Page 23 of His Holy Chaos

I look at the water. I look at my boots. I look at the door.

"Can't. Gotta go."

"You're not seriously going out like this." His voice is firm and annoyed but gentle, the specific register Noa uses when he's trying not to yell because yelling will make me shut down and he's learned this through years of trial and error and nights exactly like this one. "This is exactly what you did last time, and the time before that."

"I have to go."

"You have to sit down and drink some water and go to sleep, Jude. You're wasted. You haven't eaten. You look like…"

"Like what? Like shit?" I snap, then I immediately regret it. He's just trying to help me but no one can.

He steps into the hallway, blocking the path to the front door. Tiny, immovable, his jaw set and his eyes burning with the frustration of someone who loves a person they cannot save.

"Please," he says. Just the one word. Quiet. And for a second, I see everything he's feeling: the exhaustion, the worry. He deserves better than this.

"I'm sorry," I say, and I mean it, I genuinely mean it, but I'm already moving. He calls my name. He says it twice. Jude.

Jude!

Chapter 14. Ford

Glynn said he's coming, and since then, my heart has been going like crazy. I can't wait to talk to him, and I'm sick of pretending I don't want to. I'm going to come clean: I want to pursue something with this boy. I won't lie to myself anymore.

But everything changes when he gets here. He looks incredibly good, as always, wearing a loud neon orange puffer jacket that makes his white hair stand out even more. However, he is, without question, catastrophically drunk.

I'm standing near the bar where Dave left me five minutes ago, a glass of water in my hand because I don't drink in spaces like this, not because of any moral conviction but because I need every faculty I possess just to tolerate the volume and the strobing light and the number of people around. I was preparing to leave. I had, in fact, already rehearsed the sequence: set the glass down, nod to the bartender, walk to the exit, drive home, never speak of this again. I was thirty seconds from executing it.

And then he enters the dancefloor.

Jude spots me before I can move. His honey eyes are bloodshot, glassy, the pupils blown wide in the dim light. He scans the room until he finds me and locks on. Something crosses his face: recognition, fury, hunger, despair. All of them at once.

He grins. It's the worst smile I've ever seen. He isn't happy at all. He looks murderous.

"Well, well, well!" His voice cuts through the music with a volume that turns heads across the room. A woman adjusting her partner's rope harness pauses mid-knot. "If it isn't Mr. Dom himself! In the flesh! In a kink club! On a Friday night!"

He's weaving toward me now. His shoulder clips a man carrying two drinks. The man stumbles, vodka sloshing over his wrist, and turns with an expression of irritation that Jude doesn't register or doesn't care about. Probably both.

"Jude," I say, and my voice comes out wrong. I want to sound in control but seeing him like this breaks something inside me. I set my water glass on the bar behind me without looking.

He arrives in front of me. Up close, the damage is worse than I assessed from across the room. His cheeks are hollow, genuinely gaunt. That boy hasn't been eating properly, and it shows. The shadows under his eyes are the color of old bruises. He smells like Jameson and sweat.

"You came looking for me," he says, loud, performative, pitched for an audience. "Even went after Glynn. The whole chain of command. Very efficient. Very you."

"You should sit down," I say. "Let me get you some water."

"Water!" He laughs, theatrical, hollow. "That's perfect. That's so fucking perfect. So dominant."

"Jude…"

"No, no, let me explain it to you," he jabs a finger at my chest. His hand is shaking. "You said we're incompatible. Remember? Fundamentally incompatible. Big words. Very impressive. And you're right! You're so right it's almost funny!" His voice climbs another notch, and I can feel the attention of the room shifting toward us. Glynn is watching from afar and I can see they're considering interrupting. "Because you, you're the kind of guy who offers someone water at a sex club. And I'm the kind of guy who shows up wasted and makes a scene. See? Incompatible! You should put it on a fucking poster or something! You are right. So, why the fuck are you looking for me?"

My jaw is clenched so tightly I can feel the pressure in my temples. The bass throbs through the floor and into my bones, and the violet light sweeps across Jude's face. He's swaying slightly.

"You've made your point," I say, keeping my voice level through an act of will that costs more than he will ever know. "Now let me take you home."

"Home!" Another laugh, louder this time, theatrical enough to draw a wince from the bartender. "You want to take me home. Yes, I need a responsible adult like you to carry me home."

Something flickers behind the performance, a tremor in his voice. He looks so hurt.