(Alex's POV - Fri. 24 April 2015)

I'm listening to music in my bedroom, sprawled casually on my bed. I have recently grown a passion for one of my father's favorite bands, Pink Floyd. It's nothing fashionable, but I heard them a lot throughout my childhood, mostly in my Dad's car, and I just love how relaxing their sound is. The Dark Side Of The Moon makes me fly high, but The Wall remains my favorite album. I could listen to them all day.

However, today holds something different. Something I can't pinpoint. The atmosphere feels heavy, burdensome. The music sounds dark and gloomy, and I soon find myself breathless.

Oppressed.

As if doom was closing in on me.

My chest gets constricted.

The next second, I'm walking outside. It's only the beginning of the evening, but it's so dark... and cold. Rain is pouring. I can't see the stars. Not even the moonlight can pierce through the thick charcoal clouds.

I have no idea where I'm headed, just following my instinct. All I know is that something happened. I can feel it deep down. My life is about to take a sharp turn, and I really have a bad feeling about this.

I'm like a lost soul in a deserted town, completely alone. There should be cars at least... Country Road is usually quite busy at that time of day, but there's none.

When I reach the fields and woods, I find myself in total darkness from the absence of street lights in this area. I was stupid enough to go out without my coat, so I'm soaking wet, the wind sticking my long-sleeve tee-shirt to my skin. How could I even forget about shoes? My sock-clad feet now hurt on the cold pavement.

The ominous vibe is growing stronger, scaring me to the core, but I keep walking ahead because I have no other option. As if I could prevent events from happening. As if I could turn back time. As if I could stop the van that's going to crash into my parents' car.

Unfortunately, this dream is the same as the ones I've had before, and when I get there, it's already too late. As I reach the junction between Country Road and Lincoln, a thick smoke is escaping from both cars, one of which that I recognize as my parents' old Ford Explorer. Of course, I hurry to reach inside the dented bodywork, hoping I'll be able to save them, but the car is empty.

I can't help startling and screaming as someone suddenly brushes my shoulder, and when I spin around, it's only to meet my parents covered in blood, their faces deformed from the crash, limbs in abnormal angles, bloody tears running down their cheeks.

"Alexander... Alexander..." my mother whispers, her mouth distorted as she tries to speak.

"Traffic light... red... bad..." my father tries.

I can hardly recognize them. Their bodies have been damaged so badly.

I don't want them to die. I love them. I may haven't told them often, but I truly love them. I want to tell them they can't leave me alone, but a lump has formed in my throat and not a single word will go past my mouth. As shivers course through my body, tears run freely on my face.

"Alex... Alex... please... help..." Dad pants with a hoarse and gurgling voice.

I want to help them, but my muscles refuse to obey my brain's orders. I feel like I've been locked in a straightjacket and chained to the ground, and the only thing I manage is a scream of helplessness.

"Don't worry, Son... Everything will be alright..."

"Just be happy, Sweet Alex..." Mom cries. "Find a good husband..."

"And raise nice kids..." Dad adds.

What the hell? Why do they sound so inconsistent? Why does it even sound like a farewell? It doesn't make any sense!

"Alex... It hurts..." Mom breathes out painfully as her image begins to wane, making me panic.

"Alexander... Alex..."

My father's voice has become barely audible and both their bodies grow blurred, on the verge of disappearing.

"Alex!!! Baby, wake up, please!!"

As my eyes open, I gasp loudly, as if I was resurfacing from a long immersion under water. I'm lost for a second, but Mark's strong arms quickly pull me back to reality and I realize that it was only another nightmare. Yet another nightmare. Can't they just leave me alone?

I always have these horrible dreams around my parents' death anniversary, but I had really hoped I would evade them this year. I'm not lonely anymore, I'm happy, so bad memories shouldn't keep flashing back. I've never felt so good before, even when my parents were still alive. I have a job I always wanted to do. I share my life with two men I love like I never loved anyone else before. I thought this happiness would keep the nightmares at bay, or at least make them weaker.

I was wrong. They're worse than ever and this one reached an all-time high. It looked so real... and scary. I usually don't get to see Mom and Dad in my dreams, at least not in this terrible state, or hear them speak. Most of the time, I just wake up before I reach their car.

My body is shaking from the painful emotions despite Mark's warmth and I'm still breathing heavily as a result of the fright I experienced through the nightmare, my skin drenched in sweat and tears running down my cheeks.

"Shh, it's okay, Baby, we've got you..." Mark murmurs with his soothing voice.

The voice that usually manages to calm me down together with his familiar scent. That and Shan's comforting presence as he snuggles against my back eventually achieve to quieten my weak sobs, so I shut my eyes, nesting my face in Mark's chest to breathe him in deeper while my fingers clutch his tee-shirt. Thankfully, the painful memories and scary images of my nightmare soon fade away.

"What was it about, Baby?" Mark asks softly after a few more minutes.

Not trusting my voice and not willing to discuss this now – or ever! – I just shake my head in answer, and when Mark tries to slightly pull back, I just cling harder to his tee-shirt, as if my life depended on it. As if I might never have another opportunity to hug him again.

"This is the fourth night in a row you're having nightmares... You need to tell me what's wrong..."

Indeed, this is the fourth night I wake up screaming and writhing in Mark's arms. These dreams usually start a couple of weeks before the sad anniversary, so I'm glad they only showed up a short week beforehand this year.

"Nothing wrong... just a bad dream, I guess..." I reply, and I wish my voice held as much confidence as it did on the previous nights.

"We've had that conversation before, Alex. If you don't speak to me, I can't help you..." Mark sighs, rubbing the back of my head with a lot of tenderness.

As if he could help me here...

The thing is he can't do anything about this. As far as I know, you can't bring back the dead.

Mark is a generous soul, always willing to help others – and more specifically Shannon and me – but there's nothing he can do in this particular case and I just don't want to dwell on the past. Waking up my lovers each night because I can't control my subconscious is upsetting enough! Besides, I don't get why these nightmares keep bothering me.

My life has become stable and filled with happiness, and I don't want to sound rude or anything, but if I'm honest to myself, I no longer miss my parents as much as I used to when I was lonely. Of course, I do miss them because they were wonderful people and I still love them, but the emptiness I felt for about two years and a half after their death is not so strong anymore. Mark and Shannon have filled that void and they're the ones who make me happy now.

"I'm fine... Don't worry..." I reply sleepily in an attempt to avoid further questions.

My eyelids are so heavy that I actually drift back to sleep right away, totally oblivious to what he tells me after that. This episode has exhausted me, so I welcome the darkness that surrounds my head and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep, much to my relief.

I am alone in bed when I wake up the following morning, but I'm feeling much better despite a few remnants of my nightmare. The clock on Mark's nightstand indicates me it's almost noon! No wonder my men are already up... Dang! I never sleep in that late in the morning, even when we get home late after an intense night at the club, but I guess I needed rest.

After a quick stop by the bathroom for my morning routine, I quietly head barefoot toward the kitchen, surprised by the silence filling the apartment. Perhaps Mark and Shannon have gone out for some errands? However, as I get closer to the main rooms, I vaguely decipher whispers coming from the living room. This is not the first time it happens. I've caught them whispering quite a few times over the past month, feeling like I was interrupting conversations, and it's made me a bit uneasy. As if they were plotting behind my back. Earlier this week, I decided that they might be arranging something for my birthday, but let's face it, it started much longer ago.

I could try and catch their conversation, but instead, I choose to announce my presence with heavier steps and a bit of coughing as I walk into the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, the chatter stops, and I hear them rise to their feet before they meet me here, using the arched entrance that leads to the dining room.

Shannon is still in his pajama pants, hair disheveled, and holding an empty mug of coffee, so I guess he got up not that long ago, but Mark is already dressed in perfectly fitted jeans and a white shirt that hugs his chest so sexily. Knowing him, he must have already gone for his run, showered, and worked part of the morning.

"Good morning, Baby," Mark says as he hugs me tightly after Shan has kissed me tenderly. "How was the rest of the night? Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did, thank you," I reply with a small smile, rising to my toes to brush his lips with mine.

"I still think we should talk about these..." he then adds, cupping my face within his warm hands, but I quickly interrupt him.

"They're just bad dreams, and I don't even remember what it was about," I lie. "Don't worry, I'm fine!"

My answer doesn't seem to please him as he sighs loudly again but the firmness in my tone is enough to end the conversation for now. For now. I'm sure he'll bring up the topic again at some point once it's only the two of us, but it should give me enough time to think about ways to dodge a conversation I'd rather avoid.

Since it's quite late, Mark suggests we should have a copious brunch and I participate in cooking as joyfully as I can. The truth is that my nightmare is still lingering at the surface of my mind and although the rest of the night was peaceful, I feel a bit tired. Add to this the fact that I caught my lovers whispering again when I got up, and my mood is not at its best, but I strive to act normal and fake smiles throughout the rest of the afternoon, until it's time to go to work.

Yes, maybe I should tell them about these bad dreams, but they aren't worth the worry. I know this period of the year is never an easy one for me, but it'll soon be over, and I'll be back to my good old self in no time at all.

Walking to Le Marais while Mark drives Shannon to the Black Diamond helps me clear my thoughts a little more, though. I'm not a fan of super-hot weather, but I truly appreciate the spring sun warming my face while I weave among the strollers and passers-by.

The last few months have been the best in my whole life and nothing to compare with the loneliness I experienced after I lost my parents. Mark and Shannon bring me so much, each in their own way. My Muffin is like a glass of soda, sweet and spreading bubbles of joy all around him. Mark is basically the anchor I needed, the one who keeps my life steady. I can't begin to express how much they mean to me. With them, I found a lifestyle I was dreaming to delve in, a lot of friends, a family. All the good things that make anyone happy.

Even going to work makes me happy because I just love my job. I can spend hours cooking, and even more so this week as I am assigned to main courses. I'm still trying to keep my distance with colleagues, but I've been making efforts to speak with everyone, and they're all nice people. I just don't want to get too close to them to avoid having to talk about my private life.

The never-ending subject for arguments with Mark... and even Shannon! They both think we should reveal our situation at work, but I see things differently. I don't want other members of the staff to believe I seduced the boss to get a better position, because it was never in my intentions. I don't want to catch side-glances or hear gossips either. And above all, I don't want my colleagues to act differently around me because I'm Mr. Murray's lover.

I sometimes think that I should resign and find a job in another restaurant. That would make things easier, but Mark would probably get upset for losing a cook he trained. Life at work would be less stressful, though... I never know how to behave when he walks into the kitchen or spends a few hours with us, either to provide advice, help or experiment new recipes. It's even harder when he talks to me because I must be careful at what I say or the tone I use. I'm always scared to let something slip or to make an uncalled move.

And then, there's Richard.

Although I told him I was involved in a serious relationship and despite his occasional affairs, he keeps flirting with me once in a while. Okay, it's nothing as bad as what I experienced with Sanchez, but won't these Chefs give me a break? I should have told him I was straight, perhaps it would have turned him down for good! Needless to say, Mark hates it, but what can I do? Richard is my direct manager and I can't avoid him. Well, I do dodge his questions about my supposed boyfriend or when he asks me to show him a picture, but we both work in the kitchen and share similar tasks, so it's easy to imagine how tense it sometimes gets when Mark is in the same room. Thank goodness, I don't often pair with Richard and in these rare occasions, I simply focus on my work.

At 4pm, I'm already at my workspace after greeting my colleagues and start preparing a marinade for chicken breasts. I then move on to the large pieces of beef that I begin to chop in smaller chunks for the Boeuf Bourguignon, paying much attention to the sharp knife I'm using. Manipulating those require a lot of concentration to avoid bad injuries – I'd rather not lose any of my fingers – so I deeply focus on my task.

"Nice job, Alex, keep it going," Richard praises me during his usual tour around the kitchen.

"Thanks..."

I thought he was going to settle with someone else, but he grabs another piece of meat and starts chopping it down beside me, very skillfully I must say, adding more chunks to the ones I was stacking in a bowl. The kitchen is getting noisy with everyone talking and the appliances running, but Richard and I still enjoy a quick chat about nothing and everything.

"You sound in a great mood today," I comment, still chuckling from a hilarious experience he had in a previous restaurant.

"I always am!" he replies with mock offense. "I just love spring, this is my favorite season. People are more joyful as the trees and flowers bloom, and days get longer too. This is the best time to stroll in parks and meet new people..."

"Hmm... Fall is my favorite season. I love it when trees take different shades of yellow and orange," I argue in a gloomier tone than I wish – spring mostly means bad memories to me.

"Fall is nice too. Have you planned anything with your boyfriend for tomorrow on your day off?" he then asks curiously.

"Not really," I reply – I certainly won't tell him about the way we spend our Saturday evenings in a kinky club, having sex in public or in a private room! "How about you on Sunday? You're still off on Sunday, right?"

"Yep! And..." he trails off, hesitating for a few seconds. "And I might meet this guy I've been chatting with online... go out for some drinks in the early evening..."

Oh yeah... Richard told me about this guy he met while playing some sort of game on the internet. Let's just pray they'll get along!

"Sounds good!" I reply cheerfully, hoping this is going to be my chance to be left alone at last.

Richard and I continue talking a bit while working on our ingredients, but I can't help thinking that Mark will soon show up and that I'd rather see my manager go work with another cook. A few minutes later, I drop all the chunks of meat in a huge pot where butter and onions have been frying already, and once the beef has taken a nice brown color, I add herbs, spices and red wine to let them simmer. The delicious smell hits my nose and I can't wait to taste it.

As I stir the mix, I unconsciously lay my left – and unprotected – hand on the scorching handle of the pot and immediately feel the painful burn striking my palm.

How could I be so stupid!?

"Crap!!!" I scream, bringing all the staff's attention on me.

Obviously, Richard is the first by my side and when he sees my red hand, he instantly drags me to the closest sink and forces my injured limb under the tap. The cold water on my burnt skin stings like hell and I can't suppress a whimper of pain, trying to retrieve my hand.

"I know it hurts, but you must leave your hand under the water, Alex... At least for a few minutes," Richard reasons, holding my wrist firmly.

Treacherous tears are filling my eyes as the icy water begins to paralyze my hand, and of course, that's the moment Mark chooses to walk in! Just my luck!

"Good afternoon, everyone!" he cheers.

I can't see him since the double doors are behind my back, but I can feel the tension rise up a notch as he takes in the situation, with Richard holding my hand under water while I whine from the pain.

"What happened!?" he asks with a voice full of worry, suddenly by my side too.

"Alex thought he could hold a hot pot without mitts..." Richard replies lightly, probably in an attempt to make things less alarming, but he only earns a scowl from the boss.

Mark grabs my hand and tugs it away from the water before he very softly wipes it with a clean dishtowel. My palm is quite red and a bit swollen, but it's not as bad as it could have been.

"I should take you to ER, Alex..." Richard comments while Mark softly brushes his fingers against the blisters already forming.

"I've got it," Mark firmly cuts him.

I don't even dare look up at him for fear of meeting angry eyes.

"I don't need to go to ER..." I mumble. "It'll be fine."

"And I'm saying you need to have it checked by a doctor," Mark argues with deep authority.

He wouldn't dare pull out his Dominant self here, would he? Well, he'd better not and I take this opportunity to eventually meet his eyes, standing my ground.

"And I'm saying I'm okay, Mister Murray. I'll just put on ointment and a gauze!" I counter with boldness.

I might regret the afront later, but I don't want to quit my shift. Even if I can't manipulate ingredients anymore for today, I can still help with other chores.

"Richard, would you mind watching over the Bourguignon while I go get what I need? I'll be right back," I say with determination.

"Sure..."

"Go to my office, Alexander. There's a first-aid cabinet there," Mark intervenes with even more determination as he motions for me to lead the way.

Alexander.

This is the first time he calls me with my full given name and I'm under the impression that it sucks. I guess I shouldn't aggravate my case, so I quickly comply with his order and head toward his office.

"What was that tone?" he asks as soon as he has shut the door.

Keep quiet, Alex...

His stern tone weirdly sends shivers down my back and eerie sensations even reach my groin.

"Am I facing the boss or my Dominant?" I ask audaciously.

Mark's nostrils are flaring, I can tell he's fuming, but he doesn't reply.

Stop it, Alex... You'll get in trouble.

"We're at work, so I assume it's my boss here..." I continue, yet cowering a bit when I see how dark his eyes become.

And indeed, Mark corners me beside the couch and pins me against the wall with his powerful and tall body.

Now you're in trouble, Alex...

"The three of your lover, Dominant and boss are facing you actually," he seethes angrily. "It doesn't matter which one prevails. Your Dominant will always be somewhere around, rules are applicable at any time, and one of them says you're not to talk back. Wasn't this clear before?"

"Yes, it was, Master..." I reply sheepishly, realizing I might have gone too far.

"Glad to hear so. Then, unless you safeword, here's what's going to happen. I'll first take care of your hand, and then..." he trails off with more authority, "you're going to bend over the armrest of the couch, with your trousers and boxer briefs down your ankles, and I'm going to spank you fifteen times to punish that smart mouth of yours. If you're worried about discretion, know that I've locked the door and that my office is soundproof."

A lump has formed in my throat from the anger at myself for disappointing him, so I only nod in answer as new tears fill my eyes.

"Good, now take a seat while I fetch what I need," he orders as he pulls away from me. "How bad does it hurt?" he then asks in a softer tone once we're both settled on the couch.

"It's not that bad..." I reply while he trails his fingers over the swelling area of my palm.

Mark gently rubs a greasy ointment into my skin, then skillfully wraps a long gauze around my hand. When he goes to put things away in the first-aid chest, I meekly rise to my feet and go to stand on the side of the couch. There, I lower my pants and briefs, and bend over to rest my elbows on the armrest, exposing my backside. I can feel his presence behind me and soon enough, his hands start kneading my buttocks, preparing them for my sanction.

Determined to buy myself back, I count each of the strikes that land on my butt, thanking him for being such a good Master, and as much as my pride hurts and a new type of burn spreads over another area of my body, I take my punishment as the good boy I'm usually willing to be. I don't mind that the situation may be awkward, I deserve to be disciplined, and when I reach fifteen, all I hope for is that Mark has forgiven me.

"Don't move, Baby..." he instructs, and a second later, I can feel the freshness of soothing lotion on my backside. "Come here, now," he says a couple of minutes later.

Once I have pulled up my underwear and trousers, Mark engulfs me into a tight hug.

"Good boy, you took your punishment well and I'm so proud of you," he praises.

"I'm sorry I talked back, Master."

"It's all forgiven now, but..." he trails off again, leaning back to cup my face. "I don't know what's wrong with you, Alex, but clearly, what happened with the pot is a mistake you wouldn't have done if you'd been fully focused on your work. I need you to talk to me, Baby..."

"Nothing's wr..."

"I won't give you a break until you've poured your heart out, Alex. And when I say I'm going to make you speak, I mean it..." Mark warns me in a playful tone, but I can tell he's not joking. "Maybe I should take you home, you look tired."

"No! I'm not!" I exclaim pleadingly. "I promise I'll be careful, I can still help despite the bandage..."

"Okay, but if it gets too painful, you'll have to tell me, understood?"

"I will, thank you."

"Be careful, Alex. You know how working in a kitchen can get dangerous, so take care, Baby. I love you."

"I love you too."

When I return to the kitchen – while Mark stays for a few more minutes in his office – Richard offers that I sit at a table and sort veggies, but seeing as my butt now also hurts, I decline the kind proposition. In the end, I spend the rest of my shift helping others at various tasks that only involve one hand, but mostly, I'm keeping as far as I can from Mark and Richard, ignoring the tension.

Once again, when I meet Mark at the car, he suggests driving me back home before he goes to pick up Shannon at the Diamond, but I use all my charms and deliver the best puppy dog face I can to stay with him. This is quite risky as he could use the half-hour ride to bring up undesired topics, but I doubt he will. He'll much prefer having that sort of conversation in a quiet place and at a moment I have his full attention. Besides, I can keep him busy with other subjects I will choose, and it's a much better option than staying home alone.

The truth is that I'm scared to face bad memories if I go home now and I'm not tired enough. Perhaps if I fall asleep when I'm really exhausted, my subconscious will act differently and won't let the nightmares rush in? It's only too bad that Shan is already waiting for us when we reach the club because I would have gladly stayed there a bit longer to use Mark's private room and go to bed even later. Well, that's not a problem, there's one at home and I well intend to drag my men there.

In this respect, I make sure to sit at the back with Shan and once he's done saying how sorry he is that I injured myself, I shut him up with kisses and naughty caresses, quickly turning him on. While we make out, I don't fail to throw lustful glances to Mark via the rearview mirror, and I'm glad to see his eyes darken with desire.

My plan works out just right.

In the elevator, Mark pins us both against a wall of the cabin and leans down to whisper between our ears.

"You, naughty Boys... You should feel shameful for tantalizing me like you did in the car... How am I supposed to focus on the road with such a hot show at the back?" he says in his huskiest voice.

"We're sorry, Master..." Shannon and I reply simultaneously, not meaning it one second.

"You have exactly fifteen minutes to prep and meet me in the playroom. Naked, obviously," he instructs us as the doors slide open.

I'm so glad I succeeded in deriving his attention that I'm the one dragging Shannon to the bathroom at full speed, and although my bandage doesn't make things easy, I still manage to perform my enema and take a quick shower – with Shan's help – in record time. By the moment we meet Mark in the playroom and kneel at the center, we are both very hard and if I judge by our Master's leaking erection and the deep rumble echoing from his chest, the night is promising to be a hot one.

And indeed, it's one that my hole will remember... I'm not sure what enhanced Mark's roughness – or rather, I don't want to admit that my recent behavior might be its cause – but after he has abused our mouths, face-fucking us like he never did before, he enjoys our asses for not less than three rounds of hard pounding each. For the first one, he has us both on all fours on the floor and alternates between us until he releases in my butt. For the second round, I'm tied to the Saint Andrew's cross, the third one has Shannon on the bench before I take his place for the fourth one. Then it's the swing and for the last one, the three of us make love on the bed.

After this wild session, I end up completely spent and I am barely conscious during aftercare, even less when Mark carries me to bed, and it's snuggled between my men that I fall into a dreamless sleep, or so I thought.

Unfortunately, exhaustion doesn't keep nightmares away, and although it's not as bad as it was the night before, I still get to hear my parents hold an incoherent speech about love, getting married and raising children in a decent way. My screams and writhing don't fail to wake up Mark who once again soothes me the best he can, but I'm glad to see that Shan is still asleep. Mark's delicious scent and his strong arms achieve to calm me down after a few minutes, but instead of letting me drift back to sleep, he pulls me out of bed and leads me to the kitchen after we've put on pajama pants.

"Take a seat," he orders and my sleepy self complies, hoisting myself up on a stool at the island counter.

I watch him prepare a hot mug of hot chocolate and another one with coffee in silence. It's not as early as I thought and as I look through the window, I see that the sun has already risen.

"Alex, talk to me," Mark whispers as he sits on Shannon's stool beside me and gently pushes the hot chocolate before me.

Closing my eyes to keep tears at bay, I wrap my hands around the warm mug – though my bandaged left hand can't feel it much – and just exhale a long sigh in answer. I don't want to talk now. I'm too tired to even process coherent thoughts and speaking about my past is definitely not among my favorite topics. Mark has often tried to ask questions over the past few months, but I've never gone into much details and always managed to evade these conversations. All he knows is that my parents died around my seventeenth birthday and that as a minor, I was sent to live with a detestable aunt.

"Baby, I don't understand your silence," he sighs in his turn, and I hate the pain and disappointment in his voice. "We've been together for almost six months and you know how much I love you. My feelings for you are sincere... and beyond the communication rule, I'd expected you'd trust me with any issue you may face. Please... just tell me what's wrong..."

"There's nothing wrong," I grumble, opening my eyes to stare at the brown mixture in my mug.

"Now this has to stop!" he groans with a firmness that makes me startle. "You're already breaching rules with your lack of communication, so don't aggravate your case with lies! I'm not blind or oblivious to your attitude, Alex, and I do see that something's wrong!"

Crap! It smells like troubles again...

"You've had those nightmares for almost a week now, you burnt your hand like a newbie yesterday, and your little show last night didn't fool me. Whether you like it or not, we are going to talk!"

Keeping my eyes lowered on the counter, I take a sip from my mug and will myself to hold the tears threatening to spill, remaining silent. Mark's hand slapping the table almost makes me jump, but I don't dare to look at him as he gets off the stool and moves to stand behind me, circling his arms around my waist.

"Okay, it's way too early for a fight and maybe you need rest before we can talk properly," he whispers in a calmer voice. "Finish your drink and go back to sleep, Baby, but this afternoon, you and I will have this conversation, understood?"

Unable to speak, I just nod in answer.

"I love you, Baby..." he then adds with a soft kiss on my temple before he heads out of the kitchen.

It's barely 8am, but I don't feel like going back to bed, so I take my sweet time sipping from my mug. Mark shows up again two minutes later, dressed in dark-blue sweatpants, a grey hoodie and his sneakers. Even in his workout gear, he is sexy as hell... Very appropriate thoughts in the current situation, Alex... Well, that's just what it is.

"I'm going out to run, I'll see you later, Baby. Sleep tight!" he says, dropping a kiss on my forehead, and seconds later, I hear the entrance door being shut.

I truly hate the pain and sadness displaying in his beautiful features, but I hate myself even more for being the source of his pain and sadness. Mark cares so much for me – and Shannon, of course – and I sometimes wonder if I really deserve all this attention. The minimum I should do is fulfill his request for communication, that would certainly alleviate his worries, so why can't I just do this?

He won't let me get away with it anyway. He'll find a good reason to send Shan away this afternoon and he'll corner me on the couch to make me talk. But what am I going to tell him?

The real moment I would have needed to express my emotions about my beloved parents and how guilty I felt for their death was right after I lost them and back then, I had no one to talk to, so I learned to keep all these thoughts to myself and live with them. When I met Shannon, I did open up a little, but I was never able to tell him much. Words just wouldn't come out, and I didn't really mind. I wish I could just forget about the past. I wish these nightmares would leave me alone.

These are painful enough as they are, and I don't need to rehash sad memories in a conversation that will only hurt me further. Besides, those dreams are so ridiculous that I'd feel terribly ashamed to tell Mark about zombies or whatever they may be called.

This is one thing I hate with these nightmares. My parents' physical appearance. I'd rather they looked like the persons I remember instead of bloody and distorted beings. After their death, I wasn't allowed to see them. I was told that the crash had been powerful enough to cause a lot of damage and the social services advised I should keep nice images of them rather than disfigured ones, so whenever I think about Mom and Dad, I picture them as they were just a few minutes before they left for the mall.

Mom, with her beautiful pale face and her long blond hair cascading over her shoulders. Dad with his reassuring features, his dark skin and his silky brown hair. Both of them smiling and joyful.

I miss them so much...

What makes me uneasy is the virtual aspect my mind made up for them in my nightmares because they appeared as the complete opposite of what they used to be. In my recent dreams, they were not the happy people I knew. Their eyes held so much sadness and pain. Is this a sign? Does this mean they're in an unhappy place? Or are they unhappy with me and what I've become? Have I disappointed them?

Are these foreshadowing nightmares?

My thoughts wander to the last moments we spent together and funnily enough, I also think about Paul and Sophia Murray. My parents were such kind and open-minded people, so they obviously remind me of Mark's. They always supported me in anything I underwent and when I came out, honestly telling them about my attraction to boys, they didn't turn their back on me. They simply said that all that mattered was my happiness, whether with girls or boys.

However, would they have been as supportive as Mark's parents? Would they have approved of a three-way relationship? I can't be sure about that... I don't believe in hereafter, but what if... What if they can see me? How do they feel about my relationship with Mark and Shannon? Are they proud of me? Or will they reject me as their son?

Alex... Be Happy... Find a good husband... Raise nice kids...

Is this what they're expecting of me? To see me marry the man of my life and have children with him?

As far as I remember, we never had that sort of conversation when they were alive, so where does this come from? Should I take it as a hint that my parents don't approve of my situation?

I do love both Mark and Shannon... more than anyone else before.

But my parents' opinion would also count... Had they been still around, would I go as far as breaking up with Mark and Shan to satisfy them?

Gosh! I'm feeling so lost... and confused.

My chest hurts from the oppressing emotions.

Tears begin to run down my face because I can't hold them back anymore. It's time to make a decision and I'd better do this quickly because I don't have much time before Mark returns, so I let myself drown into a spiral of confusion until I have made my mind.

Five minutes later, just as the oven clock strikes 9am, I wipe my tears away with rage and hop off the stool with determination. I cannot waste another minute to carry out my plan, so I head out of the kitchen and into Mark's office to fetch a sheet of paper. And with a heavy heart, I write some of the hardest words I ever had to.

Published on 8 June 2016