Page 2 of Survival Game

“N-no,” he stuttered. “I’m not kidding. Don’t touch me.”

Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, he chanted in his head. Not with that fire in your eyes and that aggression in your belly. No dark touches, please.

Kyle wasn’t averse to being touched under the right circumstances. What he feared were those touches he thought of as the dark. Hardened, insidious fists pummelling into an already aching belly, rough kicks to ribs and face when he was curled up on the floor; pinches to skin already marked with scratches and bruises. Then there were the more intimate ones, the ones Kyle tried not to think about—rough, punitive sex meant to break him.

Steve’s hold tightened. “Fuck that,” he snarled. “I at least deserve a goodnight kiss.”

Kyle was pushed back against the wall and a greedy, wet mouth invaded his own. He tried to keep his lips pressed together, not wanting to give Steve the satisfaction of gaining access. Steve was determined, though, and within seconds a hot, slick tongue was forced into Kyle’s mouth.

Please, please, don’t do this. Please.

Stomach roiling in fear, he tried again to push Steve away, memories of being forced taking over and blanking out his brain. Bile rose in his throat, and with a touch of hysteria creeping in, he wondered what Steve would do if Kyle vomited into his hungry mouth.

In a weird twist of fate, it was a homophobic bastard walking down the street that saved him from any further mauling.

“Get a fucking room, you faggots,” the man yelled.

Steve let go, his lips releasing Kyle’s bruised mouth, then he turned and raised a middle finger at the man on the other side of the street. “Fuck you,” he yelled. “Fuck off, you wanker.”

Kyle seized his opportunity. Within seconds, he was running back down the street as Steve and the Neanderthal traded insults. Kyle’s legs pumped like a sprinter’s as fear of being caught threatened to overtake him; his deep, rasping breaths were a staccato accompaniment to the sound of his heavy footsteps on the pavement.

His focus was on getting home. Then, maybe, once safe, he could forget about tonight. Forget he’d made another bad decision, that he was a loser when it came to dating.

He thanked God his instinct for self-preservation had included not giving Steve his home address or number.

As Kyle ran past Club Delish, he glimpsed a light on in the flat above the club. Although tempted, he wasn’t going to disturb his friends at this hour. Not the best way to pay back Ryan’s offering Mango as backup.

When Kyle reached the relative safety of his building, he ran up the stairs to the fourth floor, not even waiting to get the rickety, ancient lift that wheezed from floor to floor as if on its last legs.

It was only when he was at home, locks bolted and security chain slung across the door that he began to relax. He poured himself a favourite drink, a shot glass of white rum, and gulped it back while he waited for his hands to stop shaking.

“Fuck,” he swore as he filled the glass again. “I need to stop this blind date shit. It sucks.”

He tossed the second shot down then another before he dragged himself into his bedroom. Bed was a good place to be, even though it wasn’t even midnight. Being a night owl, used to working ’til the early morning hours, his body clock wouldn’t like this early-to-bed scenario.

Well, tonight his body clock could get stuffed. Sometimes knocking yourself out was the only way to forget the past.

Chapter Two

At seven in the morning, Kyle emerged from his bed tired and headachy. Even after three shots of rum, he hadn’t slept well. Memories of the past had chased him in his sleep.

Staring at the bathroom mirror, he grimaced at the dark circles under his eyes, which were bloodshot and swollen. He swore softly. No contacts today then. His trademark deep violet would have to be forgotten. Instead, everyone would have to bear the muddy-brown eyes he was born with.

He’d feel naked without his favourite fashion accessory. He didn’t need them—he had virtually perfect vision—but liked the cloaking they seemed to afford him. Eyes behind tiny pieces of coloured hydrogel hid emotions he didn’t want seen.

He peered closer into the mirror and winced.

Crap. Even guy-liner might be off the cards today. With the amount of rubbing he would no doubt be doing to alleviate his sore eyes, he’d end up looking like a manic panda.

Thank God it was Monday and he had the day off. Not for the first time he was grateful Club Delish was closed Sundays and Mondays.

“Fuck my life,” he said gloomily as he stared into the bathroom mirror. “I really thought Steve might be different. But, no. Once again, I go out with an arsehole and once again I end up alone.”

My dick really needs to see some action. It’s forgotten how to work.

He pulled his boxers away from his hips and stared down at his groin. Yep, his dick was still there, looking sad with only a smidgen of morning wood nestled in a patch of dark bristles. Kyle sighed. He needed to man-scape again but right now, he couldn’t be bothered. No one was going to see it anyway.

He brushed his fingers over his nipple rings, hissing at the sensation flooding through him. It was a sorry confession to make, but this action was the closest thing to hands on his body for over a month—well, apart from the occasional jackoff.