“I couldn’t. I mean…” I squeezed the ball hard enough to turn my knuckles bone white, and bits of red rubber pushed between the cracks of my fingers. “Julia told me to go home with him.”
“Does she make you go with people a lot?”
“No. I usually take them home with me.” I laughed. No one else did. I squeezed the ball. I couldn’t stop squeezing it.
“Tell me about Julia.”
“She’s a bitch. The end.”
He picked up a cube with multicolored squares on each side and twisted the sections up and down. There was a soft tick-tick as the mixed colors separated and the like colors gathered on opposing sides.
“Do you have any other family?”
“Alice. She’s my other sister.”
“What’s she like?” Red, blue, green, white, yellow. The colors replaced him, the room, and Roy.
“She’s fragile.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I broke her. Now she doesn’t work very well.”
“Do you care to explain?”
Explain what? How she’d been so destroyed by her father dying she didn’t even cry? When she finally did cry, she didn’t stop? Then there was the silence. Weeks of silence. She’d stare at me, watch me. Not in the same way her father did but with tremendous sadness. As if I’d torn open her chest and ripped out her soul.
“Next question. I don’t like that one.”
“How about we talk about your paintings?”
“Anything you want to know about those, you can read in an art magazine. Or watch that interview.” I snapped my fingers. “What’s his name? Rock. Allen Rock. Does he look as much like a Cheeto on TV as he does in real life? Someone should tell him to stop using spray paint and get a tanning bed.”
“Sorry, I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing his program.”
“Very prestigious. He’s interviewed vice presidents and has the best sounding chairs ever.” I slapped a hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m babbling.”
“It’s quite all right.” Dr. Carmichael continued to twist the cube. “Will you tell me about your paintings?”
“What’s to tell?”
“How do they make you feel?”
Round and round, colored squares went.
“Paris?” Carmichael leaned forward. “How does painting make you feel?” Green. Click.
Like the heavens were folding up, the sky was tearing apart, and the blood of every lost life stained my hands. “I hate them.” I said.
“Why?” White. Click, click.
“They’re terrible.”
“The art community seems to think you’re quite good.” Red. Click, click, click. “I’ve seen your work myself, and I have to agree with them.” Blue. Click, click, click, click, click.
“That’s because they can’t see.” I met his gaze. “You can’t see.”
“Can’t see what?”
“The truth.”
Yellow. Carmichael put the cube on his desk, and everything returned. “What do you mean by the truth?”
I opened my mouth. “You breathe one word, Paris, one word.” I closed it.
“Paris?”
“I’ll make sure you rot in there. I’ll make sure you never get out.”
“Paris?”
“This is all your fault. You did this. If you hadn’t been here, none of it would have ever happened. You ruined it. All of it. You’re nothing but a filthy boy.”
“What are you thinking about right now?”
My arm trembled, and the tendons in my wrist stood out. There was nothing left of the ball in my hand. I forced my fingers open, and it reappeared, whole and unscathed. “Can you ask a different question? I don’t think I want to answer that one either.”
Every word fell flat.
“Sure.” Dr. Carmichael picked up a pen lying next to a set of chattering teeth on his desk and scribbled on a notepad. “Do you ever hear voices?”
“Pick it up, Paris. Now.”
“It’s too heavy.”
“Quit whining and pick up the tarp.”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you see things?”
A withered leaf tumbled across the floor.
“Paris, do you see things?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t sure if he heard me until he said, “What kind of things do you see?”
“Colors.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lines of color, sprinkles, streaks, splatters, shapes.”
“When do you see them?”
“All the time.”
“Is there any particular time you see them more often?”
“When people talk.”
“Are colors the only thing you see?”
Three more leaves followed the first.
“Paris?”
“Yes.”
A wrinkle appeared over the doctor’s eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t believe me. I could see it in his eyes. I waited for him to keep prying, but instead he said, “Roy said you’ve spent some time in a hospital before.”
“Yeah. I have.”
“Do you remember who you saw?”
“Dr. Harold Mason.”
“Do you still see him?”
“Sometimes.”
“Has he talked with you about medication?”
I pressed the squishy ball against my temple. “Yes.”
“Are you taking any now?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me what and how much?”
“Pink round ones when I’m tired. White ovals when everything is moving too fast.”
“You don’t remember the names?”
“He never tells me.”
“What’s written on the labels?”
“There aren’t any.”
The clock on the wall counted off the seconds.
Dr. Carmichael put the pen down and picked up the cube again. He switched it from one hand to the next like he’d done the ball.
“Dr. Howell thinks you might benefit by staying with me for a while. I want to know what you think.”
“I have a doctor.”
“Do you think he has your best interests at heart, or your sister’s?” His eyes said he already knew the answer.
“Julia will never allow it.”
“What if it was no longer her choice to make?” Something must have shown in my face because he smiled. “Would you be open to staying with me then?”
For the first time, I’d been given a door out of the darkness, and I was terrified to look on the other side. Until I remembered Roy held my hand, he would stay with me, and he cared.
“Yes,” I said.
Roy gave me a cautious smile.
“But what’s the catch?” There always was one.
“You have to stay here with me for a minimum of thirty days. Then, if you’re ready, you can leave. After that, you will come to see me twice a week. You must stay on the medication I give you, and there will be no alcohol or drugs. You will be tested every time you step through my door. You fail, and you will wind up back at square one, which means another thirty days.”
“I can do that. I can. I think I can do that.”
For Roy, I would. Or die trying.
********
“I’m sorry.” Roy put the pair of jeans he held in the duffle bag.
“Quit saying that. You have to go home sometime. You have a job, an apartment.” Please God, don’t leave me here by myself. I chewed my thumbnail until the quick bled.
Roy walked over and shielded me in his arms. “I’ll come back.”
I nodded. “You shouldn’t. You’re too good. You deserve good things.” And I was anything but. “You should find yourself a cute little twink or maybe a bear. You’d go good with a bear.” I laughed. “Settle down. Adopt some kids. Buy a dog.”
“I’m coming back.”
“Thirty days. Thirty days is a long time. Lots could happ
en. You could meet the twink or a bear.”
“Paris.”
“You could win the lottery.”
“I don’t play it.”
“You should play it and get rich.” I clung to Roy like some scared kid.
“I couldn’t forget about you in thirty years, let alone thirty days.” He kissed the top of my head.
“I’m a fucking mess, Roy. You don’t deserve a fucking mess.”
“Paris.”
“Don’t come back.” A punch to the balls would have hurt less than saying that.
“I will.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to. Maybe I’m done.”
Roy pulled my chin up and covered my mouth with his. I welcomed the invasion of his tongue and swallowed the growl he made.
He pressed his lips against mine until it hurt.
I hooked a leg around his hip and climbed up his body. He squeezed my ass with his powerful hands.
I broke the kiss to suck the soft spot near his pulse. Roy pushed my head back and attacked my neck.
With every rock of my hips, my cock ground against his stomach. Roy carried me across the room and pinned me against the wall.
“Paris.” His voice, my name, his touch. I should have burst into flames.
“Want you.” I clawed at his shirt, but it was trapped between us. “Please.”
“I’m here.” Roy pushed the hospital gown up and slid his hands over my skin.
“I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”
“We can’t.”
“Yes.”
“People.”
“Don’t care.” The door was closed, the room was private, and to be honest, I didn’t give a shit who saw us. I bit his ear.
“Fuck.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
I latched onto his first two fingers and sucked them down my throat. If he wasn’t going to do what I wanted, then I was going to make sure he knew what he was missing out on.
“Jesus Christ.”
I teased his thick digits in the same way I had his cock. Roy pulled them out, and they left my swollen lips with a pop.
His weight against my body kept me from getting my hand between us. I scooted higher and used the tightness in an attempt to get some relief.
Roy pressed his wet fingers against my opening.
“Yes…oh God.” He pushed in one finger, then two and pumped them in and out. “Like that, just like that.” I found his mouth again but didn’t so much kiss as taste his exhale. My hunger for him was a wicked viper. Its poison flowed through my veins, twisting my senses and saturating my muscles.
“You’re so beautiful.” Roy bit my nipple through the hospital gown. I cried out and grabbed his head. Not to push him away, but to hold him. To make him bite me again.
He did.
“Almost, almost there.”
He pumped his fingers faster, and I rode against him, not caring his shirt chafed the head of my cock or that I crushed my balls with the force of my thrusts.
“Come for me, Paris.”
My grunts became a wail. One more roll of my hips and I unloaded everything I had. It slicked up his shirt, and I kept humping him. The head of my cock became so sensitive it was more pain than pleasure, but I wasn’t going to let go of the euphoria until every drop of cum was lost. If it had been possible, I would have stayed in that moment, drowning forever in absolute perfection.
The last electric wave receded, and I slumped in Roy’s arms. He lowered me to the floor, and the sticky mess I’d left behind on his shirt smeared on my hospital gown.
Cradled against Roy’s chest, I followed the beat of his heart back to the here and now.
“You’ll come back?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll call me?”
“Every week.”
“Why?”
He slid his hand down the side of my head and traced the shell of my ear with his thumb. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“No.”
“Because that’s what you do when you love someone.”
“No one’s ever loved me before.”
“I know.”
“What if I don’t know how to give it back?”
“It’s not hard, and you have plenty of time to learn.”
I laughed. “I’m not exactly a model student.”
“That’s okay.” He kissed the side of my head. “I’m a patient teacher.”
********
Watching the elevator doors shut and Roy disappear had to be one of the most difficult moments of my life. When he was gone, the repercussions of what it meant to stay there crashed into me.
A dull shock traveled from where my knees hit the floor to my hips.
Dr. Carmichael knelt. His hand on my back warmed my frigid skin. “It’s time for you to get ready so I can check you into your room.”
I nodded, leaving streaks of tears on the tile.
He helped me to my feet. “C’mon, I have you some clean clothes so you can get rid of the gown.”
When we reached my room, I said, “He’s not coming back.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“No.”
“Then why would you say he’s not coming back?”
“Because no one does.”
He patted me on the shoulder. “Trust. It’s an easy thing to break and almost impossible to rebuild. Trust him. If Roy told you he would come back, you have to trust he will.”
I dressed in the thrift store hand-me-downs Carmichael gave me. The fabric was so worn it barely felt real against my skin. He’d even bought me a skull-cap and coat. I’d worn the best my entire life. Clothes hand-tailored in high priced specialty shops. My jeans never cost less than two hundred bucks, and I got a new Armani suit twice a year.
My shoes were made in Italy and my suits tailored. But out of all the thousands of dollars' worth of clothes in my closet, the simple patchwork garments given to me by Dr. Carmichael instantly became my favorite.
He waited for me in the hall.
“So now what?” I said.
“Now you come with me downstairs so I can get you checked in.”
We walked to the elevator, and he pushed the button.
“And after I get checked in?”
“Well, I figured today you could look around. You know, survey the territory and meet some of the other staff.”
The door opened. The rich earthy and cinnamon scent of Roy’s cologne hung in the air. One inhale left my heart aching and my eyes burning. I started to follow Dr. Carmichael inside. The white rabbit sat beside his left foot. It stared at me with shoe button eyes.
“Paris?”
“Yeah?”
Dr. Carmichael caught the doors before they could close. “Is there a problem?” The rabbit cocked its head as if asking the same question. Carmichael looked down at the space beside his foot.
“I’d like to take the stairs,” I said.
“It’s four floors down.”
“I need the exercise.”
“The last thing you need right now is to exert yourself.”
“I feel fine.”
“Please, step into the elevator with me.”
“The stairs would be safer.”
The white rabbit cleaned its face.
“Why don’t you want to use the elevator?” Carmichael had that “tell me all your woes” tone to his voice. I had enough of my wits to know to keep my mouth shut. Especially about the ball of white fur sitting on the ground staring up at me.
“I just don’t like closed-in spaces.” I took a breath and stepped inside, making as much room between me and the rabbit as an eight-by-eight box would allow. The doors slid shut, and that space shrank by tenfold.
“Have you always had a fear of small spaces?”
“Huh?” I glanced at him. “Oh. I don’t know. Why?”
He dropped his gaze to the space beside his foot again. Carmichael said something, but my heartbeat pounded my eardrums so hard I
couldn’t hear him. The rabbit hopped closer. I didn’t realize I’d thrown myself back until my head smacked the wall.
Carmichael grabbed my arm to keep me from falling. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” I struggled to get away from him because I needed more distance from the rabbit.
Carmichael shook me. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the rabbit.
“Look at me, Paris.” Carmichael gripped my head and made me. My eyes ached from rolling them down. Carmichael turned my head, and I lost sight of it.
I grabbed his wrists. “Let go.” Where was it? I couldn’t see it. And I had to see it.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
I shifted back and forth on my feet. Was it close?
He shook me again. “Talk to me. This is what I’m here for.”
The elevator doors opened, and I tore out of his grip and fell flat on my stomach in the hall. Being on the ground put me to close to the rabbit. But the elevator was empty except for a frustrated Carmichael.
“Paint,” I said.
His eyebrows crunched together.
“Paint. I need to paint. You have an art room, right? All crazy places have an art room.”
“We have a craft studio, sure.”
“Take me there.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Sure, we’ll go as soon as we do the paperwork.”
I slapped my palm against the floor. “No. I need to paint right now.”
He held up his hands. “And I need to get you signed in.”
“No. Now.”
“The studio is inside the hospital ward. In order to go in, you have to be an employee or a patient.”
I stood. “Then I’m leaving.” I didn’t really want to go back in there, but I needed to paint more than I wanted to escape Julia.
He held his arms out, blocking the elevator. “Remember our agreement. You walk out of here, and there is nothing I can do to help you.”
“Move, goddamn it.” I screamed loud enough to get the attention of an orderly. Carmichael met his gaze and shook his head.
“Think about your sister. You walk out, you give her control. If you want to be free, we need to do this. It’s part of the process. I want to help you, but there are protocols we have to follow.”
“How…” My voice cracked. “How long will it take?”
“Fifteen minutes tops.”
I would make it five. “Fine.”
He herded me down the hall with his arm behind my back, but not touching. A door at the end took a key card to open it. He scanned the one dangling from the lanyard around his neck. There was a buzz, and the door to a reinforced glass foyer opened. A nurse in a room on the other side of a second door cleared us for entry.
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