Welcome back to Free Fiction Fridays. Though it's a little later than I planned, I hope you enjoy Part 2 of Capturing Dominus.
* * * *
Micah drained the Stolichnaya vodka bottle. He dangled it
over the passenger seat before dropping it. The thunk as it hit the floorboard
wasn't half as satisfying as the growl and rumble when he revved the engine.
Despite downing all the alcohol he could find, he wasn't anywhere close to
thrashed. He needed to be fucked up. He needed drugs.
As the automatic garage door slowly rose, Micah revved the
engine again. The Ferrari purred like a big cat. Tears leaked from the corners
of Micah's eyes. He ignored them. He'd known Dominus had sex with people at the
club. Hell, other doctors called him "Dr. Fuck" because of his
specialty as a clinical sexologist.
Knowing something and seeing it were two different things.
Micah eased his foot off the clutch and gave the Italian
sports car gas. It lunged forward like a hungry panther. Despite his tears,
Micah grinned. If Dominus wouldn't give him a ride, Micah would take one. He
gripped the steering wheel tightly and ignored the painful twinge in his heart.
"Fuck him."
The car shot out of the garage. Micah had driven numerous
other cars, but never a Ferrari. It was black, like all of Dominus's favorite
toys. Micah whipped it around the long driveway and out onto Broadway, narrowly
missing several other cars. He laughed crazily. The Ferrari cornered like it
was on rails.
Micah shifted like a pro and accelerated along Broadway. The
speed helped; the further Micah got from Pacific Heights, the better he felt.
He hung a right on Hyde Street and roared down to Market at a ridiculous speed.
The tires squealed as he hooked a hard left, heading for whatever dealer he
could find.
A quick stop at 4th and Howard put a bundle of
magic in his hand. Micah didn't even pull over. He opened one bag, jammed a
straw in it, and snorted hard as he drove. He tore open a second little
envelope. His eyes were tearing again, but this time it was accompanied by a warm, stinging rush of euphoria. At the very next stop light, Micah did his second bag of
coke.
By the time he made it to the Tenderloin, his entire face
was numb.
 |
| Micah at 14 |
Cruising in the Ferrari was a trip. Micah ignored the
shouts, whistles, and catcalls. Plenty of hookers, hustlers, dealers and thugs
roamed this area. He knew most of them by name.
Micah had been a ward of the state before he was out of
diapers. He bounced between his mother and various foster homes until she
overdosed when he was five. Micah ran away for the first time at six; by the
time he turned eight, he'd spent more time on the street than anywhere else.
Sticky fingers landed him in front of a family court judge at ten. Subsequent
arrests for theft, delinquency, truancy, drug possession, distribution, and
soliciting assured his spot on the California Youth Authority rolls. Hell, he was
still on probation for his last solicitation rap.
Dominus hadn't cared about any of that. He brought Micah home, cleaned him up,
treated him like a human being. Micah waited to be hit, or fucked, or turned
over to others for one or both, but it never happened. Gregos Kalogeros didn't
want anything from him, and the more time Micah spent in the man's house, the
deeper Micah fell. He was fully, totally, terribly in love with Dominus: the
only man who didn't want him. The scene from the club flashed through Micah's
mind and despair almost crushed him.
Micah gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles
turned white. He swallowed several times to force the bitter cocaine drip down
his throat. Fuck Dominus.
Micah scanned the sidewalk. He was really fucking
soaring. Blinking repeatedly to clear his eyes, he thought he saw a friend
walking down the other side of the street in the opposite direction. Without a
second thought, Micah ran a red light and whipped the Ferrari into a tight
U-turn.
He never saw the truck in the intersection, or the SUV
parked near the convenience store. He definitely didn't see the store employee
wiping fingerprints off the market's door. All Micah saw were the stars when
his head hit the windshield.
* * * *
"Try not to move."
Dominus's voice reached out and caressed Micah's ears like a
swatch of velvet. He licked his lips and had to work very hard to open his
eyes. As he did, his head exploded with sharp, throbbing pain. The whimper
slipped free before he could bite it back, and Micah swore.
"Micah?" Dominus reached out and took Micah's
hand. "You're at SF General. Stop moving."
"I'm not!" A wave of nausea swept over him and he
tried to roll. Vicious pain took his head and chest at the same time, and Micah
vomited spectacularly.
"Twenty-five milligrams of Phenergan, please."
"Do you want restraints?"
"No."
Hands were everywhere. Somebody wiped Micah's mouth and
body. His body came up, dirty linen vanished, and he settled onto clean sheets. The fouled gown
disappeared and cool air swirled over Micah's entire body before a warm gown
covered him. Whatever Phenergan was, Micah was glad for it. The nausea vanished
and some of the throbbing in his head eased. He made the effort to open his
eyes again.
"Hospital?" he asked. His mouth tasted terrible.
"Yes. You're at SF Gen. You need to hold still."
 |
| Dr. Fuck |
Micah managed to focus on Dominus's face. His foster father
looked as serious as Micah had ever seen him. Serious, beautiful, and untouchable.
The ache in Micah's chest grew almost unbearable.
Dominus lifted a cup with a straw and Micah took a few sips of tepid water. It wasn't enough to wash the awful taste from his mouth, but it helped.
"What happened?" he whispered.
"You tell me."
"I–I took your car."
Dominus said nothing, though he picked Micah's hand back up
and held it in both of his.
"Did I hit something?" Micah's eyes drooped, but
he squeezed Dominus's hand like it was all he had in the world.
"Several somethings." Dominus's voice was even and
calm. "Also several someones."
Micah's eyes snapped open and found Dominus's face again.
The answer to the question Micah wanted to ask, but couldn't, was right there
in Dominus's eyes. Now in addition to his pounding head and aching heart, Micah
had an awful emptiness in his gut.
"You have a serious closed head injury." Dominus
reached up and gently wiped Micah's tears away. "Seven fractured ribs. Two
fractured metacarpals. Four fractured phalanges. Thirteen stitches in your
scalp. Extensive contusions to your torso." Dominus brushed his hand down
Micah's cheek. "You're very lucky to be alive."
"Sure. Lucky."
"Rest. You're going to be here for a day or two."
Every breath Micah took hurt like he was being stabbed. His
left hand was splinted and wrapped, but he wasn't aware of it. All his pain
receptors were maxed out. He surreptitiously moved his feet, and then frowned
at Dominus.
"No cuffs?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Are you going to run?" Dominus's eyes bored into
Micah. "Would you…run from me?"
A long moment passed as they stared at each other. Micah
finally broke the silence.
"Never."
Dominus raised Micah's uninjured hand to his lips and
pressed a kiss to the bruised skin of his knuckles.
"We have many things to discuss. For now, rest."
"But–"
"I'm not going anywhere, Micah."
Micah closed his eyes, held on to Dominus's hand, and wept.
* * * *
Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated.
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