The Walls Around Me

The Walls Around Me

By E.M. Schenker

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2024 E.M. Schenker

ISBN 9781685508784

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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Thank you for reading Ruben and Dakota's story! Writing this book has been a fun and emotional ride. I wanted to share a story that not only shows the ways love can appear in our lives, but that also deals with the tough times of mourning and healing.

We all experience love and loss, and I hope this story brings some comfort and joy.

Here's to love, healing, and happiness!

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The Walls Around Me

By E.M. Schenker

Chapter 1

Just look at him: he's your typical straight male. A construction worker, strong and capable, always covered in a subtle layer of dust and rubble when he sets foot into my brand-new apartment. I can easily picture how he removes his safety glasses and helmet, taking off his gloves while casually deciding that this is a good time to call it a day. For me, strange as it is, that moment can never come soon enough. I have a job, but I still spend most of my hours waiting until the clock strikes four and he knocks on my door. It's my favorite time of the day when he's standing in my doorway, seemingly indifferent about his appearance apart from a simple change of clothes and having tried to brush himself off the best he could before coming inside. I guess that's both of us pretending not to care what he looks like...Me a little harder than him, perhaps, although I still can't help but notice he hasn't been so successful at cleaning himself off today. His pants just left a gray dust stain on my brand-new, darker gray couch.

I'm sorry, 23B. I'm making a mess of your place, he says, trying to wipe off the dust but only spreading it around. If you want me to leave, just say so.

Leave? Is he joking? I've been waiting for him all day, slacking off at my job because I can't focus. He takes away what little brain capacity I have left, and it requires all my willpower not to jump at him, rip his clothes off, and finally satisfy the maddening itch in my hands. I don't care about dust right now; I want to touch him so badly. I never touched a man before--never wanted to either--but the idea of dragging him away from my couch and into my bedroom sets my insides ablaze. How would he react to my touch? Is his golden skin as smooth as it looks? I wish I could find out; I can't stand not knowing.

Flustered, I look away from him. My attempt to keep a straight face might not be as successful as I need it to be. None of this makes any sense; I'm straight, and these feelings I have for him aren't even real. It's just a trick my mind plays on me, something my brain invented. I don't know much about psychiatry, but I know about coping mechanisms, and this is just that--something pretty and new for my brain to play with. Alright, I guess...Whatever my body needs to keep from falling apart, whatever it takes my mind to deal with the grief. Which I'm trying very hard not to think about.

Did you just call me 23B? I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. Given the circumstances, treating this conversation like it's a joke is my best approach. I pretend to be insulted. Just an apartment to you, am I? Just another door for you to knock on?

Unaware of my true feelings, he starts grinning. What can I say? Your apartment's better than mine, cleaner too. Or so it was, at least.

Well, knock it off, HS. Or I'll kick you out.

HS Construction: that's the company he works for. It's the nickname he deserves after calling me 23B. My actual name is Ruben, he's named Dakota. He came into my life two months ago when I moved into this new building, trying to start a new chapter. Moving here and finding my own place was my attempt to flee from grief and, admittedly, also from my mother. The anonymity this building offered drew me here. At the time, I thought that was just what I needed. Right now, I don't know what I need anymore. I only hope the construction of this building never ends because Dakota is one of the workmen responsible for finishing it, and I don't know what I'd do without his visits. Because I am, as we already established, temporarily insane.

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I brought this situation upon myself. In my first week of living here, I made the foolish mistake of offering the construction workers in the building a cup of coffee. It was