Free As A Caged Bird | VegasPete

Free As A Caged Bird - Part 04

Pete had been ill all day.

This morning, awakening from sleep, he had heaved last night's meal all over the floorboards before he could've made it to the bathroom door. The bile left in his mouth tasted bitter, burning down his throat, but he thought nothing of it, going about his day.

His day had not been pleasant, either.

He told no one about this - this seemingly growing illness. He stifled the bile down his throat whenever he ate, or whenever Porsche's cigarette smoke invaded his space, and disregarded his heated forehead. His steps were slow, too. And his eyes were closing one too many times - and his cheeks were flushed, and he craved sleep. Yet, when Porsche dragged him to the Hum Bar for a night of fun - wanting to lift his spirits with alcohol, and music, and some good company, Pete did the only thing he could think of; smiled, and accepted Porsche's offer with no resistance.

After all, he had always been a people pleaser.

________________

As Pete stumbled in his steps, he dashed out the back door of the Hum Bar, heaving for breath; Goddammit, he shouldn't have come. He couldn't breathe, and he'd been sweating like a damn pig all night. It must've been the alcohol, right? Right?! Yes - he shouldn't have drunk any alcohol - he shouldn't have listened to Porsche.

Through hooded eyes, he hugged himself, and leaned forth, gagging.

"Ahh," he tugged on his hair when no bile came up, desperately wanting to scream - to stop the twisting ache in his stomach, and the blurriness in his vision, and the harrowing headache creeping up, What was happening? It wasn't the alcohol; it couldn't be, he had been drinking for years, and it never bothered him. Could it be a cold? An infection? The seasonal flu, perhaps?

With a shuddering groan, he squeezed his eyes shut before an image flashed in his mind of him, and... Vegas Theerapanyakun. The alpha who tortured him, berated him - took his first time, and showered him with so much pleasure, Pete couldn't stop feeling him for days later. And since Pete had slept with Vegas during his heat...

Could it be -

"Pete?" the familiar, deep, dark voice echoed in Pete's ears, interrupting his thoughts.

Vegas.

As fast as lightning, Pete twisted around, his eyes doubling at the familiar man standing in front of him, looking all pained. Pete's heart ached at the - the nothingness Vegas had become, looking so void, so closed in. Then again, what right did Vegas have to feel pain? - to feel hurt? Wasn't he who hurt Pete?! Wasn't he who crushed Pete - took the last bit of humanity he had left?

His humanity: was it really gone?

Pete was still himself... just needy for... what exactly?

Vegas?

It must be...

Despite his hammering heart, Pete stood up straight, and bit out, "What are you doing here?"

He didn't mean to sound so harsh.

"Pete..." Vegas said, sounding so dejected, so broken.

Had Pete broken him?

They were bonded - soulmates for life; had Pete ripped Vegas' heart when he escaped?

When Vegas took a step forth, Pete took a step back till his back pressed against the dirty, concrete alleyway wall. "Don't - Don't come closer Vegas - I'm warning you," Pete hissed. It wasn't like he was afraid of Vegas - not anymore. Yet, from instinct, his hand fumbled for the revolver in his waistband before pointing the weapon toward the alpha. "Stop!"