Ashes of denial 2
697 Words
They texted for another hour—nothing too explicit, but charged enough to leave Alex flushed and restless.
Dami described how he’d wanted to push Alex’s shirt higher that night.
Alex admitted he’d dreamed about Dami’s hands on him again. Each message stoked the flames higher, turning denial into something hotter, more addictive.
By the time they finally said goodnight, Alex was aching.
He didn’t touch himself. Not then. He lay in the dark, breathing hard, telling himself this was the last time.
Friday blurred past in meetings and revisions. Alex presented his concepts to the partners with a confidence he didn’t feel.
They loved the boldest one—the one with sweeping curves and unexpected angles.
“This has fire,” his boss said approvingly.
Alex smiled tightly and wondered if they could see the flames consuming him from the inside. That evening, he went to the gym, pushing himself through a brutal workout until his muscles screamed louder than his thoughts.
Showering afterward, he caught his reflection—flushed skin, dark circles under his eyes, a faint mark on his neck that he’d covered with a collared shirt all week. Evidence of what he was trying so hard to bury. Saturday brought family dinner at his parents’ house. Marcus and his wife were there, along with a few cousins. Dami wasn’t invited this time—thank God—but his absence felt louder than his presence ever had.
Alex helped his mother in the kitchen, chopping vegetables while she stirred sauce.
The domestic normalcy should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like a cage.“You seem tense, mijo,” his mother observed, eyeing him over her glasses. “Work?”
“Yeah. Big project.” She hummed knowingly. “Or maybe something else? You know you can talk to us about anything.”
He forced a smile. “I know, Ma.” Marcus cornered him later in the hallway while everyone else watched a soccer game in the living room. “Everything okay with you and Dami?” Marcus asked casually, leaning against the wall with a beer in hand. Alex’s stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?” Marcus shrugged.
“He’s been weird this week. Quiet. Dodging my texts a bit. I figured maybe the thing with his dad hit him harder than usual. You two talk after that night?” The lie came easier than it should have.
“Not really. Just made sure he got home okay.”
Marcus nodded, satisfied. “Good. He needs people like you in his corner. You’re solid, Alex. Always have been.” The praise burned worse than any accusation could have.
Alex excused himself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection until the guilt made his eyes sting.
That night, back in his apartment, the phone buzzed again.
Dami: Family dinner without me?
Alex: How’d you know?
Dami: Marcus mentioned it. Said you looked tired.
Alex: I am tired. Of pretending.
The three dots danced.
Dami: Then stop pretending.
Alex: It’s not that simple.
Dami: Nothing worth burning for ever is.
Alex set the phone down and paced the living room. The couch still carried the faint memory of their bodies pressed together. He could almost smell rain and whiskey if he tried hard enough.He picked the phone back up.
Alex: We can’t do this again.
Dami: Then why did you text me back last night?
No answer came easily. Because the truth was ugly and beautiful at once: the flame felt too good to extinguish. Even if it destroyed everything. Sunday morning, Alex woke to another message.
Dami: Meet me tonight? Just to talk.
No pressure.
Alex stared at the ceiling for a long time. Logic said no. Self-preservation said no. Family loyalty screamed no. But his fingers moved anyway.
Alex: Where?
The reply was immediate.
Dami: That dive bar on 7th. 9pm. Back booth.
Alex deleted the entire thread again, but the decision had already been made. The ashes of denial were scattering in the wind, and beneath them, the embers glowed brighter than ever.He was playing with fire.And he no longer wanted to stop.
- Writer
