Free As A Caged Bird | VegasPete

Free As A Caged Bird - Part 03

A week, five days later, Pete had returned to the Main Family: his second home apart from his grandmother's place. Yet, somehow, this place no longer felt like home - not anymore.

Khun Tankhun had hugged him tight and cried on his shoulders when he had returned. Arm had ruffled his hair and fed him noodle soup, but it did not taste the same as Vegas' own, so he poured it down the drain, and wept all night. Pol had talked to him like nothing had happened - like Pete had been staying at his grandmother's place, eating warm porridge, watching her knit sweaters all those days he went missing. Khun Kinn looked at him all the time; guilt written over his face. And Porsche, Porsche had watched him closely, trying to figure out what had happened while he tended to Pete's wounds on his back, his chest, and his arms, and wrists.

Porsche had smelled his scent - had leaned in, sniffing Pete like a dog. He commented how Pete's scent had changed. There was no more warmth of vanilla in the room, only sandalwood - but Porsche couldn't quite put a finger to the familiar scent. Pete had laughed it off, shying off to another room. When Porsche insisted Pete tell him what had happened, Pete told him nothing - nothing had happened.

Porsche saw through his lies, but he kept his mouth shut because a deep part of him - the part he, too, kept hidden, understood Pete's struggles.

Pete was grateful he had a friend like Porsche.

As for the claim Vegas made on him - marking him like property, Pete hid it well. He covered it in make-up and turtleneck sweaters, thankful no one suspected a gruesome bite, bored into his neck.

Pete knew he should've hated Vegas - hated his existence. Yet, these days, he had thought about Vegas an awful lot.

Some days, he would stare at himself in the mirror, and marvel at the claimed mark. Some days - like today, he would curl in on himself inside the bathtub, hugging himself while bitter tears streamed down his face.

He hated it - hated crying. Yet, every time Vegas crossed his mind, he would crumble, and curl in on himself. Sometimes in the bathtub in the evenings. Sometimes on the sofa during the middays. Sometimes on the bed in the mornings. And sometimes...in the middle of the night, while he lay alone in bed, spreading his legs, and fucking himself, hoping his fingers might mimic Vegas' cock.

Vegas must've been thinking about him, too.

Although Vegas was still hiding away in the safe house from the Main Family, he wondered if Vegas would search for him. Or would Vegas go to bed alone, and cry himself to sleep during the lonesome nights? Would he barged through the doors of the Main Family's home, demanding they hand Pete over to him since they were now bonded for life? Or would he wallow up in guilt for all the wrong he had done, and leave Pete to choose?

Choose.

Freedom granted Pete the right to make his own decisions.

Yet, he did not think he want to decide by himself.

Why couldn't Vegas choose for him?

He hoped Vegas would choose for him; he hoped Vegas wouldn't.

Only time would tell.

Or not.