The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors

those things, no matter how afraid he was that Nikolai would come in at any moment and find them together like this, hate him for it, cast him away for it, he just . . . couldn’t make himself stop.
    He didn’t know how long he lay there like that, half on top of Mat, them clinging to each other and choking on tears like drowning men. He lost track of time, lost track of everything because it was all so fucking slippery right now, broken and sharp and dangerous, and he couldn’t even begin to figure out how to navigate his way through it without doing irrevocable damage to one or the other or both of them.
    All he knew was that he loved Mat. And he hated Mat. Hated him in ways he’d never even been able to conceive of in his “before” life, because Mat had broken everything, hadn’t he, he’d ruined it, ruined it all, and now Dougie didn’t know how to fix things with Mat or Nikolai or anyone and he was still fucking stuck here and had to live this fucking life and how was he supposed to when all he’d given and suffered and worked for had been shattered in a single fucking minute with his brother?
    He should leave. He should go right now, walk out that door, find Nikolai, fall to his knees and beg and beg. Correct me, punish me, take me back. Make me see the right path.
    But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He just eased out from beneath Mat’s arms, rose shakily to his feet, and hauled Mat up beside him. “Come on,” he said, and “God damn you,” and led Mat to the bed so he could take care of him properly, like Mat needed, like Mat always needed because he was a fucking mess, a train wreck, a wild beast, the bull in Dougie’s fucking china shop and fuck him, seriously, fuck him.
    He should’ve. He should’ve just fucked him and been done with it. Said good-bye for good. Everything would’ve been so much simpler that way.
    Instead he went into the bathroom, into the medicine cabinet, found a roll of gauze and some tape, wet a clean washcloth and brought the whole mess back to Mat. Cleaned and bandaged his wrists. Surely Nikolai wouldn’t fault him for that, would he? The master’s property had been damaged, he was fixing it. That’s all. Just looking out for Nikolai’s interests. Most definitely not looking at Mat’s eyes, which had gone all round and soft and dewy. But Mat would have looked like that at anyone who showed him some fucking pity, that was all. Nothing personal. Nothing personal.
    Dougie didn’t know what to do with himself after that was done. Wait, he supposed. Just . . . sit here and wait for Nikolai to come back and make everything okay again. Even if Nikolai was the one who’d broken everything so badly.
    No, you did. You should’ve listened to him. Everything would’ve been fine then. You would’ve been free. For the first time in your life, totally, honest-to-god free.
    His “before” voice scoffed. Just the opposite, idiot. He was trying to trap you forever.
    “No,” Dougie moaned, and covered his ears with both hands even though it was stupid, pointless, the arguments were coming from within and he couldn’t run away from that, now could he? “Stop it. Stop it .”
    Mat looked at him like he was losing his fucking mind.
    That’s because you are.
    No. Everything had been fine, better than fine, great even, until Mat had shown up. He wasn’t crazy. He was fine. He’d get through this. Nikolai would help him get through this. He just needed to trust. Be patient. Wait. Just like always.
    He stood, walked around to the side of the bed Mat wasn’t sitting on, and climbed in. Put his back to Mat and pulled the blankets up over his head. He’d just . . . lie here until morning. Think of nothing. Trust. Be patient. Wait. Run piano exercises in his head because he couldn’t ever focus on anything else when he was trying to remember all that complicated fingering.
    Except he couldn’t not focus on Mat, somehow. Couldn’t avoid noticing when Mat stood up from the bed, started pacing around the room, looking for . . . fuck-all knew what. A weapon, maybe. Oh, God, he wouldn’t hurt Nikolai, would he? Because then Dougie would have to try to stop him and that would be ridiculous because there was no fucking way in hell he actually could stop him and—
    Stop. Stop thinking.
    He lurched upright when he heard the door open, halfway to sliding to his knees before he realized it was just Mat, not Nikolai. Just Mat, hand frozen, looking stunned beyond comprehension that