was my fault he'd been born wired
that way.

Worst of all, he'd hurt. And I would've rather died first.
Pete sighed again, it was less dramatic. This time it

sounded more like ... relief? "You know, maybe I don't care."

I blinked, and then I looked up. There were tears in Peter's

eyes, real tears.

"Oh, shit, don't do that. Jesus, Peter..." I tried to brush

them off his face and he laughed and held my other hand
with the first.

He shrugged, then he shook his head. "I don't care, D."
"You don't care about what?"
"The scholarship. My parents. What people think."
He should. He needed to. There were only three

metaphysical science scholarships awarded each year, and so
far, Peter had gone to Tech for two years fully funded.
Metaphysical science was expensive. The lab fees alone put
most people in the poor house. I was able to afford the class
because my parents practically shit Benjamins.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Unlike normal people, they owned property coast to coast

and business interests worldwide. To be honest, I'm not even
sure what they did. They had degrees—doctorates in
something—but I'd never really given those fancy pieces of
paper hanging on the walls at home much of a look. But then,
I never gave them much of a look either. Not to mention I
hadn't been home since I was fourteen. Nope, Peter's parents
weren't made of greenbacks like mine. They worked blue
collar jobs, his dad a welder, his mom a nurse. Peter's only
chance of getting into the metaphysics program had been his
upstanding behavior and his grades.

The grades weren't a problem, but the upstanding citizen

part, well now, thanks to me that'd been thoroughly trashed.
But the metaphysics department had to be picky. The
students they chose as recipients were allowed into sensitive
government facilities for research purposes. On top of that,
they made trips to the White House to represent those
pushing for funding.

And seeing that good old Bill wasn't in office any more, I

seriously doubted anyone would appreciate the artistic
expression in that video.

Peter kissed both my knuckles this time and rubbed his

chin back and forth over my hands. "Promise me you won't
turn yourself in?" He kissed my fingers next. "No matter
what. No matter what people say, no matter what they
believe, even if they drop me from the program."

"Why?" My voice cracked, and I tried to swallow but

couldn't. I heard what Peter was asking me, but I still didn't
believe it. "Why would you ask me to do that, Peter?"

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by Adrienne Wilder

He laid his head back on the pillow. His brown eyes

seemed darker now, like chips of obsidian. I wanted to fall in
there and drown. "I've been thinking a lot lately." His thumb
moved over the back of my hand. "How life is short, how
sometimes in pursuit of things you think are important, you
overlook what makes life worthwhile." His thumb pressed
against the palms of my hands and made circles. "I've been
so caught in trying to get this stupid degree, meet all the
requirements for this stupid scholarship, that I haven't really
thought about the important things. Like you."

"But this is important. The scholarship, the classes, they're

all important to you, too." And boy, were they. I'd spent
hours helping him study when we were in high school. The
qualifying exams were a nightmare and while Peter is smart,
there's only so much the Human brain can take. Still, he did
it. Not only did he do it, but he scored in the top ninety-
seventh percentile. But there had been a lot of sleepless
nights for him, a lot of frustrations and a shitload of self-
doubt.

But Peter had done it. And he'd been so proud of himself.

I'd been so proud of him. And best of all, his parents had to
let up on the tight leash they had on him so he could move to
Atlanta and cash in on the scholarship. Getting into Tech and
away from them was one of the best things that could have
happened to Peter. He was healthy here, happy, and not
ashamed of who he was.

Peter's thumb stopped moving and he stared at me. Really

stared. All the way to my soul, I think. I wondered if there

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

was anything left or if it was as dried and shriveled as it felt.
Pete must have seen something he liked because he smiled.

"Have I told you how much I love you?"
My heart stopped for a second, then resumed off kilter and

all fluttery. "You tell me every day." And he did. And I told
him. And because we weren't having sex, it wasn't one of
those climactic declarations either. It was sincere. Fucking
hurt too much to not be sincere.

"How much do you love me, D?"
Now there was a new twist. I wondered for a split second

or two if it was some kind of trick. Then I remembered this
was Peter, and he didn't do tricks. At least not the dirty, cruel
kind.

"More than anything." God, I said that out loud, too. But I

didn't regret it. Not at all. More than that, I meant it. And
seeing how it made Peter blush, made it oh-so-worth-it.

"D?"
"Yeah."
"What if I told you I don't want to wait anymore?"
For the second time today, my brain tripped and fell. This

time, it broke both ankles and at least a leg. It didn't get up
either. It just laid there, twitching. "Wha..."

Like I said ... brain ... not ... working.
"What if I told you I didn't want to wait anymore?"
Peter there was repeating himself and I was blinking. I

think the blinking was my attempt to jump start my frontal
lobe, but it was DOA. At least for the moment.

"D?"

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

I was still there. Just inches away. Physically, at least.

Mentally, I was on a serious hiatus. Replaying, again and
again, what I thought Peter was telling me. What I thought,
because with the way my brain was wired, there was no way
in hell I could've heard him right.

He didn't want to wait.
He wanted to know how much I loved him.
He was holding my hands and kissing my knuckles.
Oh-my-fucking-God.
No way.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Chapter Four

I'd just decided the entire conversation I'd had with Peter

was a figment of my imagination when he said, "I wish I'd let
you, then."

"Then?" I made a face.
"You know, that one time, when..."
Oh, THEN ... that time when I was, what? Fourteen? And

I'd discovered my dick was capable of far more interesting
things than just aiming a stream of piss. Of course, I thought
Peter's dick was twice as interesting which is why I'd tried to
feel him up while we were sharing a sleeping bag on a
camping trip.

Peter should have punched me, kicked me in the ass or

better yet, the teeth. But instead he'd just taken my hand
and held it and told me no, because he was saving himself.
Actually his words were "waiting for the right time." Of
course, my comeback to that had been, "what better time
than now?"

But then he had put my hand back where it belonged,

rolled over, and went back to sleep. I didn't. As soon as I
knew he was out, I'd gone to find some privacy. Three below
and the risk of bears was far less scary than letting him
down. So I'd gotten off and gotten myself under control. Two
weeks later I lost my virginity to the neighbor's pool boy after
smoking my first joint. And today, I couldn't even remember
his name. Course I'd been thinking about Pete the whole

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

time, wishing it was him plowing my ass and not some blond
haired, blue-eyed, Speedo-wearing cabana boy.

Peter knew when it happened because I'd told him. And I

didn't do it to brag, I did it because I felt guilty. See, he has
strength where I don't. I think the fact he didn't get mad at
me made it all that much worse. I lied to myself and said I
wouldn't do it again. But of course, I did.

Over and over again.
Now I wish I hadn't. God, I wished I hadn't. I wished I'd

been strong like Peter and saved myself for the right time.
This being the right time.

Peter moved so close that my fists were crushed between

us. I felt his thighs brushing mine and his sock-covered toes
touched the tops of my shitkickers.

"Make love to me, Darwin."
God, I was right. And I didn't want to be right.
Okay, yeah, I did want to be right, but why couldn't this

have happened six, almost seven years ago, when I was
fourteen and he was sixteen and I hadn't yet tried my
damndest to fuck my life over?

An earthquake started up in my lip but I still refused to

cry. "This is just some aftereffect, you know, like shock. You
don't really mean that, you don't..." Fuck me but he did. I'd
have to be blind not to of seen it in his face. Maybe seeing a
video of himself, not himself, had caused him a mental break?

Nah.
Maybe it had caused me to have a mental break, and this

was nothing but a big, fat gay hallucination.

Or would that be bi because I swing both ways?

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

The palm of Peter's hand pressed against my chest. My

heart slammed into my ribs and promptly did a happy dance.
I stared at him because not staring wasn't an option, that and
I'm pretty sure my eyelids had fused in the open position.
Looking at him made blinking overrated anyhow.

In that moment, I saw something in his gaze. There was

love, devotion; there was his innocence, but there was
something else, too. And that something was solemn and
dark and agonizing. I'd never seen that look in his gaze
before. Or maybe I'd been too stoned, drunk, or self-
absorbed to notice. 'Cause I was pretty sure whatever it was
had been there long enough for him to learn how to tuck it
back down inside. "What's wrong, Pete?"

His smile stayed the same but his eyes didn't. "I'm sorry."
"About what?"
"About..." Peter swallowed and now he was staring at my

shirt collar.

"What are you not telling me, Peter?" Okay, if he changed

his story and told me the video was of him, with contacts, I
was totally gonna lose it. After I creamed my shorts of
course.

"It's nothing."
Bullshit. It was a big enough something that even riding

the buzz of an all-nighter I saw it. I opened my mouth to tell
him as much, and he pressed his lips to mine.

Oh, fuck me. Peter was kissing me. Not just kissing me but

KISSING me. Capital letters, glitter, trumpet sounds. When
he pulled away, I made a sad little noise. If my dick had been
capable of noise, it would have made sad sounds, too.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Thank God it wasn't, or that motherfucker would have

never shut up.

"D?"
"Nnnggg." I think that was my attempt at yes, yeah,

sure...

"Make love to me ... please."
Please. Polite Peter. Always polite.
I told myself this was my one big chance to step up to the

plate. My one big chance to do the right thing. To be a man.
To be unselfish. To think about someone else besides what
was going on in my trousers. And it was. God, this was my
one big chance to be the kind of person Peter was.

Yeah, right, who was I kidding? Peter wanted to have sex

with me. If it was the aftereffects of shock, a bump on the
head, or a fucking brain tumor I didn't give a shit because
this was the one thing I'd dreamed about since I discovered I
liked him. No. Not liked him. Loved him.

I'd been what? Twelve?
I touched his cheek, swept my hand along his jaw, and slid

my fingers deep into his thick curls. He sighed, and it
sounded like it came from somewhere around his ankles. I
drew him closer and pressed my mouth to his, pushed my
tongue between his lips, and swept the inside of his mouth.

God, he tasted wonderful. Altoids, Cornflakes, and Peter.

My other hand got a little ambitious and started for his fly,
but I managed to redirect it to his shirt. It wasn't tucked in so
it was easy to move up and out of the way. His skin was hot
under my fingertips, soft, with a hint of a happy trail that ran

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

from the hem of his jeans, across his navel, and turned so
thin and delicate between his pecs.

A pleased sound came out of his throat, and his tongue

pushed mine out of the way and invaded my mouth. I opened
for him, let him explore me, touch the barbell in my tongue,
the hoops on my lips. I think he liked those or maybe it was
just the way they felt because he pulled back enough to nip
at my lips where they were pierced.

Peter's hands moved, hesitant, as they made their way

under my shirt. Fingertips trailed up my stomach to my chest.
He tried to push my shirt higher to take it off, but I still had
the duster on.

"Take off your coat."
Somehow I shrugged out of the thing, one arm at a time.

Peter pushed my shirt up and over my head. His wandering
hands found my nipple rings and he gave them a little twist.
Which of course went straight to my dick.

I made that sound again, wordless and helpless. Peter

laughed.

"You like that." Not a question.
"Fuck, yeah." He gave the right one a tug. I grunted, and

my hips rolled forward, close enough that I could feel his
erection through his jeans, against mine in my skaters.

Peter seemed to really like the idea that a little pain made

me hard as steel. He tugged at the left one next. Which
instead of just a hip roll, made me grab his ass and roll over
him. My mouth went to his neck and his hands buried in my
hair. Not just buried but twisted up in my heavy locks. Since I
wear it long and shaggy, there was more than enough for him

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

to grab hold of. His legs opened up, but we were still dressed.
I didn't want to be dressed any more, I wanted him naked
and screaming my name while I fucked him.

The collar of his shirt ripped because instead of pulling up I

yanked down. The sound of that fabric tearing was like being
backhanded by reality. And I needed to be slapped. Hell, I
needed a punch to the head.

"Shit..."
"It's okay."
"I didn't mean to." I tried to push the pieces of material

back together but of course it was useless. "Damn ... Pete..."

He laughed and wiggled under me. His hands moved off of

me and between us. My dirty mind was thinking something
raunchy, but he was only stripping off his shirt. Suddenly, we
were chest to chest, which was incredible. Then his hands
went to my pants and he undid my button, my zipper.

The reality of the situation dawned on me.
I blinked. "You sure about this?"
Pete didn't stop. He shoved my pants down to my hips,

leaving only my black boxers behind to cover my ass. Then
he slid his hands on the inside, first across my cheeks, then a
clumsy attempt to get between us, but we were crushed
together thanks to my weight.

"I've never been so sure about something in my life."
"You don't have to." I could not believe I was saying this.

Neither could my dick. That whole talking thing? Yeah, I was
really glad that at the moment, the only part of my body
capable of conversation was my mouth.

Peter squeezed my ass cheeks. "I know. I know I don't."

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

"I'd still love you." Forever. No matter what. Until I drew

my last breath. I couldn't say it out loud, but I did my
damndest to say it with my eyes.

"I know you would, D." He kissed my chin, and I wished

I'd shaved. I didn't want him to get stubble burn on his lips.
Pete's skin was smooth, but then he shaved twice a day, even
when he didn't need it. His lips moved to my neck, my
collarbone, he sucked at the skin there until it ached.

"Harder." I wanted the biggest, baddest hickey he could

give me. Peter obliged, and I groaned.

"Take off your shoes." Peter pushed at my pants some

more along with my boxers. "D, take your shoes off, I can't
get your pants off with them on."

Actually, he could, these were skaters, the legs were wide,

and I'd fucked people in my Demonias before. The crass-
bastard part of me was all for it. Nothing like a sweet ride
while wearing knee-high buckle ups.

But since Pete wanted them gone... I pulled a leg up and

fumbled with the buckles. To get the other one I had to roll
over onto my back. Peter undid his jeans, pulled them down.
I froze, eyes glued on the pup tent in his boxers. He slid off
his socks.

"Your other boot, D."
Right, the shoes.
My boots hit the floor with a heavy thud. I was still on my

back when Peter rolled on his side and threw a leg over mine.
I wrapped an arm around his back, urged him closer, or
maybe just urged him to hump my hip. God, so beautiful. I

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

thumbed his bottom lip, stroked his cheek. He caught my
hand and kissed my palm.

"You want to do it now?"
Want to what? Oh, yeah, the grand finale. "Not yet." His

right eyebrow cocked and I stared at him some more.

"What are you thinking about?" Him, how perfect he was.

How he was my best friend. How much I loved him. "D?"

I leaned forward and caught his mouth. This way I didn't

have to explain myself, how bad I'd wanted this, for oh-so-
long. And now that I had him, nothing else would ever be
good enough: Human, Kin, Lesser-Bred.

Even if we only had this moment, this one time, I was

okay with that. Even if after we were done, he never wanted
to talk to me again, see me again, I could die a happy man.

With some pushing I got his boxers down around his hips.

He had to shove them the rest of the way off so he could
straddle me. I really liked Pete on top. And I mean, really,
really liked it. I ran my hands down his ribs, his hips, his
thighs. Perfect, so damn perfect.

"I want to suck you off." His eyes went big, and I

wondered if maybe I should have worded that differently, but
to be honest I didn't have a clue as to how I could say it any
better. Peter moved to get off me, and I grabbed his hips. "I
want you on top. I want you to fuck my mouth." The blush in
his cheeks went bright, but his cock also jumped. Precum
leaked against my navel.

"I'm not sure... I mean..."
Yeah, he had no clue as to how to position himself. I'm

sure that's what he was trying to say. That was okay. I knew.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

"Put your hands on the headboard." Peter still looked unsure,
but he did as I said. "Spread your thighs." He did, and I
moved down until his knees were planted on either side of my
head.

Peter made this incredible surprised yelp when I sucked his

cockhead into my mouth. A yelp that mellowed out into a
moan, then some deep gasps. I slid my hands up his ass and
encouraged him to thrust. It didn't take much to convince him
I wouldn't break.

Since Pete didn't have any piercings, there was nothing to

feel but smooth skin, the flare of his cock, the thick vein that
ran underneath. He felt perfect in my mouth, filling me up
until I couldn't breathe when he went deep.

I could have gone forever swallowing him down, sucking

him deep, feathering my fingers up his ass crack, but I think
we'd only been going at it for five minutes when Peter said,
"D..." His voice was breathy, broken and when I looked up his
eyes were closed. "D ... I'm gonna..." I made a sound, a hum,
and sucked him harder, pushed him into my mouth faster. "D,
I don't want you to have to ... swallow ... D..."

Yeah, well, I wanted to swallow. His butt pushed against

my hands, and he almost went back far enough to pull out. I
locked my elbows under his thighs, forced him forward,
deeper, and latched my mouth on to him like my life
depended on it.

Peter barked a cry, threw back his head, losing all his

control to the moment. He moaned, and his entire body
shuddered as he crescendoed with a string of "oh Gods" and

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

my name. And I thought I'd loved the way he said my name
before.

Fuck, yeah...
One more deep thrust and the heat of his cum coated the

back of my throat. I swallowed and I could taste him. His
thrusting went shallow and jerky as I milked him for
everything he had. And goddamn it, I still wanted more.

Above me Peter sagged, his head fell between his

shoulders, and his hands on the headboard were the only
thing keeping him up. A drop of sweat ran down his nose and
dripped off to land on my forehead. I still had him in my
mouth when he opened his eyes.

"God ... Darwin..."
I mumphed in agreement. This time when he pulled away,

I let him. But not having him in my mouth felt like I was
missing a critical part of my body. Like an arm or both legs or
maybe even my heart.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

Chapter Five

Peter moved down beside me and his hands went straight

for my cock. It was jutting proudly out of the top of my
boxers. I guess it was trying to give me a hint. He brushed
the underside of the head with his thumb and petted me
through the fabric.

The sweat beading on his skin had turned his bangs a deep

black bronze and plastered them to his forehead. I pushed
the hair out of his eyes.

"What about you?"
I shook my head. I couldn't talk. Hell, I didn't need to talk.

I just needed him. His taste on the back of my tongue, the
feel his body next to mine. I pulled Pete closer and inhaled his
scent. Old spice, Human sweat, male...

Against my ear, Peter whispered. "D, I want you." His

breath tickled my cheek and his teeth nipped my earlobe.
"Inside me, D, I want to feel you..." I squeezed harder,
inhaled deeper. Peter moved and his mouth found mine
again, he showered my lips in small kisses, tongued my
piercings. "Please don't tell me no. Not now. Please, D."

A stronger, less selfish man would have told him no.
I am so not that man.
I threw a hand back looking for my duster, when I couldn't

find it I had to turn around. It was on the floor next to the
bed.

Behind me Peter said, "I've got ... stuff..."

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

While I struggled to find the side pocket in my coat, I

heard him open the drawer to his bedside table. Peter actually
had a bedside table where I had a milk crate. That way I
could just shove stuff in it and not have to actually put forth
the effort to open a drawer.

I found a pocket, then a condom, under lots of trash, and

the joints. When I sat back up he was holding out a small
clear bottle.

I made a face and Peter said, "It's ... you know ...

lubricant." Then I blinked.

"You have lubricant?" After all, what the hell did he need it

for?

"Jesus, D. I'm not that much of a prude. I've been known

to indulge in a few hand jobs on occasion."

Christ, I had to open my mouth to breathe. Common sense

told me I should have known that. Hell, he was only Human.
Not to mention, by his own confession he looked at Internet
porn. I think it was the visual that popped into my head. The
idea of his hand on his cock, pumping for all it was worth,
with his head thrown back, his lips parted.

My hand shook as I used my teeth to tear open the

condom.

"No condom."
I paused. Then I shook my head. "I can't do that, Peter."
"Seriously, D."
"No... Seriously. I've been..." With a lot of people. Not

always safe.

"When was the last time you were tested?"

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

"Two weeks ago, but that..." I went to roll it on, and he

stopped me.

"Darwin..." My name was like some magical command. I

froze. Pete's fingers pulled at my hand, and I surrendered to
him. He pushed the condom off the edge of the bed along
with my coat. "I know you hang out in the Zone and the Pit.
And I know you ... you usually go with the Lesser-Breds. And
they're safe."

But sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I did Humans, too.

Peter was right. Lesser-Breds couldn't catch Human diseases,
aside from colds, and nothing a Human had could hurt them.
But what if I did have something, what if I gave it to Peter? I
didn't give a shit about me, but him? God, him? I would
rather die than give him so much as a heat rash.

"Please ... D."
Peter deserved better. Someone who had saved

themselves. Been patient. Not me. A guy who fucked
anything that moved. And sometimes didn't. That's what I
wanted to tell him, but "Okay" fell out of my mouth instead.

When Peter lay back down, I went with him. He pushed at

my boxers again, and I lifted a hip so he could slide them off.
My cock landed against his thigh, and he ran a hesitant hand
up the length of it. Then he looked down.

"You're pierced."
Yeah, the tip and two rings in my sack near the base. Like

I said, he had his argyle socks and I had my thing about
sticking myself with metal. His forefinger and thumb tugged
at the barbell at my tip. The grunt was totally on accident, I
swear.

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

"You really like that." And he said "really" with a capital R.
"Yeah."
"Didn't it hurt? Getting them?"
"Oh, yeah."
"But you did it anyhow. Why doesn't that surprise me? You

do lots of things that hurt you." Also not a question. A
statement. And what a statement. I'd always wondered if
Peter knew.

I guess he did.
Before I could reply, before I could tell him it was worth it,

Peter kissed me, and his thumb pressed against that barbell
and my world went white around the edges. "I never meant
to hurt you, D."

No, he hadn't. And I'd never complained. Honestly, I

wouldn't have had it any other way. Until now, now that I had
this chance. And looking back, all the agony to get to this
moment was just a small, insignificant price to pay.

There was the hollow pop of a lid being flicked off, then

cold, wet, and slick drizzled over my dick. Peter's hand
wrapped around it at the same time, and he gave me a few
experimental strokes. He pushed the lubricant into my free
hand.

"Do it, Darwin. Please."
Yeah, yeah. Okay. I nodded.
Peter watched me squeeze a blob into my palm. I capped

the bottle and slid it under his pillow. His hand still moved on
my cock, not enough to bring me, but it was enough to make
me ache, and it was obviously getting him off. He rolled his
hips forward and lined himself up. He made an attempt to

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

wrap his fingers around both of us. A move he'd no doubt
seen online but one that was harder to pull off in real life and
without practice.

I pulled his leg up over my hip and slid my lube slick

fingers around to his ass crack. His eyes widened as I made a
wet trail down to his entrance. Again I hesitated. The little bit
of my conscience still alive ranted and raved its disapproval.
But then my selfishness made a quick meal of it.

I pushed my thumb in and Peter gasped.
"You okay?"
He nodded, but there was tension around his eyes.
"It's gonna hurt. At first."
"I know."
I twisted my hand, and his breath hissed.
"Relax." Another nod. I pulled out my thumb, pushed in a

finger. This time he groaned and pushed back against me. I
encouraged him to ride my finger before attempting another.
Which he did.

Eyes half-lidded, his cheeks flushed, his lips wet and open

while he exhaled small gasps of pleasure.

I could have watched Pete all day doing this.
"We still don't have go all the way..." I said it, but I didn't

mean it. I mean, I would stop if he wanted me to, but...

Peter gritted his teeth and said, "Shut up..."
So I did.
I pushed in the second finger, and he moaned. The sound

was followed up by a strange animal-like noise ticking out of
his throat. "Oh, hell, D ... that's..." His head fell back and I
attacked his throat. Kisses, bites, and sucking his flesh. He

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

forgot about getting us off and went to bouncing on my
fingers. Yeah, he was totally made for this. I twisted my grip
again, hit his sweet spot, and he barked out my name.

"You ready?" I didn't wait for Peter to answer me. I pushed

him over, jacked up his leg. My fingers were still in him,
angled this way I could push them even deeper.

"D ... God ... D!" Peter's hands scrabbled over my back,

finally settling on my shoulders.

I pulled out my fingers, and it was his turn to make a sad

sound. But I had my cockhead breaching his opening before
his body had a chance to dwell on the loss. Peter's legs came
up higher, wrapped around my waist, his heels dug into my
ass. I think the kicks and nudges were to spur me on.

Thing is, I did not need to be spurred. Trust me. It was

taking everything I had to hold back.

"More..." Peter let go of my shoulders and grabbed my

hips. "More, D ... please..."

"Shhh..." I needed to concentrate. I did not want to just

start pounding him. Granted I didn't have the biggest dick in
the world, but it was more than two fingers and Peter wasn't
exactly an old pro.

Slow but sure, I made my way in, until suddenly I was

sheathed in him and he was sucking in air like a dying man. I
curled over Peter, pulled back, rode forward and he bit off a
cry.

Again, slow, he was still clenching too tight. He was into

this, but he was also new. I got a hand between us, tweaked
his nipple. That made him forget about his ass for a split

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

second. Unfortunately, he decided that what was good for the
goose was good for the gander.

Peter twisted my nipple ring hard enough that my hips

popped forward. I grunted and so did he.

"Like that, D. Just like that." He did it again. Holy, shit it

was like he had a remote control to my hips. When I tried to
slow, he'd give me a twist.

"Fuck ... Peter ... please ... I don't want to..." Hurt you.

But that last part was lost in a long agonizing groan as he
really let me have it. This time a combo titty twister and
yanking on my bottom lip.

Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I rode back and thrust

forward hard enough that Peter's eyes rolled up and his
mouth fell open. And once I got started, there was no turning
back. I fucked him, hard, fast, until he was doing it ... the it
being screaming my name.

Over the years I'd dreamed about this moment. Not that I

really ever expected it to happen. But in that dream, I was
total porn star material; bringing Peter over and over,
bringing myself over and over. Complete with cheesy lines,
like "you're so tight, you're so hot, suck me, baby."

From both of us.
But in the end, there were no words of encouragement, no

compliment on size or tightness, just me sobbing into his ear,
chanting over and over.

"I love you, Peter. I love you."
To be continued...

The End

Pain

by Adrienne Wilder

About the Author:
I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia and I've been

writing and drawing since I could hold a crayon. My first
dragon crush was Pete's Dragon. I was three, and he was,
well, a cartoon. But I was hooked—a dragonholic. Then I
moved on to bigger, badder, scarier beasties.

Dahlonega, Georgia is my home and I'm hard at work on

new novels featuring the Kin, the Lesser Breds, the Humans
and the rest of the residents of Atlanta, Georgia. Enjoy your
time in the City of Dragons, and remember: don't wander into
the Gray Zone after dark.

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