Everything I Didn't Deserve

"There's a particular terror in confession—and then there's the greater terror of being forgiven when you'd already accepted you deserved to be destroyed."

"Do you hear that?"

The question escaped me before I could think, my hand shooting out to halt Paul's motion just as he was about to launch another stone across the dusty ground. His arm froze mid-throw, the rock suspended in his grip like a thought interrupted.

Paul's body language shifted instantly—alert, head tilting, straining to catch whatever had snagged my attention. "I think so," he confirmed, his voice carrying surprise and cautious hope in equal measure. "Is that... it sounds like a reversing vehicle?"

"Sounds like it, doesn't it." The words emerged with a flicker of something I hadn't allowed myself to feel in what seemed like an eternity. Hope. Genuine, uncomplicated hope. "And it sounds like it's coming from the Portal's direction. It must be Luke!"

The realisation struck with a pang of embarrassment at its obviousness. Where else would it be coming from? Who else could it possibly be? We were the only humans in this dust-choked wasteland, and only one of us could traverse the membrane between worlds.

"Luke!" Paul's voice cut through the air, filled with anticipation that mirrored my own.

I didn't linger to exchange further words. My legs carried me forward before my mind had finished processing, propelled by the prospect of escape—of salvation. The steady jog toward the Portal felt surreal and desperate simultaneously, a race toward opportunity that might vanish as quickly as it had appeared.

The sight that greeted me at the Portal was one that bridged impossible and mundane in a way that made my brain stutter. A small truck, carefully navigating its way backward through the shimmering veil of colours, its reversing beeps incongruously ordinary against the backdrop of inter-dimensional travel.

Acting on instinct, I moved to guide the vehicle, hands waving in the universal language of parking assistance. The absurdity wasn't lost on me—directing traffic in an alien dimension, as though this were a supermarket car park rather than the threshold between worlds.

"For fuck's sake, Luke!"

The exclamation burst from me as the truck lurched awkwardly, forcing me to leap aside or be flattened. The vehicle shuddered to a halt, its journey through the Portal complete, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a trail of unanswered questions.

The cab door swung open and Luke descended with that insufferably cheery grin—the one that suggested everything was perfectly fine and always had been. Relief and irritation collided in my chest, producing something that felt like heartburn.

"What the fuck are you doing, Luke? You know you're a bad driver! You almost hit me!"

"You shouldn't have got so close to me then," Luke shot back, his chiding tone grating against my already frayed nerves. It was so typically him—deflecting, making light, refusing to acknowledge that his actions had consequences for anyone besides himself.

His attention shifted to Paul, noting the uneven approach. "What happened to you?"

"I burnt it." Paul's response was stripped of drama, a simple statement of fact that belied the agony I knew his foot must be causing him.

"Burnt it? How?"

Paul glanced my way, silently seeking support in recounting the ordeal. The memory of the previous night pressed against my chest—the fear, the confusion, the desperate chase through the storm. The burn between my pectoral muscles throbbed in sympathy, its presence a secret I wasn't ready to share.

"Hmm." I managed to keep my voice steadier than I felt. "Let me summarise for you. No light, hot coals and a fucking dust storm."

Luke's gaze flickered between us, his expression unreadable. My irritation simmered at the lack of reaction. Since when have I ever exaggerated?

"Yeah, that's a pretty accurate summary," Paul confirmed, lending weight to my account.

"Oh."

I threw my hands up, my frustration finding its voice. "Is that all you have to say? Oh?"

Luke shrugged, the gesture infuriatingly casual. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," I retorted, the words tumbling out faster than I could filter them. "But surely you could do a little better than just, oh."

The exchange laid bare the chasm between our experiences. Luke had spent the night in comfort—warm bed, electricity, running water—while Paul and I had fought for survival against a storm that had tried to bury us alive. His inability or unwillingness to grasp the severity of what we'd endured only amplified the isolation that Clivilius seemed designed to foster.

"So, what's in the truck, Luke?" Paul's voice carried transparent eagerness to shift focus from the tension crackling between Luke and me.

The truck's back door swung open with a metallic clang that echoed off the vehicle's sides. "It's all the stuff from your list," Luke announced, his grin stretching wide with satisfaction at having delivered on Paul's request.

Paul's face lit up with a joy that reminded me of childhood Christmas mornings—that uncomplicated delight in receiving exactly what you'd asked for. "Oh, that's great."

"I need the two of you to unpack the truck. I'll come and collect it in an hour or so once the other tents have arrived."

"There's a spot over there where you can leave all the things you bring through the Portal," Paul interjected, pointing toward our carefully outlined rectangle. Pride coloured his voice—testimony to our small achievement in imposing order on this chaotic landscape. "Jamie and I can take care of it from there."

"Oh, cool." Luke's interest was fleeting, his tone suggesting the Drop Zone merited about as much attention as a mildly interesting cloud formation.

"It's the Clivilius Delivery Drop Zone," Paul declared, unable to suppress the wide smile that accompanied the official title.

"I love it!" Luke offered a thumbs up, his enthusiasm momentarily aligning with Paul's vision.

"I just call it the Drop Zone." The interjection surprised even me—why did I feel compelled to engage in what seemed like trivial naming conventions when larger concerns pressed against my consciousness?

"Jamie helped," Paul added quickly, glancing my way with what appeared to be genuine appreciation.

I glared at him, irritation flaring at the implication. "You say that like you both expected that I wouldn't."

"I... uh... umm." Paul faltered, caught off guard by my reaction, his earlier confidence dissolving into uncertainty.

With a roll of my eyes and a dismissive huff, I moved toward the back of the truck. If Luke was so proud of what he'd brought, I might as well inspect it myself. The action was less about the materials and more about seeking reprieve from the complexities of our interactions.

"You better drive the truck over there for me," Luke instructed, tossing the keys toward Paul with a casual flick.

Paul stepped forward to catch them, and I didn't miss the grimace that crossed his face as his weight shifted onto his injured foot. The sight tugged at something in my chest—concern I hadn't expected to feel.

"I can do it, if you like?" I found myself offering, reaching instinctively toward the keys.

Paul glanced at me, gratitude and stubborn pride warring in his expression. "Nah. It's all good, I'll manage. Thanks though."

"Sure." I masked my concern with a shrug. "Suit yourself."

Watching him manoeuvre himself into the driver's seat with obvious difficulty, I couldn't help but admire his determination, even as I questioned the wisdom of pushing through pain when help had been offered.

With Paul occupied, I turned to Luke, the urgency of our predicament pressing against my ribs. "I want to try and leave again."

My resolve was firm, my intent unmistakable. There was no room for ambiguity, no doubt about how seriously I viewed our imprisonment.

Luke's response was a shrug—noncommittal, frustratingly indifferent. "You can try if you want. But I'm not sure it's going to do you any good."

The dismissal of my determination as futile grated against every nerve I possessed. "Well, we've got to fucking try at least."

"Sure, go for it." Luke sighed, his resignation hanging between us like a challenge. His apathy, so stark against my desperation, underscored everything I hated about our situation—trapped not just from the world we knew, but sometimes from each other.

As Paul drove the truck away, leaving swirling dust in its wake, I approached the Portal with a mixture of trepidation and desperate hope. My hands stretched before me, inching closer to the myriad colours that swirled in hypnotic patterns.

Then it happened.

Two vibrant strands of colour—fierce green and deep red—shot toward me like striking snakes. They collided with my chest, sparking against my skin with an intensity that stole my breath. The sensation was electric, otherworldly, as if the very essence of Clivilius was attempting to mark me. But they vanished as quickly as they'd appeared, absorbed into my body, igniting a fleeting hope.

Could this be it? The moment when I break free from this place?

The answer came as a booming, emotionless decree that reverberated through my skull.

I've already told you, Jamie Greyson. You can never leave!

"Fucking piece of shit!"

The words erupted from me in defiance as I lashed out, my foot connecting with the vibrant hues of the Portal. The backlash was immediate—a forceful repulsion that sent me stumbling backward, my arse hitting the ground with jarring impact.

Do not approach me again, Jamie Greyson.

"Or what?" I spat at the swirling mass of colours, defiance burning in my chest despite the pain radiating through my tailbone. "You'll fucking kill me?"

"Jamie!" Luke's voice cut through my tirade. "Just calm your farm, would you?"

"Still can't leave then?" Paul's question, softly spoken, carried the weight of our shared predicament as he rejoined us.

My gaze remained fixed on the Portal—the object of our entrapment, the focus of my growing hatred.

This isn't over yet, Clivilius.

The vow formed silently, fierce determination taking root in soil fertilised by frustration and fear. I would find a way. Despite the warnings, despite the seeming futility, I was not ready to accept defeat.

"Oh," Luke dropped the words casually, as if mentioning a change in the weather. "I need your wallets."

I struggled to my feet, dusting myself off whilst disbelief and irritation competed for dominance. "What for?"

"Those tents are expensive." Luke stated it as though that explained everything, as though the logic was self-evident.

"How much did you spend?" The question emerged with a grimace, concern growing that even if I found a way home, Luke would have destroyed everything we'd built by the time I got there.

Luke's hesitation only heightened my anxiety. "How much?" I pressed.

"The credit card is almost maxed out." The reluctance in his admission was palpable.

The words hit like a physical blow. Years of careful saving, of living within our means, of building something stable—all of it potentially gone in a matter of days.

I kicked at the dust, sending particles swirling into the air. "Shit, Luke."

"It's not like you can use any of it here anyway," he retorted, defensive and utterly missing the point.

"Oh, fuck you! Just rub it in, why don't you! I get it, we're stuck forever in this fucking hole of a dustbowl and it's all thanks to... guess who!?"

Each word was punctuated by another furious kick at the ground, dust clouds rising and falling with my rage. The gesture was futile, accomplishing nothing except expressing fury that had no other outlet.

"Here," Paul interjected, extending his wallet to Luke in an act of compliance that seemed both defeatist and absurd.

"You can't be fucking serious!" My outrage was uncontrollable—the thought of simply handing over what little connection we had to our previous lives was unbearable.

Paul merely shrugged, a gesture of surrender I wasn't prepared to accept.

"I'll need you to write down all your bank account details too," Luke continued, stepping closer to take Paul's wallet. "Everything. Online logins, pin codes. Over the next few days, I'm going to convert as many of your assets as possible into cash."

Fear flashed across Paul's face—visible, visceral. After a moment of stunned silence, his jaw set with sudden resolve. He snatched his wallet back from Luke's grasp with a movement that spoke volumes.

"What's up?" Luke asked, frustration evident at the unexpected resistance.

"I can't let you do that, Luke." Paul's voice was firm despite the emotion underpinning it. "I need to think of my children. Claire still has access to those accounts. She'll need the money to take care of the kids, especially now that I have no way of supporting them myself."

The words hung in the air—a reminder of lives that extended beyond Clivilius, of responsibilities and bonds that distance couldn't sever. Paul's children, waiting somewhere on Earth for a father who might never return.

Luke's demeanour softened, the earlier assertiveness replaced by something more sombre. "Of course. I understand."

The words tumbled from my mouth before I could reconsider. "Here, take mine."

It felt like surrender—not just of my wallet but of any semblance of control I'd been clinging to. "It's just the two of us anyway. You may as well have it."

I tossed the wallet toward Luke. It landed with a significant thud at his feet, the sound matching the weight of the decision.

Luke retrieved it slowly, almost reverently. "Thanks," he murmured, offering a soft smile that carried both appreciation and sorrow.

"Shit, Luke. This is insane."

"I know." His response was quiet, resigned. "But this is just how it is now."

Paul seemed to shrink under the weight of our exchange. "I'll go and get us some paper," he offered, barely above a whisper, turning to leave with his limp more pronounced than ever.

As he walked away, I faced Luke, the enormity of our predicament making me feel light-headed. My chest ached—the burn throbbing, yes, but something deeper too. Something that had nothing to do with physical injury.

"Come here, Jamie." Luke's voice broke through my spiralling thoughts, his arms opening in a gesture of comfort.

I hesitated, then took tentative steps toward him, each one heavier than the last.

"Everything will be okay," he tried to assure me, warmth in his voice that I hadn't realised how desperately I needed to hear.

I stopped a few feet away, struck by the sincerity I found there. Despite everything—the anger, the frustration, the fear—Luke genuinely cared. And in that moment, I understood something I'd been avoiding: my feelings for him hadn't diminished. If anything, they'd deepened, twisted into something more complicated by guilt and distance and everything I'd done wrong.

Tears pricked at my eyes. Not from the burn, not from the Portal's rejection, but from the realisation of how much damage I'd allowed my fear and anger to inflict on what we'd built together. The financial strain, the maxed-out credit card—it paled compared to the thought of losing the relationship that Luke and I had constructed over a decade.

"Really," Luke's assurance echoed. "It's all going to be fine."

The weight of my guilt pressed down on my shoulders, forcing my gaze to the ground. "I'm so sorry, Luke."

"Sorry?" Confusion coloured his repetition. "Sorry for what?"

The question hung between us, a chasm widening with each passing second.

"I... uh." My voice faltered, the truth I'd concealed now demanding acknowledgment.

Luke's eyes searched mine, seeking clarity.

"The other day," I started, the admission clawing its way up my throat. Each word felt heavier than the last. "When you called me up and I told you that I was working late." I paused, drawing breath for strength. "I was with Ben. I'm really sorry."

The confession fell from my lips, the name a witness to my failure, a marker of everything I'd done wrong.

Luke's reaction was nothing I'd anticipated.

In a swift movement that left no room for anticipation, he closed the distance between us. His hands, firm and warm, grasped my arms, pulling me toward him with a decisiveness that stole my breath.

And then his lips met mine.

The kiss was both surprise and balm—firm against my dry, cracked lips, yet gentle in its pressure. I stood frozen, a storm of emotions whirling within me.

What should I do?

The question ricocheted through my mind, leaving uncertainty in its wake. Responding, engaging in this kiss—would it signal hope for us? Or would it weave a deeper web of deceit, offering promises my actions had already jeopardised?

But caught in Luke's embrace, with the future of our relationship balanced on the edge of a blade, his kiss whispered something I hadn't expected: forgiveness. The possibility that despite everything, there might still be a chance.

Fuck it.

If there was any chance, any hope at all, for once I was going to take it.

I returned Luke's kiss with everything I had. It felt like crossing a threshold, stepping away from shadows of guilt toward something that might be redemption. The intensity of our embrace, the fervent exchange of apologies conveyed through the dance of our tongues, was testimony to life still coursing through our veins—raw, pulsating, undeniable.

Luke's lips parting in invitation was like the first breath after being submerged too long. Exhilarating. A surge of life force that reminded me what it meant to feel truly alive.

His hand slid down my back and squeezed my arse with familiar possessiveness. Fighting the ingrained instinct to pull away—an instinct born from months of emotional distance—I let him draw me closer. My cock stirred, pressing against Luke's crotch with an urgency I hadn't felt in longer than I could remember. Months since I'd experienced any inclination toward arousal around him, and now it felt so intoxicating I didn't want it to stop.

Our renewed intimacy transcended mere physical comfort-seeking. It was reconnection. Rekindling. A flame I'd feared lost to the cold void of everything that had gone wrong between us.

"So, you've made up then?"

Paul's words sliced through everything, jarring me back to reality from the cocoon we'd created.

Startled, I retreated, putting distance between our bodies whilst still grappling with the lingering warmth of Luke's touch. My hands found his shoulders, pushing gently but firmly until we stood an arm's length apart.

Face burning, I grabbed the paper Paul offered. The action was desperate—an attempt to anchor myself to something mundane amidst the emotional storm. I scribbled down my bank details hastily and handed the paper to Luke.

"That's it."

Luke's hand found my shoulder, offering a squeeze that spoke of promises and shared secrets. "I'll spend it carefully," he assured me, his voice carrying weight and something unspoken.

Then, with resolve that seemed to draw from our moment of connection, he turned and stepped through the Portal. The swirling colours enveloped him before vanishing entirely, leaving a striking reminder of the chasm between our reality and the world we longed for.

"I want to be alone."

I declared it without looking at Paul, then turned and walked away. Each step carried me further from the vulnerability I'd just exposed, the confession I'd made, the kiss that had rewritten everything I thought I knew about where Luke and I stood.