Nate's POV

I unlocked the door to my apartment, frowning down at my phone. I'd texted Ariana, hoping to probe the atmosphere and see how the talk with Kaylah had blown over; ever playing the part of the concerned boyfriend. Instead, I'd hit a wall. I was effectively and quite rudely shut out of a conversation that hadn't even begun by a curt text. Can't talk right now, at pool with Seth and Malik. I'll text later x. Now, she's never been a good liar, and I could feel a shift in her tone towards me. Whatever Kaylah had said, it must've been good.

And then there was the issue of Seth and Malik. She's always just called them "the boys", and I'd gotten used to them being referred to like this. It made them inconsequential, not even bothering to name them. Yet now, she chose to. Like they meant something. I'd never seen Malik as much of a threat; he seemed to always be the outcast anyway, always looking in from the outside, trying to fit in. But Seth somehow always managed to pull a crowd, with a bunch of simple-minded but effective jokes and positively piercing laugh. And he might think no one has noticed, but he's been watching Ari lately, and quite tenderly I'd say. The thought didn't sit well with me, for more than one reason.

I didn't have time to ponder how I'd deal with them before I realised something was off. There were streaks of dried mud on the living room carpet, which abruptly stopped as if someone had thought better of it and had taken their shoes off. I walked into my room cautiously, although I knew Gage was long gone. The gun case had been moved, and the dresser was open. A smile curled on my lips. He'd searched for the photo album. Our photo album. If he thought I would've left it lying around after everything, he really is a fool. I'd burned it to scraps a long time ago. My smile melted as I caught a whiff of an unfamiliar scent. It was faded, but undoubtedly female.

I swallowed down my irritation at his brashness and willed my palms to rest flat against my thighs. Gage had broken the rules by bringing Kaylah here. What Gage and I were playing was a game of cat and mouse, which was between us and us alone; Kaylah had absolutely no business in it.

I grabbed my gun and decided to head to the polygon. I needed to cool off before tonight, or else I wouldn't be able to think straight. And I would have to today more than ever. I looked over at the law books carefully arranged in a neat stack on my living room table and winced. I had frozen my year, and I now regretted the decision.

My father had called earlier, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of answering. When he realized that calling was futile, he sent me a curt text. Found a new case. Bring Declan.

He'd always been an asshole, but I had liked Declan. He was the friend of a friend, which is to say, he was the guy I got my weed from. Punctual, never prying too much, always professional and never very concerned about much. I'm still not sure if that was the weed speaking or if that's simply always been his way. Until my father had gotten to him. He approached him, with a sly smile and a wad of cash, and Declan was too greedy to question anything until it was too late. He became just another case.

My pathetic excuse of a father has never been good at much except wasting money; and making people do the dirty work for him. It started simply enough. A watch, a bracelet, a ring here and there from a stranger. Asking me to steal, lie, smile, bleed.

"And what if I'm done playing your game?"

He gave me a knowing smile, "Then I always know where to find your little boyfriend."

Gage was the only person I had ever refused to steal from, and I regretted it every single day. Because I'd defied my father for someone who'd laughed at me with the first chance he'd had, forgetting me as soon as something better became available. Just like my mother had, when she ran away without any warning with some guy who had it all figured out much better than we did. Old habits die hard, I guess. Of course, my father considered me the sole reason for which mom decided to just up and leave. If you weren't such a freak, she wouldn't have left. Sometimes I wonder if he's right about that.

Mother still occasionally tried to reach out, but I never heeded any of her calls. If she was looking for forgiveness, she was searching in the wrong place.

But of course, father couldn't stop at pawning off jewellery. Like many greed driven capitalists, he realised the real power today wasn't property, but information. And so, all of this began. He would target the vulnerable ones, the ones most likely to have exploitable potential and no one to turn to; namely, AA and Narcotics Anonymous groups. He'd go in, pose as one of them, earn their trust, and scout for the most vulnerable ones. Then, he'd get them to relapse, and spill whatever dark secret they had weighing them down. Or if they didn't have any, he'd make sure they were so out of it that he could later convince him they had done something unspeakable. Then I'd be sent out, requesting an amount of money in exchange for not unveiling their secret.

Most cases had a happy ending. Usually, the threat was enough to make them pay up, possibly committing worse crimes in order to get the money on time. But there had been a couple instances where they either couldn't get the money or refused to believe whatever story my father had spun, it was Declan's turn to step in; and his job to take care of the bodies afterwards. All along, my father would continue to play the role of the broken old man, looking to repent for his sins but horribly drowning in his own vices, unable to cope with his inner demons. And just as he appeared, he would then vanish, not to be seen by those poor individuals ever again. By then, he had crafted his façade so minutely, no one would suspect a thing by the time he abruptly stopped showing up; even the victim, should they have continued attending the meetings, would have been so thoroughly impressed that they would feel sorrow for the poor addict who had inevitably fallen back into his old routine.

Although his text didn't mention an hour, I knew the drill; no earlier than nightfall, but early enough so there would be a crowd to inconspicuously disappear into after the job was done. But the usual time was still a way off, and I debated my next move. I still had the gun safely tucked into my holder at my 4 o'clock, shirt loose and untucked, making it invisible to the untrained eye.

I locked the door, making a mental note to change the locks. Although I was certain there was no reason for him to come around again, one could never be too careful. Once I was back in the comfort of my car, I let myself feel the resentment twisting in my gut, a thousand jolts of chaotic anger. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, but I hadn't yet pulled out of the garage. The lights timed off, and I was left to my thought's mercy, which was a shallow well I had exhausted years ago.

My episodes had been more intense and more frequent in the past few weeks; awfully vivid, full of colour and movement and violence. So much so that I was back to carrying around that wretched pill bottle in the inner pocket of my coat. I wasn't back on my regular dosage, for it would yet again deaden that part of me modern psychology would deem wrong, but kept it in case I felt myself slip, and had trouble distinguishing reality from my thoughts.

It was pitch black inside the garage, and I could hear the rhythmic pitter patter of light rain on the pavement outside. Multiple times in the past weeks I had considered abandoning my plan, if only for some piece of mind, and I'd talked myself out of it, because I'd been planning this for so long, too long; and whenever I closed my eyes, I could still see Gage, looking at me as if I were a stranger, as his football mates closed in on me. I didn't quite recall pain, or sorrow; just a harrowing emptiness, a sense of nothingness that had never quite left after that.

Until she looked at me the same way I might have once looked at Gage. And in that moment, the emptiness seemed ever so slightly less consuming, for I was now consumed by the carnal desire in her gaze, that insatiable need. It left me intrigued, yearning to see just how far my power over her extended; how much of that innate need I could control and subject to whims, to my own needs. Love was never something I had particularly desired; the sheer stupidity of attachment to one person, without any guarantee that it would be reciprocated or welcomed, didn't appeal to me in the least. One look at my father, at the madness that the loss of a beloved brings, the pain of unrequited love, is enough for anyone to swear off emotional attachment.

And yet I might have loved Gage; at some point I had concluded that romance was an acceptable nuisance accompanying pleasure. Had I not left my obsession and fascination of him consume me, I wouldn't find myself here now; torn as the idea of revenge turned bitter on my tongue. I quite enjoyed her company, despite having to put up with her agonizingly low self esteem and anxious mind. But in life, you have to make compromises. I remembered I once made such compromises for Gage and sighed. Suddenly, I wasn't sure if the ending I had planned for her sat right with me anymore.

I rested my forehead on the steering wheel, my hands gripping it on either side of my head. I was incapable of neurotypical love; it was something I knew as a fact, having been told years ago, and since I had never felt it, I never missed it. I steadied myself, popping one pill in my mouth and swallowing it dry, grimacing at the bitterness. Then, I pulled out of the garage, heading straight for Gage's place.

I had to know. To understand why he reacted the way he did, all those years ago. I needed to hear him say it, see the blank look in his eyes one more time as he looked at me. Only then, I might find some peace of mind. Knowing that he despised me, with every fibre of his being, and that his trust was lost. Only then, I would make him pay.

I drove in utter silence; for once, my mind was silent. Sunset boulevard was always busy this time of the evening, being the sole boulevard connecting the east side with the west one; but right now it was unusually packed for this time of year, a cacophony of honks and shrieks and people swearing up storms over red traffic lights. Halloween was days away, and all windows were plastered with gory posters while neon lights glowed in every café window. It felt much too familiar, driving down Sunset to the apartment building on the corner with Beaumont Avenue one of the biggest crossroads in the entire city. I parked in the spot he rented out but never used, always preferring to park in the garage than out in the open.

I took his spare key out of my pocket and was making my way to the front entrance, when I froze. Gage was talking animatedly with a blond guy, lean and about an inch taller than Gage. I might've not given him a second glance, if I hadn't noticed a white scar flash on his cheekbone as he turned his head. I took a closer look, and surely enough it was him. The guy I'd smoked with at the AA meeting two weeks ago. What could he possibly have to do with Gage? Next to him walked the petite raven-haired girl I had seen go in with one of the guys in the AA programme. I watched the two men clasp hands, then the girl going in for a one-armed hug and a pat on the back, and they were off. Kaylah must know, then. I'd probably have to deal with her sooner than I had hoped.

I stood there for a couple more minutes, making sure he was inside his flat by the time I went in. Someone twisting the key in his lock always unnerved him, although I was the only one that had the key. We'd normally laugh about it over a beer or coffee and I'd tease him over how paranoid he was; I don't think he'd be laughing this time though.

I looked at his door for a long minute, then turned the key once, twice, and the door gave in swiftly. I was expecting to catch him off guard, in the middle of slipping his shoes off or checking his phone. But he was leaning against the hallway wall, looking expectant and just slightly concerned.

"What do you want now?" his voice was harsh, but I could sense a light tremor just beneath it. What took me aback was the hatred in his voice, although it shouldn't have. I knew better than that. I recovered quickly, and gave him the grin I knew unnerved him " Well hello to you too, Dave" he tensed, and I felt an odd kind of joy knowing I could make him tick like that; he'd always hated his middle name.

I closed the door and moved closer, leaning against the opposite wall. When I didn't answer, he tried again, "I don't know why you're here," he was looking at me with an odd intensity, and his eyes held a new alertness that hadn't been there before.

"Don't you?" I took the liberty to walk into his living room, tracing my fingertips over a shelf, sliding over a downturned photo frame. I grasped it, mindful of the broken glass, and without a word, I rested it against the book behind it. The two younger versions of ourselves stared ahead, all simple smiles and creaseless foreheads; how distant such careless moments seemed.

I moved towards the kitchen, taking of my jacket and placing it over a bright green chair, which had once been my chair. Gage, who had been following me, drew in a sharp breath, and suddenly it hit me. He thought I was there to hurt him. I couldn't help but laugh at that thought, a short brittle sounds which seemed to positively creep Gage out. I took out a beer of the fridge, popped the cap, and turned to face him. His eyes were fixed on my waist, and since I wasn't looking for a fight, I pulled the gun and holster out, lying it on the table now between us.

"Truce?" it held an edge of teasing, for I knew I'd never get an answer to the question. Which was an answer in itself. He did seem less tense once he realised, I was now unarmed, and his shoulders slumped slightly in what looked like defeat. I wasn't going anywhere yet.

"I think you know exactly why I'm here. You couldn't expect me to not notice that you decided to pay me a visit when I wasn't home. And bring a guest while you were at it too," I watched him, waiting for some kind of reaction, but his eyes were blank, unyielding. Fine. I stared back, willing myself to relax, slump on the chair and sip at y beer with disinterest. I tried to look like I'd never left, like I still belonged here. His eyes softened for a moment, but then he seemed to remember himself, and his gaze hardened in anger.

"Why are you doing this? What do you even want from me? You took everything away from me!" he slapped the table once, hard enough to make the gun rattle. That seemed to subdue him. He looked at me, tired. "Why did you have to ruin this?" his hand jerked towards me, pointing back and forth between us two.

"Why did you do it? Why did you act like I was nothing to you for three years?" I might not be capable of love, but I could surely feel pain. It doesn't seem real until you don't say it out loud. That's when it really hurts. How right Ariana was.

Gage seemed thrown off, shocked, and most of all confused. I felt another urge to laugh, but I stopped myself. "Why would you bring this up again? Now, after all this time?" he seemed to think for a second, then said with as much conviction he could muster, "I apologized for that,"

Then I really did laugh, for he was more foolish than I'd thought, "Oh and to think I might've actually loved you once. Or well, if what I felt could be considered love. Did the word 'sex' really unnerve you so much that you spent three years coming to terms with it? Sexuality is a fluid thing, you know."

He ignored my last comment, yet his eyes went soft again, as if he was remembering a time before this was set in motion, a time when nothing was complicated and we spent hours planning out our simple, linear lives.

"You don't understand love, or emotional attachment, Nathan. Your brain's wired differently. I know that, because you told me so. Didn't we go over this when you first started seeing a psychologist?" I remember that conversation. I could still see Gage nodding mutely, his wide eyes staring at me uncomprehendingly but with such pity I felt irked beyond words.

He sighed and slumped into his chair. Then, he fixed me with a stare I knew I would never be able to get out of my head, "Come to think of it, I don't think you even cared,"

"Don't" my tone held a warning, but he didn't seem to care. He could've thrown anything at me. But not this; never this.

"Don't what? You don't care about anything or anyone but yourself! If you cared you wouldn't be doing this!" he was standing, hands braced on the chair's backrest, tightening around it.

It was true. I didn't care about anything or anyone but myself. Except I had cared about him. Staring at him now, eyes resentful. And for the first time, I didn't feel like he cared either.

"You have no idea how it felt, Gage. Watching from the shadows, waiting for your friends to pounce on me again. And you just stood there, watching it happen. Do you think that helping me get up to my feet and walk to the car redeems you? You did nothing!"

At least he had the decency of looking ashamed. "I tried to get over it, I really did. But I couldn't watch you be happy with her; so I took her for myself," I was trying to explain, trying to make him see how that had been a fair move. But the words didn't seem to register; I was wasting my time. "Anyway, you'll understand soon enough," that seemed to snap him out of his daze.

"What do you mean?" but I was already holstering my gun, pulling my jacket on. I took his spare key out of my pocket, the last thing holding me tethered to him, and dropped it on the kitchen table.

I was walking towards the door, feeling lighter than when I had walked in, paying no heed to Gage. I couldn't change the way he felt.

But he grabbed my arm, stopping me before I could pull the door open. I looked at him, and his eyes were wild, desperate. Afraid. His hand was gripping onto my biceps with so much force it felt uncomfortable. "Please tell me you're not going to do something stupid Nate,"

"Please", but my face a practiced mask of calm.

It was amusing really. Gage, begging me. I decided to throw him a bone, "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. But if your new girlfriend keeps getting in the way, she might find herself a little...... incapacitated," I pulled my arm free, and he let me.

"No. Nathan, no!" but I was already shutting the door behind me, leaving his flat for what must probably be last time.

I was back in my car before my phone rang, and I answered before checking the ID, too distracted to do so. I regretted it the moment I heard the gruff voice on the other side of the call, "Nathaniel, you're late" My father was the only person who had ever called me that, and he delighted in the way it made me want to crawl out my skin.

One last case. Then I was done with my father, no matter the price.