LP Adommy chapter 4
So. I'm going to start posting this now. This chapter is nearly the same as the original chapter 4, save for one minor change. If you have read the original version this will bore you to death and/or put you to sleep, so I've put that one detail at the end of the post, okay?
Lost Princes - Adommy version
Chapter 4
Out of habit Kris woke up early with the first grey of dawn. At his side, Adam was still sleeping. Kris could see his eyes moving fast under the closed lids, and there was a slight frown on Adam’s face. His lips were pressed close together, too. Whatever he was dreaming, it didn’t seem to be anything pleasant.
Stretching his body awake, Kris took stock of all the minor aches and twitches in his body as well as of that strange feeling of inner warmth last night had left him with. He felt like he had a little radiator inside, a warm and glowing pit of happiness in his belly. He’d never experienced anything similar before. If feeling well-fucked was like that, he definitely wanted it again.
Sighing, he got up and fixed coffee. Together with a couple of expired pop tarts he’d got at the thrift store he put it on a small tray which he set down next to their sleeping spot.
“Wake up, Adam. Breakfast’s ready.”
The other man didn’t stir. In fact, Kris had to repeat his words twice until he showed any reaction at all. Finally Adam groaned, and twisted and stretched. Lids half-closed against the early morning light, he surveyed the tent and its interior, his gaze finally settling on Kris. At first he seemed baffled, a deep frown on his face. Then remembrance set in and he sank back on the sleeping bag, yawning widely.
“Kris, baby,” he said, his voice still husky from sleep. “How you’re doing?”
“Fine,” replied Kris, not really able to hide his relief. Everything was okay, Adam obviously had no recollection of his former life.
“Here, there’s coffee and pop tarts. Hurry, we need to catch our audience on their way to work.”
Adam nodded and downed the coffee, drawing a face. Probably forgot about the dregs, Kris thought. Adam refused to eat cold pop tarts, so Kris cautiously heated his over the little gas cooker. They brushed their teeth and rubbed each other down with a wet rag before they got dressed. Kris showed Adam the clothes he had got for him the day before, dark camouflage pants, a black tank top and a fleece jacket of the same color, both a bit faded and cuffed but perfectly wearable. In this get-up Adam seemed much more like himself, so Kris arranged his hair to cover his black eye and fixed it with the bandanna again. He would just have to hope that no one looked too closely. Adam himself was ridiculously happy about the clothes, smiling at Kris delightedly and hugging him tightly.
“Thanks for getting me these, baby! I promise I‘ll take better care of them than I did the last ones!” He sounded so honestly contrite and pleased at the same time, Kris had to look away for a moment to reign in his rearing conscience.
They went through the park and past the fountain to the nearest tube station which at this time of day was already teeming with commuters. At the wall next to the stairs they set up and started playing, the same songs as the day before. A lot of coins fell into Kris’ guitar case, and almost just as many bills. When they counted the money they found that they had made more than 35$, and they’d played for three quarters of an hour, at most.
“If we do that during lunch break again, and then once more during rush hour, we can make a hundred quid today,” Adam mused. “Do you think we could save some of the money and get a real place to live? And, damn, why haven’t we done so before?”
Kris averted his gaze, at a loss what to say to that. Finally he settled for laying the blame on Adam, and replied, “You never wanted to save. You were always saying ‘Live today as if you’re gonna die tomorrow’, or some such shit. We spent it all on food and booze, you know.”
Adam narrowed his eyes at him. “Food and booze? Really? I can’t believe it!”
“Well,” Kris said, pointing at Adam’s waist, “you think you got pudgy from nothing?”
Flabbergasted, Adam put his hands on his waistline, examining it. “Pudgy? Me? But-“
Kris shrugged, feeling defensive. “Well, you used to be trimmer.”
The atmosphere between them was strained after that, Adam couldn’t seem to stop pouting about that disparaging remark as he called it, and kept throwing Kris dirty looks. Nonetheless they played two more times that day, and in the end they had those 100$ Adam had talked about.
“No more booze, Kris,” he said that evening, lounging on the sleeping bag and munching on one of the apples which they had bought on their way back together with fresh bread and a bit of cheese. “We’re going to eat healthy, and we’re going to save money. I want out of this fucking tent.”
Kris, relieved that the pouting seemed to be over, nodded in acquiescence.
~~~~~
Surprisingly, he didn’t have any trouble at all adjusting to the recent chances in his life. After only four weeks with Adam, he was no longer a homeless person who lived under a bridge; instead he and Adam shared a two-room apartment, though admittedly in a seedier part of Los Angeles. They continued playing three times a day in various tube stations; and if their income wasn’t always as high as on that first day, it was at least regular. Adam had them on a healthy diet, preparing their meals themselves. Junk food was not completely forbidden, but restricted to once a week.
The apartment had come equipped with a fitted kitchen, nothing luxurious, but with a functioning stove and fridge. Both had been a bitch to get clean, but they’d managed. Now it all was working just fine and the fridge wasn’t even that loud anymore. They both agreed, however, that the best feature of their flat was the bathroom. Having their own tub with a showerhead was pure luxury.
It all was such an improvement to how it had been before. Kris sometimes wondered how he’d borne living on the streets for so long.
Not that he hadn’t had his reasons. Back home in Arkansas, he’d felt just claustrophobic; all the efforts people had made trying to fit him back into his former life had seemed to him like attempts to hold him captive once more.
Once he’d learned about Adam’s whereabouts, an irresistible force had drawn him to LA. It had taken him quite a while to figure out where to cross Adam’s way. Finding that café had been a streak of pure luck. Even then he hadn’t dared reveal himself to him. Watching Adam a few times a week buy his latte had been all the closeness Kris was capable of. It was only now that Kris slowly realized what a wreck he’d been.
So here he was, and it seemed Adam had saved him once again.
Kris knew that his shiny new life was built on feet of clay. Thankfully they had no TV-set, but it was hard enough to keep Adam from seeing the newspapers that were full of reports of the repeated disappearance of Adam Lambert, glam rock’s wild child.
It helped a lot that Adam barely resembled his former self these days. He had been shocked to discover that he was indeed a redhead when his strawberry blond roots had begun to show. In the end he’d asked Kris to cut his hair and get rid of the black. Now he had kind of a surfer look going for him, and while it kind of suited him, it was nothing like he’d looked before.
There was still the danger that something might jumpstart Adam’s memory though. And then everything that was now good in Kris’ life would be gone in a heartbeat. And all his nightmares would be back.
Kris wasn’t sure what he would do then. These dreams had been so realistic, so horrible; he wondered how he had been able to live with them for so long. Every night he had woken up, bathed in sweat and screaming. It had gotten so bad that he had been afraid to fall asleep and tried to stay awake for as long as he could. It was typical, Kris thought, that Adam was the one who was able to exorcise his demons. His presence kept the nightmares at bay; Kris hadn’t had a single one since Adam stayed with him. He was sleeping much better and it made him feel like a completely different person.
Adam noticed the change, too.
“You know, Kris,” he said one evening, when they were sitting on their lumpy sofa and he was slicing apples for the two of them, “I feel like I need to apologize to you. Because back then, during those first days when I’d been mugged, I really thought you were lying to me. The thing with the pizza, or when you told me you used to be on top, and, you know, the overall way you treated me--sometimes I thought you were such a cold bitch.”
His glance flicked up from the apples and latched on to Kris’ pleadingly. Kris’ insides were frozen with shock, he barely managed to nod at Adam to continue.
Adam smiled wryly. “Now I guess, it was because we were living rough, and you must have been totally stressed out or something, ‘cause now you-“ he reached over to take Kris’ hand-“now you’re always so sweet, and I’m so, so sorry for ever doubting you! Can you forgive me, baby?”
Kris didn’t know where to look. Anywhere but into Adam’s sincere and candid gaze. Christ!
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he managed at last, his throat almost closing up on the words.
Adam scooted closer, lifting Kris’ hand to his mouth and kissing it gently. “Kris, if you still want to, we can do it like you wanted back then. I mean, you can top me if you want.”
Oh, God! Kris had to hold on to his sanity firmly, this close to breaking out into hysterical laughter. Goddamn Adam Lambert! How could he sit there and offer him such a thing, with such a tender and sweet smile on his face, like-like he loved him? Oh, Christ! To his own dismay, Kris felt tears welling up in his eyes. And within him, the urge to tell Adam the truth about everything, to clear out all the lies that stood between them. It became more and more difficult to shut that inner voice down. But he couldn’t lose Adam! Not just yet. Maybe he could tell him a little bit of the truth., though.
“Adam,” he began haltingly, “I need to say something, too. That knock on the head you got, it changed both of us. We weren’t exactly like this when it happened. Not so… so loving, all right? More like fuck-buddies. Friends with benefits.”
He took a deep breath, adding quietly, “I like it much better now.”
“Oh, Kris!” Adam put an arm around Kris’ shoulders. “I didn’t know! Damn, why can’t I remember those things! But, this, yeah, I like it a lot, too.” He hugged Kris tightly, ruffling his hair with one hand.
“I’ve been lying to you,” Kris said, before he could stop himself.
“Lying, how? About what?” Adam asked.
“About us,” Kris admitted. “It wasn’t like I said. I never topped you. I just wanted to, at that time. Now I-“ he cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable and more than a little bit ashamed.
“Now you enjoy it when I’m on top, right?” Adam supplied. “Damn, I must have been one shitty lover before! Another thing I have to apologize for!”
Kris couldn’t suppress a snort. Adam, a shitty lover? That sounded like blasphemy to him.
“Come on,” was what he said in the end, feeling daring all of a sudden, “you can show me how much you’ve improved!”
Afterward, they lay cuddled together on their mattress, Adam affectionately carding his fingers through Kris’ soft hair.
“You know, Kris,” he mused, “what is strange? Sometimes I get that image of you, like a flashback, and your hair is really blond and you have black streaks. Did you used to dye it?”
At those words, Kris’ heart nearly stopped.
“I, uh--no,” he stuttered finally. “That must have been somebody else you were dreaming of.”
Adam nodded, the topic obviously closed for him.
Not for Kris, though. Adam was remembering Tommy! So maybe his memory was coming back. It threw Kris for a loop in more ways than one. Knowing that his time with Adam might be nearing its end made him jumpy and nervous, and the worst thing was that his nightmares suddenly were back.
~~~~~
“Damn, Kris,” Adam remarked one night after waking Kris up from a horrible bout of screaming, “Who is this ‘Master’ you’re pleading with? Was he the one who put those scars on you?”
Still absolutely shaken, Kris wrenched his body out of Adam’s grasp and curled up on himself. Oh, God. The scars. He had been waiting for Adam to ask after them, but when he never did he’d figured Adam was trying to be decent, or didn’t want to hurt Kris’ feelings. Why did he have to bring them up now that Kris was so defenseless, dammit? Burying his head into his pillow, Kris could only mutter, “I had an accident. Fell backward through a glass door.”
Two days later it happened. Kris had taken a shower and was toweling his hair dry when, even through the bathroom door, he heard the unmistakable sounds of “Bound To You”, Adam’s first hit single. Alarmed, he tore the door open and stepped around the corner and into the kitchen. Adam was standing there, hunched over the kitchen counter, his hands literally clawed around their new radio. At Kris’ entry, he pulled himself away from it, his eyes zooming in on Kris.
A whole gamut of emotions was running over his face in quick succession. Surprise and disbelief at first, closely followed by hurt and such an expression of betrayal that Kris’ heart burned with shame.
And then Adam moved toward him with great, angry steps and Kris turned around and jumped back into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and turned the key.
“Goddamn, Kris!” Adam shouted, banging his fists against the door. “Open that door, damn you!” The filling gave an ominous cracking noise. Trembling, Kris retreated until his back hit the tiled wall next to the tub.
“Come out!” Adam yelled again. “Goddamn Kris! How could you do that to me?”
It filled Kris with pure terror; panting and sweating he leaned against that wall, his eyes closed. When Adam yelled again for him to come out, his knees gave out on him and he sank into a crouching position, whimpering quietly.
He heard a last heavy punch to the door, followed by Adam’s steps as he was pacing around in the flat. A short time later the entrance door fell shut and there was utter silence. Adam was gone. Probably forever.
And then Kris’ tears started. He cried like his heart had been torn out of his chest and ripped in two, his sobs echoing off the bathroom’s tiled walls. It went on and on, he just couldn’t seem to stop. It was as if everything that had happened to him, from his abduction by the Sultan’s thugs, the many terrible ordeals he had suffered at the man’s hands, to that last punishing whipping, suddenly was catching up with him, and he was reliving it, experiencing all the terror again.
When he finally made it out of the bathroom his throat and his whole body hurt. Wearily he dragged himself to the sofa and collapsed down on it, his mind in a state of total desolation.
He didn’t leave it for days, only getting up to use the toilet or eat dry whole-wheat toast right out of the package. At one point he finally shut off the radio that had been playing all that time.
It was only when he had eaten every piece of food in the apartment and his stomach was cramping with hunger, that he pulled himself together, took a shower and ventured outside. The money they’d had put away got him through another four weeks.
In the back of his mind he realized that the rent had to be due soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He decided to wait until he’d get evicted. Strangely, that never happened, and gas and electricity weren’t cut off, either, so Kris stayed in the flat.
He fell back into old habits, playing for cash (much less now), eating junk food and generally letting himself go. After a while, the numbness diminished, a feeling of loneliness and yearning taking its place. He missed Adam so much that his body, heart and soul were aching with it.
One day he found a newspaper in a bin. On the front page was a small picture of Adam, together with a short report about a charity he had run. His hair was longer and back to black, and he looked so confident and so perfect, utterly at ease with himself.
Kris took the newspaper home and pinned Adam’s photo to the wall next to his bed. It was the last thing he looked at before falling asleep and the first he turned his gaze to when he awoke. More and more often, he found himself talking to it, and on those times he thought he was finally on the brink of madness for sure. But Adam’s picture wrought its magic. The nightmares vanished after a while, and very, very slowly, Kris settled down and learned to accept that the past couldn’t be changed. A new sense of calmness, something almost like serenity, took possession of him and his outlook on life wasn’t quite so dark anymore.
One day he mustered the nerve to approach his landlord about the rent, only to learn that Adam Lambert had been paying it all this time.
~~~~~
It was a turning point in Kris’ life. He started playing more regularly now, not only when he needed the money. He also began volunteering at a close-by shelter, collected food from supermarkets, helped in the kitchen and afterward at the counter, giving out meals. The interaction with other people turned out to be something he thrived on and he found himself if not happy, so at least not so terribly unhappy anymore.
Finally, about six months after Adam had stormed out of their apartment, Kris sat down and wrote a long letter. Since he didn’t know Adam’s address he sent it to 19 Entertainment on Sunset Boulevard, hoping that by some miracle it might reach its recipient.
--The one difference is that Adam didn't buy the building. He only pays the rent.--
Lost Princes - Adommy version
Chapter 4
Out of habit Kris woke up early with the first grey of dawn. At his side, Adam was still sleeping. Kris could see his eyes moving fast under the closed lids, and there was a slight frown on Adam’s face. His lips were pressed close together, too. Whatever he was dreaming, it didn’t seem to be anything pleasant.
Stretching his body awake, Kris took stock of all the minor aches and twitches in his body as well as of that strange feeling of inner warmth last night had left him with. He felt like he had a little radiator inside, a warm and glowing pit of happiness in his belly. He’d never experienced anything similar before. If feeling well-fucked was like that, he definitely wanted it again.
Sighing, he got up and fixed coffee. Together with a couple of expired pop tarts he’d got at the thrift store he put it on a small tray which he set down next to their sleeping spot.
“Wake up, Adam. Breakfast’s ready.”
The other man didn’t stir. In fact, Kris had to repeat his words twice until he showed any reaction at all. Finally Adam groaned, and twisted and stretched. Lids half-closed against the early morning light, he surveyed the tent and its interior, his gaze finally settling on Kris. At first he seemed baffled, a deep frown on his face. Then remembrance set in and he sank back on the sleeping bag, yawning widely.
“Kris, baby,” he said, his voice still husky from sleep. “How you’re doing?”
“Fine,” replied Kris, not really able to hide his relief. Everything was okay, Adam obviously had no recollection of his former life.
“Here, there’s coffee and pop tarts. Hurry, we need to catch our audience on their way to work.”
Adam nodded and downed the coffee, drawing a face. Probably forgot about the dregs, Kris thought. Adam refused to eat cold pop tarts, so Kris cautiously heated his over the little gas cooker. They brushed their teeth and rubbed each other down with a wet rag before they got dressed. Kris showed Adam the clothes he had got for him the day before, dark camouflage pants, a black tank top and a fleece jacket of the same color, both a bit faded and cuffed but perfectly wearable. In this get-up Adam seemed much more like himself, so Kris arranged his hair to cover his black eye and fixed it with the bandanna again. He would just have to hope that no one looked too closely. Adam himself was ridiculously happy about the clothes, smiling at Kris delightedly and hugging him tightly.
“Thanks for getting me these, baby! I promise I‘ll take better care of them than I did the last ones!” He sounded so honestly contrite and pleased at the same time, Kris had to look away for a moment to reign in his rearing conscience.
They went through the park and past the fountain to the nearest tube station which at this time of day was already teeming with commuters. At the wall next to the stairs they set up and started playing, the same songs as the day before. A lot of coins fell into Kris’ guitar case, and almost just as many bills. When they counted the money they found that they had made more than 35$, and they’d played for three quarters of an hour, at most.
“If we do that during lunch break again, and then once more during rush hour, we can make a hundred quid today,” Adam mused. “Do you think we could save some of the money and get a real place to live? And, damn, why haven’t we done so before?”
Kris averted his gaze, at a loss what to say to that. Finally he settled for laying the blame on Adam, and replied, “You never wanted to save. You were always saying ‘Live today as if you’re gonna die tomorrow’, or some such shit. We spent it all on food and booze, you know.”
Adam narrowed his eyes at him. “Food and booze? Really? I can’t believe it!”
“Well,” Kris said, pointing at Adam’s waist, “you think you got pudgy from nothing?”
Flabbergasted, Adam put his hands on his waistline, examining it. “Pudgy? Me? But-“
Kris shrugged, feeling defensive. “Well, you used to be trimmer.”
The atmosphere between them was strained after that, Adam couldn’t seem to stop pouting about that disparaging remark as he called it, and kept throwing Kris dirty looks. Nonetheless they played two more times that day, and in the end they had those 100$ Adam had talked about.
“No more booze, Kris,” he said that evening, lounging on the sleeping bag and munching on one of the apples which they had bought on their way back together with fresh bread and a bit of cheese. “We’re going to eat healthy, and we’re going to save money. I want out of this fucking tent.”
Kris, relieved that the pouting seemed to be over, nodded in acquiescence.
~~~~~
Surprisingly, he didn’t have any trouble at all adjusting to the recent chances in his life. After only four weeks with Adam, he was no longer a homeless person who lived under a bridge; instead he and Adam shared a two-room apartment, though admittedly in a seedier part of Los Angeles. They continued playing three times a day in various tube stations; and if their income wasn’t always as high as on that first day, it was at least regular. Adam had them on a healthy diet, preparing their meals themselves. Junk food was not completely forbidden, but restricted to once a week.
The apartment had come equipped with a fitted kitchen, nothing luxurious, but with a functioning stove and fridge. Both had been a bitch to get clean, but they’d managed. Now it all was working just fine and the fridge wasn’t even that loud anymore. They both agreed, however, that the best feature of their flat was the bathroom. Having their own tub with a showerhead was pure luxury.
It all was such an improvement to how it had been before. Kris sometimes wondered how he’d borne living on the streets for so long.
Not that he hadn’t had his reasons. Back home in Arkansas, he’d felt just claustrophobic; all the efforts people had made trying to fit him back into his former life had seemed to him like attempts to hold him captive once more.
Once he’d learned about Adam’s whereabouts, an irresistible force had drawn him to LA. It had taken him quite a while to figure out where to cross Adam’s way. Finding that café had been a streak of pure luck. Even then he hadn’t dared reveal himself to him. Watching Adam a few times a week buy his latte had been all the closeness Kris was capable of. It was only now that Kris slowly realized what a wreck he’d been.
So here he was, and it seemed Adam had saved him once again.
Kris knew that his shiny new life was built on feet of clay. Thankfully they had no TV-set, but it was hard enough to keep Adam from seeing the newspapers that were full of reports of the repeated disappearance of Adam Lambert, glam rock’s wild child.
It helped a lot that Adam barely resembled his former self these days. He had been shocked to discover that he was indeed a redhead when his strawberry blond roots had begun to show. In the end he’d asked Kris to cut his hair and get rid of the black. Now he had kind of a surfer look going for him, and while it kind of suited him, it was nothing like he’d looked before.
There was still the danger that something might jumpstart Adam’s memory though. And then everything that was now good in Kris’ life would be gone in a heartbeat. And all his nightmares would be back.
Kris wasn’t sure what he would do then. These dreams had been so realistic, so horrible; he wondered how he had been able to live with them for so long. Every night he had woken up, bathed in sweat and screaming. It had gotten so bad that he had been afraid to fall asleep and tried to stay awake for as long as he could. It was typical, Kris thought, that Adam was the one who was able to exorcise his demons. His presence kept the nightmares at bay; Kris hadn’t had a single one since Adam stayed with him. He was sleeping much better and it made him feel like a completely different person.
Adam noticed the change, too.
“You know, Kris,” he said one evening, when they were sitting on their lumpy sofa and he was slicing apples for the two of them, “I feel like I need to apologize to you. Because back then, during those first days when I’d been mugged, I really thought you were lying to me. The thing with the pizza, or when you told me you used to be on top, and, you know, the overall way you treated me--sometimes I thought you were such a cold bitch.”
His glance flicked up from the apples and latched on to Kris’ pleadingly. Kris’ insides were frozen with shock, he barely managed to nod at Adam to continue.
Adam smiled wryly. “Now I guess, it was because we were living rough, and you must have been totally stressed out or something, ‘cause now you-“ he reached over to take Kris’ hand-“now you’re always so sweet, and I’m so, so sorry for ever doubting you! Can you forgive me, baby?”
Kris didn’t know where to look. Anywhere but into Adam’s sincere and candid gaze. Christ!
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he managed at last, his throat almost closing up on the words.
Adam scooted closer, lifting Kris’ hand to his mouth and kissing it gently. “Kris, if you still want to, we can do it like you wanted back then. I mean, you can top me if you want.”
Oh, God! Kris had to hold on to his sanity firmly, this close to breaking out into hysterical laughter. Goddamn Adam Lambert! How could he sit there and offer him such a thing, with such a tender and sweet smile on his face, like-like he loved him? Oh, Christ! To his own dismay, Kris felt tears welling up in his eyes. And within him, the urge to tell Adam the truth about everything, to clear out all the lies that stood between them. It became more and more difficult to shut that inner voice down. But he couldn’t lose Adam! Not just yet. Maybe he could tell him a little bit of the truth., though.
“Adam,” he began haltingly, “I need to say something, too. That knock on the head you got, it changed both of us. We weren’t exactly like this when it happened. Not so… so loving, all right? More like fuck-buddies. Friends with benefits.”
He took a deep breath, adding quietly, “I like it much better now.”
“Oh, Kris!” Adam put an arm around Kris’ shoulders. “I didn’t know! Damn, why can’t I remember those things! But, this, yeah, I like it a lot, too.” He hugged Kris tightly, ruffling his hair with one hand.
“I’ve been lying to you,” Kris said, before he could stop himself.
“Lying, how? About what?” Adam asked.
“About us,” Kris admitted. “It wasn’t like I said. I never topped you. I just wanted to, at that time. Now I-“ he cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable and more than a little bit ashamed.
“Now you enjoy it when I’m on top, right?” Adam supplied. “Damn, I must have been one shitty lover before! Another thing I have to apologize for!”
Kris couldn’t suppress a snort. Adam, a shitty lover? That sounded like blasphemy to him.
“Come on,” was what he said in the end, feeling daring all of a sudden, “you can show me how much you’ve improved!”
Afterward, they lay cuddled together on their mattress, Adam affectionately carding his fingers through Kris’ soft hair.
“You know, Kris,” he mused, “what is strange? Sometimes I get that image of you, like a flashback, and your hair is really blond and you have black streaks. Did you used to dye it?”
At those words, Kris’ heart nearly stopped.
“I, uh--no,” he stuttered finally. “That must have been somebody else you were dreaming of.”
Adam nodded, the topic obviously closed for him.
Not for Kris, though. Adam was remembering Tommy! So maybe his memory was coming back. It threw Kris for a loop in more ways than one. Knowing that his time with Adam might be nearing its end made him jumpy and nervous, and the worst thing was that his nightmares suddenly were back.
~~~~~
“Damn, Kris,” Adam remarked one night after waking Kris up from a horrible bout of screaming, “Who is this ‘Master’ you’re pleading with? Was he the one who put those scars on you?”
Still absolutely shaken, Kris wrenched his body out of Adam’s grasp and curled up on himself. Oh, God. The scars. He had been waiting for Adam to ask after them, but when he never did he’d figured Adam was trying to be decent, or didn’t want to hurt Kris’ feelings. Why did he have to bring them up now that Kris was so defenseless, dammit? Burying his head into his pillow, Kris could only mutter, “I had an accident. Fell backward through a glass door.”
Two days later it happened. Kris had taken a shower and was toweling his hair dry when, even through the bathroom door, he heard the unmistakable sounds of “Bound To You”, Adam’s first hit single. Alarmed, he tore the door open and stepped around the corner and into the kitchen. Adam was standing there, hunched over the kitchen counter, his hands literally clawed around their new radio. At Kris’ entry, he pulled himself away from it, his eyes zooming in on Kris.
A whole gamut of emotions was running over his face in quick succession. Surprise and disbelief at first, closely followed by hurt and such an expression of betrayal that Kris’ heart burned with shame.
And then Adam moved toward him with great, angry steps and Kris turned around and jumped back into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and turned the key.
“Goddamn, Kris!” Adam shouted, banging his fists against the door. “Open that door, damn you!” The filling gave an ominous cracking noise. Trembling, Kris retreated until his back hit the tiled wall next to the tub.
“Come out!” Adam yelled again. “Goddamn Kris! How could you do that to me?”
It filled Kris with pure terror; panting and sweating he leaned against that wall, his eyes closed. When Adam yelled again for him to come out, his knees gave out on him and he sank into a crouching position, whimpering quietly.
He heard a last heavy punch to the door, followed by Adam’s steps as he was pacing around in the flat. A short time later the entrance door fell shut and there was utter silence. Adam was gone. Probably forever.
And then Kris’ tears started. He cried like his heart had been torn out of his chest and ripped in two, his sobs echoing off the bathroom’s tiled walls. It went on and on, he just couldn’t seem to stop. It was as if everything that had happened to him, from his abduction by the Sultan’s thugs, the many terrible ordeals he had suffered at the man’s hands, to that last punishing whipping, suddenly was catching up with him, and he was reliving it, experiencing all the terror again.
When he finally made it out of the bathroom his throat and his whole body hurt. Wearily he dragged himself to the sofa and collapsed down on it, his mind in a state of total desolation.
He didn’t leave it for days, only getting up to use the toilet or eat dry whole-wheat toast right out of the package. At one point he finally shut off the radio that had been playing all that time.
It was only when he had eaten every piece of food in the apartment and his stomach was cramping with hunger, that he pulled himself together, took a shower and ventured outside. The money they’d had put away got him through another four weeks.
In the back of his mind he realized that the rent had to be due soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He decided to wait until he’d get evicted. Strangely, that never happened, and gas and electricity weren’t cut off, either, so Kris stayed in the flat.
He fell back into old habits, playing for cash (much less now), eating junk food and generally letting himself go. After a while, the numbness diminished, a feeling of loneliness and yearning taking its place. He missed Adam so much that his body, heart and soul were aching with it.
One day he found a newspaper in a bin. On the front page was a small picture of Adam, together with a short report about a charity he had run. His hair was longer and back to black, and he looked so confident and so perfect, utterly at ease with himself.
Kris took the newspaper home and pinned Adam’s photo to the wall next to his bed. It was the last thing he looked at before falling asleep and the first he turned his gaze to when he awoke. More and more often, he found himself talking to it, and on those times he thought he was finally on the brink of madness for sure. But Adam’s picture wrought its magic. The nightmares vanished after a while, and very, very slowly, Kris settled down and learned to accept that the past couldn’t be changed. A new sense of calmness, something almost like serenity, took possession of him and his outlook on life wasn’t quite so dark anymore.
One day he mustered the nerve to approach his landlord about the rent, only to learn that Adam Lambert had been paying it all this time.
~~~~~
It was a turning point in Kris’ life. He started playing more regularly now, not only when he needed the money. He also began volunteering at a close-by shelter, collected food from supermarkets, helped in the kitchen and afterward at the counter, giving out meals. The interaction with other people turned out to be something he thrived on and he found himself if not happy, so at least not so terribly unhappy anymore.
Finally, about six months after Adam had stormed out of their apartment, Kris sat down and wrote a long letter. Since he didn’t know Adam’s address he sent it to 19 Entertainment on Sunset Boulevard, hoping that by some miracle it might reach its recipient.
--The one difference is that Adam didn't buy the building. He only pays the rent.--