“It’s complicated,” Ray clarified.
“Take me to my husband. Now,” I said to the nurse, pushing past the guards who stepped aside. Reluctantly, and with a lot more attitude than was necessary, Ivy shoved the paper back into my hands and pressed a button opening the double doors. The security guards stepped away.
I turned back before the doors closed again. “I’ll come out and let you know what’s going on as soon as I know something,” I said to Preppy’s friends. King shot me an appreciative nod before I followed the nurse down the wide hall on the way to find Preppy.
My husband.
****
The nurse walked me through another set of doors and pointed me toward a curtain before stalking back off toward the waiting area, grumbling to herself along the way. Cautiously, I pulled the curtain aside and my breath caught in my throat when I saw Preppy lying there on the gurney with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He was unconscious.
A doctor wearing glasses and a long white lab coat was hovering over Preppy, a needle up to the IV in the back of Preppy’s hand. When the doctor realized I was there his eyes snapped up to mine and he pulled the needle from the IV and stood up straight, adjusting his coat.
“I’m his wife,” I said before he could protest my presence. “What’s going on with him?” I asked, standing by the gurney and taking Preppy’s hand in mine in a very wifely move. I scanned him over but there weren’t any obvious signs of injury. No bleeding or bruises. “What happened to him?”
The doctor tucked the full needle into the breast pocket of his shirt. “What is that?” I asked, pointing to where he’d just covered his pocket with his coat.
“Just a mild sedative,” he replied, pushing his glasses back on his nose. That’s when I noticed the cheesy smiley face tattoo on the back of his hand.
“He looks perfectly sedated to me,” I said, looking at Preppy who’s mouth was open, a deep snore rumbled from his mouth.
“That’s why I decided not to give it to him,” The doctor replied, jotting something down on his clipboard.
“Why sedate him at all? What exactly is going on here? Why is he here at all?”
“Your husband was found on the water tower about to commit suicide. It was called in by a concerned passer-by and the police called an ambulance who brought him here. Standard protocol for these types of things.”
Suicide? The water tower?
“Who was the passer-by?” I asked. “I’d like to check with them. Talk to them about what it is they saw.”
“You can’t. It was an anonymous call.” The doctor set the clipboard into a slot on the wall. “If you’ll excuse me ma’am.”
“No, I won’t excuse you. There must be some mistake. The bystander is wrong. My husband wouldn’t do that,” I argued.
I knew Preppy’s take on suicide. I knew that even in the worst of worst times he would never take his own life. I was as sure of that as I was about the earth being round and the sky being blue.
I want to be an old man with old rabbit dick dangling between my legs...
“Ma’am it doesn’t matter if you think he would or wouldn’t try to kill himself. We are checking him in to the psych ward for a full evaluation. We will know more in a few days and if everything checks out fine then he can go home in seventy-two hours.”
“A few days?” I asked, dropping Preppy’s hand and taking a step forward toward the doctor. “That’s not going to happen,” I argued. “No, he’s coming home with me.”
“Ma’am,” the doctor said, looking annoyed. “The law...”
“Sir,” I interrupted him. “The law states that he can only be be put on a psych hold for up to seventy-two hours if he is a threat to himself or others or if he’s been arrested and the judge requests a determination of his mental state prior to arrangement.” I knew this because I’d looked it up once after my father threatened me with the very same thing after heroin and I became fast friends. I just hoped the laws in Florida were similar to the ones in New York. “Is he being charged with anything?”
The doctor rubbed his temple. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Okay, and I happen to know for a fact that my husband goes up to the water tower to relax from time to time and look down at the city he loves. If in fact someone called him in as a possible suicide attempt, then they were very mistaken.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, there isn’t anything I can do. He has to stay for a hold...”
I stood my ground. “Without proof that he was trying to harm himself, which you don’t have since your witness was anonymous, then you have no grounds to hold him.”
“She’s right,” said a male police officer who’d just stepped inside the curtained area. “It’s the law. He’s free to go.”
“Fine,” the doctor huffed. He pulled aside the curtain. “But if he ends up dead because you didn’t think he was capable of killing himself, then it’s on you.” He pointed to the officer and shot him a disapproving sneer. “I assume you can take care of his cuff.” The doctor then scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Discharge papers,” he mumbled as he left.
“Thank you,” I said, turning to the officer when the doctor was out of earshot, “I really appreciate...”
“You know that’s not really the law, right?” the officer asked. He uncured Preppy’s wrist from the gurney. When he was done he crossed his arms and took a wide stance. He was huge in both presence and stature. The name on his badge read Wiggum. “Close though.”
“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it was worth a try,” I explained. “Preppy hates hospitals and I know for a fact he wouldn’t do what they said he was trying to do.” Suddenly something strange hit me. I looked up to the officer who didn’t look like any of the cops I’d ever seen. Tattoos on his neck and hands. A chiseled jaw, a five o’clock shadow and dark shiny hair peaking out from under his police hat. “But if it isn’t the law then why would you say it was? Why put your job at risk for someone you don’t know?”
“Who said I didn’t know him? Besides, I would be really fucking concerned about my job...” Officer Wiggum turned to me and whispered “If I were really a cop.”
“If you’re not a cop then who are you?” I asked as non police office Wiggum took a syringe out of a pencil case.
“Wait, what are you giving him?” I placed my hand in front of the IV and the needle pricked my skin as he was about to push on the plunger. He growled in annoyance. “I’m just someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time,” he said, grabbing my wrist he tossed it out of his way. I licked the drop of blood from the back of my hand. “And calm your pretty face. I’m just giving him something that will wake him up a bit,” he said, pushing on the plunger. “Whatever fucking horse tranquilizer they gave him when they arrested him was meant to keep him comatose for quite a while.”
“Then how were they supposed to do an evaluation on him? That makes no sense.”
“Something tells me they never planned on any sort of evaluation. Keep your eyes out around here. Shit’s gone a little sideways. Don’t trust anyone. Especially not the cops or even the doctors.” He leaned over Preppy and gave each of his cheeks a couple of short slaps.
Preppy’s eyelids fluttered. He moaned softly and the sound shot straight to my heart. I was so focused on him waking up I didn’t realize that the man in the officer’s uniform had been staring at me. “What?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable under his dark glare.
“You must be Dre,” he said, with no sort of emotion attached to the words.
“How did you know who I am?”
Finally he smiled although it was a small crooked smile. “I know everything,” he stated. He stood and tipped his hat to me on the way out. He glanced at Preppy one final time. “I’ll tell King and Bear he’s going home. Don’t leave his side and when he comes around tell Prep he owes me one. Again.”
I nodded, “I will. Thank you.” Before he could step away I realized something. “Wait! W
ho do I tell him he owes? Unless Wiggum is really your name?” I asked, pointing to his badge.
He shook his head and grinned.
“Name’s Smoke.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PREPPY
For a few moments before Dre realized I was awake I watched her. It had been so long since I’d seen her. Like REALLY seen her in the light, yet nothing and everything had changed. Her skin was clear and so were the whites of her eyes. She was a knock out as a strung out junkie but sober made me feel warm and tingly in every part of my body, even the one that had refused to work for weeks. Even though she’s wearing short sleeves she makes the motion like she’s pulling down on her sleeves to cover the scars on her arms which are now barely noticeable. It turned from a habit into a nervous quirk and it’s fucking adorable.
Dre was talking with someone but I can’t see who the fuck it was and I didn’t care. I was still checking out Dre and not believing she was really there. She still bites the side of her thumb too and if you looked at her from the wrong angle it almost seems as if she’s sucking on it which makes my useless dick twitch for the first time in eons.
Something about her having the same little quirks made me feel like I wasn’t so out of the loop, although I knew when my inspection of Dre landed on the sparkling diamond on her left hand that out of the loop is a fucking understatement.
I suppress a laugh, still not wanting her to know I was conscious just yet when I realize that she’s talking to Smoke and he’s wearing a full police uniform. Fuck knows what that was about but what tickled me as funny was that his name badge said Wiggum. I wait until he’s gone before saying, “Wiggum. Chief Wiggum is the police chief on the Simpsons.”
“Good, you’re awake. What were you doing on the water tower?” she asked, smoothing my hair from my face. I want to lean into her touch but instead I flinch, a little reflex I picked up courtesy of Chop and she withdrew her hand.
I flashed her the biggest smile I could, forgetting about my missing tooth. I must have looked a mess. “I...” I started, not really remembering why I was there in the first place, but when the memory hits and I recall the party. The ring. The backstreet boy I knocked out. THE KISS. I decide to go with the truth. Sort of. “I was looking for you.”
“Were you trying to jump?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest like she was both pissed and disappointed, but I couldn’t linger on that because the motion pushed her tits up over the neckline of her shirt and suddenly I hated the inch or so of cotton hiding what I knew to be perfect pink nipples from me.
“No, but I might have been screaming a little. Okay, a lot. Someone must have called the cops about the lunatic on the water tower and they hauled me in thinking I was going to take the long leap to nowhere.”
“But you weren’t?” she asked, like she was making sure.
“No, Doc,” I reassured her. She nodded and breathed out slowly, like she’d been holding her breath. “One of the officers must have gotten a little punchy,” I said, feeling the knot on my forehead. “Fucker.”
“King and Bear are in the waiting room. I’ll go tell them you’re ready to go home,” she said standing up.
I grabbed her wrist and she sat back down. “No, Doc. I can’t go back there. It’s too.” I stopped. “It’s just too...everything.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“With you,” I said, pleading with my eyes. “I want to go with you.”
“Preppy...” she started, looking down at her lap. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Because you’re engaged?” I asked sounding more bitter than I intended. “‘Cause married people can’t get engaged, unless the rules have changed. Shit, everything else has changed. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“No, because I’m not even going to be here long. I’m going home to help my dad the second the house sells and the realtor thinks that could be really soon. And I’m not—”
“Okay, so I’ll only stay until it sells or until you go home.”
Basically, I’ll just be there for as long as you’re there.
“Preppy,” Dre said, sounding unconvinced. I was going to have to bring out the big guns.
“As your husband on record, don’t I have to sign off on the sale?” I asked.
Doc straightened her spine, “Wait, what?”
“Even if it’s on a technicality we’re married, right? The house would be considered our marital property, therefore I’d have to sign off on the sale regardless of who’s name the house is in.”
“Fuck,” Dre mouthed when she realized I was right. It was adorable when she swore.
“Sounds good. Maybe later. Right now I’m just looking for you to say, ‘yes, Preppy, I’d love for you to come and stay with me for a while.’”
“So...you’re blackmailing me?” Doc asked.
I smiled. “Abso-fucking-lutley.”
DRE
“That’s the kid you’re fucking?” Preppy asked, pointing to the screen saver on my phone. It was a picture of me and Brandon at my college graduation. I graduated in three years and had a big smile on my face. Brandon was holding up my diploma like it was a trophy.
For me, it kind of was.
“Excuse me?” I snatched my phone from his hand and pushing it into my back pocket. “He’s not a kid,” I argued.
“Oh yeah? Could have fooled me. He looks like Zach Effron or a backstreet boy circa 1997. I mean, come on, Doc, he doesn’t even have any facial hair. I bet he hasn’t sprouted any pubes yet either, looks a little too young for that. What kind of man doesn’t have any fucking facial hair?”
I glared at the short beard on his face.
“I mean what kind of man normally doesn’t have facial hair. My beardlessness was due to special circumstances.”
“Such as?”
“Such as shit I don’t want to fucking talk about,” Preppy said. He then started to whistle as he opened the back slider and stepped out onto the deck.
“See, I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” Ray said walking in the door and setting down a garbage bag of what I assumed was Preppy’s stuff onto the floor. “He won’t talk to any of us. He won’t tell us anything. Insists that everything’s okay when people hauled in to the hospital for attempted suicides are not okay.”
“I can hear you,” Preppy said, coming back inside and grabbing the bag off the floor. “Thanks, kid.”
“So what were you two arguing about?” Ray asked.
“Doc’s fiancé Where is he by the way?”
“You mean, Brandon?” Ray asked.
“He means Brandon,” I said with a smile. “And Brandon had to go home.”
“Oh yeah? And why is that?” Preppy asked.
“Because, he missed his boyfriend,” I said casually.
“Oh, okay, because his...wait. What?” Preppy asked.
Ray snorted. “Preppy, Brandon’s gay.” We both broke out into a fit of laughter while Preppy looked at us like we’d lost our damn minds.
“Hold the fucking phone. Brandon’s gay?” Preppy asked like he hadn’t heard it right the first time.
He leaned onto the counter on his elbows. “Fuck, I lost my hair, a portion of my fucking gut...and my gaydar?”
“Seems so,” Ray said, planting a kiss on Preppy’s cheek. She may not have noticed him flinch but I did. “I’ll check up on you kids. Behave yourselves,” she sang as she closed the front door behind her.
“Don’t feel too bad. I missed the signs too when I first met him.” I laughed at the memory. “I actually thought he was asking me out when I first met him until we actually went out and his boyfriend met us after the movie.” I tried to ignore the thickness of the air around us. I tucked it away in the linen closet, trying to pretend like his every word didn’t make me feel something I didn’t want to feel. Relief. Lust. LOVE. “So back to your earlier question. The kind of man who likes a clean look. That’s who doesn’t have facial hair.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, taking a step
forward, crowding me in, staring down into my eyes with an intensity that had me biting down hard on my lower lip. “Do YOU like a clean look, Doc? Or do you like it dirty. Beards. Tattoos...scars.”
Yes, I like it dirty. So dirty.
I was stunned into silence. His proximity was fucking with my brain and I was afraid that at any second I was going to blurt out something that would dig me a deeper hole than I’d already dug for myself. I opened my mouth to answer, but I couldn’t get the words out. Not like I needed to. Preppy answered for me. “If I remember correctly, you like it dirty. Real fucking dirty.”
He took another step toward me. “Remember that first time? In the field? By the train tracks? Remember how I pulled your hair while I fucked you from behind and stretched you open? Remember how it felt to have me moving inside of you? How it felt when you came and screamed in my fucking ear? I do. I remember. Thought of that scream every fucking day since. It was deafening.” He chuckled and pressed his teeth against his bottom lip. He groaned, the sound
Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part Two Page 13