I can’t remember how long I stayed in this position, slumped against the railing, the rough surface of the wooden lattice biting into my back. The tears have long run out. I’m empty. Void. I feel numb, and it’s not just from the cold that seeps into my skin and settles in my bones. Everything inside me burnt out in one final surge, and now there’s nothing left. No more racing thoughts, no more anger. Just silence.

I know I will have to move eventually, but my muscles are stiff and aching. I wish Bruno was here with me. He’s usually so good at sensing when I need comfort and keeps me company. I think he’s still upset with me for smashing his bowl. A dry sob escapes my lips, and I cover my face with my hands. I can’t even get myself to think his name. The other person who was there with me.

I need to get up. I’ll end up with hypothermia if I don’t. And I’m still not ready to die. I roll over with a groan; my body protests. I shift onto my hands and knees, palms scraping against the rough concrete. I stay like that for a moment, head hanging, breath shallow. I reach for the railing for support, fingers curling around the edge, and haul myself up. It takes more effort than it should. My legs shake. For a second, I think I might sink right back down. But I don’t. I stand. Somehow, I stand.

I make sure my legs support me before I hobble back inside. As I step over the threshold, I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. It startles me, and my first thought is it must be Bruno. But the shape is much too tall to be my cat. It’s Rashid. He’s still here. He must have sat on the couch and got up when he saw me walking in. He switched off the lights and sat there in the dark.

He makes a tentative move towards me but halts.

“I thought you shouldn’t be alone.” He offers as an explanation.

I don’t know what to say, so I just nod and head for the bathroom. Inside I lean against the door and take in huge gulps of air. I peel off my briefs and throw them carelessly into a corner. Then I turn on the shower and yank the hot water to maximum. It scorches my skin, but I don’t care. It’s somewhat reassuring that I can still feel something after all. I put my head under the shower and let the water thaw me.

I don’t hear the door; only when there’s a cool breeze do I realise someone walked into the room. It’s Rashid, standing there, looking lost and uncertain. He closes the door carefully, then turns around to look at me. Miserable old me. Hair plastered flat on my head, eyes rimmed red from crying. Shivering despite the heat of the water.

“You are beautiful, Wendell.”

A shock runs through me. I must have fallen asleep. I’m still on my terrace, and this is the beginning of one of my nightmares.

“You are gorgeous. And I want you more than anything in the world.”

I groan and shut my eyes. Please, not again. I can’t handle another one. Not tonight.

“Help me, Wendell. I don’t know how to do this right. And I want to do it right.”

Rashid looks at me. He’s seen me undressed before. Earlier, when I ripped off my clothes in front of him. But it’s like he’s taking me in for the very first time. I can feel his eyes trail across my body. His gaze drifts over my face, down my neck and shoulders, lingers on my chest, then follows the faint line of hair from my navel to where it disappears into the soft tangle between my thighs.

Rashid’s assessment ends at my feet, which he fixates on for quite a while. Straightening his shoulders, he looks up. His eyes pierce mine as if he’s searching for something deep in my soul. I don’t know what he finds there, but I can see his jaws set as a decision is apparently made. Slowly he starts taking off his clothes. He undoes his shirt, one button at a time, being deliberately slow, then wriggles it off his shoulders and sends it flying toward the corner. His tank top follows, pulled over his head unceremoniously.

His eyes lock with mine as if he’s making sure I’m still with him. That he has my permission to go on. He unzips his jeans, pulls them down and steps out of them. A kick sends them across the room to join the rest. His briefs follow a moment later, without even the hint of hesitation, and this is the first time I see him. All of him. He’s perfection.

Slender lines, the soft dip of his waist, just enough muscle to cast shadows where his body curves in. My eyes trace the gentle rise of his chest, the quiet strength in his arms, and then lower – to the sharp angles of his hips, the way those V-shaped lines draw inward like an invitation. He’s beautiful. Painfully, impossibly beautiful.

He lets me look at him, taking in every detail of him, as he has done before with me. When our eyes meet again, there’s just the hint of a smile curling around the corner of his mouth, but his eyes are still dark and bottomless, like the ocean at night.

“Can I come in?” He asks softly with a tentative step towards me. I nod slowly, giving my consent. If this is one of my nightmares, his face will turn into a grimace soon, and he will start insulting me, calling me every awful name that exists on this planet and that I deserve. I can’t prevent it.

The water still pours down on me as he steps in and puts a hand on my hip, deliberately leaving a tiny bit of space between our bodies. His other hand gently combs my wet, flat hair out of my eyes, then cups my face and runs a thumb across my cheek. Oh my God, this feels so real. Why can’t this be real? Please, don’t let me wake up! Not yet…

I react without thinking and start to turn around to face the tiled wall.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls and stops me, easing my back against the wall.

“I want to see you. I want you to look at me.” He begs me in a low voice.

The space between us is gone. I can feel his body close to mine, touching mine, grounding me. I could still move or turn away. But I don’t want to. I want this. I want him.

I realise I just don’t know how…

“Help me, Wendell,” he said. But how?

I see his face, but countless other faces swim in front of my mind’s eye. He becomes one of them, taunting me, humiliating me, and hurting me. I wish nothing more than that I could take everything back, that I could make this moment as special for us as it’s supposed to be.

“I don’t know how to do this right. And I want to do it right,” he said. But what is right?

I only know the wrong way.

I can’t help it, but a big, desperate sob escapes my lips, and I can see his eyes turn even darker. Then his lips brush against mine, cautiously and tenderly, one of his hands on my face, caressing my cheek lightly, the other one on my hip. I open my mouth to invite him in, and he accepts, his tongue teasingly playing with mine. My thighs arch against his, yearning to be closer to him, and his hand glides down my backside, holding me in place.

“If you want me to stop, just say so, and I’ll stop. Immediately. Promise you’ll tell me.” He murmurs against my lips between kisses.

I’m still waiting for the bad part of my dream to start. The one where he recoils from me, snarls at me, and tells me how disgusting I am. But it never comes. Instead he’s kissing me – my mouth, my neck, my collarbone. Instead, he tells me how beautiful I am while the water from my shower is splashing down on us.

It’s so tangible, so vivid, more so than any of the nightly terrors that haunt me. I place one of my hands on his chest, and I can feel it. His heartbeat, strong, steady and just a little faster than normal. He takes my hand and squeezes it lightly. It dawns on me that he’s not a phantom, that he is real.

My head is still spinning with the carousel of unwelcome visages crowding my mind – ghosts I can’t forget. I’m shouting at them in my head, begging them to go away, to leave me alone. They’re not here. Rashid is. I feel his warm skin beneath my hands, the subtle shift of muscle as he moves – as he pulls away from me, just slightly. Don’t leave me…

“Open your eyes, Wendell. Look at me.” His voice is soft and pleading. I didn’t even realise I closed my eyes against the onslaught of images.

“Look at me,” he repeats. “Stay with me.” He looks a little uncertain. Like he doesn’t know what to do either. “Focus on me.”

His gaze finds me, holds me – my lifeline that keeps me anchored.

“Can I touch you?” His voice is raw and husky. I nod again.

“You can stop me anytime. Just say stop…”

I vaguely shake-nod my head. I know he’ll stop if I ask him to. But I don’t want him to stop. His hand lets go of mine and follows the path that his eyes have taken earlier. Down my chest, circling my belly button. He’s being deliberately slow, giving me time to interrupt his downward journey. When he reaches his destination, just cupping me, I gasp and accidentally swallow a large gulp of water. It makes me choke and cough. Rashid keeps still and waits until I have caught my breath again.

“Don’t die on me. Not now,” he chuckles, and the sound releases some of the tension in me.

“Oh, any other time would be fine, then?” I growl back at him.

Instead of answering, his hand begins to move in slow, frustratingly slow, strokes. His eyes never leave mine, and he keeps reminding me to stay with him, focus on him. When I try to return the favour, he lets go of me and grabs my wrist.

“No. Don’t. Please.” He leans a little closer and whispers, “I want this to be just for you.”

“I can wait,” he adds with a little wink, his words barely audible against the steady gush of the water: “If anything, you’re delicious to me.”

He kisses my temple before dropping to his knees and taking me into his mouth. A low groan escapes my lips, but this time I avoid any accidental drowning. I lean my head back against the tiled wall, losing myself in the sensation.

We lie on my bed, still naked and our hair damp from the shower. I feel drowsy, weeks of insomnia catching up on me, but there are some things I need to say. Somehow it is easier to say them in the dark. I take one of Rashid’s hands and place it over my heart.

“I’m sorry.” I start, my head turned to him, although I can only see his silhouette. “For everything I said to you earlier. I didn’t mean any of it. I… I don’t know… I just…” I trail off. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding completely crazy.

“Did something… happen… when I was away?” Rashid asks haltingly. “You don’t have to tell me. But you can if you want to.” He offers when I remain silent.

“I have nightmares. Really bad ones. And I often can’t sleep.” I know he deserves an explanation, but I can’t give him details, not yet. And I don’t want to relive any of those terrors, not now. “Thank you for staying with me.” I rub his hand gently.

“You were so upset; I couldn’t just leave you alone.”

“Thank you.” I repeat. “I mean it. And I’m really sorry.”

He leans in to place a kiss on my shoulder. “You’re welcome. And apology accepted.”

“You are way too forgiving, Chaudhury. You should make me suffer a bit more first.” I grumble. But it’s just for show. On the inside I’m grateful he stayed when I wouldn’t have blamed him for running.

He shrugs. “It’s not just on you. I could have said something sooner. I shouldn’t have assumed so much. We both made that mistake. I’m sorry, too.”

I nod, even though it’s hard for me to acknowledge that not everything is my fault all the time.

We lie in silence for a while, and I have to make sure Rashid’s not fallen asleep before I ask my next question. He’s not. His eyes are open, and his gaze rests on me. I hesitate, but then I ask:

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“What to do when I was…” How to say it? “Losing focus?”

“Oh, that…” He falls silent, and when he replies, his words come out haltingly, carefully chosen.

“I… um… you weren’t the only one to seek medical help. Dr Bhansali is actually a consultant with the Talamasca.”

I probably should have guessed that, but I’m still surprised. Not that we went to the same vampire doctor, but that Rashid made this effort.

“It wasn’t about STDs – that never actually occurred to me – and your name never came up,” Rashid clarifies. “I just had to talk to… someone. I didn’t want to make a mistake and… make this awful… for you.” He gently brushes a strand of hair out of my forehead. “I know therapy isn’t Dr Bhansali’s field of expertise, but I didn’t really know who else to ask. I told him I’m in a relationship with someone who used to…” He trails off.

“You can say it,” I whisper. “No point in dancing around it.”

I can tell that this is difficult for him.

“… who used to let people fuck him for money?” I suggest.

“… who used to be a sex worker?” He offers as an alternative. I shrug. Good enough for me.

“I told him,” Rashid continues. “That I hope to be intimate with that person one day, but only if he can enjoy it as much as I will.”

“So, you knew you’d enjoy it?” I interrupt, and Rashid glowers at me.

“Cheeky bastard,” he mock-growls at me. “I’m trying to have a serious confession here.”

I turn around fully, so we’re face-to-face. “Sorry. Go on.” My hand rests on his lower back, my fingers drawing lazy circles into his skin.

Rashid sighs and leans his forehead against mine. “I kept your circumstances as vague as possible, but Dr Bhansali said that you probably used dissociation when you…”

He struggles again, and I cup his face and kiss him. “It’s alright. It won’t hurt me.”

Then I look into his eyes, and despite the darkness, I can see the pain in them, and I realise that it hurts him. Not for the first time this evening, I wish I could take it all back, everything I’ve done.

“I’m sorry…” I whisper.

“Don’t apologise. Not for that.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, his face buried in my shoulder. I wish I could take the pain away from him. I wish I wasn’t the one causing it.

“Dr Bhansali said that you probably used dissociation when those men had sex with you. That in your mind, you left your body, so they weren’t doing it… to you.” Rashid shifts a little so he can see my face. I nod in confirmation, and he nuzzles his chin back into my neck. “He said the first step is to make you feel safe with me.”

“I do,” I promise him. “I never felt safer with anyone in my life.”

I can feel, more than see, him smile before he goes on: “Dr Bhansali said once we both feel ready for it, we can try to be intimate. But take it slow. One step at a time. He warned me that you might dissociate from me but not to take it personally. When it happened, I needed to keep you with me, to make sure you know it was me you were doing it with, not some… client.”

My brave Rashid. Almost didn’t stumble on the last word.

“He said it takes time, trust and patience. And I wanted to give you all of that. I was ready to wait for as long as it took.”

We stay in each other’s embrace for a while, just soaking in the feeling of being close to each other. He’s here. With me. His arms around me. It feels unreal, but it feels so right. I breathe in his scent, musky with a bit of spice and honey.

“Will you let me touch you at all?” I mumble against his chest, and I can feel it shake with laughter.

“Yes, Wendell. I will. I’m all yours from now on,” he confirms.

“Do you mind that I talked to Dr Bhansali?” he adds.

I ponder my answer for a moment before I shake my head. “No, I think it was very thoughtful of you.”

“I just really didn’t want to do this if you couldn’t enjoy it.”

“I did enjoy it. You have a very talented mouth, Chaudhury.”

“At your service, Dupree.”

“What made you think I wasn’t ready?”

“I just assumed, I guess? That was my mistake. I should have just talked about it with you and admitted I don’t have all the answers. I just… hoped that I would see the signs. Like when you took your shirt off the other day. I thought maybe this was it, and I was trying to follow your lead, and … what?!?”

I can’t help myself; I’m giggling. “You were following my lead? I was trying to follow yours!”

“But then you left in the middle of it!”

“You fell asleep!”

“You left before I fell asleep!”

“I swear, Oxford, if I could’ve held it in any longer, I would’ve. I actually really had to pee!”

He laughs and shakes his head. “We really need to work on our communication, Dupree.”

Then he turns serious again and adds, “Well, when I woke up in the middle of the night, you were gone. I thought you were probably having second thoughts. Like maybe I had put too much pressure on you.”

“You didn’t,” I assure him. “I thought you didn’t want me. That you thought I was damaged goods.”

“Oh, Wendell Dupree, I wanted you from almost the first time that I saw you.”

“Almost the first time?” I frown, and he just laughs and captures my mouth in a kiss, expertly distracting me from my question.