by Elaine White
“Hey, you did your bit. You found him and now we can get him some help,” the cop reassured him. “What's important right now is that you take care of yourself. Then you can be well rested and calm, if you want to visit him during his recovery,” he urged.
That was something that made an impact, so Ryder nodded, determined to trust that Donald would pull through. He'd made it this far and was obviously fighting his own actions, so he believed he could make it a little longer. Just enough for the hospital doctors to save him.
As the cop and his partner turned away, Ryder let his head droop onto Defiance's shoulder. He was so tired and scared; he just wanted to go home and cry for a few weeks. But he didn't want to leave Defiance's arms, either. Nothing made sense and his head was in a tail spin, losing control and making him feel sick again.
“Hey! Before you go, will you tell him about the kid?” Defiance asked, stopping the officers from leaving.
He almost wanted to protest and say that he didn't need to know anything about Donald that badly. But, he really did. For some reason, it was lingering in the back of his mind and he needed to fill the puzzle pieces of this stranger who had pleaded with him through dark eyes full of tears. Even now, he could see them gazing back at him, screaming 'HELP ME!'
The first cop stopped and glanced at his partner, briefly, before turning back and replying. “He's fifteen years old,” he said, his eyes meeting Ryder's as he heard the words he so badly needed to hear. “His name is Donald Leary.”
Chapter 3
Donald stayed with Ryder, as time passed in a blur. The image of a fifteen-year-old kid, lying in a shower stall, slowly dying, wouldn't erase from his brain.
Minutes turned into hours and suddenly Defiance's strong, welcome comfort was replaced by the shock and concern of his parents. The paramedics had yet to return, but had apparently told his parents to take him straight to the hospital, and been wise enough to suggest they bring him a change of clothes. Which was just as well, since he wanted out of his own bloody clothes as soon as possible.
He was bundled into the family car, glad that his brother, Nico, had been dropped at a friend's house and wouldn't have to see him in this state. He'd probably enjoy showing off his chipped, loose tooth, since he wasn't likely to make it to the dentist today. At least he had some time. He had to figure a few things out in his own head, before he could decide how to explain it to a twelve-year-old kid.
The drive home detoured, somewhere along the way, until they arrived at the A&E of the local hospital. Half hoping and half terrified that they were here to say a final goodbye to Donald, Ryder followed his parents inside, in silence. It was only when he heard his name, at the reception desk, that he realised he would be the patient.
Eventually, the doctor called them into a bay. It took a long time, but probably quicker than any other walk in, thanks to the paramedics making a note of the urgency of his state of shock. Or so he heard at the reception desk.
Honestly, Ryder wasn't sure it was all that bad. He felt kind of numb, distant and far away from everyone and everything, but it was a pleasant feeling. Floaty and without care. Still, Ryder sat on the bed, as his father instructed and let the conversation wash over him, as his parents talked to the doctor.
He only became aware of the room again when a bright light flashed into his right eye and he flinched away from it. “Just hold still for me, Ryder,” the doctor asked, repeating the process in his other eye.
After a few more moments of close examination and his parents talking, the doctor stared at him until Ryder looked back with recognition. “How are you feeling, kiddo?” he asked.
He wished people would stop calling him that. Why, in situations like this, did anyone under the age of twenty instantly get demoted to a kid? “Fine,” he said, as he always did whenever anyone asked him that question.
“Ryder, I think you're in shock,” the doctor explained, slowly.
He almost rolled his eyes. Even Defiance had noticed that, without a medical degree and all that poking around. But Ryder didn't care.
“Your parents say the police mentioned a counsellor?” he asked.
Ryder still had the card clutched in his right hand, so he held it out and let the doctor read it. He released the card with a nod, so that Ryder could keep it close again.
“He's the best thing for you. Don't isolate yourself, don't keep it all bottled up inside, and talk to this man,” he advised, tapping the card, as the policeman had done. “Other than that, there's nothing I can do for you.”
With a nod, he accepted that truth with relief. Knowing that, he could maybe stop the panicked fluttering of his parents in the background of his thoughts. It was like constant voices in the back of his mind and far too many eyes focused solely on him. Since they were free to leave, he looked to his dad and said, “I'm just going to nip to the loo, before we leave.”
Sliding off the bed, he padded his way out of the cubicle and past the reception desk. He was just making his way through the long queue when he heard his name.
“I want to see Ryder MacTavish! Please!” a voice pleaded, sounding so heartbroken that he couldn't help but turn and look for the source.
Up at the desk, a tall, dark haired man stood clutching the hand of another man, out in the open for everyone to see. But when Ryder looked around for the homophobic reaction he was so used to seeing from his dad, there was nothing. Most of the people behind the man just looked annoyed that he was holding them up.
“I'm sorry, sir. I can't divulge the name or condition of a possible patient,” the nurse behind the desk explained, with patience that he couldn't have managed if he was in her shoes. “But let me remind you that the person you speak of, if he was a patient here at all, is a minor and there is no way I am divulging his personal information to you or anyone else that cannot prove a familial relationship. Now, please move along.”
Before she lost her patience and before the man could speak again, Ryder pushed his way to the man's side and placed a hand on his arm. “Sir, I'm Ryder MacTavish,” he said, wondering what all the fuss was about.
Three heads swung his way, the nurse with a relieved and grateful smile that he returned, and the dark heads of both men. Who quickly looked around and edged away from the queue to speak at the side of the room.
“You're Ryder?” the panicked man asked, before flinging his arms around him in a tight hug. It was a bit of a shock, but he was beginning to realise what was happening. “We're Donald's parents. You saved his life,” he gushed, squeezing him so tight that he could only be grateful his parents had let him change before coming here. He didn't want to put Donald's blood all over his parents.
Ryder absently patted the guy's back as he was released and received a much more tame head nod of recognition from the other man, who placed his hand on the small of his partner's back. “You're really Donald's parents?” he said, still a little in shock about the whole 'two men' issue that was running through his head.
“Yes. That poor boy. If he'd only told us that something was happening, we'd have sorted it out,” the man explained, turning to glance at his – husband? Ryder guessed – as if to get his agreement. “But it's okay now. Because we know, and you kept him alive long enough for us to take care of him. The paramedic said if he'd been alone any longer–” his words trailed off and Ryder could understand why.
He didn't want to think what might have happened if Donald had been there alone, until the end of the cool down and the team talk, unable to stop the bleeding, because he'd changed his mind.
For a moment, the tall, strong looking man in front of him, who could easily have been his own father, broke down in tears and was drawn into the other man's chest. Neither spoke, until he pulled himself together with force and straightened, with a sigh. Wiping at his cheeks, he appeared to push his feelings aside and take a deep breath.
Reaching out, the man fixed Ryder's hair and faked a smile. “Sweetheart, you ever need anything, you let us know,” he ins
isted, holding his free hand out to his partner. His partner pulled out a business card from his jacket pocket, which he handed over, with a look that said he knew what his partner was doing. “Take this and call us at any time, day or night.”
Ryder looked down at the card curiously. He thought about the possibilities, before speaking. “Could...could you–” he looked up and looked between both men, “could you let me know how Donald is, as he's recovering?” he asked, feeling a desperate need to keep in touch and make sure Donald was okay, as he pulled through this latest struggle.
“Of course!” Donald's dad, the excitable one, seemed thrilled by the idea, his smile going so far as to crinkle the sides of his eyes. “Call us and leave your number. Then I'll text you with updates, okay? And once I know Donald is okay, if he's allowed to have his phone, I'll send you his number so you two can talk, if you want to?” he checked, as though he'd object to that.
The thought of talking to Donald as he recovered and being there for him gave him a strange butterfly feeling in his gut. “Yes. Thank you.”
The man laughed and turned to his partner, who contained himself to a smile. “Thank us?” he said, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. Thank you! You saved our boy in the nick of time. We will never be able to repay you, but we'll never stop trying,” he promised, with a soft voice.
Ryder was hugged again, before he could say anything in response. He sank into the hug willingly, grateful for the fact that someone was comforting him, after the panic he'd been through. Only Coach had bothered to hug him and offer condolence, while Defiance merely attempted to comfort him without any real emotion. Even his own father couldn't hug him, because that was only something 'those stupid gays did'.
But today especially, he needed a hug. He needed someone to say 'it's okay and it's going to be fine. You'll get through this'.
Leaving Donald's parents behind was more emotional than Ryder had anticipated. He'd gone straight to the bathroom, as he'd told his parents he would, to splash his face with water and get himself under control. He'd found himself crying, after that last hug, and it wouldn't have done for his father to see.
As it was, Ryder had to tune out all the homophobic crap his dad spouted in the car, on the way home. When he wasn't being interrogated about why he'd been hugging another man in public, he was being told it was disgusting behaviour and that he should be ashamed of himself, associating with 'that sort' in public. It was the kind of stuff that he really didn't need to hear at all, but certainly not today.
Because, after thinking about it, he had to wonder if Donald had done what he did because he was gay and, due to his phone playing a part, been bullied for it. So the last thing he needed was his dad being a homophobic, bigoted piece of shit.
“Ryder?” His mother touched his arm as they walked in the front door. “Do you want to eat something?”
“No thanks, Mum. I just want to get a shower and go to bed,” he admitted, refusing to look down at his hands. He felt filthy. All he wanted was to get into the shower and scrub a full layer of skin off to get rid of the stain of blood, then climb into some clean clothes and go to bed. If he could forget what happened tonight, he might get some sleep.
Trudging up the stairs, he escaped into the privacy of his bedroom, shut the door behind him and blocked out the rest of the world. Before doing anything, he pulled out his mobile from his school bag that the Coach had thoughtfully packed for him, insisting that he'd want his things because he was likely to be off school for a while. He slid Donald's parents’ business card out from under his sleeve and dialled the number, where he left a voicemail message with his mobile number and a thank you for the hugs.
With that done, he switched his phone off and set it on the bedside table. He'd decide later whether he wanted to leave it on all the time for updates or only put it on when he was waiting for news, then put it off the rest of the time, to avoid having to deal with texts or phone calls from school friends.
Finally ready to end his day, Ryder walked into the adjoined bathroom, turned on the shower and let it heat up, as he grabbed a black bag from the supply cupboard and opened it until it was flat on the floor, spread out in a large open bag. Stepping onto the black covering, he stripped and left his clothes at his feet, then climbed out of the tangle and reached down to fold up the sides of the bag. With his clothes now where they belonged, he bundled them up and tied the bag, leaving it on top of the bucket that he would empty later.
He'd already asked his mother to burn the clothes he'd been wearing when he found Donald and she'd promised, without even asking why. It was only a small relief, compared to his father's ridiculously single-minded ranting.
Stepping into the shower, Ryder turned his face towards the water spray and closed his eyes, so that he didn't have to see the blood running over his skin. Grabbing a sponge, he coated it with a strong shower gel and began scrubbing every inch of his skin that he could reach, until the water swirling at his feet turned red.
Ryder silently cursed himself for opening his eyes, as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Seeing the bloody water took him right back to that first moment when he saw the showers in the changing room. When he first found Donald lying there, knowing that he was dying right in front of him. That first moment when Donald looked at him and those sad eyes screamed the unspoken words that would haunt him forever.
“Help me!”
Crumbling to the floor, Ryder began to sob uncontrollably, as he realised how close he'd been to walking in on a dead body. Now, though Donald had hope, Ryder was left with a nightmare that would never leave him.
Chapter 4
His parents told him not to go back to school, but Ryder would rather be there, surrounded by the rumours, than suffer his dad's homophobic rants any longer.
As it was, the minute he walked through the front doors and headed for his locker, everything stopped.
People froze.
The whispers and usual chatter of an early morning ended.
Eyes followed his every move.
It was like he was the one who had tried to kill himself and everyone was too scared to move, to breathe, to think or talk, in case he reacted. Did they expect him to fall apart? Or maybe to gloat about being 'the hero'? Or did they want to see him fall to pieces and offer the first signs that he'd never recover from what he saw? Or did they think he was the cause of Donald's problems?
His dad had come up with most of those scenarios himself, thrilled that his son was 'the hero' but devastated that 'another gay' hadn't done the right thing and seen it through to the end.
If he hadn't left for school today, Ryder wouldn't have been 'the hero' anymore. He'd have been a murderer. Of his own father.
It was safer here. Despite what anyone thought, being here was the best thing for him. He could drift into oblivion, let everyone stare and whisper, wonder about what had happened, why he was back at school. Let them do whatever they wanted. Because it would keep them at a distance. It would let him be alone, to wallow in his thoughts, to keep his walls up, holding the fear and the tremors and the sobbing behind a wall strong enough and safe enough to never crack or fall or–
His thoughts shut down the instant Karsyn barrelled into him.
Ryder blinked, never having seen the rugby player coming. He hadn't spotted him in the hall, too consumed by his own thoughts, by remaining invisible, to notice that not all the stares were of people too scared to be near him.
Karsyn's arms were strong and stable, the exact strength and support he desperately needed. They tore down his walls in a millisecond.
Before he could process any of it, he was sobbing into his jumper, clinging to the back of it, while Karsyn gently swayed and whispered in his ear, “You don't need to be brave with us. We'll take care of you.”
It was everything he never thought he'd hear, but everything he needed, all at once.
A second later, another set of arms wrapped around him and he peeked over Karsyn's shoulder to find Romany there,
tears in his eyes, a hand on Ryder's shoulder. A hand? Turning his gaze, he found that the arms clinging to him were little Freddie, Karsyn's brother. And he was crying quietly into Ryder's arm.
Behind him, Ginny stood with her arms wrapped almost protectively around her waist, teary eyes, and offered a brief nod to Ryder, as though to say 'we're with you', and 'it'll be okay.' He'd never known that someone could look at him like that, and he'd immediately trust it. That he could believe the unspoken words.
But he did.
And he didn't shy away from the touches, the whispered words of support, the looks, or the arms that tried to hug him around Karsyn's massive frame, as all the people he'd previously thought of as misfits gathered around.
Karsyn's friends. That was who they were. And Freddie's.
It felt like Ryder had been adopted by them, in that moment. No longer an outsider, no longer one of the supposedly 'cool kids', who spent his life ignoring them and thinking himself better than they were.
These people – of everyone in school – would know what it was like. To be different, to be thought less than, to be considered worthless. And they probably heard the crap that came out of his own dad's mouth every day. If not from people in school, thanks to the Zero Tolerance policy, then outside. On the streets. Right outside the school gates. At home, maybe. In their own heads.
He suddenly realised just how deeply he'd hidden himself away, in the last few years. He wasn't better than any of these people. He wasn't even equal to them. He was the bug that should have been squashed under their boots. But, they would never do that. They would never treat someone that way. The way his own father treated him. They were the ones too good for him. They were the ones who knew better, who had been able to fight for who they were, what they wanted, to fight to love who they loved.