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Eddie was tapping his fingers on the hard wood of the table the cloth underneath bouncing with his leg. This date seemed to be going well so far, the man sitting across from him was enjoying himself – whatever his name was. God, he was bad at this. Wesley? No. Wayne? Still not right, but he was getting closer…
* * *
Only hours earlier was he rushing around his flat trying to get everything ready for his date. He wanted – no, needed – things to go just his way. He wasn’t great at working off script, and if he wanted his date to come back with him, he couldn’t risk anything going wrong.
Eddie had a secret. A secret that he needed someone else to share with him, and if he really wanted this man’s help, he couldn’t afford to screw up.
* * *
“Waylon?” He wanted to test the waters, but he also wanted his attention. Ding-ding, Eddie’s guess was correct. Waylon looked at him, not through him, like so many others had. He was so bright, so cheerful, and all Eddie could do was try not to shake.
The dim lighting cast ominous shadows across his face, and only helped in showing his nervous jitters as they flittered across his trembling features. Focusing on the warm hues of the bulbs helped him to calm down and get into the mood for the date.
“Waylon, darling,” Eddie paused, “Is it alright if I call you darling? Are you really sure you want the lobster?” Eddie wasn’t the wealthiest man he knew, but his Bruno Magli loafers and Hugo Boss waistcoat put him above most. The only way he could afford to look so nice on his dates, though, was to save money at every opportunity.
“Yes, Eddie, dear, I am,” Waylon had retorted back. He was poking fun at Eddie, one of the reasons he had asked for Waylon’s number only a week ago. They had been texting back and forth ever since, yet he was still so nervous. They’re simple first date jitters, Eddie mentally reminded himself, but he had been on so many dates before this, with such little concern, the anxiousness just seemed even odder. Eddie probably looked crazy; the poor man was in his own world, almost ignoring his date entirely, like all those others he’d been out with had done to him. But he didn’t mean to come off that way, that was the difference, and hopefully Waylon could see that.
Eddie snapped himself out of his haze, inwardly slapping himself back into reality. “Fine,” Eddie had pursed his lips, but didn’t argue any further. “Whatever it is you want, then.” He had to keep Waylon happy; it was the only way not to veer off course.
He had tried so many times with so many others, but he had never wanted it as much as he did now. With Waylon. So he just kept reminding himself. For Waylon.
Eddie ordered a simple burger for himself and a bottle of Jose Maria Da Fonseca, the cheapest wine the restaurant had, for the both of them to share, and the date seemed to be going just fine… until Waylon asked about desert. What a waste of money, was all Eddie could think. Eddie didn’t want to come off as cheap, of course, but he just couldn’t see himself paying $12 for a single slice of cheese cake.
“What about dessert, darling?” Waylon didn’t chide him the first time Eddie had called him the pet-name, so he’d continue until he did. Eddie tried to remain stumped, though, as if he didn’t already know what Waylon meant by, “So… Dessert?”
“Don’t play dumb, Eddie. What are we getting?”
Eddie let out a sigh, drumming his fingers on the table top. It was less about the nerves, this time, and more from his annoyance. He felt he owed Waylon at least this, though. What is a few dollars for Waylon’s return to Eddie’s home, really? “I don’t know, darling. What were you thinking?”
Waylon squinted at the dessert menu, running his finger down the list of items. Eddie watched him intently, trying to make the tiny writing out from the other end of the table, guessing at what he’d choose. He pursed his lips together before making a decision. “Banana split?”
* * *
Eddie would be the first to admit, he was shocked when Waylon agreed to come home with him. Not for any specific reason, though, other than he’d never actually gotten someone to his apartment of their own volition before. His heart felt as if it was skipping every other beat and the nerves had started to return. His plan had worked, he wasn’t about to let everything go to waste over some simple anxiety.
He’d gone over the procedure over and over again in his head; he knew exactly what to do. He would open the door for him – let him in first to examine. He would follow him inside and shut the door. The next part would be tough without him noticing… He had to pick up the cheap vase his prick of a father gifted him the year before his mother passed. Smash it over his head. Hope to God that it was enough to knock the poor man out. After all that was over and done with, he would have to drag him to his guest bedroom and chain him up.
He’d rationalized it so many times over the course of their dinner. Waylon was into him, he could tell by the way he looked at him, the way he teased him, how he always made sure to text back. He wouldn’t mind it because he was into him.
Except he wasn’t so into him.
Except the scheme didn’t work out how Eddie had planned.
Waylon must have noticed Eddie picking up the vase because, although he didn’t move out of the way of it quick enough, he shifted just enough that the hit didn’t leave him unconscious. He grabbed his head and wobbled a bit before darting past Eddie and out the door, leaving behind the notecase he dropped in the midst of the insanity.
Eddie was shocked, of course. It took him a few moments to gather himself again and realize what happened. He stared at the open door, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand repeatedly. Stupid, stupid, stupid, was the only thought he had through that thick skull of his. How could he have left the door wide open? Not only was there the risk of his captive escaping before he even became the captive, but his neighbors – really anyone who could have decided to walk by at just the wrong time – could have seen exactly what he was doing. Idiot.
He couldn’t just let Waylon go, he wasn’t that stupid. He knew Waylon would run to the police the first chance he got, tell them about how horrible a man his date was, tell them how Eddie had attacked him, how Eddie was going to kill him, but… that wasn’t the plan at all. Eddie didn’t want Waylon dead. If he did, then why go through all of the trouble of dining out with him? Why pay for the meal of a dead man?
Eddie hasily made his way down the hall, nearly tripping over himself down the stairs. Through his urgency, he at least remembered to close the door of his flat – not as if it mattered now, anyhow. Eddie could hear quickened, worried breaths, even before he got outside. Waylon didn’t get far, and it would take next to nothing for Eddie to reach him. But he had to think first; don’t just rush after Waylon. Eddie couldn’t smother Waylon once he reached him, there were too many eyes. He had to play it cool, remain calm once he caught up to Waylon. But he couldn’t rush, either; he couldn’t sprint after him – that would be too risky. So he simply walked. And while he walked, he thought about his plan.
Waylon was just across the street, now, and it seemed like he hadn’t even noticed Eddie. He was in the middle of a crowd waiting for the walk signal, both a blessing and a curse. As overwhelming as the crowd would be for Waylon, it also left Eddie vulnerable. He walked across, paying no mind to his own red signal, and grabbed Waylon’s wrist. Waylon yelped. That was going to happen, Eddie knew, and he was prepared.
“Darling,” his voice was firm, but not lashing, “just because you saw a few bugs in the apartment, doesn’t mean you can simply run away.” He gave Waylon’s arm a tug, causing him to stumble closer to Eddie. “We’ll call an exterminator tomorrow.”
Waylon’s voice was loud in protest at first, but quickly died down to a near whisper. All eyes were on the two of them, but no one seemed to be stepping in. It wasn’t their business, so why should they? If Eddie said it was a bug infested apartment, then Waylon must be deathly afraid of bugs.
He pulled Waylon all the way back to the apartment with no problems – such a shame that people tend to mind their own business on these matters. Before they got through the apartment complex’s entrance, though, Waylon let out one last shriek that landed only on deaf ears. People were confused, muttering among themselves, but otherwise did nothing.
Once the door was shut behind them, Eddie slammed a hand over Waylon’s mouth, aggressive now, and forced him back up the stairs and into his loft, where Eddie took Waylon to the spare room and proceeded to throw him to the ground. Eddie grabbed a chain wristlet forcing Waylon's hand onto it and tightening, then doing the same with the other. He stood back, looking down at Waylon. He was so lax now, so unconcerned.
He did it.
Eddie’s face changed from anger, to an almost gentle smile as Waylon looked up to him in terror.
“Darling, it’s all right,” he spoke softly, trying to calm the raving man down, “You’re safe. You’ll always be safe with me.”