Lahat ng Kabanata ng House of Sighs: Kabanata 121 - Kabanata 130

THIRTY-TWODanny explored the temple grounds. He hadn’t eaten in the end.The old woman’s licorice-scented words followed him down every avenue, into every gold-gilded tabernacle.Eat the part that hurts.His nausea returned as he looped around to stand before the reclining Buddha, surrounded by twenty tourists taking photographs, a tangle of selfie-sticks and shawls given to them at the front gate to cover the parts of their bodies considered undignified to reveal in such a place. Languages volleyed back and forth.Snapping camera lenses.Wailing children.They’re like seagulls, Danny thought with a dash of contemptuousness. Their feathers bristled against him as he tried to wiggle free, beaks stabbing. Not around him. At him. He couldn’t tell if it was the gin or the heat or the fact that he was a wreck of his former self, but something was wrong.The temple began to revolve. Colors greased together. Earbuds slipped free and squawks and bell chimes slipped through. The air tu

THIRTYAiden stood when keys turned in the door, as ready as he imagined he ever could be for the confrontation to come. He’d played the scene in his head of course, knew how it might go down, maybe even mustering a bit of self-pride along the way as his under-the-breath rehearsals hatched into realities. A man could hope, after all—even if Aiden didn’t recognize said man in the end.Bloody hell, here we go.The door unhinged from the lock, painted wood catching the light. Opening slow, the quiet entry of someone who didn’t want to be seen. Well, too bad, mate. I’m here. Waiting.Always fucking waiting.Danny stumbled into the room.Aiden’s anger derailed at the sight of bandages protruding from beneath the collar of his partner’s loose-fitting shirt. Red splotches on the fabric between his breasts.“What happened?” Aiden asked.He was desperate to hug the man—he was hurt, damn it—but knew he had to stand his ground. For a bit longer, at least. Long enough for Danny to know tha

TWENTY-EIGHTTie knotted. Or strangled. Shirt tucked in. Or forced. Suit blazer slipped on, and this Aiden did with a sigh.Morning had finally come and he strode out of the bedroom to find Danny at the kitchen table, sitting on one of the chairs that came with the apartment, staring into nowhere. He stole a breath and found the air clammy with the richness of unwashed, sweaty skin. The smell of yesterday.“Enough is enough,” Aiden said and walked to the living room window. “I’m sick and tired of this place being in complete bloody lock-down.”He yanked the shutters open and slid the window into its recess. The fly screen mesh gasped as humid, but at least fresher, oxygen rushed into the space. Light cast their shadows over the opposite wall; Aiden’s stretched from floor to ceiling, whilst Danny’s doubled over.No response from the breeze, from the sun, or from his words. This didn’t surprise Aiden much. That wouldn’t stop him—it couldn’t. After waking to find the bed empty, he’d

TWENTY-SIXAiden jolted. Danny screamed at his touch.He felt his partner quivering. Fear through and through. Primal. All Aiden could think to do was hold him tighter than ever before.Wrong move.Danny snapped around and drove his fist into Aiden’s throat. Winded, he stumbled backwards, ass thudding the couch a few yards from the table. He couldn’t tell if it was shock or anger or a hurricane of both but Aiden charged. It was like he was on the football field in the Lismore Under 22s again. Earth churning beneath his boots. Ball in hand.He tackled Danny to the ground, chair clapping the floorboards.

TWENTY-FOUR“Stop fighting me, Danny!”Aiden deflected punches until those punches ran out of steam. His partner deflated beneath his weight, folding in on himself. This sight saddened him more than anything, and Aiden found himself saying Danny’s name over and over again.Willing him back. Willing, willing.Aiden shuffled off and crouched on the floor near the overturned chair, tie over his shoulder, beads of sweat rolling under his shirt. He watched Danny crawl to his feet and swan down the hallway, listened to their bedroom door opening and then closing—not in a rush, not in anger, but with a spider’s precision.“Don’t make me come after you,” Aiden whispered. It wasn’t a threat. This was pleading. Begging. “Don’t make me come after you.”In that moment, after so much fighting, Aiden felt his heart crack in two. The hurt was equal to every bone in his body breaking, hurts of relief. You could only take so much bending, so much straining, before things snapped.Aiden picked up