Deserted - Auctioned

For years, I coped by letting the rage dictate my next move. When it got to be too much, I punched a fist through a wall or threw a chair till it broke. When I’d calmed down some, I took another assignment.

Don’t do what I did, Gray. Trauma can’t be fixed overnight, and you can’t escape it.

You don’t have to deal with this on your own either. I’m here. I may not be your family, but I care about you, and I get it. I understand what you’re going through.

It’s why I won’t try to get you to return. I know you’ve made your decision, and you’re sticking to it. But keep in mind that there’s someone you can call. Someone who’s made more mistakes and fucked up more than you ever could. I’m the last person who would judge you—or make assumptions.

Be safe,

Darius

PS: At one point or another in our lives, my brothers and I have been on the receiving end of a pep talk from our pop that included a bottle cap. When we see each other again, I’ll tell you the whole story. But save the cap. It means a lot to me.

Gray sniffled and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand as he set aside the letter and picked up the bottle cap. He wasn’t sure what to think; he wasn’t sure of how he felt, but his body seemed to know. The tears rolled down for several moments while he checked out mentally and just studied the cap.

How fitting. A cap from an Irish beer to remind him of a man with Irish heritage.

Gray hated Guinness.

He flipped the bottle cap between his fingers and focused on taking steady breaths.

He did have to do this on his own—sorta. He had to be away from Darius because he would never be able to fend for himself if he always had someone to lean on. As for his family… No need to explain that one to anyone. Darius was right. Gray didn’t feel like he fit in. He wouldn’t run forever, but something had to give. He had to…do something. He had to change further. Or this sense of being disconnected would never cease. He’d always feel like an outcast.

Gray glanced at the clock on the nightstand and swallowed. He had to get some sleep, despite the nightmares that were waiting to sink their claws into his flesh.

He fucking hated the nightmares.

He hated seeing their faces. Their empty gazes. The blood. He hated hearing their soft, raspy voices—their final pleas—their cries, and their screams of agony.

Gray sniffled again and grabbed his meds. He’d been prescribed medication for anxiety and depression, as well as something that helped him sleep. But he didn’t like those. They worked as bondage. They trapped him in his nightmares and made it impossible for him to move.

He had mild pain medication for his leg too. It seized up and cramped sometimes, mostly when he sat still for too long or didn’t stretch. Other than that, though, only a scar would indicate he’d been shot recently.

After standing up and stretching his leg, he brought his toothbrush, toothpaste, and a change of underwear with him into the bathroom. A hot shower before bed would hopefully help settle his anxiousness.TwoGray stopped at an outlet mall a couple hours south of DC and got lunch. He bought clothes and changed into a new outfit before he left the store too. He actually looked like a put-together person now. He had to be presentable to the Philly mafia, he figured. Other than the jeans he’d stuffed inside his duffel, he’d bought a pair of slacks, a fitted button-down, a jacket, and new shoes. Oh, and earbuds, in hope that music would help him against the nightmares tonight.

He hated the memory of his reflection in the dressing room. He’d lost so much weight and felt practically scrawny these days. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d weighed less than 190, and now he was at 172. He’d gained a few pounds since returning to civilization, but it sure as fuck wasn’t in muscle.

Gray and Abel used to work out together at what he’d learned was Darius’s brother’s gym. The two would walk in and feel eyes on them. Gray had always invested a lot of time and energy to feel good. To be healthy. He was far from Abel’s level, but then, Gray had never wanted to play in the NHL either. He still wanted to be able to scarf down a cheeseburger and fries at the end of the week. Now, most of that hard work was ruined.

Everything was ruined.

Sick of his own thoughts, he turned on the radio in the truck and glanced at his phone. No new messages. He’d received the address and a repeat of the instructions from Dominic this morning; that was all. Not that Gray expected anything else. He wasn’t planning on unblocking any contacts anytime soon, and his family respected his wishes enough not to seek him out from new numbers.