Damage Control

by Lynn VanDorn

  “Take a deep breath,” said Brad.

  Josh drew air through his nose then exhaled through his mouth a few times. “Okay,” he said. “I'm okay.”

  “You can’t call 911 and you can't take him to a hospital. The publicity for Tyler would be a nightmare. Yeah, I know, ‘HIPAA,’ but someone will talk. Someone always does, and before you know it, it'll be all over the internet. For now, just butterfly him up and wrap it in gauze. That stuff should all be in the house. Look in the guest room bathroom cabinet. Then when I get there, I'll sew him up.”

  “Sew him up? You can't give him stitches here. The area is far from sterile. Are you crazy?”

  “This is not my first rodeo, Josh. You’re bound to have seen his scars. There're more, all of them in places a lot harder to work with than his arm. I've sewn him back together so many times that he's practically my own personal voodoo doll. The ER isn't always the best solution, you know?”

  “No,” said Josh flatly. “I don't.”

  “He'll be fine as long as he doesn't bleed out before I get there.”

  “The bleeding’s already slowed down a lot.” Josh dropped his voice and walked farther away so Tyler wouldn't overhear him. “I got it all over me, by the way. Should I be concerned?”

  “Tyler's a notorious man-whore, but no, he’s fine, or at least he was the last time I had him tested, which was about a week and a half ago when he got into town. He says I'm worse than Ryan for fussing, as he puts it, but excuse me for making sure my brother stays healthy. I'd still wash it off, though, because, well, blood.”

  “Yeah, thanks. That would have never occurred to me,” Josh said.

  “You’re the one who called me all freaked out. Josh, don't worry. We're on our way. Do you have a second pair of glasses or contacts or whatever? We can stop by your place and get them.”

  In the background, he could hear Rachel’s voice. “Did he lose another pair of glasses? Tell him that I've got one of his old pairs here for emergencies.”

  “You get that?” Brad asked.

  “It’s hard to mistake my sister's dulcet tones. Thank her for me. She's better prepared than I am, as usual.”

  Brad laughed again, but this time with genuine humor. “Are you nuts? Her head is swollen enough as it is.”

  “I heard that! You tell him my head is not swollen, Josh!”

  “How long until you guys can get here?”

  Brad grunted. “This time of night traffic won't be terrible, but I'll have to stop by a pharmacy to get a bunch of stuff. I'll write a few scripts for Ty and bring them with me. So, seven hours if we're lucky, eight if we're not.”

  It was a just a bit after eight, so Brad and Rachel probably wouldn't get there until around four a.m. “Bring food when you come. There's a Taco Bell in town. Rachel knows what I like. If I have to cope with this bullshit then you owe me tacos. Lots of tacos.”

  “You got it, man. Thanks for saving my baby brother. I’d ask you to give him a good smack for me, but you’re way too nice. See you soon.”

  Josh hung up the phone and walked back into the kitchen.

  “Am I done yet?” Tyler asked. He looked ready to collapse.

  “A little longer would be better. Let me see.” Josh went to stand behind Tyler and cradled his left arm. Cleaned of blood, it was easy now to see how Tyler had started a shallow horizontal cut that jumped, then went vertical and cut much deeper.

  So, yeah, I didn't put the razor in his hand or tell him that cutting his arm on a dock in plain sight was a good idea, but it feels like it's my fault. If I hadn't drunk so much. If I’d just kept to myself. If I hadn't been wishing for the impossible. This is my fault.

  “It's not your fault, Josh.”

  “What?” Tyler wasn't psychic, was he?

  “I heard you in there, talking with Brad. Not all of it, but enough. Stop blaming yourself. You saved me.”

  “Are you sorry I saved you?” Josh wanted to take back the words as soon as they flew out of his mouth. What kind of question was that to ask someone who might be suicidal?

  “Fuck, no! I hadn’t planned on shuffling off this mortal coil tonight, believe it or not, and I appreciate you fishing me out of the lake. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Josh said next to Tyler’s ear. “I wish it hadn't been necessary.”

  He felt Tyler’s muscles tighten under his arm. It was like he was supporting a marble statue. Josh wished he could look at Tyler’s face but he was afraid that if he let go, Tyler would fall over and shatter into a million pieces.

  “I swear to God that this is taking forever. I should have picked the scrub option.”

  “I can still do it if you want.”

  Tyler tried to speak and started coughing instead. He gripped the edge of the sink with his right hand and rode it out. As the coughing fit calmed he took slow, deep breaths. “Jesus, I think inhaling all that water might be worse than this stupid gash in my arm. This sucks.”

  “Please tell me I'm done now,” said Tyler.

  “Yeah, it's been long enough.” He reached around Tyler and shut off the faucet. “Hold your arm over the sink. I'm going to dry it off for you.” He grabbed a few paper towels from the roll hanging under the cabinet and blotted Tyler’s arm dry, being careful to avoid the area with the wound. Then he led Tyler back to the kitchen table, sat him down, and propped up his arm.

  He raided the guest bathroom and found all the promised items, plus a half-full bottle of Betadine. Feeling somewhat better able to deal with the day’s events armed with familiar medical supplies, Josh swabbed Tyler’s arm with the Betadine, used every single butterfly bandage in the box to keep the wound closed, topped that with several gauze pads, then wrapped the whole thing with an entire roll of gauze.

  “Okay, that’ll have to do. Now guess what time it is.”

  Tyler had been passive under Josh’s ministrations, sitting still with his eyes closed as if he was squeamish, which seemed incongruous for someone with that many scars. Now he opened his eyes just a slit. “Nap time?” he asked. “I vote for nap time.”

  “Even better. It's snack time!”

  Chapter 5

  Tyler Is Cranky and Needs a Nap

  Friday, September 16th, 8:15 p.m.

  The Chadwicks’ lake house

  Blue Lake, WI

  Tyler tried not to feel things very much. Feeling things was dangerous and never worked out well for him. He had his way of dealing, though. Not necessarily a good way, and at some point, he'd have to come up with something better. Probably sooner rather than later, but for now, it would do. It wasn't perfect, but the last thing Tyler was interested in was perfection. He'd seen the price Ryan paid for their father’s version of perfection, and it had soured him on the concept permanently. Perfection was fine for other people, but not him. Today, however, had been about as far from perfect as one could get, unless you were going for perfectly wrong, perfectly awful, or perfectly fucked-up.

  He’d spent the day doing very little, conspicuously not looking at the internet. He'd felt a lurch of worry with each new notification on his phone, answering only texts from Ryan and Purvi.

  Purvi: You hanging in there?

  Tyler: More or less. Is it really bad? No, I don't want to know. Never mind.

  Purvi: You’re such a fucking baby. Put on your big girl panties and google yourself.

  Tyler: Come on, just tell me. It's your job to assist me. Assist already.

  Purvi: You said I was on vacation. Besides, you freaked out the last time I tried to tell you. You wanna know, you look.

  Tyler: Is it bad?

  Purvi: Define bad

  Tyler: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

  Purvi: That's it. I'm done

  Tyler: No, wait.

  Purvi: DONE

  Tyler: WAIT. YOU CAN'T QUIT ME.

  Purvi: Sure, I can. You’re no Heath Ledger.

  Tyler: Good. Heath Ledger is dead. I’m merely fucked.

  Purvi: Go
away, Tyler. I'm on vacation.

  Tyler: YOU'RE SWIMMING IN MY FUCKING POOL, PURVI!

  Purvi: You need to chill. It's going to be fine.

  Tyler: No, it's not.

  Purvi: Yes, it is.

  Purvi: I love you, Ty.

  Tyler: You're the only one who does

  Purvi: This is true. Tell Big O I said hi and give him pets from me.

  Tyler: You only love me for my cat.

  Purvi: Duh

  Eventually he gave even that up and put his phone on “do not disturb” and stuck it in his back pocket. If it was truly important, Purvi would get ahold of Ryan, and Ryan would call the lake house phone.

  He'd held out for a few more hours, but the tension coiled within him became too much and he’d gotten a shiny new blade out of his secret stash, then he'd gone outside to the dock to watch the sun go down.

  He'd almost gone back inside, promise and skin still intact, but that brand-new blade called to him. It was so sharp he'd barely feel the slice. All he’d feel was blood trickling down his arm and release as everything inside him clenched tight like a fist let go.

  Only that hadn't happened. Things had gone awry, to put it mildly. This wasn't the first time, either, which is why Ryan had given him that preachy little warning (that of course he'd ignored) back in Chicago. This was the first time that he'd nearly simultaneously bled out and drowned, though, which had to be a life achievement of some sort. Tyler and accidents were two things that went together a little too well, but tonight had been a whole new level on the catastrophe scale. Usually he just cut a little deeper than he'd intended and needed stitches. Or, that one time, a blood transfusion.

  Sometimes he got a bit too Zen while bleeding and forgot to stop it. It wasn't intentional. Most of the time he coagulated all on his own, but there were a few times where things had gotten away from him. He knew what he was doing was risky and foolish and all kinds of wrong, but it worked for him, and he was still alive to do it. That was the important thing.

  As vices went, Tyler figured it could be worse. He didn't drink to excess, smoke, or take illegal drugs, and was a firm believer in condom usage. He didn't gamble, spend money like water, or cheat on his taxes. He always wore his seatbelt, avoided trans fats, and exercised regularly.

  Besides, he was going to give up the cutting. One of these days, soon, he would find a psychiatrist he didn't hate and he would show up at appointments he made and he would get his problem fixed, for good this time. But that would have to come later, after this current crisis was over.

  Tyler didn't have the wherewithal to deal with any of his personal failings right now. He was too tired and his head throbbed with a sick headache. He could barely deal with his current circumstances. He would deal with everything else later, after he'd slept, gotten rid of the pounding in his head, and was properly alone. He couldn't think with Josh buzzing around him.

  He wanted Josh to leave. He wanted the cavalry not to be on their way. He wanted to crawl into bed and maybe not wake up for several days. He wanted to go back in time and fix things. He wanted to cut himself. Just a little.

  Tyler felt cheated by what had happened. He hadn't had a chance for the catharsis he normally experienced. He’d had one small moment of uncoiling, then just fear and pain and being hauled out of the lake. He felt wrung out and washed up and still ready to snap, and Josh was not helping. Oh, he thought he was. Josh had put on a brave face and was zooming around the house like a cross between a 1950’s-era housewife and a bumblebee on meth. It was exhausting just to watch.

  Plus, there was the flirting, which might or might not be in Tyler’s imagination. Josh kept standing too close and touching him. It was pushing him over toward the other thing Tyler sometimes did to deal with stress, as appalling an idea as that was right now. Nearly as terrible as bleeding out while drowning in a beaver shit infested lake, but not bad enough to keep his mind from thinking about it.

  If it weren’t for his brother and soon to be sister-in-law’s imminent appearance, Tyler would have offered to blow Josh by now just to get him to stop. As attractive as he was, it would’ve been no hardship for Tyler to take that bullet, but no. While there was more than enough time for a blow job in and of itself, they didn't have time for the sheer volume of seduction it would no doubt take to get Josh out of his sweat pants. He seemed so unaware of what he was doing. Tyler could imagine that conversation.

  “Josh, I'm super stressed right now and you’re kind of driving me crazy with all the touching and such, so could I please suck your dick? I really think that would help.”

  “No, Tyler. I'm sorry to have led you on. I'm only attracted to huge, hulking blond men who claim to be straight. I'm not into skinny, blue-haired, femme former twinks, especially almost-famous ones who are getting a little too old to play teenagers convincingly.”

  “Seriously? Because I am offering one blow job, free of charge, just to cut the tension. Also, skinny? I am not skinny. I am slender. Svelte. Lithe, motherfucker. As for aging, old man, you are one red convertible away from a midlife crisis.”

  “It’s a nice offer, Tyler, but I'm fine. I'll be over here, fantasizing about your brother while I come up with new ways to torture you while we wait for our siblings to show up. How does that sound?”

  Ugh. A world of no.

  Tyler thought he had enough energy to suck Josh’s dick, especially if he could do it sitting in this chair. But talking him into it? No. That was not on tonight's menu.

  No blade. No sex. What did that leave?

  For him, tonight? Orange juice followed by Oreos and a lot of silent counting. It made him feel stabby.

  “I need to lie down,” Tyler said, trying to keep his tone pleasant.

  “You should eat more cookies. Or at least drink more juice,” chirped Josh.

  Oh, dear God. Death might have been preferable. It certainly would have been more peaceful. “Drinking orange juice with Oreos is inhumane. I'm pretty sure it's in violation of the Geneva Convention.”

  Josh started ticking points off on his fingers. Tyler got the impression he did that a lot. He seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed making lists and crossing items off as they were accomplished. “One, you have no milk, and speaking of violations, since this is Wisconsin, being out of milk is probably at least a misdemeanor, if not an outright felony. It's a good thing your brother’s an attorney. Two, you need to replace fluids and calories. Losing blood is one hell of a weight loss program and you don't have any to spare. Three, if you'd like something else to eat, just tell me and I'll find it.”

  “Are you done?” Tyler sounded bitchy even to his own ears, but he'd ceased to care. He wasn't happy hearing that the pushy doctor thought he had no weight to spare losing. It hit a little too close to his imagined conversation with Josh for comfort.

  Josh looked a tad hurt at Tyler’s tone. “Sure, I guess.”

  “Well thank fuck for small favors. Look, I really don't want to come off as ungrateful, but I'm tired and sore and no, none of that is your fault, and aside from the orange juice and Oreos you've been a peach. But right now, I would dearly love for you not to be here. It's not you, it's me.”

  Tyler gave Josh his smile with knives in it but that didn't seem to faze him, which was a shame. It worked on most people. Maybe Josh was too drunk to notice.

  “Tyler, are you breaking up with me?” Josh gave him an exaggerated and downright pathetic version of sad puppy eyes. It was embarrassing to witness, and almost endearing in its own terrible way.

  I guess we're back to flirting, which is weird but still better than you mothering me. Tyler adopted a regretful tone. “Yes. I hate to break this to you, but I've fallen for Ramon, the pool boy.”

  Josh pursed his damned sexy lips. “Really. The pool boy. Not Simone, the saucy French maid?”

  That threw him for a second. He wasn't sure how Josh could be unaware Tyler had a profound attraction to dick, especially considering that he'd all but propositioned Josh at that one summe
r picnic when he was sixteen. It was depressing to think that he'd been so insignificant that Josh didn't even remember it. Although maybe that was for the best. In retrospect it was exquisitely embarrassing, and the first of many incidents that made his sixteenth year his annus horribilis.

  It was probably also too much to expect that Josh paid any attention to his public persona, such as it was, because even without him being officially out, it should have been obvious to anyone with a grain of sense he was gay. Granted, he'd gone out to events with women, mostly quasi-famous actresses and models. Some had been at the studio's urging and some because he was friends with them. He'd also been photographed with various men, including his ex Ethan, and most recently Chris Steward, who played the rather virile questing prince in The Silver Arrow. Chris was straight, more's the pity, but a fun guy to hang out with, and there had been a few online gossip sites that speculated on whether he and Tyler were a couple. While there was rampant speculation about Tyler’s sexuality in the tiny corner of the universe that existed as his fanbase, no one meeting him in person would get the impression he was anything even approaching straight. Still, it had seemed safer for him not to be publicly out and let people draw whatever conclusions they wanted.

  Thanks to the fucking video, any lingering ambiguity regarding his sexuality would be gone, and he was going to be famous, just not for the right reasons. Tyler’s stomach gave an uneasy flip at the thought. He felt all the things careening beyond his control and he grasped for anything solid. He couldn't cut and Josh was beyond his current meager powers of seduction, so he started to count while Josh looked at him, curious yet patient. He stared into Josh’s dark eyes and found he didn't have to count very high before he was able to speak in a light, flirtatious tone.

  “No,” he said. “Definitely not Simone. It's pool boys all the way down.”

  Josh raised his eyebrows. “I thought that was turtles.”

  Tyler felt his lips twitch in an involuntary smile. “Not for me,” he said.