Sweet Revenge (m|m)

Sixteen - Blake

"I'm sorry, Blake. It's not about you, or your company. We're just not able to present the capital at this time. Which means we're not able to sign over the investment."

I stare across the table at Lyle Snyder, one half of Baker & Snyder Investments, and the man who currently has the success of my business hanging by a thread.

A thread he seems about to cut.

"I don't understand," I say for what must be the fourteenth time. "Last week you told me everything was in order."

We're sitting in a booth in a chain restaurant. He's having lunch. I'm having a bad day. Not only is my top investor crapping out on me, but I'm pretty sure I screwed things up royally with Aaron.

Sometimes I don't know what I'm saying when I get upset, and I could have cut my own tongue out when I'd seen what my words did to him. It was awful, the way that expressionless mask stole over his face like clouds covering the sun. And it was my fault. Again.

"I'll be honest with you, Blake," Lyle says, which makes me wonder what he's been with me so far. "We were counting on the returns from a previous investment to fund your venture. Unfortunately, those returns... did not come through as expected. However, in six months—maybe a year—things could be different."

He gives me a sympathetic look that I don't want.

"In the meantime, don't lose hope. You have a business loan, right? And you said the shop is off to a great start. Besides, everyone is about startups and small businesses these days. You'll find other investors. Just give it time."

Outside the restaurant, we shake hands and part with civil, businesslike words. I watch him drive away with my dreams.

I'd like to go to a bar and get drunk, or maybe just buy a bottle of something and drive out somewhere remote and pass out in my truck, but that doesn't seem like a healthy response, and I'm not quite at that level of despair. Yet.

So I drive home. Slow, safe, controlled. The way I've done everything for the past two years.

It's dark by the time I get back, and I go straight around the back of my shop and up to my apartment. I keep my eyes on the sidewalk as I do, careful not to look up and see either my own store on one side or Aaron's on the other. I don't have the strength for either direction of thought right now.

Upstairs, I shower, make myself a sandwich, watch some mindless TV while I drink a beer, brush my teeth, and go to bed. All without allowing myself to think. I'd spent a good few minutes staring at the rest of the beers in my fridge, contemplating how much it would hurt me to drink them all before deciding against it.

Later, I'd realize that was one of the best decisions I ever made.

~♡~

I don't know what wakes me. I'd like to think it was some instinct, some mysterious lover's call. Actually, I think I just had to piss. Even so, it was lucky I did.

Afterwards, I stumble from the bathroom, aiming myself back towards my bed. As I climb onto it, I raise myself on my knees and peer out the windows above its head. They face across the street towards Aaron's, and recently I'd made a habit of looking in that direction.

Even in my sleep-addled state, it only takes a few seconds for me to realize that something is wrong.

There's a weird orange light flickering against the shop's windows, like someone passing a screen back and forth in front of a flame.

And a flame, I realize, is what is causing it.

In an instant, I'm fully awake, pulling on my pants, and out my door to the street. I dial 911 as I go.

The operator tells me to stay on the line, to wait on the street, not to go inside. But I don't see Aaron anywhere, and I can hear smoke detectors going off like mad.

I run around the back as fast as I can, feeling my leg twinge in protest as I take the stairs two at a time.

I bang on his door and call his name, but there's no answer. Could he be out already? Spending the night somewhere else? But his car is in the street, and...

The door isn't anything fancy. It's thin wood paneling, held on by basic hinges and a simple lock. I throw myself against it with the strength of desperation. On the fourth try, it gives.

Smoke fills the room, and from below I hear the sound of angry flames surging on a fresh supply of oxygen. Covering my face, I rush in.

Aaron lays on his bed, one arm thrown over his face in sleep. I run to him and shake him, shouting between lungfuls of smoky air.

"Aaron! Aaron, wake up!" I slap his face none-too-gently. "Wake the fuck up, damn it!"

To my relief, his eyes slide open, but they have a glassy, glazed look. They fix on me and then slide away, unfocused.

"Aaron!? Shit. What did you take?" I glanced around wildly and my eyes light on the name-brand sleeping aid on his bedside table. Fuck. At least only one is missing from the pop-out tray.

"Aaron!" I scream in his face, then cough. There's no time for this shit. I slide my arms under him and lift.

My leg gives under the strain, and I fall. At least the jostling rouses Aaron, and his eyelids lift again. He blinks and coughs, and mouths my name.

"Come on, baby," I beg. "You gotta wake up and help me. I can't carry you."

"Blake?" he says, this time with enough air I at least hear it.

"Yes—yes I'm here. There's a fire. Aaron, sweetheart, we have to move, now!"

Instead, he passes out again.

I swear.

Biting back the pain, I get to my feet and try again. I hold him against me as I rise, and scream as my bad leg takes its share of the weight. This time, though, I manage to keep my legs under me, but every step is agony.

Outside I look down the flight of rickety wooden stairs and balk. The sound of wailing sirens floats towards me on the cold night air.

Help is nearly here. Stronger arms than mine are minutes away. But I can't wait.

I swallow the fire burning my leg as sure as any flames, and somehow make it to the bottom of the stairs, and out to the safety of the opposite side of the street.

Then I collapse, Aaron in my arms.

When the paramedics arrive, they take him away from me. I know he's fine, but they don't. They're worried about smoke inhalation, and when I say 'he took something' without thinking, they start talking about stomach pumps and I do my best to intervene.

"No—no it was just one. Just one," I say, pulling the emergency oxygen mask from my face.

"Can you be sure?"

I hesitate.

"Yes. I'm sure."

In all the excitement, Aaron starts to come around anyway. He sits up and looks across the street, blue eyes reflecting the glow of orange flames.

"I'm so sorry, baby," I say, kneeling beside him and gasping against my own pain. "I'm so sorry."

He turns towards me, looking lost. Then he lets me hold him as he cries.