first and third date, he stopped leaving. And it was good at first—just enough to disarm Wilder. Just enough to convince him that all he needed in the world was Scott in his bed at night. Wilder had been desperate for someone to validate his existence, and Scott fucking him into the mattress—no matter how rough it was or how much it hurt—did just that.
But it didn’t last. The scraps of kindness evaporated and left behind Scott’s temper, and his possessiveness, and his paranoia. Wilder managed to graduate by the skin of his teeth, because Scott wouldn’t stop accusing him of flirting with the other students, the TAs, and the professors. His grades dropped, but he scraped together enough credits to walk that May, his parents and sister missing from the crowd, and was welcomed afterward by the coldness in Scott’s eyes.
And yet, he stayed.
He got a job, and they got a new apartment. Scott spent Wilder’s money—keeping them constantly broke. He was out all night and came home angry and made Wilder pay for whatever had gotten him worked up. The careful bruises became bolder, the too tight grips became violent. He lived with it—his health failing. He was dizzy all the time, his ears ringing all the time. He couldn’t eat, his insomnia raged, and every time he brought it up to Scott, the man just laughed and told him to suck it up. The unease in his gut grew to full-blown terror, and it formed into a quiet, unacknowledged belief that Scott was probably going to kill him one day.
And still, he stayed.
He had no idea why, no matter how often he asked himself. He knew he should pack his bags and run as far and as fast as he could. But he had nothing. Scott had met his parents once, and his mother had told him across the table in sign language that Scott didn’t understand, if he continued in the relationship, he had no support. His mother had made him choose in that moment, so he had.
Scott had gone home triumphant, and Wilder had gone home an island.
In the end, he was both right and wrong.
In the aftermath, Wilder didn’t remember much about the night Scott had almost killed him. He knew there was a fight, and he knew there was something cold and vicious in the way Scott looked at him. After that, there was pain.
He woke up on the little triage bed in the ER. His eyes felt heavy, like they were coated with sleep, and there was a funny, heavy, buzzing sensation in his ears. He knew he should be hearing the beeping from the monitors that were strapped to his body—just like he knew there should be pain from the places on his arms and thigh which were wrapped tight with gauze—but everything was just absent.
“Mr. Torres, I see you’re with us now.”
Wilder heard him, but only just, like the man was speaking under water. “I…there’s something wrong.” His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
The doctor gave him a sympathetic look as he stared at the chart. “How much do you remember, Mr. Torres?”
He swallowed again, and his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth. It took him a moment to pry it away, and he coughed. The sound was heavy, muffled in his ears, and he wondered what the hell actually happened. “I was home with my boyfriend…and he…” His throat went thick with unshed tears, and he turned his face away. “What’s wrong with me? What happened?”
“Well, for one, you had a nasty blow to your head, Mr. Torres. It resulted in a mild concussion.”
At least that made sense. He nodded, and then the world swam, and he panicked, grabbing the handle on the bed like he might topple over as the room turned upside down. “I’m so dizzy, and I feel…I can’t…hear well.”
“Part of it is the concussion, but part of it isn’t,” the doctor said. “We did a CT scan and found some nerve damage in your ears. Have you been experiencing vertigo lately?”
“A few years now,” Wilder admitted. He swallowed a couple times, like it might clear things up, but nothing happened. “Did I fall?”
The doctor pulled a face, and though Wilder couldn’t hear it right then, he imagined the man hummed. “I’m afraid not.” The doctor turned his head sharply like he heard something, then his shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “There’s an officer outside who would like to