Trust Me | MxM | BDSM

39. Lies

I watch his every move while he quietly enters, dressed for a change and with the metal collar dangling from his fingers. My eyes twitch as they dare to narrow, but I keep my expression clean of the emotions that are longing to burst from my lips. It's not the time for sentimentalities, no matter how beat up he might look, or how desperately my stupid heart wishes that he would put the collar back on.

I shouldn't have trusted him, I think tiredly.

Mike makes his way over to me with a straight back, yet he looked more proud with his head bowed, kneeling at my feet. I want an explanation that somehow fixes this mess, but I doubt I'm getting one given how he gently puts the collar down on my desk without a word. His fingers linger on the sleek metal briefly, same as his gaze.

He sighs, and I can't take the silence anymore.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

He sighs once more, then sinks down in the armchair opposite of mine, leaning back against it to stare up at the ceiling with his hands folded in his lap. His eyes seem unfocused, and I want to ask if he had trouble sleeping again.

"No, I don't. But I guess I have to." He pinches the bridge of his nose while closing his eyes and doesn't open them even when his hand drops from his face. "But I can't, Gav. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Why?" I ask sharply, unable to stay calm. It takes all I have to not wrap him in my arms and beg him to tell me that it was all a misunderstanding. I know better, of course.

Mike -or Matthew, apparently- cracks a mirthless grin. His gaze finds mine for the first time since he entered the room, and he looks a bit crazy. "I'm a liar, love."

I might have gotten angry at the way he jokingly used the nickname I have chosen for him, but the way his eyes are glazed and red tells me that he's just covering up his feelings. Maybe it's stupid, but I refuse to believe that it's all been nothing but lies.

"It's all I can do, really. Lying."

"What's your relationship with William Anders?"

He gets to his feet, but I'm not going to have it. I want fucking answers. I want the truth, and I'll make him say it.

"Sit," I snap, causing him to flinch. His chest expands as he takes a deep breath, eyes cast to the floor. Very slowly, he sits back down again.

I get up instead, walking around the table until I'm right in front of him. "What is your relationship with William Anders?"

"That's not his real name," he mutters, tempting me to frown.

"Stop fucking with me, Mike- Matthew, whatever. I have his birth records."

He shrugs. "You have my birth records."

"I don't, actually. I have Mike's, but not yours."

His gaze flickers up, briefly making contact with mine. His brow creases softly. "His name is Richard Muller."

"Okay, fine." I sigh. Arguing about that seems beside the point right now. "Then what's your relationship with him?"

"He's-" He breaks off to inhale long enough for me to get impatient. "He's my father."

I roll my eyes. "Really? His son's dead, and his name was definite-"

The pieces finally click together when he lowers his eyes, an expression of utmost tiredness flashing across them that takes my breath away. His shoulders slouch.

I firmly grab his chin, trying to force him to face me.

"What's your name?"

He squints against the pain that he refuses to tell me about, only feeding my rage at how it's all falling apart for good.