The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors

couldn’t go and he was broken, broken , didn’t know what to do, needed someone to tell him what to do.
    Mat must’ve seen him staring at the clothes and weapons, seen the despair on his face, the confusion, the anger, the fear, because he picked up the jeans Nikolai had given him and held them out.
    Those were a gift, Mat, please don’t—
    Mat shook the jeans— Take them, damn it, put them on! —but when Dougie stood frozen, doing nothing, Mat threw them down on the bed and picked up the sweater instead. Fumbled with it until he’d opened the neck hole. Held the sweater, neck hole first, out to Dougie, and when Dougie was still too stunned to move, physically pulled the sweater over Dougie’s head. Dressing him? Dougie let it happen, raised his arms so Mat could pull them through the sleeves. Then the jeans again. Mat held them out for him, and this time, Dougie took them.
    I’m actually going to do this, aren’t I? I’m going to put on these clothes and follow Mat out of this house and leave behind the only person who truly loves me without so much as a by-your-leave. What will I do then? How will I survive on my own?
    His hands had fastened his jeans for him while he’d been thinking.
    You think too much, Douglas, always think too much.
    Mat kept Dougie’s socks for himself, thick warm wool, but it wasn’t as if Dougie would need them with the leather sneakers Mat was handing him. He took them numbly. Put them on himself because he didn’t think he could bear Mat doing it for him. His jacket next, warm but lightweight down. It didn’t escape his notice that he was bundled up to his eyeballs and Mat was still naked. Well, except for Dougie’s socks.
    Protecting you, he’s protecting you. Willing to freeze so you don’t.
    That thought warmed him better than the clothes ever could. Scared the fucking shit out of him, too. There had to be a reason Mat was doing that. Had to be something he wanted, something he needed. He’d kept Dougie around all these years as a post-fighting-days meal ticket, Dougie knew that. No other reason to put up with him. So why was he being so selfless now?
    You think too much, Douglas.
    Yeah. He knew that. He just didn’t know how to shut it off; only Nikolai had ever managed to silence the storms that raged in his head.
    He scrubbed his face with both hands and stood up from the bed, waited for Mat to show him what to do next. If he could just . . . obey , follow orders, trust and be patient and wait, then maybe everything would be okay. Somehow.
    Mat nodded at him and handed him the two jagged sticks. Or tried to. Dougie wouldn’t take them. There wasn’t one person in this house he would be willing to use them on, not for himself, not for Mat, not for anything.
    Finally, Mat sighed around the gag and laid them on the little round table. Then he stripped the blanket and top sheet from the bed, laid the top sheet aside, and folded the blanket into some insanely complicated toga-like thing that left his arms and legs free for fighting and running and wouldn’t trip him up during either. The sheet he folded down small and handed to Dougie. In case they froze, he supposed. Dougie tucked it into his jacket and looked to Mat— Is that right? Is that okay? Mat nodded again. Pulled his lips back from the gag in what Dougie thought might be a smile. Clapped him once on a down-poofy shoulder, and retrieved his yantok sticks.
    Then he crept back to the door, opened it, and peeked down the darkened hall.

Mat nearly melted with relief when Dougie followed him into the hallway. To be honest, even after getting him dressed, Mat still hadn’t been sure that he would.
    He tightened his grip on the makeshift yantok sticks and squinted into the dark. Saw nothing, heard nothing, sensed no one but Dougie at his back, crying softly though God knew why. They were getting out of here. That was something to celebrate, not mourn.
    Or had Nikolai already fucked with his head so badly that he thought he’d miss this place?
    Mat couldn’t afford to think about that possibility right now. Not how true it probably was, not how big a role he himself had no doubt played in it, not how he’d ever figure out how to make things right again. He needed to be sharp now. Alert. Keep them alive and get them the fuck off this mountain. He could deal with the fallout after they were both safe. Right after he found a knife or scissors or something to cut this fucking gag off his face. It wasn’t