**This chapter comes directly after Ben Loves a Challenge ch 14. While there is no sex in this one, I promise it's coming soon.
It's not necessary to read Ben Loves a Challenge first, this story will still make sense, but I feel like it's better all together. Either way, I hope you enjoy.
-Penny****
Carlin's words haunted D'metrius for the rest of the week, and he felt all of the emotions. He was distracted at work, irritable and angsty. Christmas came and went with barely a thought, not that he celebrated anyway. And for the first time since he'd started dressing in drag, he was nervous about becoming Zion.
It was bad enough that he skipped his weekly friday night hook up, which he hadn't done in a very, very long time. His recent encounters, especially with Topher the week before, his emotional state since Carlin came out, and called him out, just, everything was wrong. It felt like D'metrius was toxic, and if he dressed in drag right now he'd somehow contaminate Zion, too.
He couldn't risk contaminating Zion. He knew it sounded dumb, and dramatic, but until he kicked his funk he had to keep Zion locked up, safe and secure.
Which meant he had exactly four days to figure it out before the New Year's Eve drag show.
He'd been headed through the courtyard of his apartment building, on his way to Jimmy's house to practice their act for the show when he realized he'd forgotten the duct tape and their matching corsets, which had just come in the mail.
He ran back to get them, shoving them into a reusable shopping bag, then rushed back out into the courtyard. Just as he reached the steps, ready to vault down them two at a time, he nearly collided into the last person he wanted to see just then.
His toxic emotions pushed him past a point that he couldn't stop himself from snapping at Carlin. "You've ruined everything," he growled, stomping down the steps. Carlin's hands were full, two bags of groceries in his arms, and his backpack on his back.
Carlin looked surprised, which was actually pretty satisfying when he usually looked so calm. So cool. Carlin blinked at him, halting in his tracks as D'metrius stormed into his personal space. "D'metrius?"
It was a mistake, because Carlin smelled good enough to stun him for a second. He blinked, then retreated back up the steps just to be away from his smell. "I can't, you've, you, it's all your fault!" he stammered. He hadn't exactly been prepared to confront Carlin, he had no idea what to say next.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Carlin asked, shifting bags around in his arms when he reached the top of the steps. "Why don't you come over, I can put this stuff down and you can tell me what's wrong."
How had he already recovered? How was he also so calm! It pissed him off to no end. "Nevermind, forget it," he barked, stepping around Carlin. "Just, whatever."
"D'metrius," Carlin said in that calm yet demanding voice. "Come back here and talk to me. Going out like this isn't going to help anything."
"You don't know me! I'll go out however I want. And, this's all your fault, anyway," he snapped, turning back around. "It's all ruined, everything. I'm all, I just, it's all-" He stopped talking when he saw the little girl who did the flowers upstairs leaning over the banister, watching them both. She ducked when she saw that he saw her.
"D, please," Carlin said. "Come to my place. These bags are heavy, and we can talk it over."
"I've got nothing to say to you," D'metrius growled. "And don't call me D."
Carlin sighed. "Fine, you know where to find me, if you change your mind. Bye, D'metrius. See you later, little lady," he said, nodding up to the girl on the banister.
"Bye, Mr. Bishop," the girl squeaked from above. "Mr. Pretty Lady, you should be nicer to Mr. Bishop, he's very nice."
Carlin snorted, then hid his laugh. "Mr. Pretty Lady?" D'metrius said, blinking at the girl, the wind gone from his sails. "Why'd she call me Mr. Pretty Lady but you Mr. Bishop?"
Carlin sniffed a laugh as the girl ran away. D'metrius looked at Carlin, who was biting his lower lip to keep from laughing more. He shrugged when he noticed him looking. "I mean, Bishop is my last name. And, she's not wrong. You're very pretty when you're Zion."
D'metrius scowled, then turned away from Carlin and stormed down the steps. Jimmy was waiting for him at the street in his beat-up junker.
Just as Carlin predicted he just couldn't get himself together, and the night was shot earlier than it should've been. He couldn't focus, couldn't do makeup for shit, couldn't seem to get his pitch right, and he'd broken one of Zion's favorite pairs of stilettos. His left arm still throbbed where he'd banged it up to save his face from a table as he flailed. To add insult to injury, now Jimmy was mad at him, too.
Neither of them talked as Jimmy drove him home, both of them in sour moods for different reasons stemming from the same issue.
D'metrius paused before climbing out of the idling car outside his apartment building. Jimmy looked up at him and the pissy look in his eyes just made D'metrius feel even worse.
"Lover, if you don't get your shit together, the show's gonna go up in flames and you can kiss our crowns goodbye. And, I think it goes without saying, but there is no way I'm losing my title to Stella Stelagtits. Get your shit together and shove it in your uptight backpack already."
"Get off my back, Jimmy, I just had an off night. If you want the crown so much, why don't you just do it without me."
"Do it without you?" Jimmy's scowl deepened. "That's not what Zion would say."
"Well, I'm not Zion right now, and it's what I'm saying," D'metrius snapped. He slammed the car door and stomped to the building.
"You need to figure out whatever crawled up your ass and died and dig it out by New Year's Eve, Metri," Jimmy called after him.
He didn't turn around, just raised a middle finger high above his head and held it there until he needed it to unlock the door. There was nothing to figure out, he knew exactly what had crawled up his ass. He climbed up the stairs, half afraid and half wanting Carlin to be reading at the table, but he wasn't tonight. He refused to acknowledge the disappointment that bubbled up in his gut as he crossed the softly lit courtyard and headed to his apartment.
It was late and the building was mostly quiet. He heard the landlady's TV when he passed her door, something with canned laughter, it faded as he moved down the hall. He unlocked his door and took his coat and shoes off, then stood in the doorway.
Dread settled in his stomach as he saw Zion's touch in every aspect of his apartment. Pictures of Zion and Bambi, Jimmy's drag persona, at pageants and drag shows on the walls. The open closet, full of dresses and corsets and silky undergarments, an entire wall rack full of shoes in every color of the rainbow. His dressing table surrounded by the rainbow of wigs Zion used to coordinate with his every outfit.
It took physical willpower and a slow count to five to get him inside.
Once inside, he couldn't bear to touch any of Zion's things, afraid that the slightest touch would begin the slow contamination of everything that made up his other life. It made it difficult to weave through his apartment until he made it to his bedroom.
He showered and changed into sweats, but Zion's touch was heavy in his bedroom and bathroom, too, of course. Every spare space was covered with more makeup tools and cleansers and lotions than he cared to admit he owned right now. He skipped his normal routine of moisturizing and skin care that had become second nature to him, feeling guilty for not doing it, but also too afraid to do it, too.
It made him uncomfortable, but not for the reason he'd been expecting. He couldn't escape Zion's presence, Zion's personality, and he didn't feel like he deserved to be around Zion's things as he was. It usually felt liberating, turning into Zion was often what got him through the day. Today everything relating to Zion was smothering, and he didn't like it at all.
His chest grew tight and he had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing for over a minute before it stopped feeling like something was sitting on his chest. It was suddenly too much, and he couldn't bear to be there for another minute or he knew he'd contaminate Zion past redemption. It wasn't rational, and he couldn't explain why he felt that way, but he did. He backed out of his apartment and closed the door behind him.
He instantly realized he was barefoot, but he couldn't go back, not right now, not even for shoes.
