bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter twenty. ❤️

When they'd finished cleaning, Sir gathered his things and left without a word. Case waited quietly, tensely, for Sir to come back down the stairs and make everything dirty again. But when his dinner arrived later that evening and there was still no sign of Sir, Case knew he was spending the rest of his night alone. The realization left him unsettled, as if he couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed. Case sat on his semi-fresh mattress, the odors he'd gotten used to now neutralized by the powdery scent of baking soda. He toyed with his food, unable to keep his mind from looping.

"Do you like me?"

A lump of dry chicken stuck in his throat as if he were swallowing a stone. Of all the things he could have asked Sir, why the hell did he ask that? Asking a cute girl if she liked you was scary enough, putting yourself at risk of rejection and ridicule. But asking a serial killer-slash-rapist if they liked you? That was like finding Pandora's Box, knowing its secrets and promised misery, and ripping open the lid anyway.

"Stupid," Case sighed to himself. He cut his food into tiny, mangled pieces, losing his appetite. "Stupid, stupid . . ."

"Yes, I like you," Sir's voice haunted him, trailing down his spine like a ghostly finger. "Do you like me, too?"

Case didn't like Sir—at least, he was pretty sure he didn't. He still daydreamed about finding ways to escape the basement, usually ways that ended in Sir getting brutally injured or caught by police. And fantasizing about leaving wasn't something you did when you liked someone. Hell, near the end of their relationship, he hadn't really liked Hannah. (So, why did he stay?).

Okay, Case may have been confused over some of his feelings. But there was one thing he was certain of: the possibility that Sir liked him was tantalizing. In his time alone, Case often ended up wondering: did Sir think about him? Was Sir conflicted over how to feel about Case? Did Case creep into Sir's dreams at night, haunting him like an incubus, the way Sir crept into his? Case knew that to want for any of these things, to recklessly cross this boundary, was flirting with disaster. And yet, the knowledge he could yield some sexual power over Sir gave him a rush of adrenaline. A rush indistinguishable between excitement or fear.

An idea came to him. An experiment, just so he could know for sure. After a long lapse of contemplation, of no, that's too weird, that's too gay, Case sighed to himself, fuck it and lay back, eyes scrunched tight and, like summoning a demon in the dark, he conjured a mental image of Sir. And he touched himself. He tried to think of Sir as attractive, but no matter how objective or lustful his thoughts were he remained soft in his own hand. It should have been easy. He'd been aroused by Sir before. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, moaning with effort as he remembered that afternoon, the moment he'd seen Sir's tongue through his wolfish grin and how it had affected him like a bolt of lightning to his core, charging his circulatory system with electricity. Why wasn't it happening now? Why did it always happen at random, against his will?

Because I don't like him.

Case stopped pumping his fist. Let himself flop in defeat. He shuddered, his nerves so rattled his teeth chattered. "I don't like Sir," he whispered, his tone soft without conviction. "I don't."

The voice chuckled in the dark recess of his mind. Are you sure?

The next night, the basement was humid and stuffy. Heat from Case and Sir's bodies hung in the air. Sweat trickled from the inside of Case's knees and down his thighs. Case lay nonresponsive, Sir grunting and moving on top of him. It hurt, and Case tried to mentally detach like normal. Staring over Sir's shoulder, Case focused on a discolored patch in the ceiling, determined not to be here.  But the soft squelch of lube and the thwack of flesh-on-flesh filled the silence, anchoring him to the carnalness of the moment.