bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter twenty-four. 💛

Case knew he was being cheated on when his girlfriend stopped harassing him for sex. She was easing away from him, as if the tide that had once swallowed him was now returning to the sea, becoming cold and distant. He saw her flirting with some meathead football jock. Not in a "could be friendly, could be flirtatious" kinda way. He'd watch from afar with his friends as she threw herself at another guy, laughing with him, play wrestling or finding excuses to touch his hair, his stubbled jawline, his biceps that were too large for his shirt sleeve. If Case had cheated with a younger girl, then Hannah was going for someone who was already more of a man than Case would ever be.

His friends told him to leave. Told him he wasn't happy, this wasn't healthy. But he had to put on a brave face, to prove he was fine and all was well. He had to somehow recapture that perfect reputation of high school sweethearts and the pureness of young love. Because, months later, people still laughed about the video. Still made lewd jokes about him, about Hannah. Still posted screenshots and reminders of that night.

Case was strong enough to endure their ridicule. Both him, Hannah, and their relationship were strong enough to withstand this bump off-road. Somehow, eventually, he'd get them back on course to being the beloved couple they were. And so he stayed. For a year, he dragged out the expiration date of his relationship.

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Case may not've had windows, but he could tell that the outside world was approaching winter. The pipes were cold, his showers taking a few extra seconds to turn warm. Every now and then, when his hands and feet were white and numb from the chill in the air, Case could see clouds on his breath. Always, his chest ached with a sadness he figured was either winter depression or the lingering hurt and shame caused by Sir's spit. He dealt with the uncomfortable emotions swirling inside him by trying to rationalize why it all hurt so bad. After a lot of thought, he decided he wasn't hurt because what Sir had done was gross and degrading; it hurt because it had come after he and Sir had been so gentle and warm together. It was a unique kind of cruel, to make someone vulnerable by loving them just so you could inflict deeper pain.

No matter how much he tried, Case couldn't pull himself out of his mental spiral. Even his books weren't enough to keep him afloat. Every time he looked at his tattered copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, his mind flared with the mental image of Gary the Rat's grilled legs, and the bitter, phantom taste of coffee and bile filled his mouth. He pushed the ickiness down, refusing to let the swell of emotions bubble up to his surface. Instead, he lost time lying curled under his blanket, staring up at the discolored stain looming over him. Staring without seeing.

When Sir came down to the basement, his cheeks were flushed not from the summer heat but the abrasive late-fall weather. Case may have been hurting, but he was well-adept and faking happy (especially if it meant salvaging his relationships). The whining metal hinges overhead were his cue to turn the lights on behind his eyes. He tried to initiate conversation with Sir, craving their breezy banter about movies or music. But Sir was stuck in business mode, giving Case orders to bend over, take that off, open wider, moan for me, beg for me, all of which Case followed with total compliance. Every night, he held onto the fool's hope that Sir would stay to share some comfy laughter over a post-sex blunt. But every time, Sir hoisted up his pants and skulked away as if he were being called by his hospital pager. After a week or two of this lonely pattern, Case was getting desperate. Needy. Clingy.

"Do you have to go?" he asked one night, watching Sir swing his legs over the mattress to begin pulling up his underwear.

"No reason to stay."

Case watched Sir turned his jean legs from inside-out. His fingers interlocked themselves over his bare chest. Tension pulled at his tendons, straining them like tightwire. "I'm sorry. For before. I didn't mean to get so carried away with the whole . . . I'm sorry."