Need

Content warning: this story contains moderately intense BDSM themes.

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I'm a schedule-oriented kind of person. I just don't feel comfortable unless I have a list of things to do in my head in the mornings.

For the last five months the routine has been the same during the week.

At 5:00 AM, I'll wake up, eat breakfast, and head over to my local gym. Then I'll work out for about forty minutes, shower, get dressed and leave for work so I can get there by 7:00.

I do my job at the insurance company, keeping focused on my tasks and doing the best I can until 12, when I take an hour lunch break. Then it's back on the grind until 4 PM, though sometimes later if one of my coworkers needs help with something.

Once I get home I cook myself dinner, do the dishes, indulge in some TV or a book, then brush my teeth and do my skin care routine before I go to bed at 10 PM.

Wash, rinse, and repeat. Day in and day out.

I allow myself to have a little more freedom on the weekends, but still want a rough idea of what I want to do each day. I usually feel lazy and unmotivated if I'm just going with the flow.

At 24, my life is pretty damn great. I have a good job, an apartment of my own, a good body, and a caring family that supported me on my journey into adulthood.

I made it to where I am at today because of my hard work and dedication. I've moved out to a different state and living on my own, a luxury not a lot of people my age have. But I never want to get complacent. I always want to improve, always want to better myself. It's something I keep in mind at all times. It's what makes me want to stick to my schedule and go the extra mile.

Every single day.

*****

This particular day was a Friday, and everything was going according to schedule. I had a challenging leg day in the morning, got to work, did my job, and was anxiously waiting for the meeting that happened every Friday. This one was special because after the meeting my supervisor Jared was announcing over the company email who would get a promotion I'd been eyeing for a couple months.

I had only been at my company for half a year, but I had more than proven my worth. I worked hard, was friendly with everyone, and received nothing but praise from my superiors. I don't want to act full of myself, but by all accounts I appeared to be the clear choice for the role.

Still, it's not like I felt entitled to it. It didn't really matter, anyway.

So...why was I starting to get nervous?

I paid attention and took notes like I always did, but felt myself get a little antsy as the minutes ticked by. At long last it finally ended and we returned to our desks. I still worked, but every minute or so I looked at my work email to see if the announcement was sent out.

I felt like my heart skipped when I finally got the notification. Excitedly I opened it up expecting to see

Colton Bishop

looking back at me from the screen.

I didn't see it, though.

I read through the email and saw that Jared had actually given the promotion to my coworker Layla.

Well...I guess that made sense. Layla had been working here for almost a year longer than me. She was smart, likable, and worked diligently. Layla was a good fit for the job. It was a bit disappointing, but I knew that I would just have to wait for another chance.

Still, during that last hour or so of work intrusive thoughts kept creeping up.

Why didn't I get that promotion? Did I do something wrong? Did I not work hard enough?

I ignored them. There wasn't some deeper meaning behind this. These things just happen.

What else could I have done? There has to be a reason why she got it and not me.

After a few minutes, the tone of the thoughts changed.

What more could he possibly want from me? I do everything he says, I get results, I never complain, I'm working as hard as I can. Why wasn't that enough for him?

I shut that down immediately. There was absolutely no reason to get angry about this. A professional needs to keep their emotions in check, even inside their own mind.

Still, it came back towards the end of my shift.

What does Layla have that I don't? Seniority? That's bullshit. She gets what she wants just because she's been here longer?

When I got up to leave the woman in question smiled and told me to have a good weekend. I smiled back and thanked her, but it felt forced.

I was in a funk on my drive home. This wasn't how today was supposed to go.

I sat around my apartment for a bit until I remembered that I had planned to go out that night to celebrate getting the promotion. Clearly that didn't even matter now.

Even so...I'm usually happier when I keep to the schedule, even if unexpected things happened. It made me feel more in control.

I still worked hard all week and deserved a little reward for myself.

I had dinner alone that night. I was under the impression that I would invite some of my coworkers, but that was assuming that I got the promotion. It wouldn't make sense to invite them anymore.

On my drive home I saw a bar I'd seen a hundred times by then and felt this strange compulsion.

I normally don't drink. I don't like the taste and alcohol is really terrible for your body. I wanted to be in top shape.

But...I did just have rich Italian food I normally wouldn't eat. It couldn't hurt to push the envelope a little more.

Once I walked in I plopped down on a bar stool and asked for a martini, extra sweet. I got it back a few minutes later and began drinking.

I'd always prided myself on my drive. As a half-black, half-Latino, I sometimes felt like I had to prove myself. I was okay at sports, even considered being on my high school baseball team, but I felt like my real skills were more academic, so I opted to join the debate team instead. I got good grades and was accepted by my first choice college, where I kept up the hard work.

It all led to getting this job. I worked my ass off, never relenting, never complaining...and it wasn't enough.

I noticed that my drink was empty. I wasn't really paying any attention to that. I still felt fine, so I asked for another.

Did my boss just not like me? What reason could he have for that? I was always polite, always friendly. What else was there?

What was the point of busting my ass 24/7 if I was still going to be left behind? Why did he act like it was up in the air if he was just going to give it to Layla anyway?

I noticed I had finished my drink again and asked for one more without thinking about it too hard.

It wasn't fair. I did everything right...didn't I?

It made me wonder if there was something wrong with me. This really shouldn't be that big a deal. My life was still great. Why couldn't I just be happy?

My head was feeling a little cloudy. I'd never tested my alcohol tolerance. I'd never even gotten drunk before. But I'm a grown man. If I wanted to have some more, it was well within my right. I'll just get a taxi. It'll be fine.

I finished my drink and asked the bartender for two shots of tequila. I'd never taken a shot before in my life, but I was feeling adventurous.

The first one I wasn't prepared for. I sputtered and coughed as the burning liquid snaked down my throat. It was painful for a moment, but once my body calmed down I felt a nice little warmth inside me. My thoughts worrying about what happened that day were dulled a little bit. I felt awesome! I was in control again.

Grinning, I took the second shot, feeling more of that burning. Now it felt good.

Well, three drinks in one night was enough. Wait, no...it was four or five. I couldn't really remember. Maybe it was time for me to head home.

I paid, making sure to tip generously, walked out, and looked up the number for a taxi.

*****

My head was pounding. I could barely think. What was going on?

I slowly came to and opened my eyes. After a moment where my mind was completely blank everything snapped into focus.

I was on a couch in a place I had never seen before. I didn't even know how I got there. When I sat up, my headache intensified and the pain made my mind fuzzy and unfocused.

What the hell happened last night?

I remember going to the bar, getting a few drinks, then leaving. But as hard as I tried I couldn't recall anything that came after that.

I looked around. I was in the den of some house. I'd never seen any of this before.

"Look who's awake."

I jumped a little when I heard the voice and looked over.

Standing on the other side of the room was a white man who was petite and looked to maybe be in his thirties. He had chocolatey brown hair that was short and styled, with an immaculate beard to match. His voice had that no-bullshit quality that made him sound like an authority figure.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he said dryly, walking closer.

"Who are you? What is this?"

He chuckled, though he didn't sound all that happy.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?"

I opened my mouth to speak for a second, but closed it and just shook my head.

"I assumed as much. What's your name?"

I put a hand in my hair as my head pounded.

"Colton."

"Well, Colton, some congratulations are in order. You are officially the dumbest person I have ever met. I feel like I need to call some exes and apologize now."

I felt a spark of anger.

"What the hell are you talking about."

He gave me a deadpan look.

"You were completely blackout drunk last night. You were gone. That's the kind of mistake I would expect from a high schooler, not a grown ass man."

I raised my eyebrows.

"What?"

He sat down in a chair near the couch.

"Let's paint a picture, shall we? Imagine me, wanting to go for a night on the town after a long week of work. I get out of my car, walk half a block, and find a young man so smashed he needs to lean on a wall so he doesn't fall over."

I see that image in my mind and my cheeks redden in shame.

"He doesn't look like a drunken bum, either. He's well dressed and looks like someone who actually has their shit together. Someone who should know better."

The tone of his voice makes me want to run away and hide.

"Then when I get a bit closer, he vomits all over himself and crumples to the ground. I normally mind my own business, but this is getting worrisome. So I go into the bar that's two feet away and ask someone about it. This lady at the bar said some guy had five drinks in about thirty minutes and left."

My jaw dropped. Five? I thought I only had three or four.

"When I walk back outside he's still there. He's not even unconscious, he's just so plastered he doesn't get up. Now I have a choice to make."

He folded his arms and gave me a weird look.

"This kid is not my responsibility. Nobody will blame me if I just walk away, but I consider a few things, things he probably never considered himself. He's completely helpless, with his phone, wallet, and keys in his pockets. Anybody walking by could take them and he would never know."

I felt ashamed, but it wasn't really because of what I did to myself. For some reason I was thinking more about what I put him through.

"So I decide to be a nice guy and get him out of harm's way. I walk him to my car and take him to my house to recover. When we get here there's vomit on both of us. I lead him to my couch and he conks out instantly. I have to take his clothes off so he doesn't get vomit all over everything, and when I take off his pants I realize he pissed himself in the car on the way here. Thanks for that, by the way, now I have to get my upholstery cleaned."

I hung my head, wanting to disappear.

"So I take them off too and throw them in the washer. And that brings us to now, the next morning."

Suddenly I realized I was indeed naked under a blanket and got even more embarrassed.

He looks at me disappointedly.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

My face burned.

"I...I'm so sorry. I didn't know any of that was going to happen. I was just...I was just feeling really sad and the alcohol was making it go away."

"You need to know your limits, man. Binge drinking is never the answer."

"I know, I don't even drink normally, I just...I just wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

His tone changed to one more compassionate.

"Hey, we all make mistakes. You just need to learn from them. I'm not really mad at you, I'm just concerned."

I looked up and saw that he didn't look so upset anymore.

"Thank you for helping me out."

"It's not a problem. It looked like you needed a friend last night."

I nodded.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He held out his hand. "My name is Ashley Cunningham. You can just call me Ash." I shook his hand.

Looking closer, I saw that he was kind of handsome. He had piercing hazel eyes and a good bone structure in his face. Like me, he clearly kept in shape. He was lean and held himself with confidence.

My blanket fell in my lap and exposed a little bit more than I was comfortable. Blushing again, I covered myself back up.

"Can I have my clothes back?"

"Yeah, sure."

He brought me my clothes from the previous night and a big glass of water before he left so I could get dressed in private. My phone, wallet, and keys were all just as they were last night. Ash was right, I was completely helpless and at the mercy of anyone who had it in them to take advantage of me. But he helped me out even though he didn't know me. I remembered that Bible story I learned in Sunday school as a kid, the one about the good Samaritan. I needed to repay him.

Once I was dressed and a little more hydrated I walked to the kitchen and saw him eating breakfast.

"I have to do something to make this up to you. How about I'll pay to get your car cleaned?" I offered, putting the glass in the sink.

He shook his head. "Nah, I already set it up. It's not going to be that expensive anyway."

"Then what can I do?" I pulled out my wallet. "If you want I'll pay you for—"

"I already told you it was fine," he insisted. "Just promise me one thing."

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh...I guess that depends on what that is?"

He chuckled. "Let me put my number in your phone, and promise me this: if you ever get into a mindset where you consider doing something like what you did last night again, call me. I'll talk some sense into you."

I nodded and we exchanged numbers.

"I already asked my housekeeper to drop you off at the bar so you can head home. She's ready to leave when you are."

Wait, a housekeeper?

I walked to the main room of the house and saw a little old lady waiting for me. Suddenly it occurred to me that this house was kind of big. Big and well furnished.

When we got outside I saw that it was indeed a nice place. It wasn't a mansion, but it was noticeably larger and better looking than the other houses in the suburb. And there was an elegant car in the driveway.

Was Ash...rich?

Well, we were already on our way out, riding the housekeeper's little Nissan Versa. It was too late to ask now.

Once we got to the city it wasn't long before we pulled into the parking lot of the bar where I got myself into a mess of trouble the previous night. At that moment I swore to never drink another drop for as long as I lived. I kind of wanted to completely forget about this whole experience, but for some reason I didn't want to forget about Ash.

With mixed feelings, I started my car and began the drive home.

*****

For the most part the weekend and following two weeks continued, business as usual. Everything fell back in line and the schedule marched on.

I concluded that the incident that Friday night happened because I let my emotions get the better of me. I was acting like a brat, stomping my feet and throwing a temper tantrum just because I didn't get what I wanted. That's not how an adult should act.

So I went back to the routine. I worked hard, stayed optimistic, and kept striving to improve.

For whatever reason, though, I kept thinking back to Ash.

I give high value to first impressions, and I had given Ash the worst first impression of me I could have given anyone. It was at a moment where I had completely lost control, shattering the composed, polite persona I had been working so hard on for my entire life.

But even despite that, he helped me without expecting anything in return. And he didn't even use it to color his perception of me. He didn't treat me as a useless drunk, he treated me as a normal person who just so happened to have made a colossal mistake.

It's so weird, because it's almost like I had a guard I put up whenever I meet someone new, this mask I put on in fear of judgment. It was such a second nature that I didn't even know it was there until it was taken away from me. I don't know what I would have done if one of my peers, or God forbid a family member, saw me like that. It would have been the lowest point of my life.

In a weird way, that made me close to Ash in a way I wasn't close to anybody else.

It was all such a strange, embarrassing experience, but I needed to learn from it. I needed to keep my thoughts in check.

The days went on and everything was as usual until one day when my boss was giving me my quarterly evaluation. There was plenty of positivity to it, but then we got to the paragraph about ways I needed to improve. What that piece of paper said will be etched into my brain forever.

While certainly competent and polite, Mr. Bishop is not known for being a team player. He rarely if ever asks for help with his work and keeps to himself more often than not. Some of his coworkers view him as difficult to approach at times. In order to improve, Mr. Bishop should be more flexible and open in his interactions. While his professionalism is appreciated, he needs to learn from his coworkers and be less rigid when at work.

I swear that I read that twenty times in a minute. It was totally constructive and helpful, stuff I even suspected myself, but for whatever reason, seeing how other people knew it too hurt me in a way I was not prepared for.

I looked up at my boss and forced a smile.

"Oh, uh...that's interesting. I'll keep that in mind."

"It all comes with experience, Colton. You'll be fine."

I got up and left, a million thoughts buzzing around in my head.

This was a learning experience. I needed to keep this in mind and move forward.

But in spite of myself my thoughts gradually got more bitter.

I can't believe I'm

too

professional for these people. We're not here to be buddies, we're here for work. It's not their fault I'm the only one taking this seriously.

I needed to cut it out. Those thoughts aren't helpful in the slightest.

Who are these "coworkers" complaining about me to management, anyway? If they had a problem they should have come to me about it.

I tried to stop myself again but the next thought came barreling in.

It was probably that Layla bitch. She was talking shit about me to the boss so she would get that promotion. She thinks she's so perfect. God, I hope she fucking—

Without thinking I raised my hand and physically slapped myself in the face.

That wasn't true and I knew that wasn't true. What was wrong with me?

Nothing I could do could make it better. Everything I looked at made me feel worse. My computer I slaved on all day for no reason because nobody here gave a shit about me. My coworkers who I knew all mocked me behind my back. This stupid fucking building where I'm wasting my life away.

Things kept welling up inside me and I felt like I was at the breaking point. I didn't know what would happen, but I was more afraid of finding out than I had ever been of anything in my entire life.