Flesh Cartel, #8: Loyalties

had been watchful enough to protect Dougie from himself—he’d never, ever let Dougie down. Never left him to fend for himself. Never left him alone. He wouldn’t now, either, Dougie was sure of it, and that thought brought with it a new jolt of warmth and hope. He could do this. It was happening. Nikolai was helping him to make it happen. And he didn’t hate himself and he didn’t hate the world and he certainly didn’t hate Nikolai. No disgust, no self-recrimination. Just a strange sort of peace, of patience—a carefree, worriless existence the likes of which he hadn’t known since the day his parents had died. It was all happening exactly the way Nikolai had promised him it would way back at the beginning. All he had to do now was wait. All he’d ever needed to do was wait.
    For Nikolai.

    Mat rose hesitantly from sleep, woozy and still tired. The overhead lights were on—why hadn’t he turned those off before he’d gone to bed? He blinked against them, wondering what time it was, how long he’d slept, if anyone would care if he went back to sleep, why his face felt so sticky and his eyes so sore. Like he’d been crying. Like—
    Roger. Suicide attempt. Kissing him. Sobbing like a baby in his arms.
    The memories came back slower than they should’ve, shamed him less than he thought they would. His stomach cramped and rumbled incessantly. He ignored it like he had for the past God-knew-how-long. Closed his eyes again. Thought of Roger’s arms around him, Roger’s kind words and understanding, his gentleness and generosity. Of what might’ve—no, would’ve —happened yesterday if Roger hadn’t shown up when he had.
    No surprise, then, that he wished Roger were here now. Practically burned with it, in fact. It wasn’t healthy, couldn’t be. But it was all he had.
    He sighed, rolled from his right side to his left. The effort wore him right out. How that would’ve scared him before Baseball Bat Guy—the weakness, the helplessness, the way his body was shutting down. Now it was almost . . . reassuring. Meant it wouldn’t be long now until the final bell, even if he couldn’t bring himself to commit a decisive act to end things.
    In the meanwhile, he’d take his punches and wait.
    His thoughts drifted for a while, his mind as dull and untethered as his body felt. He might’ve slept. Or maybe he just passed the hours staring at the far wall. Didn’t matter. Only mattered that nothing hurt when he drifted like that, that no stray unpleasant thoughts wafted through his skull. No thoughts at all, really. He liked it that way. Easier that way. Barely even felt the stomach cramps.
    At some point, his door opened, and someone shuffled inside. He didn’t move. Didn’t turn his head to look. Couldn’t really even be roused to care. Nikolai, probably, come at last to force him out of bed, to force him to eat, to fight. Or to fuck him, or to punish him for lazing. Whatever, let him try. Hard to hurt a dead man, after all.
    But what if it’s Roger?
    No. Roger would’ve said something. Roger always said something. Good morning or Hello or even Do you mind if I come in? Roger treated him like a human being. Roger wouldn’t be inviting himself onto Mat’s bed like his current visitor was doing. So Nikolai after all, then. Or maybe a guard. No difference—they all wanted the same thing. They could have it. Mat was too weak to fight even if he’d wanted to.
    He rolled over onto his stomach, then hefted himself up onto wobbly elbows and knees. If Nikolai or whoever wanted to fuck him, they could pull his blanket the rest of the way off themselves.
    But nothing happened. The person sitting on the bed just sighed.
    “This has to stop.”
    Roger.
    “I wish it would,” Mat replied, bitterly, then felt bad for using such a cruel tone with Roger, who didn’t deserve it.
    “ You have the power to stop it, Mat.”
    “Don’t fucking say that to me—” And then his voice cracked, trembled on the edge of tears, and he managed to gasp out, “Not you too.”
    He realized how much it suddenly hurt to see Roger siding with Nikolai, even though Roger always had . Right from the first moment he’d been Nikolai’s man, but he’d been the only kind person in Mat’s life here and God, Mat wanted more from him, wanted him to be more and do more. He knew it wasn’t fair to Roger, but fuck-all was fair down here, so why should he have to be?
    A tentative hand cupped his shoulder, and it was the sheer