Elliot stepped closer. “I missed you.”
Martin grinned. While not classically handsome, he was strong, and tall, and could lift Elliot up to fuck him against the wall with those powerful arms. “You have beer? I’m dying for some.”
Elliot smiled back. That was something he did have. Two cans at that. “I’ve got some toast too.” Not much beyond that, some coffee and the cheap cigarettes he sometimes used to stave off hunger. But if Martin were to stay with him, Elliot could figure something out.
He scooted down to grab a can from his small fridge when Martin’s big palm caressed the back of his head as if he were a p—The countertop dashed for Elliot’s face, and dull pain radiated from his forehead, all the way to his nape. His skull thudded as if it were a shell about to crack and spill its contents to the floor.
He whined from the pain, unable to tell where the floor and where the ceiling was. Even if he was unable to comprehend what was happening, his body knew it was in danger. He put his arm in front of his face so that the next time Martin tried to slam Elliot’s head against the counter, his forearm served as a buffer.
In utter panic, he reached for the bottle of vinegar standing nearby and swung it back at Martin. The glass shattered, and Elliot wasn’t yet sure how much damage he’d done, but Martin’s screams were a good sign. As soon as the hand was gone from Elliot’s nape, he tried to squeeze past Martin and sprint for the door, but the large bulk of Martin’s body pushed him farther into the trailer, as if Elliot weighed nothing at all.
The shattered glass bit into Elliot’s palm, but with adrenaline thudding in his veins he dashed for the one place where he could hide: the bathroom. With Martin spewing obscenities and thrashing around by the entrance, Elliot slid in through the narrow door and into the tiny space, locking the door behind him.
He pulled out his phone in panic, knowing that it was unlikely the police would reach him fast enough, even if they’d bother. And did he even want to involve the police when he was guilty of obstructing justice by never revealing who killed his father?
Elliot couldn’t breathe, trapped in the small space as Martin’s booming voice and the sound of crushed glass rang behind the door.
He desperately scrolled through his phonebook, but the menacingly gentle knock on the door made Elliot choose the one number he could think of.
Knight.
[Please come and help me. Quick. I can pay!!!] He finished off with his address just as Martin started slamming his weight into the flimsy door.
“Come out, you rat! You’ll regret it if you don’t!”
Elliot curled up and quickly pushed his phone back into the jean pocket, shuddering so violently even his teeth were rattling. “Please, M-Martin. I’d n-never tell anyone,” he whimpered, cowering in the narrow space between the shower and toilet. He briefly thought of using the mop for protection, only to remember he’d left it outside to dry. There was nothing that could protect him from Martin’s wrath, and his world shrank to the size of that narrow door as he waited for the inevitable.
“Shouldn’t have threatened me back when I was behind bars then! You think you can blackmail me, you shit? You’re going down the same way your dad went! You two will rest together forever.”
Plywood flew into Elliot’s face as the door first dented, then broke and Martin’s flushed bald head emerged, a huge paw grabbing the air in Elliot’s direction.
Elliot looked up into the red face, bloodied from the glass cuts, and in that moment, he knew he was as good as dead. Just like Knight had predicted.
Martin thumped his boot against the floor and abruptly stepped inside, filling the entire space with his presence. “Get up.”
Elliot trembled all over. Only when he rose did he notice that one of his hands was bleeding from where he’d pressed it against broken glass. It didn’t matter anymore. Maybe complete submission could still save him? Maybe Martin would want sex, or money, or the moldy bread on Elliot’s counter?
His body instinctively pressed into the corner, but Martin grabbed his arm and tugged on it so hard it felt as if he was close to ripping it out altogether. “Maybe I can still forgive you. Who knows?” he murmured, leaning down to glance into Elliot’s face.
Was this the opening Elliot needed? Had Martin just wanted to threaten him for fun? Elliot had to fight to keep his teeth from rattling. “I was just angry because I liked you so much. I would never do that again. We could just pretend it never happened.”
Martin put his palm over Elliot’s mouth and pulled him out of the bathroom in a movement so abrupt something in Elliot’s neck creaked. Stricken by panic, he held on to the thick forearm in hope of more stability.