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Chapter 8 - Intrusions.

Despite the fact that we’d gone to sleep earlier than your average preschooler, it’s actually pretty late when I finally wake up the next morning. Granted, neither of us slept all the way through the night. Both of us had been restless and had woken intermittently due to unwelcome dreams. Altogether, though, I think I still got somewhere around ten hours of sleep total. I must have been even more tired than I thought.

I’m still lying here, a bundle of warm blond boy in my arms, trying to figure out some plan for how to deal with the coming day, when I feel the kid begin to twitch and fidget. Justin’s breathing has sped up and his hand is gripping at my shirt, using the fabric as a hand-hold to push me away. When I try to hug him more tightly, thinking to comfort him that way, he whimpers and a faint ‘no’ emerges. Then he’s shaking his head, almost violently, and murmuring ‘no, no, no’ over and over. Damn the fucking monsters that have put these horrors in his head.

“Hey, Justin. Wake up, kid. Come on, wake up,” I direct, trying to gently shake him back to consciousness.

He fights it at first, the same way he is fighting me, and his cries to ‘Stop!’ get louder. But then, suddenly, he gasps, shoves against my chest hard, and his eyes burst open. I can tell from the glazed look in his eyes, he’s not actually seeing me or the hospital room. He’s still only seeing the men who hurt him.

“Shhh, Angel. You’re okay. It’s just me. You’re safe. Shhhh,” I croon, hoping that my voice will eventually get through to him.

He’s still gasping for air and I can feel the waves of tension wafting off him. Gradually, though, the panic wanes. Little by little his body relaxes and I inch my arms back around his shoulders until I’m able to hold him tightly to my chest again. The terrified trembling from before has become a silent sobbing, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle. All I can do is hang onto him and let my presence alone provide whatever reassurance he’ll take from me. But he’s a strong little fucker and it doesn’t really take all that long till he has himself back under control.

He swipes at his cheek to wipe away any residual evidence of his tears before taking a deep breath and pushing away from me. “Sorry about that.”

“Never apologize, kid. Sorry is bullshit. It doesn’t fix anything,” I counsel him, imparting one of the tenents of my own personal philosophy. “Besides, you have nothing to be sorry for. The Sapp and his cronies are the ones who should be sorry. And, if Horvath can catch them, they can spend the rest of their lives being sorry as they rot away in prison.”

“Yeah. If only,” Justin replies, still not sounding convinced of that likelihood.

“You good now?” I ask, noting that he’s breathing more regularly and, although he’s still pale, looks calmer.

Justin nods and sniffles again. And I have to mentally chastise myself for letting myself think about how adorable he looks when he sniffles and wipes at his face like that. Brian Kinney doesn’t do ‘adorable twinks’, right? Not even ones that look like sweet little boys and evoke a ridiculous need to protect them.

“I gotta take a piss,” I announce, in an attempt to distract myself.

“Me too, actually,” Justin chimes in. “I may need some help though.”

So I help him to the bathroom. It’s not far, but this is the first time he’s been up out of bed since we got here. He’s definitely a little wobbly on his feet, but we manage. Slowly. It’s better than him having to use that stupid plastic urinal flask-thing the nurses made him use yesterday. After we’ve both pissed, I also help him wash up at the sink and I share my toiletries so we both come out smelling a little less foul. By the time we’re done, the nutrition staff has come and gone and there’s a breakfast tray waiting for him on the bed table.

Justin shares his toast with me and we watch some inane morning television program while we eat. It’s good. It’s peaceful. We need more peaceful, I think.

But the peacefulness doesn’t last because it’s a hospital, and the goal of a hospital is to annoy the patients enough that they have to get well so they can go home as quickly as possible. Which means that there’s a parade of hospital staff who start in on my blond almost before he’s finished eating. The nurse comes in and does his poking, proding, and recording of all Justin’s vitals. The nurse also unhooks him from the IV, advising that he’s now doing well enough that he can take his meds orally like a big boy. About the time he finishes replacing the bandages on Justin’s head - which allows me a glimpse of the nasty, puckered wound underneath, since I’m watching as the dressing is changed - yet another hospital denizen comes into the room. This guy is a physical therapist who announces he’s taking my boy off to start some therapy for his weakened right side and his hand. Justin’s taking all of this with a lot better grace than I would have. He sighs at the newest demand but lets the PT wheel him off in a chair to the therapy rooms. Which leaves me with enough free time to wander downstairs and get some real breakfast and much-needed coffee.

The rest of the morning is fairly calm, though. Justin’s short therapy session tires him out all over again and he naps for a bit. I’m just sitting around, killing time, watching the television on low volume and trying not to think about anything much. Every time the niggling worries about what the fuck I’m going to do with my life now pop up, I viciously tamp them down. I’m seriously not ready to think about the future. I’m not ready to think about anything much at all. Even a passing idea that I should probably go home or call work or just call my friends and let them know where I’m at, tends to cause a pang of panic. So, I basically just sit there and veg and continue to hide from the world. I’m allowed to hide for another day, right?

We’re just finishing up after lunch - which I had supplied for the both of us since the slop they’d brought him to eat was vile and he’d pleaded with me to go get him some real food from the cafeteria - when there’s an insistent knocking at the door and a second later, before we had a chance to even yell out an ‘enter’, our latest visitor barrels into the room.

“Brian! There you are! Thank fuck I finally found you! Are you okay? Where have you been? How badly hurt are you?” Michael Novotny, my oldest friend, launches himself at me bodily, yelling questions faster than I can answer.  

I have my arms full of almost-tearful Mikey before I know what hits me. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I can see a very startled Justin looking a bit spooked by the vociferous visitor. He’s moved as far away from Michael as he can get without actually falling out of the bed and is curled up in a self-protective ball. I’m mentally cursing my boisterous friend, trying to get him to unhand me so I can get to my frightened blond, and simultaneously wondering how the hell Michael found me.

“Get the hell off me, Mikey,” I finally demand, pushing him away a little more savagely than is strictly necessary.

As soon as I’m free, I turn to Justin, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and reaching out one hand tentatively. He’s still shying away, even from me, but I persist. Eventually, he lets me touch him, and I manage to calm him a bit.

“Shhhh. It’s okay. It’s just my idiot friend. He’s mostly harmless,” I whisper as Justin slowly relaxes in my arms. “Michael Novotny, meet Justin Taylor - the patient who’s room you just invaded. Now, if you’re done yelling and mauling me, maybe you can tell us what you’re doing here?”

“Nice to meet you, Justin,” Michael remembers his manners for a second before all his attention is laser focused back on me again. “I’m here to find you, Brian. Of course. See, we were all up at the cabin for the week - remember, I told you this was our annual trip to the Poconos - and when Vic went out to pick up some groceries at the store, he brought back the newspaper, which had your picture on the fucking front page. It totally freaked me out. I can’t believe you got involved in something like this. But, anyway, I figured you’d need me, so we all came back right away and I only just found out where you were . . .”

Before Mikey can get too far into his explanation, there’s another, thankfully less strident, knocking at the door, followed by another visitor poking his head in.

This time it’s a contrite-looking Emmett, who immediately starts off by saying, “sorry to just barge in like this, Brian. Just wanted to give you a heads up - Michael’s on his way . . .” Which happens to be when Em finally notices that there’s a third person in the hospital room. “. . . Michael’s here. Hey, Sweetie. How was the trip to the Poconos? I didn’t think you guys were coming back until Tuesday.”

“I made Ma & Vic drive us all back here pronto. What did you expect me to do after I saw that article in the paper about Brian helping to rescue some kid connected to a serial murder case?” Michael explains, before again turning to berate me. “What the hell were you thinking, Brian? Why would you get yourself involved in that kind of mess? Don’t you know those kind of people are dangerous? You could have been seriously hurt . . .”

I can tell that Justin’s starting to get agitated again. Michael’s ranting would be enough to startle pretty much anyone, let alone a recently-traumatized assault victim. But I know there’s no way to calm Michael down until he’s had a minute or two to vent. After which, hopefully, I’ll be able to get a word in edgewise and can maybe divert the rest of his well-meaning excesses.

“Justin, this is my friend, Emmett,” I say, gesturing to the tall, smiling figure that’s trying to be quiet in the corner. “He’s the one who helped me find you.”

“Hey there, Honey. Nice to officially meet you when you’re awake,” Em responds with a little wave.

Justin only nods, trying for a smile but not really getting there in his anxiety.

“Is it okay if Em sits with you for a bit while I go talk to Mikey?” I suggest. “I promise I’ll be right back. Five minutes tops, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Emmy Lou,” I gesture towards the nearby guest chair and watch gratefully as my ally takes a seat and smiles at me reassuringly. “I’ll only be out in the waiting room, Justin. If you need anything, send Emmett to find me.” Justin nods and manages a real smile for me. “Okay, Michael. Let’s go talk.”

“Damn, I’m so glad to see that you’re okay, Brian,” Michael starts in immediately with his worried questioning. “When I called Em and he told me you were at the hospital, I almost panicked. What the hell happened? Is that the kid you rescued? The story in the paper was so vague - all it said was that there was a new lead in the Dumpster Boys case and that you’d helped the police to find a potential victim. He looks pretty beat up. Is he going to be okay?” Then Mikey apparently notices that I’m looking a little beat up too, which only ramps up his apprehensions even more. “Sheesh, Brian! You’re hurt pretty bad too. What happened? Are you okay?”

“It’s a long fucking story, Mikey. One I’m really not in the mood to tell right now. Not to mention that we’re not supposed to say anything until the police give us the okay - they’re still working on arresting all those involved and I’m not allowed to talk about it in the meantime.” I hope that this non-explanation will at least staunch the questioning. “Suffice it to say, I didn’t have the best week, but I’ll be fine. Justin got the worst of it.”

“Thank fuck! I was so worried about you, Brian. Ma will be glad to hear they finally found the guys that are responsible. She’s been so upset about this case. But, then again, I suppose finding a body in a dumpster would do that to anyone. Am I right?”

Michael can’t help himself and just has to hug and kiss me again right then, so relieved I’m okay that he can’t keep his hands off me. I try not to flinch away from his touch, although the once familiar gesture now has my skin crawling.

“Anyways, I’m glad you’re okay and it’s not YOU in the hospital. It’s really nice of you to visit the kid. Is he going to be alright?”

“Yeah. Justin will be fine . . . eventually. For the time being, though, he’s still a little skittish. It’s probably best that he not have to deal with too many visitors.”

“I can see that.” Michael looks down the hall towards the doorway into Justin’s room with a contemplative expression. “So, are you almost done here? I can wait around till you’re ready to leave. I figure we can hit Woody’s for drinks and catch up. You can tell me the whole story and I’ll bring you up to date on the horrors of spending a week in the country with my Mother and Uncle Vic. Damn, I’m horny. I hope there’s some decent guys at the bar tonight, ‘cause I wouldn’t mind hooking up with somebody . . .”

“I’m not in the mood for Woody’s, Mikey,” I interrupt my friend’s plan-making.

“Oh, come on, Bri. We haven’t seen each other in over a week. It’ll be fun and I promise I won’t even give you shit when you inevitably abandon me to head off with your first trick of the afternoon,” Michael teases, laughing at what he thinks is a funny joke.

I’m already backing away from him, a little bit panicked by the mere suggestion of going off with a stranger I met in a bar for . . . “No can do, Mikey. I’ll have to take a raincheck. I’ve already got plans for tonight,” I explain, hoping that he doesn’t press me to confess that my ‘big plans’ were to stay here and watch bad television with Justin while I hide out from the world for a little bit longer.

“Oh. Well, okay. Another time, I guess,” Michael replies, sounding a little rejected. “Give me a call tomorrow, then. And I expect to hear all the details about whoever you’re doing tonight too.”

“Later, Mikey,” I say curtly, giving him a short but friendly hug goodbye.

“Later, Bri,” Mikey responds reluctantly and I can feel his eyes glued to my back all the way down the hall as I head back to Justin’s room.

When I reenter the room, I find Emmett and Justin chatting like old friends. Because, of course Emmett immediately makes friends with pretty much everyone. So it’s really no surprise that Em’s already got Justin’s entire life story out of him in the five minutes I’ve been gone.

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to go on to art school. And now,” Justin holds up the hand that seems not to be functioning quite right since his head injury, “who knows if I’ll ever be able to draw again? Which really sucks because that was pretty much my only ambition in life. I mean, it’s not like I planned to be a go-go dancer forever. And now . . . well, let’s just say I don’t think I’d still be interested in that job even if it weren’t for The Sapp.”

“Seeing as the cops have closed Babylon down altogether, I don’t think you’d be going back there even after they cart away Gary Sapperstein, Baby,” Emmett relates the latest news. “You should have heard the uproar along Liberty Avenue last night when all the fags found the club closed up and circled with that bright yellow police tape. The speculation about why it was closed was pretty amusing though. I heard everything from tax fraud to drugs touted as the reason. Of course, I didn’t correct them.”

“Mikey says the news is out - at least in part - as of today’s paper. That’s how he knew to come hunt me down,” I interject.

“Sorry about Michael,” Em apologizes. “He called me, all in a dither, totally freaking out about you, Bri. Apparently he’d already tried to call both your landline and cell, but because you hadn’t answered, he’d convinced himself you were lying in a ditch somewhere. I was halfway through trying to explain that you were fine, and the reason he hadn’t been able to get you was because you were probably still here at the hospital with Justin, when he hung up on me. I’m pretty sure all he heard was the word ‘hospital’ before he panicked. Not sure how he found your room, though, Baby.” Em offered an apologetic smile to the blond patient and got one of Justin’s best in return.

“He probably whined it out of the front desk folks. Fuck knows I’d do the same if it meant shutting him up when he’s in one of his moods. After seeing that newspaper article, though, I’m sure he would have tracked me down eventually, one way or another,” I respond, absolving Emmett of his transgression and getting a laugh in response. “At least so far the press is only reporting that I helped the police find a ‘potential victim’. Although, if Horvath manages to find Sapperstein, the whole story’s going to come out sooner or later.” I sigh and hear an echoing respiration from the patient. “Whatever. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep as long as he’s still out there, though, so I guess it’s all relative. Right?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think either of you are going to be sleeping all that well for a while - not after everything that happened,” Em states, looking determined. “Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for your first therapy appointment.” He gets up, rummages around in the huge shoulder bag waiting by his chair, and pulls out a business card which he formally presents to me. “There you go. It’s all set up. Kristoff is a wonderful therapist and specializes in survivors of sexual abuse. He’s even willing to see the both of you together - at least at first - so that it’ll be less traumatic.”

He tries to hand the appointment reminder card to me but I back away. “What the hell makes you think I want to go see a fucking head shrinker?”

“Don’t you dare try and get out of this, Brian. And don’t tell me you’re ‘fine’ or that you don’t need therapy. You’re not fine. You couldn’t possibly be after what you went through,” Emmett insists, marching over and physically shoving the little card into my jeans pocket. “Trust me on this, Brian. I KNOW what I’m talking about. You may think you’re okay now, but that’s because you’re still in shock and not even aware how bad you’re hurting. A month or two down the line, when everything comes crashing down, you’ll realize how bad it really is and WISH you’d started therapy right from the start. And I’m not about to let you go through that. I only wish that someone had been there to force ME to get help earlier.”

“Emmy Lou?” To say I’m shocked to find out that my happy-go-lucky, always cheerful and positive, completely trusting, friend has such darkness in his own past, would be putting it mildly.

“Yes, Brian. I’ve been there too,” he admits with a defiant tilt to his head. “And I’ll be happy to tell you all about it, someday, but not till I’m sure you’re far enough along in your own recovery that I won’t trigger you. Fuck knows I’m still not over it myself, even though it’s been years and . . . well, I suspect your case might be tougher . . . But that’s why I’m not backing down on this, Brian. I’ve been there, done that, got the fucking t-shirt, and I’m not going to let you go through this alone. I just won’t. Deal with it.”

Even with an insistent Emmett standing there, demandingly, in front of me, I’m resistant to the whole idea of therapy. In my mind, it’s tantamount to an admission of defeat. Only total basket cases go to a fucking therapist. Besides, what good can talking about something so horrible be? I can’t imagine hashing over everything that’s happened to me, again and again. How fucking depressing.

“Thank you, Emmett. That’s amazingly kind and supportive of you. Unfortunately, I really can’t afford to go see a therapist. I’ll just have to get by on my own. Somehow . . .” Justin responds before I have a chance to refuse for myself first.

“Oh, baby . . . I totally understand about the money thing, but you really can’t think like that. This isn’t an optional kind of thing. I’m sure Kristoff would be willing to work out something on the fees. Or maybe Brian could . . .”

Emmett is now looking at me with this sad, pleading look. Justin, on the other hand, isn’t making eye contact with anyone; he’s just staring at his hands in his lap as if he’s already fallen into the dregs of depression that Emmett was trying to warn us about. And the whole fucking thing is making me feel hopeless as well. I hate feeling hopeless. I’ve never been good at hopeless. I’m more the ‘take immediate action and damn the consequences’ kinda guy.

“When’s the fucking appointment?” I ask, surrendering to the inevitable, albeit with poor grace and a scowl on my face.

“Wednesday at five. I made sure it would be after work so you wouldn’t have any excuse not to go,” my nosy friend insists.

“Fine. But if I have to do this shit, so do you, Angel. Fucking shrinks . . .” I turn to Emmett, careful not to smile, because I wouldn’t want him to think I was okay with all this meddling in my life. “Tell your guy we’ll be there. And I’ll pay, out of pocket, whatever’s not covered by my insurance . . . for the both of us.”

“Excellent! I promise you won’t regret this, Brian. Well, actually, you’ll probably hate it. At least at first. But it’s going to be good for you in the long run . . . And, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, Brian. Doing this is going to take real strength. But then I always knew you had it in you.”

“Yeah, but the fact that I ‘had it in me’, is sort of the reason I now have to do this therapy shit, isn’t it?” I joke, realizing even as I speak the words that my humor is completely inappropriate under the circumstances. However, my discomfort at Em’s overt praise outweighs the inappropriateness of my joke, so I let it stand. “Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind, Honeycutt.”

“OK, I’m going. But don’t call me Honeycutt. You know I hate that shit,” Emmett snarks right back at me without losing a beat. Before he leaves he gives a last wave in Justin’s direction. “You take care, Baby. And keep an eye on this one. He talks tough, but we both know his heart’s the biggest organ he’s got.”

“Weren’t you leaving already?”

Emmett laughs all the way out the door. For about thirty seconds I contemplate being seriously angry at my interfering friend. But then I noticed that Justin is smiling and chuckling under his breath. I like it when he’s laughing and happy. We haven’t really had a chance to be happy much so far. So, in the end, I give up my plan to be angry and merely sit myself down in my chair, waiting patiently till the chuckling subsides.

“I like your friend, Emmett. He’s a hoot,” Justin declares once he’s got himself under control again.

“He’s alright. When he’s not being a fucking twat.”

“Awww. You’re just mad ‘cuz he questioned your size,” Justin teases, and I pretend to be upset even though I’m not really. “Maybe he just doesn’t know the relative size of your other organ?”

“He knows. Everyone knows,” I correct him. “I think the fact that I was always a favorite at ‘Nine Inch Night’ at Babylon is pretty much a give away.”

*****Flash*****

“Sorry, Kinney. New rule - everyone trying to take advantage of the free entry on Nine Inch Night has to be officially measured,” Patrick, the guy who usually mans the cash register at Babylon’s front door, says, stopping me as I try to enter and holding up a tape measure.

“Fuck that. You, of all people, should know that I qualify,” I respond, giving him my best sexy leer. “Or don’t you remember how big it feels when it’s shoved as far up your ass as I could get it?”

The doorman laughs sheepishly. “Oh, I remember alright. Especially since it took me two days afterwards before I could walk straight.”

Patrick is about to wave me in - without the annoying measuring, of course - when Gary Sapperstein, Club Manager Extraordinare, saunters up, aiming his habitually creepy squint directly at me. “Is there a problem here?” he asks.

“No problem, Boss,” Patrick rushes to reassure his employer. “Looks like a record turn out, to me. The guys always love Nine Inch Night.”

“Of course they do. Which is why I want to make sure that we don’t let any pretenders in to ruin the evening. So, how did you measure up, Kinney?”

I’ve never liked Sapperstein much, but the way he’s ogling me this time makes my skin crawl. Like I’d ever go there. I don’t do pity fucks. Especially not with guys voted ‘Most Likely to Turn Into a Pedophile’ by their graduating class.

“Uh, Boss, I’m pretty sure that’s not necessary for Kinney . . .”

“Bullshit! I said EVERYONE trying to get in for free tonight has to prove they’re at least nine inches and that means Kinney too. So, either pay up, or measure up,” The Sapp demands with a nasty, gloating smile.

“Whatever,” I concede, even though I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s doing this is because he wants to watch me touch myself.

So I tug on the fly on my jeans, popping all the buttons in a practiced move, pull out my schlong and start stroking myself. Now, normally, I have no problem at all getting hard. Fuck, I just have to think about sex and I’m hard in under sixty seconds. But tonight, with Sleazeball Sapperstein leering at me the whole time, I’m struggling just a bit. I mean, who wouldn’t have a tough time what with the way the creep’s practically drooling as he watches me. It’s a major fucking turn off.

“Need help there, Kinney?” The Sapp offers in a voice he probably considers sexy, but which makes me want to gag. “I’d be happy to lend a hand if you need it.”

*Pffft* “Not in your wildest dreams, Sapperstein,” I snap at him. “The day I let you touch me, is the day I cut it off . . .”

*****Flash*****

“Brian? Brian . . .” Justin’s voice calling my name finally snaps me back out of that particularly unpleasant memory. “There you are. I lost you for a minute again.”

“Yeah . . . uh, bad memory . . .”

“I could tell . . . So, maybe Emmett’s insistence on the both of us seeing his therapist friend isn’t all that misplaced, huh?”

I don’t bother responding, because I’m still too busy trying to prevent the contents of my stomach from making an untimely appearance in a puddle on the floor at my feet. Thankfully, my blond seems to understand and doesn’t press me. Instead, he climbs back up on the big hospital bed, lifts the covers invitingly and smiles at me.

“I’m wiped after that therapy and everything else today. Want to join me for another nap before the next round of doctor and nurse visits?” Justin suggests.

And, because I really do need a little comforting right now - not that I’d ever admit that fact out loud - I gladly crawl into the bed with him. I’m still not used to the cuddling thing, either, but I gotta say, having my blond curled up next to me seems to be doing the trick. The disturbing image of The Sapp that had taken over my head is almost gone. In its place is the reassuring feeling of snuggly blond boy. And, before you know it, I’m dozing along beside him.

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