August
August sighed and threw the covers off of him. Through no fault of his own, he couldn’t sleep, and it was driving him nuts. His conscience was trying to make him feel like the incident with Doren had been his fault, or that, at the very least, it was his problem to sort out. While that was bull crap to the highest degree, and while August knew that in all certainty, he couldn’t get the rest of his psyche to agree with him.
He rolled out of bed, maybe to walk, maybe to shower or have a drink—anything that would get rid of some of the nervous tension. His body felt more awakened then it had ever felt in his life. Neither the wet interior of the coveted sleeve he had tucked away in his suitcase, not the sensations of the adored little toy he’d had since he was sixteen and finally man
