by Tara Spears
Pain dragged me too consciousness, forcing me out of the shower. I crawled to the door, and pulled myself up. Reaching out, I turned the water off then fell onto the bathroom floor, my body too stiff to work right. I felt myself fade off again.
* * * * *
I came to with a pounding head, screaming stomach, sore jaw, and a throbbing ache along every inch of my skin. I couldn’t fathom a reason for my existence right now. I just wanted it all to go away. Why couldn’t I just die and start over with a new life? With my luck it would be worse than the one I was living. However, I wasn’t sure I cared anymore.
God smote me, and I felt a trickle of heat push along my dick. Fuck, I was peeing. I grabbed myself, struggled onto the toilet, and winced when the urine pushed out in burning blasts. When my bladder finally emptied I sagged against the wall next to the toilet, shivering and sweating.
How long have I been laying here? Awhile obviously. I glanced down at the bathroom rug. A little puddle of dark urine was soaking into the beige yarn, joining the large blotches of blood. I toed the rug over on itself. I’d throw it away later.
I stayed on the toilet until my ass fell asleep and began to prickle. I forced myself to pee again then staggered to the main room and directly to my normal closet. I pulled the spare flat sheet as well as my heavy winter blanket from the upper shelf, and managed to get them both around me.
Turning, I lurched to the chair, and dropped ungracefully into it.
* * * * *
“We need an ambulance at the University of Washington. Breton Hall. Second floor. There will be someone waiting to escort them in. Attempted suicide we think. No—”
Someone was touching me. Messing with my eyes, and pushing on my neck.
“Jerry, he’s coming around.”
“He’s waking up. We’ll be waiting. Thank you.”
Was that the Dean? What was he doing in my room?
I cracked my eyes. “I don’t need an ambulance,” I mumbled.
Tom, the dorm supervisor, frowned as he pried my eyelids the rest of the way open.
“Trisha, can you get him some water please?” Tom called over his shoulder to a round middle-aged woman with hideous horn-rimmed glasses, and an even worse perm. “Trey, what did you do to yourself.” It wasn’t a question. More like a horrified exhalation.
I tried to move but couldn’t. It was as if rigor mortis had set in and forgotten to take over my brain. The fact I wished it had, probably did make me an attempted suicide, but since I was still alive— the hospital was out of the question. They couldn’t take me without my permission. Unfortunately right now I was still too out of it to argue... I would, when the time came.
Refusing treatment might get me kicked out of school, not to mention my scholarship revoked, yet it was the lesser of two evils. A hospital stay would eventually end with a visit to the psyche ward. I’d been in one once and saw no reason to visit again.
The ugly perm held a bottle of water to my lips. I tried to take it from her, but I couldn’t move my arm high enough to reach it. So I graciously allowed her to feed me sips. Clearing my throat, I focused in on Tom.
“Why are you here? I didn’t miss any classes.” My voice crackled like a dead leaves.
His eyes almost popped out of his head. “You haven’t been to class in five days.”
Whoa. No shit. Not my longest stint though. Once I had lived without food and water for nine days. That one landed me in the hospital for a while before being dumped at Fairfax for over a month.
“No one has seen you out of your room, and your car is in the lot. One of the other students came and told me there was a stench near your door. Five days, Trey.” Tom swallowed, looking rather peaked.
Probably six actually, since I wasn’t sure how long I had been on the bathroom floor, but I doubted it had been more than a day. Wow, I was impressed I figured that out.
I quickly became thankful I couldn’t feel anything. The sour air was worming its way into my consciousness and it was fetid. Correction; I was fetid. I didn’t let myself think about that. I was sure there was nothing to throw up. Even so, I didn’t want to start gagging.
It was easier than I thought— blanking everything out. I grew muzzy and passed in and out of consciousness. The prick pricking my arm woke me up though, and I tried to jerk my arm away. Who am I kidding? I’m as weak as a baby bird.
“Relax, Mr. Grey. I have to set an IV. We can’t move you until you are better hydrated,” the prick in the blue medic uniform informed me.
I somehow managed to peel his hand off my lower arm as I grumbled incoherently.
“You said five days?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes.” Tom I think.
“He should be almost dead, but somehow he still has some strength. That’s a good sign.”
“No hospital,” I mumbled.
“Sir, you have to go to the hospital.”
“No hospital,” I repeated.
“Sir, you need medical treatment.”
I managed a small shake of my head. “You can’t make me go.”
He let out an exasperated sigh, and finished setting up the IV in silence. He turned the dial and I felt a slight burn, then cold, as the fluid merged with my blood. I was awake now, but I kept my eyes closed. The room was too bright and everyone was staring at me piteously.
“I suggest you call his family. They can override his decision.”
“I don’t think he has any. I know his parents are deceased and his emergency contact is a dead end. A strip club near the airport actually,” Dean Williams said.
I would have laughed at that had I had the energy to do so.
“That leaves you no options then. He has every right to refuse medical care, and there isn’t anything we can do about it. We’ll treat him here, and can have a nurse come by everyday until he’s strong enough to care for himself. Honestly? That’s all we can legally do.
“I can call in a mental health professional but I doubt he would be admitted. He might be mentally ill, but looking at the evidence, I can’t say with any conviction he intended to harm himself. The trail is pretty clear. I worked at a mental hospital for a stint, and even though I’m not a psychologist, I can guess with reasonable accuracy he suffers from OCD and it got out of hand. Sorry... you might have something in your bylaws to protect the school?” the prick suggested, and I liked him a little better. The laws might suck, but they were sucking in my favor right now.
The good vibes towards the prick evaporated, however, when he and his buddy took it upon themselves to carefully lay me on the floor so they could clean me up. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. What a degrading process. While one of them held me, the other had to wet my ass down until the fecal matter was softened enough so the blanket could be divested from my person.
Too feeble to fight them, they didn’t even bother to restrain me. They would probably leave and laugh at the stupid, sad, twenty-year-old kid that freaked out over ejaculating in his own bed.
My body, in an act of defiance I appreciated, peed on the prick’s partner as he wiped me down. I didn’t feel it, just heard the breathy, “Sonofabitch, he peed on me.”
“That’s a good thing,” the prick said behind his mask.
He regained my favor when he went above and beyond by stepping in to help Tom clean my room.
“Mr. Grey, how bad is your OCD?” he asked, slipping on a new pair of gloves.
I grimaced.
“Can we salvage—”
I shook my head as adamantly as I could.
“Bags, bathroom sink,” I rasped out from my position on the floor. I was getting fuzzy again, and my throat was beginning to hurt.
“What about the bathroom sink?” Tom asked, but the EMT was already in there fluffing a bag open. I heard something drop into it— my bathmat I hoped.
“This guy has his system, that’s for sure. Four mattress pads, impressive. Mm... take down to the second vinyl one, yes?” He glanced at me for affirmatio
n.
I nodded, and mumbled, “Yes.”
“No, take the quilted one and the first vinyl one off. They get thrown away with the bedding.”
“I can wipe this one off. It still looks new.”
I cringed at Tom’s ignorant words.
“No, you can’t do that with an OCD. He says to get rid of it, so we throw it away, or he might sleep on the floor and that won’t do him any good.”
Okay, now I liked the prick. He was good. He removed his gloves, putting on new ones between each step, and made Tom do the same. I appreciated that. I understood that made me a freak, but I have earned every freakish tendency I have.
“That’s definitely not salvageable,” Tom said, sighing, as he slid the chair holding my ruined spare bedding across the floor with his foot. Fucker. He had a point as it was school property. Although he could have just billed me for it, or had me replace it without saying a word. He did begrudgingly supply a clean blanket from storage however.
Prick and his partner settled me on my bed with a new IV, bottle of water, my cell phone, towel for a pillow, and pee pads crinkling under me.
“Mr. Grey, the nurse will be here at eight, and again around five. Do you know how to use your cell phone?”
“Hit the green button until it beeps and dial.”
“Just checking, since it was the only thing in here covered in dust. Don’t try to get up. You’ll fall if you do. The nurse will clean you up when he or she gets here.” He gave me a compassionate look.
He actually looked like a nice guy, not a prick. He had a wedding ring on his finger, and probably had kids. I’d lay a bet he was a great dad too. Someone who takes his kids to the park, and coaches little league. He just had that look about him.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been here before. And I didn’t try to kill myself, by the way.”
“You’ve had this happen before?” he asked.
I gave a short nod. “Mental coma or something,” I muttered.
“Psychological coma. Your mind broke down so far it put your body to rest. Did you go off your meds?”
“I don’t take any.”
He shook his head at me beratingly. “Maybe you should. Try to take care of yourself, Sir. I don’t want to see you again.”
“I don’t want you to see me again either. Thanks for everything.” And I meant it. He gave me a thin smile. Within a minute everyone but Tom, the dorm super, had gone.
“Trey, I know you’re a smart young man, and as such understand there may be repercussions from this. We’ve arranged for a therapist to come here in three days to do a mental evaluation. At present it is not our intention to suspend you as you have been a model student thus far.” He shook his head gently. “Not one mark on your record. Exemplary really.”
Nice words coming from a man whose brow was sweating, and hands were moving nervously as if I was dangerous, and at any moment would jump up and slit his throat. Laughable, considering I couldn’t even raise my arms.
“Well, this has my cell number on it.” He placed a slip of white paper on the nightstand. “Relax and don’t worry about your courses. We can work something out later. I’ll try and check in after the nurse has been here.” He stood there looking unsure about what to do.
“Mr. Capri, I didn’t try to kill myself. I’m not suicidal.”
He nodded grimly, but managed a version of a smile before leaving me to a quiet room. I didn’t even have the TV remote.
Alone in the waning daylight, I suddenly wished I had been able to take kitten for a drive. It was an odd thing to remember, that last normal thought before chaos ensued, but I deeply regretted not having been able to go. Maybe this happened for a reason. Maybe I did need help. Maybe— Oh hell. My crazy ass fucked up, plain and simple.
No. This happened for a reason. And somewhere in my messed up head I knew that.
Without my permission my mind wavered over the first and only other time this had happened. I was sixteen. My mother had died two weeks earlier of a heroin overdose, and ever since her death Willie had been pimping me from the house unmercifully. I remembered eating pizza, and the start of his party, but I had never been able to recall exactly what happened that night. I was ninety-percent positive Willie had drugged me somehow.
I awoke alone, and battered pretty badly on the floor of our living room. There were bottles, beer cans, drug paraphernalia, and pizza boxes scattered everywhere. I had tried to get up, but the pain kept me down. I called out for Willie even though, somehow, I knew he wasn’t there. The house was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the whir of the furnace. My face felt sticky. I wiped my mouth off and saw the milky gunk thread between my fingers. I rolled over attempting to sit up and saw the blood, felt the slime down my legs, and that was the last coherent thought I had had.
Nine days later I was found by our neighbor, Celia, when the mailman could no longer fit anything in our box. He had gone to her to ask if we had moved. She came over, peeked in the windows, and saw me on the floor. I didn’t wake up for several more days.
I went from the hospital to what they referred to as a mental health hospice, which was actually a nice name for the teen angst mental ward at Fairfax. I stayed six weeks, saw a collection of therapists, and then I was moved to a group home. I left that rattrap the very next day.
I returned to the house that night. Broke through the police seals, packed a bag, took my keys, and kitten and I left together. Even though I knew I couldn’t escape my past, I’ve never looked back... Not intentionally anyway.
Chapter Seven
I wasn’t sure if Willie ever returned. I didn’t know if he was out there somewhere or rotting in jail. I’d never cared to follow up and find out. I had made the papers though; Local teen found battered and severely abused. Police are looking for the stepfather, William Carnel, who is wanted for questioning in this case... It was just a bunch of bullshit written to make others feel better. The story was dead a day later. I had only been interesting until another story came along.
I continued going to school, maintained my GPA, and never caused a lick of trouble. I had been reasonably sure CPS listed me as a runaway, and then conveniently lost my file even though they knew right where to find me. By then I was less than a year away from becoming a legal adult, so I probably wasn’t worth the effort.
It had been easy to piece together a fairly accurate account of what happened that night. I didn’t need to know every sick, twisted detail— I knew more than enough.
Three things came of that night. I discovered what pure, unadulterated rage felt like, and if I were to ever run into Willie I just might end up in jail for murder. Secondly, my aversion to certain fluid emissions was taken to a whole new level of madness, and a person might wonder why I still fucked men, and let men fuck me. That was easy. Men were simple, single minded, and fast. Women were sloppy, hard to please, and could take forever. Plus I liked men, when they’re not gang banging teenage boys that is.
Lastly... I broke free.
However, if I were being honest with myself, I really hadn’t. I was still working the streets. I was still a paid whore. I was still letting the Willie’s of the world use me. I also knew as soon as I was able, I would be back out there again getting fucked. Because truthfully, it was the only world I felt I belonged in.
I dozed off on that cheery thought, and didn’t wake again until the nurse arrived.
“Good morning,” the nurse sang as he waltzed right into my room. “I’m Gale. Let’s get you cleaned up first, shall we?” he said merrily.
My first impression was that he was gay. But nope. He was definitely a straight boy, with an annoyingly cheerful disposition. Even his scrubs were sunny, and I mean literally. They were covered in assorted smiling suns on a baby blue background.
He was oddly clean even by my standards. He applied gel disinfectant before he snapped on his gloves, and he smelled strongly of Dial soap and rubbing alcohol. It was as if he used it for aftershave— wh
ich would be ironic since he didn’t appear to shave much. His dark, wide goatee and mustache were trim enough; however, his hair was not. A coffee colored bird’s nest of frizzy hair covered his head and carried down his cheeks in a disorderly fashion.
He hummed, smiling often, as he cleaned me off and changed the soiled pads underneath me as if it were the highlight of his day. For some silly reason I found myself grinning at his overjoyed attitude. What person takes pleasure in doing this? He just might be more disturbed than I was.
“Let’s see here.” He pulled a thin laptop out of a messenger bag on the floor, then tapped the keys. “Ohh, yu-um. It looks like you get to have a little broth this morning, Trey.” He pulled out a can, and headed to the microwave. Without compunction, he rummaged until he found my can opener, then dumped part of the can into one of my coffee cups.
“Hey, can I have coffee too?” I asked, but it sounded more like a growl.
“Sure, it’s considered a clear liquid. Where’s your... oh, I got it.” he waved the box of coffee singles over his head. “How do— ”
“Black, thanks.” I gurgled then coughed, dislodging the phlegm in my throat.
The microwave beeped, and he pulled out the mug of broth then put in a cup of water before turning back towards me.
“Where’s your pillow? Did you lose it last night?” He ambled over, glancing around as he came. “I don’t see it—”
“No, they were disposed of. I haven’t had a chance to buy a new one.”
“You are silly, aren’t you? I’ll pick one up today. What do you like?” Gale asked with a tilt of his head, as if he was sizing me for a suit. I stared at him, not understanding the question. “Soft, Medium, firm? Do you sleep on your side, front, or back?”
It was a pillow for God’s sake. Gale waited expectantly, tapping a finger to his goatee.
“Medium, and I sleep all over so you can pick. I trust you. There’s cash on top of the microwave.”
“No worries. I’ll get reimbursed. Now... let’s see what we can use to prop you up.” His gaze traveled around my sparse room. “Ah, that might work.” He toddled towards the opposite wall.