The Power Dynamic

The Call Dynamic

I stopped breathing. I husked out, "When?"

"In a week."

Holy fuck. So soon? He wasn't supposed to be home for another couple of months. I thought we had so much more time. Now we had none.

"And me and you, young man. We are going to sit down and have a serious conversation about this defiant habit of yours of late. First quitting that internship with Frank and now this business with the queer club."

My temper flared like a blaze in my chest, "It's not a gay club. It's a teen center."

"Whatever it is, the business is non-profit and pointless."

My knuckles whitened on the phone. "No, it is not."

"I'm not arguing over the phone about it. We will talk once I return home and this obstinacy will stop." His tone dipped, marking the finality of this conversation. "Until then, do your best to stay out of trouble."

The line clicked on his end. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw my phone. Bile scorched my throat and anger ignited my veins. My teeth ground together in my mouth. My whole body clenched against my anger. I had to breathe. I always took these conversations out on others, Cyrus being one of my prime targets. He didn't deserve this rage. My father did. I wouldn't let him ruin my whole weekend. I just needed to breathe. In through my mouth, out through my nose. I just needed a few minutes to calm down.

The patio door slid open and Cyrus' voice followed, "Everything okay, Danny?"

He knew who called. Of course he did. Goddammit. I snapped, wound too tight and world too small, "Can I have a minute?"

Cyrus' gaze walled off to shut me out. "Of course. I'll be inside." He slid the door closed and disappeared into the bedroom.

I blew out my nose and looked at the clouds. Fuck. Now I wanted to cry.

It took me 15 minutes to level out my breathing and fight back the tears. Regardless of what else I might think, I had to apologize to Cyrus. I lashed out. Again. He didn't deserve it. Again. I wanted him to beat me until I let the tears come. But he wouldn't with how upset I was. He was right. Right now, I wouldn't call a color until he broke a bone. Maybe I should listen to my therapist for once. He suggested platonic touching for comfort when I was in duress. Hug a friend bullshit. Cyrus always held me after a scene when I felt raw and vulnerable. I felt similar but for a different reason. Still I supposed I should try. After I apologize.

I toed into the bedroom like a guilty child Anxiety back in force, I hovered awkwardly at the door. Cyrus was sitting on his side of the bed and reading a paper newspaper like that was perfectly normal in 2022. Did he know he could read all the news on his phone?

Even as my nerves turned my insides to goop and my brain into a buzzing bee, I knew I had to say something first. I'm in an adult relationship with an older man. I have to be better at emotional maturity. I couldn't hide behind the dynamic this time. I swallowed before I croaked out, "Cyrus."

The paper lowered to reveal a pair of steel frames around his stony eyes. He wore glasses? Holy shit, they were hot on him. The glasses added some refined maturity to an already mature man. Those glasses made me want to streak them in come when I sat on his face. Focus, Danny. You're staring like a teenager with a crush and this conversation is important.

His walls were still up as my eyes found his. He got like this when I pushed him too far. My temper was a bellowing flame when his was a wall of ice.

I stiffened my spine, "I'm sorry I snapped at you. You didn't deserve that."

The walls were still there. "I accept your apology, Danny."

"You're still upset." A tepid question at best.