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He rolled his eyes, aggravated.  No. No, I m just going to take my shower and my nap.
 I don t think so. Bertoli grabbed his hand and headed them down the hall.
 No. No. I don t want this. I want some time. He dug in his heels, stubborn.
 Time to what? Bertoli asked.  Whenever I ask hard questions or push, you go running
to the shower, to a nap. You say you don t want to be like this, but you aren t pushing yourself at
all.
He turned on Bertoli with a snarl.  No. No, I m not. Of course, I m not. I push myself
every day to wake up and not hide away. I push myself not to look behind the doors, not to
dream about them night after night! His fist slammed into the wall, right beside Bertoli.  I
should have died out there and then I would not be such a problem now!
Bertoli jumped, but Dent s anger didn t send his lover away.  No! No, you are not a
problem , Dent! You are my lover, my friend, and I am scared you will never be happy with the
progress you ve made, never believe yourself to be more than a shadow of the man you were.
Well, I love the man you are here and now. And I want you to be happy.
 I don t know how to be happy!
 To start with, you need to stop being disappointed in yourself. So what if you don t do
the things you used to do? You hated your work, and you re well rid of it. You need to find new
goals, and you need to revel in the pleasures you have, the things we do together &  Bertoli took
a deep breath and reached out to touch his arm.  You have to decide what you want to do with
your life and then work toward it instead of worrying about how things used to be.
 I don t have goals beyond forgetting. He sighed, fingers tugging at his hair.
 Maybe that s part of why you re stuck here. Bertoli took his hands, twined their fingers
together.  You should be working toward something, not running away from memories. You
don t have to face them alone, my dear, but I think perhaps you do have to face them.
 I have faced them. I survived them. I never intend to think of them again. He didn t
want to remember the sounds of electricity upon his skin, of the burns and slaps and slices. Of
the touches, of the tears.
 But you do think of them. You expect the spectre of them to jump out at you around
every corner. Bertoli sighed.  I just want your happiness, my dear.
 I m sorry, Bertoli. He turned away, headed toward the door, shoulders slumping.
 Dent! Bertoli caught up with him, grabbing his arm and whirling him around so they
were face to face.  I am not disappointed in you. Quite the opposite I am proud of you!
 How? How can you be?
 You answered that comm on your own and spent several minutes talking to Herc. You
got angry and let it out, and survived. Every day you go further from the door. And you revel in
every touch I offer. How could I not be proud?
 I want & I want to understand where I am. He stepped closer to his lover, soaking up
the heat there.
Bertoli wrapped the long, thin arms around him immediately, drawing him even nearer.
 Come to the room with me. We will meditate on it together.
 Together. He let Bertoli lead him this time, let Bertoli hold his gaze.
 In all things, my dear. Bertoli stopped just inside the door to the room, his head tilting
to the side.  Would you like us to have something tangible to show that?
 What?
 Matching rings, tattoos. You could wear my collar. Bertoli laughed gently.  There are
many, many ways we could make the statement.
A collar. He touched his neck, considering that idea.  We should think about it some.
Bertoli nodded, the long fingers joining his and sliding around his neck.  I would not
have thought you could be more handsome, but perhaps & maybe my collar would be the
finishing touch.
 I &  What would his friends think? What would Herc say? Mal? Did it matter? Did it
matter even a bit?  I & am intrigued.
Bertoli smiled.  Yes? I like the idea myself. Those fingers continued to slide along his
neck.
His eyes closed, his tension beginning to ease.
 Something strong and masculine. Perhaps a tattoo of a thick-linked chain, or a dark
leather band. He could tell that Bertoli liked the idea, that long prick filling against his thigh.
Strong.  You still think I m strong. It wasn t a question, not really.
 I have never met anyone stronger, my dear. Never. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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