Hi, Boyfriend

 005: Hi, Boyfriend!

**Jordan Hayes**

After the call with Ethan, I felt increasingly restless, unable to shake the unease that kept me awake and made sleep impossible.

Ethan's revelation about the Voss family nearly shooting Dad had already unsettled me, but his hasty goodbye—without elaborating on the cryptic "something happened"—sent my imagination racing. The deafening silence from my brother afterward only deepened the worry.

When I left home three years ago, my only concern had been avoiding anything that might worry my family. Ironically, I now found myself consumed by worries about their well-being.

As I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, phone clutched in my hand, my mind raced with questions. One kept looping: "What have I done?"

A sudden knock at the door sent me recoiling in terror. My heart hammered, eyes wide with alarm. I froze, paralyzed by fear, gaze fixed on the door, unable to step closer.

Oh God, what if it's the Voss family? What if they've come to finish me off?

Panic flooded me. Trapped, helpless, defenseless. What could I do? I was going to die.

I glanced around frantically, scanning the living room for anything to defend myself with. Then a faint, tremulous voice pierced the silence from outside the door.

"Jordan... it's me."

The unmistakable voice of Carlos—my best friend—called out. I let out a deep breath of relief.

I made a beeline for the door and yanked it open. Carlos stood there in a ripped shirt, tears streaming down his face.

"Fucking hell, Carl! What happened to you?" I gasped, eyes widening in shock when I saw his dress shirt stained with blood.

"Dad," he said simply.

I nodded, stepping aside to let him in without asking more questions. I already knew.

Since his father discovered Carlos's sexuality by accident, Carlos had been exploited and coerced into prostitution. His father used him as a call boy, peddling him to wealthy men for financial gain. Whenever Carlos resisted or refused, he was brutally beaten with a golf club, leaving him battered and submissive until he could no longer defy his father's demands.

"Have you eaten?" I asked as I closed the door and walked him to the couch.

Carlos winced in pain when he sat. I had my own problems, but I couldn't help the rage coursing through me right now.

"I'm not hungry," Carlos mumbled, turning his gaze away, clearly avoiding my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I swallowed hard, not knowing what else to say.

I met Carlos the night I left home, at a bar where I was drowning in sorrow. He approached me at my lowest point, his kindness a beacon of hope. When the owner threatened to call the police if I didn't leave, Carlos intervened, offering me a safe place to stay—his home—for the night.

Thanks to Carlos, I landed the job at Berry Hour, and he went above and beyond to help me find this apartment.

When I discovered Carlos's heartbreaking situation with his father, I offered what little support I could. But to my surprise, he declined. Despite my concerns, Carlos refused to leave his father's house. His silence on the matter only deepened my worry.

Carlos was more than just a friend; he was my sole confidant, and I was his. Yet, despite our deep bond, he pushed me away whenever I tried to help.

His refusal to accept my support left me feeling helpless and frustrated, relegated to watching him suffer in silence. All I could do in this moment was watch him cry himself to sleep until he would go back home in the morning.

Carlos turned to face me, mascara ruined around his eyes. "Can you hold me?"

I nodded, leaned forward, and wrapped my arms around him as I whispered into his ear how sorry I was about his situation.

I drifted off to sleep, unaware of the time. Hours later, I woke to an empty space. Carlos was gone—but I wasn't surprised. It had become a familiar pattern; I had grown accustomed to waking up alone whenever he stayed over.

"I hope he'll come to realize one day that everything happening to him isn't his fault," I groaned, dragging my legs to the bathroom.

I glanced at the wall clock—5:30 a.m. I had a 30-minute cushion before my shift at Berry Hour started. The early morning rush brought a steady stream of customers, plus generous tips that always started my day right.

Clad in my standard attire—black pants, blue shirt, light blue vest—I faced the mirror, only to be greeted by puffy eyes and dark circles, a telltale sign of a tired night.

I disregarded the dark circles, anticipating the inevitable teasing from my Berry Hour colleagues. Shrugging it off, I headed to the living room, grabbed my phone to check for missed calls from my brother. The screen remained blank—no notifications.

I left a voicemail for Ethan, expressing concern and asking him to call me back as soon as possible. Meanwhile, I considered reaching out to Carlos but hesitated, knowing his habit of returning calls at his convenience.

So, I opted to wait.

"I hope today passes without any hassle," I mumbled under my breath. I was about to pocket my phone when it started buzzing.

"Huh? Who is this?" I wondered, eyebrows arching in curiosity at the unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. I swiped to answer and brought the phone to my ear.

"Hello..."

Damien Voss's deep, unmistakable voice resonated through the phone, sending a jolt through me.

"Boyfriend," he said.

I gasped, nearly dropping the phone.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, double-checking the caller ID to ensure I wasn't hallucinating.

"What the fuck? Why are you calling me?" I half-yelled, heart racing crazily as I tried not to think about how he got my number.

"Weird way to greet your boyfriend, but it's okay." The bastard chuckled, and I fucking wished I could rip that mouth off his face.

With the last drop of courage in me, I grumbled, "I don't know how you got my number, but please, don't ever call me again."

I ended the call before he could say another word. Grumpily, I grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder, snatched the key to the front door, and walked out of my apartment.

"I can't afford to let this bastard ruin my morning," I hissed as I locked the door.

As I turned to leave, my gaze landed on a sleek, shiny car parked across from my apartment. My eyes widened in shock as Damien Voss emerged from the driver's side, his chiseled features illuminated by the morning light. A self-assured smile spread across his face as he locked eyes with me, and with a deliberate flourish, he waved.

"Ready to leave for work?" he called out, leaning against his car.

My hands dropped to my sides, lifeless, while my legs trembled beneath me. "What the hell?" I muttered, voice barely above a whisper.