Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(46)

And that was what he did. He was savage as he washed himself, even though he knew it would make no difference. What the fuck was he thinking? How did he let it happen? He knew better.

He could keep berating himself, but he knew it wouldn’t change anything. He’d let somebody fuck him without protection. Micah had never been that irresponsible, even with all the casual trysts he had since he moved to Perth. And there was nothing wrong with one-night stands, as long you were careful. Sex was meant to be fun, not fraught with danger.

As the water remained hot, without any sign of running out, Micah sank to the floor and let it run over him.

Sex is meant to be fun. The mantra kept running through his head.

He knew what he’d been doing all along; he’d just buried it so deep he wouldn’t have to think about it. This was his morality play moment, when he finally acknowledged that all he had wanted all along was to recapture those feelings he had with Kyle. Where sex was fun, passionate, and also kind of gross, weird, and messy—but perfect all the same because it was about connection. He hadn’t had that connection with anybody since—but to be fair, he hadn’t been looking for it. He thought he just wanted to get off.

Well, like some cheesy high school video meant to scare you off having sex, he was paying the price.

His jocks were drip-drying on the towel rack. He had even wanted them scrubbed clean.

Once he dried himself off, he put on the hotel-supplied bathrobe and stretched out on the bed. For the first time since leaving Sircuit, he checked his phone.

A missed message from Kyle. I’m really worried about you. Please let me know you got home okay.

Micah closed his eyes, and despite everything, fell asleep.





Chapter 14


THE COLD light of day made Micah feel even worse, if that was possible. His body felt raw. He had scrubbed it so many times despite knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. But that was nothing compared to how raw his soul felt.

His stupidity of the night before was unparalleled. It went against everything he believed. And although part of him was mad at Paul—who was much more sober than he was and should have been more sensible—Micah still knew the larger blame lay with himself. He had still been cogent enough to realise he should have stopped. He had just ignored that little voice telling him to do so. It had been yelled over by the porn star.

Googling on his mobile revealed the Gay Men’s Health Centre was in St. Kilda, and it was open until midday. He’d better get a move on. Dressing in his still slightly-wet clothes, he signed out of the hotel and caught the tram that would take him to Fitzroy Street. As the tram carried him over Princes Bridge, the Yarra River glittered in the early morning sun. It was too beautiful for the mood he was in. He pulled out his mobile and opened the message he had received from Kyle, which was still unanswered.

His fingers trembled slightly as they danced over the screen. He had to keep himself together, or he would lose it in the medical centre. I’m sorry, he wrote. For everything. For the way I acted on our aborted coffee date. For last night.

He didn’t have to wait too long for a response.

I was worried about you.

I know. Sorry.

Stop saying sorry. Do something about it. Something’s not right.

Kyle didn’t know how much of an understatement that was. And even though he would probably be the best person to talk to about it, who would help him without any judgement, Micah still couldn’t ask it of him.

I am, he wrote. Believe me.

I’m trying to. I still feel like I should call Declan.

Micah hesitated before sending the next message. Please, don’t. Next time I’m in Melbourne, can we do a proper catch up if you’re here as well? I’ll let you know how I’m doing.

Of course. But keep in touch in the meantime.

Maybe they could be friends. Fuck knows, Micah needed as many as he could get.

In fact, he would love one to be with him right now. But the only one he would trust was Emma, and he couldn’t even bring himself to call her.

As he got off the tram in St. Kilda, he wouldn’t allow the opportunity to run away even though his feet were pleading with him to go in the opposite direction. He hoped he looked like he was walking casually into the medical centre rather than someone carrying the burden of shame. Because, he told himself, this was something many people had to do. Because they were humans. And humans fucked up. Sometimes when they were fucking. There was a very long line of people who had done this very thing before him, and there would be just as many people in it long after he had left.

The receptionist, a woman who looked like she wouldn’t brook any nonsense from any client, took his Medicare card and personal details and told him to take a seat.

His phone buzzed. Emma. Are you still coming to the hospital today?

Yes, he replied. Have a few errands but will be there after lunch.

Errands? How posh.

You know me. So posh.

He could practically hear her snort in her reply. More like Posh Spice.

Nah. I’m Scary. And you’re Ginger.

Is that a snide comment about my titian locks?

He had almost forgotten about why he was there, and was laughing softly to himself, when his name was called. He looked up, all levity forgotten and followed the cute doctor into his room.

“Is this your first time here, Micah?” The nameplate on his desk informed Micah he was dealing with Dr. Ben Nguyen.