Infected

by Andrea Speed

  Dee didn’t have to wait long. Chai responded by grabbing him and kissing him in return, but he did so a little too hard, and their faces pressed together in a way that made Chai instinctively recoil and grab for his eye, which he forgot he shouldn’t touch until he did.

  “Ow, fuck!” Chai said, forcing his own hands down to his legs, his spine curving like he was trying to recoil from himself.

  Dee did his best not to laugh because it wasn’t funny. Okay, it was a little funny, but insensitive. “Hey, why don’t we risk walking in on a domestic disturbance and get you some ice?”

  Chai was still wincing when he attempted to look up at him. “I thought it couldn’t work miracles.”

  “It can’t. But if you keep it on long enough, the skin gets kind of numb.”

  Chai blinked away tears and nervously rubbed his hand on his pant leg. “Yeah, maybe that’d be good. Or I should have taken Roan up on his pill offer.”

  Dee scoffed. “I’ve got better stuff than that. Although keep that between us, okay?”

  Chai nodded, hand clasping his knee way too hard. Yeah, he was in pain. He needed something.

  Dee listened at the door for a moment before opening it, and was curious that he heard nothing. Were they keeping their voices low so they didn’t have to hear them arguing? That seemed like something Dylan would do out of politeness and Roan would do because he had been embarrassed enough tonight.

  But when he ventured out into his living room, that wasn’t what he saw. What he saw was Roan and Dylan sitting side by side on his couch, Roan leaning into Dylan, his head on his shoulder. Dylan was stroking Roan’s arm and looking thoughtful and slightly sad, like a living Elliott Smith song. “You didn’t have to disappear on our account,” Dylan said.

  “I think he was afraid we’d start arguing,” Roan said.

  “No,” Dee automatically lied. He frowned because he hated it when Roan accurately guessed what he was thinking. Roan had done this enough that it occasionally verged on preternatural, especially since he’d had no other boyfriend who even came close to guessing half that correctly. Dee was pretty sure that wasn’t a lion thing, just an annoying Roan thing, constantly making lucky guess after lucky guess. Oh, there was probably some explanation for it—reading body language, micro expressions, being aware of someone’s Netflix queue—but Dee didn’t really care to know. He preferred to think Roan pulled these things out of thin air to be an asshole. “But I am surprised you didn’t throw him out the window.”

  Dylan smiled at that. “I’m a pacifist, remember?”

  “Roan would try anyone’s patience.”

  “Hey,” Roan said. “I resemble that remark.” Dee hardly needed to see his drunken smile to know Roan was stoned on the painkillers Dee had shot him up with.

  “I take it you feel better now.”

  “Fantastic,” Roan agreed. Which was funny since he probably didn’t. His pain level was probably at a six or seven for a regular person, but to Roan, who often went off the pain chart after a shift, this was better than good.

  Dylan ruffled Roan’s hair affectionately, and Dee had to look away. Dylan’s love for him was painfully clear. Dee felt a bit of knee-jerk anger at Roan, knowing what devastation he’d leave in his wake when he died. Dylan would be pulverized and knew it, and yet couldn’t stop it.

  That wasn’t fair to Roan, though, and he knew it. Anyone could die at any time. You could fall in the shower or get hit by a car, or get shot randomly by some lunatic. The only difference between Roan’s situation and everyone else’s was everyone else had the luxury of ignoring their looming mortality. He didn’t. Seeing it coming only made the waiting worse, but otherwise, they were all in the same boat. They were all getting older and tiptoeing toward death. Boy, what a cheery thought.

  “Think you can stand yet?” Dylan asked.

  Which would be a funny question, except Roan really did get paralyzed by pain at times. So while Dee had a good bawdy quip ready to go, he kept it to himself. Roan put his hand on the sofa’s armrest and seemed to tense for a moment. “Uh, not exactly. Give me another minute.”

  “Okay.” Dylan stood, picked up Roan’s empty glass, and carried it politely to the sink. Again, Dylan had excellent manners, and how he ended up with the feral cat rooting around in the garbage can that Roan was proved the universe had a nasty sense of humor.

  Dee, opening the freezer, whispered to Dylan, “Are you okay?”

  Dylan grimaced. “Yeah, as much as I can be.”

  “You’re not mad that…?” Dee pointed at Roan and felt he didn’t need to elaborate any further.

  Dylan shook his head. “The lion does have to come out from time to time. When it doesn’t, it can come out randomly, and that’s fucking terrifying.”

  Dee nodded like he knew, but he only knew in an academic sense. He had never experienced it for himself. But the way Shep described running into Roan and having a definite sense the lion was coming out even as he talked to him, it was freaky enough to ruin horror movies for him forever. He barely thought they were scary before; now Shep said he found them laughable if not boring. He saw a man ceding control of his own body to something else; it all paled by comparison. Dee tried to imagine it but gave up. Pop culture had conditioned him to expect something comic book-y that reality couldn’t allow. Like most things, the reality of this was probably so banal it added to the terror. Lioning out for Roan didn’t look like the Hulk becoming green and ripping his shirt off. It was simply a man giving up.

  “I suppose there’s some joke in there about Roan never being able to stay in the closet.”

  Dylan nodded. “We can only be our true selves. It’s just, for a little while, I didn’t really understand that Roan had two of them.”

  Roan made a noise, a sort of inverse groan, and was on his feet. “Woohoo, I am up,” Roan said, wavering slightly. It was hard to tell if his unsteadiness was due to pain, drugs, or both. The funny thing was, it could always be both.

  “The question is can you stay up?” Dee replied, then quickly added, “Don’t make it a double entendre, you smart-assed bastard.”

  “Why would I? That’s usually your job,” Roan replied.

  Dee pointed at him. “Don’t you sass me. You’re in my place.”

  Roan partially bowed, spreading his hands out, and it was unclear what gesture Roan was honestly trying to make. It was like he couldn’t decide between two, split the difference, and came up with something brand-new. Dee cut him a break since he was clearly high, but one of these days, he was going to have to tease him about his new body language.

  Chai peeked around the corner of the bedroom door looking tired and hurt, which tracked. At least he didn’t appear to be in shock, although Dee imagined that would catch up with him. Being kidnapped and almost killed didn’t go away. And he probably thought he’d had enough trauma before all this. “It’s safe to come out,” Dee said.

  “I usually only bite on request,” Roan said cheerfully.

  Chai attempted a smile in return, but it was weak. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

  “Sorry you needed it.”

  Chai shook his head. “Wasn’t your fault.”

  “No, but the responsible dickheads almost never ’fess up.” Roan turned and almost stumbled, but Dylan smoothly slid up beside Roan and slipped an arm beneath his shoulders. Dylan was so accustomed to this, to coming to the aid of his weirdo husband, it was almost a dance. They knew all the steps. “Thanks, hon,” Roan said, putting his arm around Dylan’s shoulders. Roan could move now, but that was probably because he was super baked. Those painkillers had kicked in big-time, and Dee knew that not only because his eyes had that glassy look, but because he had a blush near the roots of his hair. It was probably his pale Scotsman blood; he flushed when he got really high. It was good nonverbal shorthand for when Roan was too unconscious to say they were working.

  Dylan gave Roan a sidelong glance, one that he probably gave a million times, humoring him and being caught some
where between frustration and amusement. Dee figured it was a look all couples adopted after they’d been together for a few years. It was a look that said “I’m done with your bullshit but not done with you yet.” That was quite an alien concept, as usually when Dee was done with someone’s bullshit, he was done with them as well. But he’d be the first to admit he was terrible at relationships, and maybe that was why.

  Dylan’s big sad eyes caught his. “Thank you.”

  “Owe you one,” Roan said, like the stoner he was.

  Dee felt like saying he owed him a hundred and one at the very least, but didn’t. At this rate, between them, it was probably a wash. “Just try and keep out of trouble. And don’t die, you stupid fuck.”

  “Working on it,” Roan said, and he gave him a thumbs-up as he and Dylan left. As soon as the door closed, Dee sighed and wondered if he’d ever see Roan alive again. The thought was surprisingly sad.

  Chai sat on the arm of the sofa. “I really thought you were exaggerating about Roan and his hot guys.”

  “Oh, I wish,” Dee said, pulling out the blue ice pack from his freezer. He had a kitchen towel, which he wrapped around the solid brick of frozen gel. Dee actually had no idea when or where he had picked up a kitchen towel and figured it was one of his many exes who had left it behind. The design was so common—fruits and vegetables—it was impossible to say which. “He’s got enough going for him. It’s unfair that he has super pheromone powers too.” He almost pressed the pack against Chai’s eye but realized at the last second he should let him do it. He wasn’t on the clock, and Chai deserved that small amount of choice.

  Chai took the pack from him with a nod of thanks and very slowly held it up toward his eye. He winced before it even met his skin. “You know, I hate cold.”

  “You’re in the wrong state, then.”

  He grimaced at that, and the look he gave Dee with his one visible eye was definitely sassy. It didn’t escape Dee that Chai could have been one of Roan’s hot guys, had circumstances and timing been different. “I dunno. While I hate cold, I also hated it when I lived in California and couldn’t really tell one season from another. Except fire season and mudslide season, but that wasn’t what I meant.” Chai struggled to put the makeshift ice pack over his eye a few times before settling on a semicomfortable position. “I think, before the accident, I was never happy.”

  “What about now?”

  “Same, but at least now I have something to blame it on.” Chai smiled faintly at the observation. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

  “Not at all. Life is kind of like that. Roan had an annoying pop culture reference that I’ve taken to using as my life motto: no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.”

  Chai cocked his head curiously. “That’s a comedy thing, right?”

  “Right. But I use it to say no one expects half the shit that happens to them. Sometimes you can see some shit coming, but oftentimes you don’t expect the Spanish Inquisition until it happens. Except for the real one, which I think you could actually see was going to happen if you paid attention to the political climate and the power of the church at that time.”

  “And you call Roan the nerd.”

  “Knowing history doesn’t make you a nerd. Well, it kinda does. But I have a good excuse, namely lots of weird Catholics on my mom’s side of the family.”

  Chai scrunched his eyebrows adorably in confusion. “How is that an excuse?”

  “Oh, I know a lot about useless Catholic history. I also knew which priest in a local parish was a pedophile, although I’m pretty sure the church relocated him about twenty years ago.”

  Now he looked alarmed. “Did… did you…?”

  Dee shook his head. “Nope. Despite my Nan’s constant churchiness, I always found priests creepy as fuck. I avoided them at all times, even the ones who weren’t criminals.”

  “That’s a relief. Although why did you find them creepy?”

  Dee shrugged. “No idea. I think maybe I saw the Exorcist movie poster when I was a kid and took the wrong message from it.”

  Chai nodded and winced as he made contact with the ice pack. He had to sit very still for a moment, riding out the pain and trying not to show it. Dee found it kind of funny how even the most enlightened guy could still adhere to masculine stereotypes, even if they were a bunch of bullshit. Dee knew he wasn’t immune either, no matter how hard he fought against it.

  “How about a drink?” Dee said, opening the fridge to pretend to look for what he had. “I have vodka. I might have a box of wine in a cupboard, but I can’t say for sure.”

  “You drink boxed wine?”

  “What else am I going to drink while watching the Bachelor?” Dee turned to see Chai eying him skeptically, and that made him glad.

  “You’re making that up, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. I couldn’t give a shit about straight people fake dating. The box wine is a leftover from an ex.”

  Chai tilted his head curiously. “Who leaves a box of wine behind?”

  “A guy who downs three or four of them a night.” Dee did remember that Chai didn’t appear to be much of an alcohol fan in general and gravitated toward what he couldn’t help but think of as “girly drinks.” He didn’t have any cocktail mixings, but he did have shitty lemonade, so he poured some in a glass and cut it with a generous splash of vodka. “I mean, the health care industry is a shitty one, save for those at the top, who never get their hands dirty with patients, but there is a line between self-medicating and self-destruction. A couple of boxes of wine is it.” Dee carried the glass over to Chai and handed it to him.

  He took it by reflex, not really looking at what Dee handed him. He downed it without taking a breath, and then, after a comical pause, winced. “Holy shit, that’s disgusting.” Chai put the glass down on the coffee table and allowed himself to slide down onto the sofa.

  “Of course it is. The good stuff never lasts very long around here.” Dee felt like grabbing the bottle and drinking straight from it, but instead he sat down at the opposite end of the couch and waited for Chai to either adapt or break down. He could do both, but Dee figured he was too tired.

  Finally Chai sighed in a way that made it seem like he was deflating. “I’m going to prison, aren’t I?”

  “If Holden’s managed to stay out so long, I don’t see you going. He has friends. Roan has friends. There’s a conspiracy going back years.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t say for Holden. But Roan’s been a good guy for a long time, in a profession not known for good guys. It usually doesn’t pay off in life, but he managed to make it work for him. Namely, no one wants to see the fucked-up shit they’ll do to him if the wrong people start figuring out he’s more than your average infected.”

  “Does that include you?”

  Dee smiled faintly. “Do you even have to ask?”

  This was big, and Dee decided to wait and see what Chai did next. A conspiracy of silence with Holden was protecting a buddy, but this conspiracy with Roan was vast and challenging, especially since Chai didn’t really know him. Yeah, he’d saved Chai’s life, but he also undoubtedly scared the shit out of him and quite possibly shattered his world view.

  So Dee waited to find out what happened next.

  20—Eating for None

  NOW HOLDEN was kind of sorry Scott wasn’t here. Not only might he have brought along better food than the muck on his tray, but Holden was getting used to him. He knew that wasn’t good, but right now he was so bored and achy he was dying for company.

  At least someone—Scott or Chai, couldn’t really say—had thought to bring Holden his iPod. Hospitals were really noisy, which you didn’t realize until you spent a lot of time in one. Holden preferred listening to music or podcasts to the television anyway, and was happy to play it loud and block everything out. It struck him, listening to the songs shuffle randomly, that most of the music on it was from other people’s suggestions. Scott, for instance, had turned him on to Beach S
lang, which also got Roan’s approval, as he said they sounded a lot like the Replacements. Holden had no idea who they were, but agreed so he didn’t have to have that conversation. Roan was responsible for getting him onto the Twilight Sad, in a really odd way. He sent him an email with a video link, saying it reminded him of him. Holden didn’t understand that until he realized it was for a song titled “I Became a Prostitute.” (Very funny.) The song, as far as Holden could tell, had nothing to do with prostitution but was about a woman used and abused by the men in her life—maybe becoming a hooker would have been a better idea—yet it was still weirdly catchy for mope rock. Which is what the band was. Roan usually went for noise rock and other things that would have people questioning your sanity, but these guys seemed to have some sense of melody. Turned out Roan was really into the singer’s ridiculously thick Scottish accent, and somehow it made perfect sense for Roan to have an accent kink. He seemed like the type who would. Holden could appreciate it, though, and realized he kind of liked them, mopey rock and all. Really, Roan had subjected him to far worse.

  During a lull, there was a light knock on the door, and he knew it wasn’t Scott because he was more forceful. Holden was expecting a polite nurse, but he was surprised when Dahlia opened the door. When she saw him, she gasped but tried to cover it up. Too late. “Oh my God,” she said. “I heard you were beaten, but I had no idea.”

  “It was more of a tie than a beating,” he replied. Actually, one of them was dead, right? That was probably a check in the win column for him.

  That seemed to confuse Dahlia, but she didn’t dwell on it. “First Lexi, now you. I feel like I’m cursed or something.”

  Holden started shaking his head but stopped because it hurt. “It has nothing to do with you. You just have bad taste in men.”