Peeling Back the Top Layer 🇯🇲

13| Shattering

Steven, my boyfriend Steven, has his pants halfway down, stroking his cock roughly, eyes rolling back as he's about to cum.

"Turn round," he orders the skinny paralegal bent over the desk in front of him, naked from the waist down. He drags him to kneel, instructing, "Open yuh mouth".

Michael's shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his bare chest while he too masturbates. Like an obedient pet, he waits patiently on his knees and parts his lips to allow Steven to insert his cock, pushing all the way in. Panic turns to disgust and hot anger, rising in the back of my throat like bile.

Too stunned to even breathe, I back away from the door, accidentally bumping over some stationery, which clatter to the floor noisily. The two men move around frantically in the office upon realizing that they've been caught. Before they can adjust their clothing, I dash through the front door and scuttle down the stairs on wobbly knees.

Not even the blurry vision caused by the imminent tears slows my sprint toward the car. Steven barrels through the main doors in an attempt to stop me but he's too late.

My tires squeal loudly as I peel out of the parking lot, swing maniacally into traffic, and cut off oncoming vehicles. The frenetic driving infuriates several motorists, who express their outrage with a wave of blaring horns. But this doesn't stop me from making my way home at top speed.

The car screeches to a stop outside my house in record time but the automatic gate delays my parking when it takes an eternity to open. It's a wonder I made it home scot-free. The second I get into the yard I fling the car door open and hurl up my lunch.

The heaving stops and the crying begins. Tears flow unhindered like water spewing from a broken main. It blurs my vision and makes my eyelids heavy. My head spins and I collapse to my knees, wrapping my arms around my stomach, and bawl like a baby.

Too dizzy to move, I dial Gillian since she lives closer to me than Marsha does and will get here sooner. However, when the call connects, a man's voice booms through the speaker.

Chaunard. 

Shit! I called him instead of my best friend. "Sorry, wrong number," I utter between sobs.

"Yuh good?" he asks. I hear the concern in his voice. It's not an empty question. 

We have been talking more recently and what started out as friendly banter over memes and status updates has become frequent check-ins with each other. Still, I regret my mistake in calling him. And to tell him I'm fine when I'm obviously crying would be foolish.

"No," I sniffle.

"What's wrong?"

"Can't tell you."

"Weh yuh deh?"

"Home."

"Alright. Mi deh near. Soon fawud."

True to his word, he pulls up across the street not long after the call ends. I had just enough time to rinse my mouth with water from a bottle inside the car. Hopefully, that was enough to wash away the scent of vomit.

Look left, look right, then look left again and there is Steven turning onto the avenue. I should have known that he'd come straight here.

"Just drive please," I beg Chaunard, quickly getting into his vehicle. Although he's the last person I want to see me unravel, he's currently my only chance of escape.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

"I don't know. Mi jus need fi clear mi head."

"Ah. Nuh seh nutten." We travel in silence for about 30 minutes and he turns into a spot in the hills overlooking Kingston. It's a beautiful view of the city. There are two other cars parked in the open area so I figure that the space is used as a lookout point.