A sliver of light peeked in through a crack in the curtains, waking Roman up. Not a single motel room he’d been to had curtains that covered the windows properly. He was such a light sleeper, the moment it got bright out he’d immediately wake up. It never felt good. Roman hadn’t been ready to face the day since he started running.
There was a slip of paper jammed under the door. Not a day went by without one somewhere around Roman. He was always on edge, looking around for any sign that one had arrived. It’d been written on the motel chain’s stationary this time, but the nature of the note was the same as it had been before.
Roman,
I know who you are. You’re a filthy fucking coward and you’ve always been a filthy fucking coward. You were never safe. Cowards don’t deserve to feel safe. Everyone would be better off if they knew who you are but you’re such a selfish asshole that you’re going to let everyone like you suffer and die before you lift a finger. If you won’t do any good in this fucking world by coming out, I’ll make sure you feel fucking scared and helpless when I get you. I hope you cry like the pathetic bitch you really are.
Roman tore up the letter. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes from yesterday and now he had to pick up and go. If he stayed in one place, if someone knew him… then whoever was following him could hurt him.
Roman’s old Ford Escort never started immediately anymore. It would shudder and whine each time he turned the ignition. Who knew how long it would take to repair it. The notes showed up every time he stopped, slid between a crack in the door or left on his windshield or (most disturbingly) shoved into the pocket of the backpack locked in his car. Each impotent shriek from the car’s ignition kept Roman locked in the parking lot, making him feel forced to glance at the people walking to and from their motel rooms. The Ford finally started and Roman pulled out, narrowly avoiding the truck parked too close to his driver side door. The road was the safest place for Roman now. Even if the writer had managed to place a note on his trunk, the wind would blow it away.
There was a healthy amount of paranoia for a man like Roman to have. He’d gotten as far as he had in life by staying alert and finding the right places. All his surgeries were done miles away, recovery done in motel rooms with locking doors and curtains that never closed right. The moment all his legal documents changed, Roman got away in the Ford his father left him in the will. It took Roman to a state no one in his family had ever been and within that state was a life he felt he could finally have. There was a job no one in his family would expect, new hobbies, new routines, friends who never knew a person existed who wasn’t Roman. His secrets stayed within the car, woven into the engine, wrapped around the axle and peeking up from the large number on the odometer. It was the best friend Roman ever had.
The notes started at his apartment. The writer said he was a trans man who had just come out and wanted to speak to someone else who was trans. Roman had no idea how the stalker found him – he wasn’t involved in any LGBT groups, nor did he have any online presence that could tie back to his past. Whoever wrote him could find support from queers who still only defined themselves by their sexuality. Roman burned up the first note, then the subsequent notes as their tone changed from pleading to intimidating. The writer blamed Roman for his loneliness and fear. He wanted him to come out. He threatened to show up at Roman’s job and ask him all the questions about transness. The day Roman got home and found a note shoved through a bullet hole in his door, Roman packed a bag and fled into the night. He wrote out the driving instructions to Alaska before he ditched his cellphone behind as gas station in Marietta. Roman didn’t tell a soul where he was going. He’d figure out how to explain himself once he was safe, once the danger had passed and the stranger stopped threatening him with his own secrets. The only thing Roman had to focus on was losing the writer and his endless threats to hurt him.
There was healthy paranoia and then there was this endless suspicion. Roman knew logically that the family with the rolling suitcases at the motel parking lot couldn’t be the writer and yet they filled him with the same anticipatory dread he got when he saw the notes waiting for him. Every car driving behind Roman was a potential threat. Which one of them would follow him off the highway? Who had a pen in the glovebox and a handgun in the passenger seat? Roman tried to stop as little as possible, only long enough to refuel, piss and sleep. Once the car shrieked itself awake, it was time to drive as fast as he could. Sometimes he felt as if he’d stopped breathing for long stretches of time. Maybe his body needed more time to rest.
The gas was nearly empty. Roman took the next exit and stopped at the first station he saw. He tried to commit every face to memory without letting anyone get a good look at him. There was at least one car he recognized – the red truck with a dent in the side that had parked too close at the motel. The license plate came from the state he was currently in, this was a local coming back from something. A secret rendezvous in a sketchy motel, the kind of thing you’d keep away from the wife and kids. It wasn’t a good enough story to calm Roman down. Inside the gas station, Roman grabbed three energy drinks and a few sticks of beef jerky, then added a banana at the register as he was paying for his gas. He could use something healthy in his system.
The red truck drove away just as Roman left the gas station.
There was a note tucked into his car’s windshield wiper.
Roman didn’t read it.
There were too many people driving by, he couldn’t stay here trying to calculate what to do. The car shudder and shrieked as if it was yelling at him each time he turned the key. He hated it, hated the car’s noisy refusal to move. Who knew what was wrong with it, something out of place or sick that could be healed after a few days. Until then, it would shudder and jerk without doing anything useful. The frustration built up inside Roman, constricting his chest and making his jaw ache. The car key made an indent in his fingers. A man asked Roman if he was having trouble and Roman yelled something obscene at him. He didn’t mean to turn to the man when he said it. It was directed at the car and the electric whine that sounded like a sob to Roman’s ears. The moment the car engaged, Roman slammed on the gas. The tires screeched as Roman peeled out of the station. Did he check for cameras? Should he have checked for cameras? Roman’s chest felt painfully tight. Every car going down the highway felt like it was aimed at him.
Please REST, his body screamed, the pain in his chest overwhelming him.
NO, he thought to himself.
Roman stomped on the gas and the car shot down the highway, nature and cars blurring out of view around him and if Roman kept his eyes open long enough, maybe the memories would come loose and fly out of him, shaking and crinkling down the highway like a piece of paper that flew between the cars without being crushed under their tires. He needed to focus on taking big, slow breaths. It was bad to make decisions when he was consumed with anxiety, he’d gotten into enough scrapes today because of it. Roman tried to keep his mind busy by flipping between the radio stations, but his eyes kept darting up and around to see if he could find the dented red truck. Every time he didn’t see it, the fear got worse. Deep breath, hold onto the wheel, focus on not hitting anything ahead of him. Roman might feel awful, but he had to keep running.
I’m going to die, his body cried.
YES, Roman thought to himself.
Roman took an exit near a town he’d never heard of. His mind shut down any system not used to keep his foot on the pedal and his hands on the wheel. The car drove down random road after random road, directionless turns onto one-way streets, intentionally ignoring street signs and town names – how could anyone find Roman if he lost himself? There was no reason to think. Roman was only the operator. A faulty machine making sure another faulty machine kept running. The gas didn’t get close to empty until after nightfall.
Roman stopped on a gravel road heading towards a logging area, miles away from the nearest house lights. He wanted to keep the car’s interior lights on, but it would be easier to find him and he worried about making any electrical problems worse. Darkness poured over the car. He never realized how much of a relief it would be to finally be somewhere truly, overwhelmingly dark. Now Roman could lean back in the driver’s seat and rest. He wanted to cry, to vomit, to let everything spill out and puddle underneath him. The sensation was a thick, cotton wad stuck in the back of his throat, one he couldn’t swallow or cough up. Roman hadn’t cried since he started T.
He didn’t take off the seat belt. It kept him held tight against the driver seat with each steadying breath he took. Wrapped in darkness, wrapped in the pleather and polyester embrace of the car, it breathed with Roman, their heartbeats filled the darkened interior. Shhh, went Roman’s breath. Shhh, went the car. Rest. The darkness was absolute. There was no one for miles. In the morning they could speak to the loggers and ask for help getting out. The loggers would only be arriving for work. Nothing could reach them.
Roman heard a car approaching from a distance. He tried to fight down the anxiety that was beginning to creep into his chest. Foreman, night guard, teens trying to find a place to make out. It could be anything. The car’s high beams were blinding, but as it reached the back of Roman’s car, He could make out a few details. Red truck, local plates.
Damnit.
Roman tried to start the ignition. The car choked and Roman grunted as he tried to get it started again. He didn’t realize he’d been biting his lip until he tasted blood. The car whined again, for much longer as Roman tried to twist the key harder than he had before. It wanted to go, it wouldn’t keep shrieking if it didn’t want to go –
A gunshot rang out and the back window shattered.
Roman bolted out of the car. The light from the truck barely stretched into the woods and soon Roman was running blindly, hands out in front. Behind him, he heard a car door slam and another gunshot rang out. The person in the car was coming closer. They fired again. The shot hit nothing, but the next one struck a tree right as Roman touched its bark. Another shot grazed his hip and the shock made him fall to the ground. A sharp pain radiated from his ankle and knee, stronger than the pain from the gunshot. Roman couldn’t put weight on it. His desperate crawl wasn’t fast enough. Hands reached out from the darkness and grabbed him under the arms, dragging him back the way he came. Roman tried to flail and kick out, even though it made the pain in his leg even worse. The hands held his chest as tightly as the anxiety had. Dark dirt turned into lit gravel that scraped at Roman’s back. He was suddenly dropped in front of the red truck. The person holding him stepped over his prone body and aimed a handgun at Roman’s head.
The headlights illuminated his pursuer’s oval face, highlighting his satisfied smile. Every inch of his frame was thick and imposing, a body that exuded power. Even his stance was strong – legs apart, hands holding the gun steady. The pursuer wore a dark denim jacket covered in patches and buttons, which made his large chest and gut seem even larger. Roman’s eye locked on a trans pride flag on the arm.
“Hello, Roman.” The man said.
Looking at the man made Roman uncomfortable. There was no way to lock eyes with a predator.
The man stepped on Roman’s torso, making the pain in Roman’s hip worsen. There was a bloodstain around the tear the bullet made in Roman’s shirt. The man dug his heel into the wound and laughed as Roman screamed in agony.
“Good.” The man sneered. He adjusted his position to one that would be better for accuracy.
“Don’t look like you’re mad.” The man said. “It’s your fault. You could have said something. You’re the only trans man I know, you know that? There’s no one else around in town that’s queer like you and they don’t come to the queer meeting. The one. The ONLY one. You could have come. You could have-”
Tears formed in the man’s eyes. His hands shook slightly. Roman kept his eyes locked on the finger that was hovering over the trigger.
“I just want to know it’s okay.” The man said, his voice cracking. “You could have helped me. You KNOW. You KNOW what it’s like. And you’re KEEPING that from me.”
Roman stayed frozen on the ground. The less he moved, the less his body ached and the less it cried out that something was wrong, this was wrong, he was in trouble and he needed help.
“How can I know if I can be trans forever if you’re ALL hiding from me?” The man wiped away his self-pitying tears.
Roman tried to think of something. There must be an answer that would make the man take his finger off the trigger. Or there’d be an answer that would make him pull it. The man shifted his weight, but the barrel remained where it had been pointed. If Roman said nothing, they’d be frozen there forever, right at the edge of death, blood trickling endlessly into the gravel below them.
“Say something.” The man demanded.
Roman’s mind went blank.
“Say SOMETHING.” The man snarled.
Roman shook his head.
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“You fucking cunt.” He growled.
His boot slammed down on Roman’s cock. The pain was indescribable. Powerful. Overwhelming. As the heel dug into the fleshy column, putting pressure on the rod inside, Roman screamed. He felt desperate to scream the pain out of his body.
“You selfish asshole.” The man yelled, stomping down again. “Do you know how hard it is to find pics now? And you’re not even going to talk about it?”
Roman tried to wriggle free in a way that wouldn’t cause his leg to hurt worse. The movement of his torso made more blood trickle out and sent a sharp pain through Roman’s body. Another stomp and it happened – Roman cried. Tears ran down the side of his face, gagging as he cried in pain, as if it could be relieved by forcing it out of his body. The man above him laughed as he watched, rubbing his crotch over his pants. He dropped to his knees and aimed the gun at Roman’s cock.
“Don’t FUCKING move.” The man snarled. He kept the gun aimed at Roman’s head as he undid Roman’s pants with one hand. He managed to pull the pants and underwear down slightly, but upon seeing how Roman screamed when the man’s fingers brushed the gunshot wound, he made sure to pull them down farther. The man pressed the tip of the barrel against Roman’s shaft, his eyes inspecting it thoroughly with the care of a butcher looking at a carcass. The rod inside was bent to its flaccid state, resting naturally on his balls. Tattooed veins were still visible on the reddening skin of Roman’s cock. The head was a fleshy, pale mushroom, the bottom ridge flaring out slightly before merging into the scar tissue underneath. The tip of the gun traced the outline of those scars, sliding down the one hiding underneath. As he watched the man lick his lips, Roman regretted his choice in surgery.
“See? I want to know what it’s like.” The man said, aiming the gun back at Roman’s head. “You didn’t have to make me do this.”
The man undid his belt buckle. His pants slid down to his boots, revealing his shaved vulva and a small string that dangled between his lips. The man pulled out the tampon and flicked it at Roman’s face. It bounced off his cheek and landed in the gravel nearby. Roman could faintly smell copper and sweat.
The man bent and curved Roman’s cock to his liking. It took him a minute to find a position where he could take it while his legs were held by his pants. The gun weaved as he tried to straddle Roman without taking his sights off Roman’s head. A drop of blood slipped out of his pussy and landed on the head of Roman’s cock before the man finally slid it inside him. The lingering pain from his boot dulled the pleasure Roman might have felt. He could only feel the man’s warmth around him down to the base.
“So they do feel like cis cocks.” The man groaned with pleasure. He fucked Roman slowly, pulling all the way up to the head before sliding back down to the base. Blood and cunt juice was smeared down Roman’s shaft with each thrust. Any pleasure was drowned out by the overwhelming warmth and pain that radiated down into his lower torso. Roman couldn’t stop crying. His chest heaved painfully each time he sobbed. Snot and tears dribbled down Roman’s face. The man masturbated as he watched Roman’s face.
“You’re so handsome.” The man leaned close to Roman’s face as he spoke. The maniacal smile filled Roman’s vision, overwhelming it. Roman closed his eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop. The pain wouldn’t stop. Nothing would stop.
The gun poked him in the mouth.
“Open up,” the man sneered.
Roman opened his mouth. He recognized the taste along his tongue – coppery menstrual blood smeared along the barrel. Roman gagged as he sucked.
“Remember this? Remember what it felt like?” The man snarled. “You remember suffering through this, huh?”
Roman opened his eyes. Again he could see that man’s smile, the sweat and dirty tear stains running down his face. The taste and smell of this man overwhelmed Roman’s senses.
“You want people to suffer alone, huh? You want that?” The man’s voice cracked. He rubbed his tiny cock more furiously, grunting, moaning, letting out wheezing breaths as he came, his hips shuddering against Roman’s body. Roman was aware of a light throbbing sensation around his cock. The man leaned down against Roman’s chest. Their chests heaved, each one letting out deep, gasping breaths. Somehow, the sensation of the man’s chest pressing down against Roman’s helped Roman steady himself. Their breathing slowly synced up. Chest pressing down into Roman’s scars, chest pressing up into the man’s unbound breasts, held together by Roman’s cock buried in the man’s cunt. The gun slid out of Roman’s mouth and rested against his shoulder. The man embraced him lightly, almost lovingly. They were two men lying together on a gravel road, their secret tryst protected by cars and the darkness within the trees around them. The man pulled himself up and looked into Roman’s eyes.
“Thank you.” The man said. He leaned in and kissed Roman on the lips.
His mouth was soon replaced the man’s gun. Roman began to cry again.
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