His heart stopped still, his breath knocked out of him like a blow to the chest. Across the room was a phantom from another era, looking as perfect as a wax sculpture of the person Cezary used to know. There was a surreal quality to the moment, a haze of hormones giving the whole scene an anachronistic feel. How many times had he walked happily into an identical bar, sit in the seat beside this ghost and lean his body against the other? How many times had he smiled at him? Kissed him? How long had it been, really? It had been a year, maybe longer, but he looked the same as if Cezary had seen him yesterday, and the memory of him was just as fresh. The younger man wished that things could be the way they were again, if just for a fleeting moment. He wanted to feel welcome somewhere again. He wanted to feel the man's charm wrap around him and make him feel safe, and loved. It had been too long, though. He had changed too much, and Cezary actively ached as he his memory danced.
It was hard to remember anything good about their past, when the very thought of the man shook him at his foundation. He couldn't remember anyone or anything having such a profound, shaping affect to his person. He didn't even remember the boy he was before he was taken. All he remembered was growing, carefully, into whatever he thought it was the man wanted. He had been a slave to him, completely possessed. He'd told himself that it didn't matter how many lovers the old man took, that as long as he still wanted Cezary, Cezary would be there. He told himself that he could marry Moira and keep him, just because he couldn't imagine life without him. Now, he knew exactly what life was like without him. It was reality, cold and harsh.
When he left, it was strangely anticlimactic. Cezary's heart kept beating, the ground below his feet didn't split in two, and the world continued to turn. Life went on. He stayed with his wife. They built a life. They began a family. Cezary's son was already a full year old. On the surface, it seemed as though he had a great life, but that was just a cover for what laid beneath.
Cezary had been traveling dangerous paths ever since the end of their relationship, looking for some kind of thrill to rival the excitement that he felt with the other man. He wanted to, once more, be consumed. He wanted to be made a slave, again. This quest for something to own him had left Cezary serving his own darkness, letting his friends—such as Rebecca—guide him down the wrong paths. Under her guidance, he'd found satisfaction in the evil inside her and himself. He was thrilled by her sadism and danger, eager to impress her. That desire festered within him, turning black and moldy inside, until he, too, felt the life drain out of someone and into himself.
It was a feeling he would never forget in his life, yet no matter what he took from others, nothing rivaled that sense of being owned that he missed and yearned for, and the shame that was coupled with wanting it so badly. What did he deserve? He deserved nothing. He understood why the man left and wasn't angry at him for not getting what he wanted. Cezary was fully aware of how little be offered in return, and how much of a burden he could be. He could be clingy, jealous, shy one day and overly confident the next. He knew that he had been presumptuous, at some point, to believe that the other could truly love him the way he claimed. He knew that he wasn't worth keeping.
Still, the pain came, not from the rejection, but from the betrayal. He had been okay kept as a pet, or a piece of furniture to be used and discarded at will. When the older man made him promises, claimed to love him, claimed to want him—that was what hurt. Why did be bother trying to convince Cezary he was loved if he didn't mean it? The younger boy had even began, slowly, to believe him. At some point e began to feel as though he had a right to be familiar with the older man, to kiss him when he wanted and assume they'd see each other again. He began to feel like he could keep the other man. To have that all, suddenly, ripped away had been devestating blow. Cezary thought, perhaps, he could never love anyone ever again.
There was one more, agonizing piece. There was one final blow that left Cezary fully incapable of handling this moment. Their relationship had never been exclusive, and Cezary had allowed the man to change his entire mindset to accommodate the concept that the older man simply would not be monogamous, as he loved too many people. Yet, Cezary later found that that was simply not true. He was fully capable of monogamy, and wanted it, even. The man simply didn't want it with Cezary.
He had a full year to recover from this betrayal, and he thought he was doing well. He thought of the other a bit like a dream, something unreal. He rarely considered the man when he was intimate with his wife, now. He often let his eyes wander the form of other adult men, but no-longer was he looking for a replacement but, instead, a new lover. Even so, this moment brought all of those repressed feeling back to the surface, the pain still as sharp as before. He remembered that this man was a real person who had once been closer to him than Cezary had been to anyone... and it hurt.
Cezary wanted to leave, but before he could turn around, he saw the other move. It was as if the other had sensed his presence. Their eyes locked, and there was no avoiding it. He had been exposed. Carefully, trying his best to keep his calm, he quietly approached the bar, sitting two seats away from his memory. He looked up at the bartender and mumbled his order awkwardly.
“A double vodka on the rocks, please.”
