Page 42 of Survival Game

Eric grinned. “I hope you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen. I promise I’ll clean up, Mr Neat Freak.”

Kyle noticed with dismay how untidy his usually pristine kitchen was. Eggshells lurked in plain sight. Crumbs were scattered across every surface and there was even a piece of burnt toast casually flung on top of the tea towel. Fat spattered up the white backsplash tiles. He swallowed, trying not to let the state of his kitchen affect him too much. “No problem. I see you’re one of those chefs who really get into what they’re doing.”

Eric cocked his head to one side as he slid Kyle’s plate over to him. “Is that your way of telling me I’m a messy bastard in the kitchen? Because I know I am. I mess first, clean later.”

He sat down with his plate and took a slurp of coffee. “God, that’s what I needed. Now eat, before it gets cold.”

The food was tasty and Kyle hadn’t realised how hungry he was. When they’d finished eating, he managed to convince Eric to leave the cleaning up. Kyle found it therapeutic; plus, it meant he could get things cleared the way he wanted them. It also delayed their conversation, which he wished there was a way to avoid altogether.

When he’d finished, he went to the lounge to join Eric, who was lying on the couch, legs stretched out. Kyle sat down in the armchair and looked across at him. “That was great, thanks. It’s been ages since anyone did that for me.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it. And don’t think I didn’t notice your attempt at getting me out of your kitchen so you could clean up your way. I would have cleared my own mess.”

Kyle nodded. “I know. It’s just I like things done a certain way, so…” He fiddled with the drawstring of his sweatpants.

The room went silent.

“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Eric shifted on the couch, turning on his side. When Kyle didn’t answer, he went straight for the jugular. “Who is Mario?”

Kyle cleared his throat then exhaled. “He was my ex in Vegas. We were together around five months.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed. “He was abusive?”

Kyle nodded. “You could say that.” His fingers clenched together.

What the fuck am I saying? The guy nearly killed me.

He closed his eyes, carefully choosing his next words. He sensed Eric’s presence on the arm of the chair before he opened his eyes.

Eric ran a comforting hand down his back. “You going to tell me more? I don’t want to push too hard.”

Kyle took a deep breath, and then, like a floodgate had opened, it all came out. Torrents of fear, shame and pain mixed in with the need to tell this man next to him, this decent man, exactly why he’d acted like a scared child last night.

“Mario was older than me. He was a backup dancer at the casino. We met during one of the stage shows when I went backstage to deliver some drinks. I worked bar for extra money when I wasn’t on the tables.”

The memory of the night he’d first seen Mario flooded back. The dressing room had been empty apart from a few men busy disrobing and wiping makeup off their faces. He’d noticed Mario straight away, having seen him perform, and had been smitten.

Mario was dark, tall and muscled, with a dancer’s grace. He’d smiled at Kyle when he’d taken his drink, and before Kyle had known it, he’d given Mario his number and arranged to meet him the following day after the show. That had been the start of Kyle’s nightmare.

Eric moved over to the couch and patted the seat beside him. “We’ll be more comfortable over here,” he muttered softly.

Kyle moved to sit next to Eric and leaned in to Eric’s side. The contact gave him strength to tell his story.

“Mario was Italian, and Catholic—staunchly so. He was bisexual, but nobody knew. If his family had found out, they’d have disowned him. They were deeply religious. Him having a nice boy slut on the side was all he wanted.”

Eric said nothing, but made soothing circles on Kyle’s back.

“I thought I was in love with him. He was charismatic, great in bed and spoilt me like crazy. I thought we were a great couple. Then suddenly, everything changed.”

He slid closer to Eric. “His uncle Roberto from Italy came to live with the family. He was a priest who was cold and uncompromising. Mario adored him. He began spending time with him, and less with me. At first, I thought it was a family duty thing. Family meant everything to him.” Kyle’s throat grew tight. “One night he came over to my place in a foul mood after spending the day with his uncle. Roberto must have said something to him, because Mario stormed into my bedroom and…” The memory of that first assault came flooding back. “He hit me. With his fists, again and again, sending me halfway across the room.”

Oh God, I can’t tell him the rest of it. I can’t.

Eric’s hands stopped and he moved back, his face a masque of fury. “No reason? He just came in and beat the shit out of you?”

Kyle nodded jerkily. “The scariest thing—he didn’t say a word. There was just this disgusted look on his face, as if I were a piece of shit. Then he left the room. I managed to get to the bathroom and clean up, but I was pretty out of it. I went back to bed and must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, he was there beside me, cleaning my face and putting ointment on it. He said he was sorry, that he’d never do it again.”

Kyle closed his eyes and heaved a juddering sigh. “And I believed him. For a while, we were okay, went back to normal. That was when I met Luce at the club. She came to my rescue one night when he was getting mouthy. Told him to piss off and find someone his own size to pick on.” He smiled at a better memory this time, one of meeting a crazy woman with pink hair telling his boyfriend exactly what she thought of him.