Our Love is God | C137cest AU

*Teach a Pony New Tricks - Chapter 07*

       'John' was... well, he was a lot of things. Throughout the past few weeks, or hell it could've been months, he hadn't really been... there.
       Sure, he was just fine. Eating, sleeping, doing what was normal for his life. But he was so out of it. Ever since he had seen Rick again, had touched the man, smelt the alcohol on his hot breath, he was out of it. He'd wake up confused, wondering where he was before he'd remember all that had happened. He'd found himself getting dressed to go to the club on one occasion, stopping himself before he was caught by anybody. Often, he would move to Just Dance, missing having his best friend challenging him consistently and pitching a bitch fit because he always lost.
       'John' was tired of his droll life. He wanted more. He wanted the adventures again, wanted the thrill that came with killing a man, the adrenaline rush simply sparked when he was aware he could wield his gun. He wanted the thrill of driving well over 200 MPH on a highway with the best thing to ever happen to him. He wanted it all back.
       But reality came crashing down every time. He'd always settle down, the grin would slowly turn to a frown as the brunet would lay back, trace the tiles in the ceiling as he thought further. 

       "You weren't shit, and you would've been stuck in that hellhole of a house with your fucking family. Maybe you would've actually offed yourself then, huh? And I wouldn't be stuck dealing with your dumb fucking ass."

       The words would always ring in 'John's ears, would always bring reality crashing around him. He would always remember the rest of the story, the hell he'd endured with Rick. The man was a literal psycho, and 'John' longed for the answer to his biggest question: why the fuck had he been so stupid?!
       The truth is, is 'John' knew. He knew the entire time. But he was so head-over-heels in love with the adrenaline that came with the lifestyle. Then, he was free to get away with anything. He was the hot-shot kid with all the power, all the opportunity. Then, he spent his days doing what he loved, his nights spent with an incredible man. He had it all, everything he could ever want. It was all his for the taking. He was the one calling the shots. He was the one saying who did what, behind the loaded gun, screaming for 'more'.
       Now, he was a simple pastor, living a sordid life. It was all mapped out. He was limited as to where he could go. He couldn't partake in most of what he did. Yes, he had the job after much persuasion, but he could lose it all the same if he was found out for being bi, having been with a man, having murdered and never being sentenced. His old lifestyle could get him kicked out and put him at risk of exposure. 
       Which was what really sucked. The brunet had grown so used to adventure, to living with no fucks given. Now, he was monitored, guarded. Under house arrest, on probation, whatever he thought to compare it to.
       He was losing his adventuristic memories. He was losing the scents he used to know. Occasionally, he would pick up on something he almost remembered, something that smacked him with nostalgia. He'd walked beside a man at the supermarket once and smelled cigarette smoke, taking a heavy sniff and practically yearning for the ability to work behind a bar. He smelled Rick's cologne on another individual at the mall and wanted to scream, to tell them that yes, it smelled amazing, but he was not allowed to wear it because that was Rick's thing. Nobody else could have it. 
       The messages were gone. Sam had gotten ahold of 'John's phone, told him it was unhealthy. The brunet threw a punch, snagged his phone back, and practically locked himself in his room. He lost the contacts, too. Now it was just Sam, and Gary in case of emergencies.
       That son of a bitch took everything from 'John'. The brunet was still seething after a month, refusing to leave the house with the man anymore. If he had to suffer just to prove a point, he damn well would do just that.
       He still had the photo. The image of him sitting in Rick's lap for the first time, staged at Gary's. He still had the images Rick had sent to him when he was bored. He had the drunk photos, the images Rick would send him even though 'John' had been right upstairs. His favorite, and he loved this one, was an image of Rick drunkenly angling the camera, his shirt pulled up and held between his teeth. He had been wearing his pajamas that night, shit-faced and happy. His face was slightly reddened, an effect of the alcohol, his eyes shining. It was a downward angle, 'John' always having assumed he staged the image slightly, his pajama bottoms barely clinging to his hips.
       'John' had taken it upon himself to lock the images in a photosafe on his phone, disguised as a calculator. Sam never questioned it, though 'John' let him believe he'd deleted every image. The red-head was on 'John's 'if I have the chance I'll kill them' list, most definitely.