Survivor Stories

by J P Barnaby

  “Come on, boy.” Kage wrapped strong arms around Ben and lifted, dragging his boy back against his chest. A warm, contented feeling settled over Ben as Kage began his aftercare. He still floated, not quite as high or as far as he had during the savage fucking, but enough to feel safe and happy under his Dom’s care.

  It took another fifteen minutes before he felt secure on his feet enough to dress. At some point he’d missed, his clothes had been brought in, folded on top of Kage’s gear. His hands shook as he buttoned his jeans. God, he loved to fly, and no one took him there like Kage.

  “Look at me.” The stern command gave Ben that little tickle of anticipation as he obeyed. Turning his face up to meet Kage’s, he frowned, mimicking the Dom’s expression.

  “Your pupils are still blown wide. I don’t want you to ride tonight. I’ll take you home,” he said and touched Ben’s face gently with one finger just under his right eye. Problems chased questions around Ben’s mind, and they tumbled from his mouth without his permission.

  “How would I get to work tomorrow? Besides, I’m not leaving my new bike in the parking lot overnight, and we don’t have a ramp to put it in the back of the truck. I’m fine, Kage, really. It’s a bit more than we’re used to doing, but I’m okay to ride. It’s only about fifteen minutes for me to get home from here,” Ben reasoned and ran his finger along Kage’s muscle shirt. God, he looked hot. Even with the ache in his body and come leaking out of his ass, Ben wanted to drop Kage into the desk chair and ride him till dawn. Kage watched him, wavering, with indecision written into his features.

  “I don’t want to let you go, but I have a job out in South Bend tomorrow and won’t have time to bring you to the bike. Maybe Justin—” he started, but Ben interrupted.

  “First, that guy hates me. He’d probably run me over with my bike. Second, I still have to get to work. It’s fine, Kage.”

  “He doesn’t hate you, he wants to be you,” Kage said lightly, but then let his voice drop to a growl. “You be very fucking careful and text me the minute you walk in the door. Do you understand me, boy?” The concern and command in his tone made Ben hot all over. Forgetting his place for just a moment, he rubbed against Kage and whispered how hot Kage was against his Sir’s skin.

  “You know I’m a good boy, Kage. I’ll do whatever you want.” Making his face soft, Ben looked up through long lashes at his Dom. The older man shifted and clenched his hands at his sides.

  “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and throw you back over that desk,” Kage growled. While that sounded like an excellent idea to Ben, he knew better than to test Kage’s patience. With surprising grace, he finished tying his boots and left Kage in the office, passing Justin talking to a chick in some outrageously normal-looking sweater. A giggle burst out of him as Donna Reed came to mind, and they turned to look at him. Ben waved and continued toward the door.

  He felt lighter than he had in months.

  Four

  THE SOUND of a hammer slammed against the edge of Jude’s consciousness. After a moment, a dull buzz replaced it, and then the hammer started again. It took several minutes for the sounds to filter into the analytical part of his brain. One eye cracked open to see that the bedside clock read just past midnight. The pounding started again, clearer than before, and he finally understood that it came from the front door. The intermittent buzzing came from the truly annoying doorbell that had plagued them since they’d moved in. He groaned, rolled to the side of the bed, and decided that someone better fucking be dead for them to wake him up out of a sound sleep on a Wednesday morning when he had to be up in a few hours for work. His yawn nearly swallowed his head as he shuffled out to the hall, yelling for whoever was at the door to hang on. Growling at Ben, who could sleep through a damned tornado, he went to push open the guy’s door. If Jude had to be up, Ben should be up too.

  Only, the door was already open and Ben wasn’t in bed.

  Ben had still been out when Jude went to bed—an odd occurrence for a Tuesday night, but certainly nothing to be worried over. The implications of an insistent midnight visitor tore at him as he finally got to the door. A look through the peephole confirmed his worse fears. The police. Ben was either in trouble, hurt, or… or worse. He couldn’t think about the worse, not with Ben spending all of his time on that damned motorcycle without a helmet.

  The door swung open and two officers looked up, both in their thirties. One, a pretty Hispanic, looked like he had just entered them while the other wizened black cop looked like he was about to leave them.

  “Can I help you?” Jude asked, his heart sinking right into his feet.

  “Sir, do you know a Benjamin Martin?” the black cop asked, and Jude’s hand clamped hard on the doorframe. He wanted to slam the door in their faces to prevent them from saying whatever it was they’d come there to say. If they didn’t say it, then it wouldn’t be true. Instead, he put on his big boy pants, answered the question, and tried like hell to prepare himself for what would come next.

  “Yes, Ben is my roommate and my friend. What’s happened? Is he okay?” Jude asked, the pain in his chest making it hard to breathe. Please let him be okay. Please God. The Hispanic cop took out his notebook, and avoiding the question completely, asked him his name.

  “My name is Julian Archer. Please, is Ben okay?” he asked again and started to get agitated. Just fucking get it over with. Don’t drag this out. Max scratched at his leg in an attempt to greet their new guests and possibly lick them to death. Jude reached down and picked the little dog up, cradling him and holding him as a shield against the cops’ news. Finally, the black cop stepped forward.

  “Mr. Archer, Mr. Martin is at Mercy Hospital. He’s been in an accident. We’re still piecing together what happened, but it seems he was struck while on his motorcycle. They’re doing everything they can to help him. We need to get in touch with his family, his emergency contacts. Can you help us with that?” His calm helped Jude think. He stood back and let the policemen into the apartment. They sat side by side on the couch where Jude and Ben had fallen asleep a few nights before.

  “Ben’s contacts are in his phone. Did you find his phone?” he asked, addressing his question to the more helpful older cop.

  “We did not find a phone,” the cop answered, and the evasiveness in his answer told Jude far more than he wanted to know. Ben’s accident was severe enough to completely destroy his phone. If it didn’t survive….

  “I have a copy of our rental application. We both had to fill out emergency contact information. Let me grab that from the file,” Jude said and stood up. It would be with the lease in the metal filing cabinet in the kitchen. Slipping into the kitchen, he flipped through the first drawer of the cabinet and found the file he sought. He glanced down and saw that Ben had listed him as his emergency contact.

  “I’m sorry, Ben listed me as his emergency contact on our application,” Jude said as he brought the papers into the living room. “I’ve never met Ben’s parents. I know they moved from the area about four years ago. His previous address here on the application should be where they used to live.”

  “That’s very helpful, thank you,” the older cop said as he rose. “I’m heading back to the hospital, do you want a ride?” Jude considered. He needed to dress, call off work, and didn’t really want to be stuck at the hospital with no means of escape, especially if…. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. He needed to focus.

  “I’ll be okay. I need to dress and get a few things together for Ben before I go,” he said, trying to stall so they would leave and he could break down. He needed to be strong for Ben.

  “He’s not going to need anything for a while,” the younger cop said as he put the little notepad back in his pocket.

  “Hector,” the other cop admonished. Hector just shrugged as they walked out the front door.

  Oh God.

  “MY NAME is Jude Archer, I’m here to see Ben Martin. He was in a motorcycle accident, the cops just came to o
ur house,” Jude rambled to the front desk clerk half an hour later as he stood shaking in his Bears sweatshirt. The early morning had turned cold as he locked up their apartment and headed for the hospital.

  “Are you Mr. Martin’s brother, or maybe his partner?” she asked as she looked through the computer. Partner? Then it hit him. His domestic partner. He could get information about Ben if he pretended they were a couple. Apparently, from the way the younger cop hinted about Ben’s condition, it was very serious.

  Jude nodded, unable to force out the lie no matter how much he wanted it to be true. He knew Ben wouldn’t care, especially if it got him information on Ben’s condition, but it felt like he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted at Ben’s expense. He didn’t like that—not at all.

  “Mr. Martin has been taken to emergency surgery. Right up this hall there is an elevator; take it to the second floor. When you come off, turn right and check in at the desk. I’ve added you in here as his partner, so the doctor can come out and talk to you,” she explained, and it took everything Jude had not to actually sprint to the elevator.

  The empty surgical waiting room taunted him as he entered. Smiling families looked out at him from framed images on the wall, and the television played for no one, almost like it waited for him. The nurse at the surgical desk had no more information for him than the woman at the front desk. The only thing she knew was that it might take hours for the neurosurgeon to finish and talk to him.

  Hours.

  Neurosurgeon.

  Jude knew just enough about medicine to know that a neurosurgeon operated on the brain. Ben suffered some kind of head trauma in the accident. Idly as he watched the aquarium, which seemed like a staple in every waiting room, he wondered if the cops had found Ben’s parents. The television in the far corner droned while he wrapped his arms tightly around his knees on the small couch, trying not to come apart at the seams. For Ben’s sake, he needed to hold it together. He was the only one there for his friend.

  At nearly six o’clock in the morning, he’d almost fallen asleep when a booming voice said Ben’s name.

  “Are you here for Benjamin Martin?”

  Jude shot up off the couch and looked around. The voice came from a thin man, balding, with tired-looking eyes that matched his bright-blue scrubs. A face mask hung down around his neck. He pulled a matching cap from his balding head as Jude scrambled to stand in front of him and nod furiously.

  “How is he?” Jude asked without preamble, and the doctor sighed, the sound piercing Jude’s heart. The man looked stressed, and Jude wondered just how bad the surgery had been.

  “We repaired the tear in his meningeal artery and removed the debris from his face and arm. His legs were mostly protected by the heavy denim jeans. The break in his arm has been set, but the tendons in his knee will require additional surgery, assuming he survives the head trauma.” Jude worked harder than he’d done in his life to contain the miserable whimper inside him. Assuming he survives the head trauma. Removed the debris from his face. Jesus.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Jude’s voice shook as he asked the question. He couldn’t stand the thought of a negative answer.

  “His condition is very serious. We caught the bleed early, but we’ll know more in twenty-four hours. In the meantime, we’re going to try to keep his blood pressure down because of intracranial pressure, and watch for signs of further bleeding.” The doctor looked around as if trying to find a way out of the conversation once the news had been delivered.

  “Can I see him?” Jude asked, his voice sounding very small, even in his own ears, which had blood pounding through them.

  “He’ll be in recovery for an hour or so. Once he’s in the neurosurgical ICU, one of the nurses will come and take you to see him.” The doctor shook his hand and then disappeared back up the hall. Shaken to his very core, Jude fell back onto the couch where he’d been waiting, stared out of the window at the lightening sky, and wondered what to do next. He should try to call the officers that had come to their apartment and see if they’d gotten in touch with Ben’s parents. Through quiet, overheard conversations, Jude thought maybe Ben’s relationship with his parents was strained. With the guilt Ben carried about his sister’s death, Jude could imagine the cause. Whether Ben’s parents blamed him or he blamed himself, something had come between them. Questions swirled around his mind as he stared, questions to which he might never get any answers.

  Jude’s eyes darted to the hall each time he heard footsteps approach, but the owners never came in to the waiting room. He considered turning up the television just to have something to distract him, but he knew it wouldn’t. Nothing would take his mind off Ben lying down the hall clinging to life. The image he conjured of his friend, bandaged and bloody, haunted him. Resting his chin on his knees, Jude tried to force the image of blood leaking from Ben’s eyes and ears. A single tear slid down his cheek and he let it fall. He knew there would be others.

  “Mr. Archer?”

  The voice startled him because he’d stopped listening for footsteps in the hall that were never for him. He nodded and unfolded himself from the chair, hoping to God his legs would support him. They shook harder the closer they got to Ben’s room as he followed the nurse down the hall. Finally, they stopped in front of a closed door, and he held his breath as she pushed it open. The bed closest to the door was empty, and someone had drawn the curtain around the second bed. He couldn’t stand it. The nurse walked over and past the curtain, but his legs locked before he reached the barrier. With absolutely no mercy, the nurse pushed back the curtain.

  Jude’s gasp sounded so fucking loud in the otherwise quiet room.

  More bandages than he cared to count lined Ben’s head, the right side of his face, and the upper part of his right arm. Some of them were dark and stained with blood, others still appeared pristine. A cast covered his right forearm beneath the bandages. His right leg was covered in some kind of mechanical brace. With all the damage to the right side of Ben’s body, his left looked unscathed. He must have slid along the ground on one side when the bike went down. Jude’s heart hurt, and he couldn’t contain the quiet sob that escaped him.

  “Jude?”

  The whisper sounded pained, scratching its way out of Ben’s broken body. Ben’s eyes opened infinitesimally, just enough for Jude to see his dilated pupils. He was still high, either from the anesthesia or the pain medications for the damage to his body. Heedless of his fear and the pain in his own chest, Jude stepped over to Ben’s bedside and took his uninjured hand.

  “I’m here, Ben.” It came out no louder than an agonized whimper, but Ben heard. His eyes closed, and he squeezed Jude’s hand with a surprising weakness that Jude had never seen in Ben. It scared him almost as much as Ben’s bandages. “The cops are calling your parents. I didn’t have their number.” Ben’s eyes flew open again—the left opening far more than the right. For a second, he looked almost scared, but then he relaxed again and his eyes closed.

  “There’s a chair here,” the nurse said, quietly indicating behind her as she checked on one of the machines connected to Ben. Jude tried to let go of Ben’s hand so he could grab a chair and settle in, but Ben clung to him. That simple show of trust, of love, made Jude’s heart soar and then shatter. Ben was high; he was clinging because of their friendship and because of the pain.

  “I’m just going to get a chair, Ben. I’m not leaving,” Jude whispered. Ben looked down at their joined hands and slowly released his grip. Within seconds, he was back, sitting in the moderately comfortable chair, holding Ben’s hand.

  For the first time in a very long time, as he sat next to Ben’s bed with his heart aching with fear and pain and love, Julian Archer prayed.

  BEN HOVERED in and out of consciousness. The only tenuous connection he felt to his body and his life was the hand holding his. Jude. God, he didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see the condemnation and accusations in Jude’s eyes. He’d fucked up, he knew it. Jude ha
d begged him for years to wear a helmet when he rode, but since that took away the possibility that his pain could end, he never listened. The pain in Jude’s voice when he’d said Ben’s name would continue to haunt him.

  Time didn’t really seem to flow in the normal way at the hospital, even once he’d been moved to a regular room and out of ICU. Sometimes when he woke it was light and sometimes it was dark, but the sequence didn’t make any sense to him. He heard the doctor talk to Jude. He heard the nurses talk to Jude. Sometimes, they talked to him, asking him nonsensical questions. Mostly, however, he just lay there like a vegetable listening to Jude’s voice. Ben liked it when he sang quietly with the radio.

  “Have you found out anything about the accident?” Jude asked, and for a moment, he thought the question had been directed at him. Then, he opened his eyes just a little and saw a uniformed police officer. The guy was older than they were, but probably not much. His eyes were kind but focused as he talked to Jude.

  “Yes, but we’ve been unable to contact his parents. It seems they’re out of town on some kind of trip. We’ve left word for them to call, but I was hoping he was lucid enough to give us a cell phone number.”

  “Seven oh eight,” Ben started, and then closed his eyes against the pain in his head for a just a minute and started again. The cop grabbed his notebook to copy down the number he recited, his mother’s cell phone. The cop took it down, pulled out a smartphone, typed into it, and then looked up again.

  “My partner is going to make the call. I have a few questions for you about the accident, Mr. Martin, if you’re up to answering them,” he said gently, and Ben tried to pull himself up a little in the bed to wake up, but gave up when his head started to spin.