“I don’t know when I’ll make it back to the office, Cynthia. This whole situation is just so fucked up. Anyway, I’ve gotta go - I see the doctor coming out of the kid’s room and I want to talk to him before he gets away this time. Later.” Brian ended the call with his Assistant and hurried over to intercept Dr. Tremain.
“Hey, Doc. Wait up!” Brian started, trying to keep his temper in check. “What’s the deal, Doc? I’ve been waiting out here in the hall for over an hour since Justin woke up and nobody has told me a thing. What the fuck is going on?”
“Mr. Kinney. I’m sorry about not keeping you updated about your partner’s condition. Unfortunately, I was just paged on another matter and I don’t have time to explain things to you right now. I’ll send an intern up to discuss the case with you later,” Tremain stated, already edging away from Kinney, his mind on the next case.
Brian grabbed the doctor’s forearm in a strong grip. “You’re just going to have to make time, Doc. Fuck your pager and your intern. I want some answers, NOW”
The look on Brian’s face was daunting and his words came out in a ferocious growl. Kinney had finally gotten the arrogant Dr. Tremain’s attention.
“Fine. Let’s go into the consultation room over here. Quickly, though, I only have a minute, Mr. Kinney.”
When the two men were seated in a small room furnished only with a tiny table and three molded plastic chairs and the door was closed, Dr. Tremain tried to put on his best bedside manner and started in on his analysis of Justin Kinney’s case.
“Your partner’s injury was very serious - you already know that. Any trauma to the brain is always difficult to handle and the consequences are unpredictable. In Justin’s case, it appears that there was significant damage to the right temporal lobe of his brain,” said the doctor, indicating the right side of his own head, just above and in front of his ear. "We believe that we repaired as much of the physical damage as we could during the surgery, and he seems to have weathered that pretty well - he’s awake and alert much earlier than I had anticipated. There also does not seem to be any impairment of his physical processes or motor skills.
“However, there do appear to be some lasting consequences that we did not foresee but which are not uncommon. You see, Mr. Kinney, it appears that Justin has suffered complete retrograde amnesia. Now, there is still significant swelling in the cranial tissues due to the injury, and as that is reduced and the damaged tissues begin to heal, these symptoms often abate on their own. There is no way of telling, however, whether or not the young man will recover fully,” concluded the doctor, already beginning to rise as if to leave now that he’d given his expert opinion.
Brian’s hand again darted out and grabbed the doctor’s arm. “Hold on there. What the fuck, exactly, does all that medical speak mean.”
“Just what I said. Justin appears to have complete retrograde amnesia,” the doctor restated. Seeing the lack of understanding on the other man’s face, he sighed with disdain for all the uneducated masses, but for the sake of satisfying this insistent man, he continued, “Retrograde amnesia means that Justin has lost all memory of his past life.”
“You mean like some fucking soap opera shit? Fuck, I thought that was all a bunch of hokey made up in television studios,” Brian scoffed. “He doesn’t remember anything?”
“As far as I could ascertain, as of this moment, Justin remembers nothing before the time he woke up this morning in the hospital.”
“But, his memory will come back, right?”
“We really don’t know. You see, there is no real treatment for memory loss. Sometimes the patient’s memories, or at least some of them, come back on their own. Sometimes they don’t. All we can do is treat the physical injuries, and hope that as he heals Justin will recover those lost memories along the way. In the meantime, at least until the head wound is completely healed, the only thing we can do is keep him calm and comfortable. Don’t try to force him to remember things he can’t - that will only create stress which will impede his recovery. Other than that, all we can do is wait and see,” the doctor explained again. “Now, I really do have to go, Mr. Kinney. I’ll be checking on Justin regularly and you can have the nurse page me if there are any serious concerns.”
Brian remained seated in the small room as the doctor exited and rapidly disappeared down the hallway. He was at a complete loss as to what to do next. There had to be some logical way to deal with this situation, but right at that moment, he couldn’t think of anything.
-How the hell did I get myself into this mess? Oh, yeah, I couldn’t keep my fucking hands off the cute blond twink. Thinking with the wrong head again! I’m so fucked.
Right then, luckily, his morose thoughts were interrupted by a pretty blonde nurse wearing pink scrubs who knocked quietly on the half opened door of the consultation room.
“Mr. Kinney. Your partner is asking for you,” she told him with a friendly smile.
Brian was still bewildered, but since he didn’t know what else to do, he willingly followed the nurse back to Justin’s room. Somewhere between the consultation room and Justin’s room, he decided that it was time to come clean about his earlier deception, tell the boy and the hospital that he wasn’t really the kid’s partner and get the hell out of there. He would give the hospital Craig Taylor’s phone number, but would warn them about the prick’s earlier behavior, and then let the kid and/or the hospital decide what to do next. He did not have time for this crap.
“Now that Justin is awake, we’ll be removing the I.V. He did lose a lot of blood though so the doctor has ordered that he remain in bed and we’ll continue monitoring his vitals closely. . . . ,” the nurse was busily giving information on Justin’s status and instructions for his ongoing care, although Brian had missed at least half of it. Opening the door, she sang out, “I found him, Justin. Now, you just push the call button if you two need anything,” she concluded, smiling at the two handsome men as she closed the door behind herself.
Brian felt uncharacteristically shy, now that the young man was awake. He slowly headed over towards the bedside chair, occasionally glancing over at the silent boy as he went. He sat and looked up at the boy who was staring back at him intently.
-Now what? How do I tell this kid that he got bashed in the head for no other reason than that he’s gay, that his father is a complete asshole who refused to even come to the hospital to see him and that he’s now on his own because I’m outta here? Yeah, aren’t you glad you woke up to this crap?
“Hi. The nurse told me that you are my partner?” Justin started, seeing as Brian hadn’t yet rounded up the courage to say anything. “The doctor says I can’t remember anything because I was attacked and hit on the head. I’m sorry if I don’t remember you. Um . . . . are YOU okay? . . . you look . . .upset.”
-Do it Kinney - Just open your fucking mouth and tell the kid it was all just a big mistake and that you wish him well, but that you’re leaving. Do it. Come on - you have to do this. . . . Shit! I can’t. The doctor said that the kid shouldn’t be stressed out or forced to remember anything - it’ll slow his recovery. Fuck - If I just hadn’t called that asshole Craig Taylor and discovered what a prick he was, I wouldn’t feel so shitty about just leaving right now. Did I mention how fucked I am?
With this internal debate echoing through his mind, Brian felt almost paralyzed. He really didn’t have any good alternatives here. However, that big heart, which most people doubted he had at all, won out in the end. Brian just couldn’t knowingly let this kid wind up back with Craig Taylor, or maybe worse, wind up on the streets somewhere. Heaving a big sigh, the handsome man put on the biggest smile he could manage and looked over at the concerned young man next to him. He would hold off on telling the boy the truth - at least until he was physically healed - and then they could figure out what to do together, he concluded.
“I’m fine, Justin. Just a little overwhelmed. How are you feeling?”
“Well, except for the killer headache, I guess not too bad. So, what now?” The boy was as much at a loss for words as Brian was.
“I have no idea, Justin. . . . I have no idea.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Two days later, Brian was again visiting his ‘partner’, Justin, on his way to work. He’d been coming here every morning and evening to sit with the young man, to keep him company, and try to cheer the boy up. It was hard - his memory loss was really frustrating Justin, plus the kid was sick of being cooped up in a hospital bed with nothing to do all day. Brian couldn’t blame him. He would go bonkers in the same situation.
“Good morning, boys,” said Nancy, the regular charge nurse for the floor. She hustled in, with her usual efficiency, to take Justin’s vitals and check on whatever it is the nurses always seemed to be checking on. When she was done Nancy looked over at the two men and, with a great big smile, said, “I’ve got good news for you, Justin. Dr. Tremain signed your discharge orders this morning. We just need to change the dressing on your head and get your partner here some home care instructions and your meds and you can finally head home.”
“What? Today? He’s being discharged today?” Brian was definitely not ready for this. He’d thought the boy would be kept in the hospital for a good long time - they had just drilled into his skull for fuck's sake. Now they were sending him home after only three days? “Is the doctor sure he’s ready?”
“Well, he signed the discharge orders. And Justin seems to be doing just fine. You are ready to get out of here, aren’t you?” she questioned, directing her comments to the patient, who nodded enthusiastically.
“I’m so ready to leave. I can’t wait to see something other than these four dingy beige walls,” Justin added, beaming his full-on smile in Brian’s direction.
“Okay. Well, I wasn’t really ready for this today, but . . . Um . . . Let me just make some calls and I’ll be right back. What time do you think he’ll be ready to leave?" Brian was already pulling his cell out of his jacket pocket and inching towards the door. He was going to need some help on this one.
“Mikey. Where are you? . . . Great. Is Emmett there at the Diner too? . . . Fabulous. I need you two to run some errands for me. You know that kid I was visiting in the hospital, well it’s a long story, but it looks like he’ll be staying with me for awhile . . . He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, Mikey . . . It’s just for a little while. Anyway, would you just shut up and listen to me. I need you to go get some groceries for me - there’s jack shit at the loft right now and I won’t be able to do it myself later. I’ll pay you back . . . I don’t know what to buy. What do eighteen year olds eat? Just get whatever . . . Great. Now give the phone to Honeycutt . . . Honeycutt, I’m sending you shopping . . . Yeah, I thought you’d like that. I need you to pick up some clothes for a friend of mine who’ll be staying with me for a while . . .”
When Brian was finished sending his minions out on their various duties, and after he’d checked in with Cynthia, advising her to cancel or reschedule all his appointments for the rest of the day, he returned to the room to wait for Justin to be discharged.
+++++++++++++++++++++
“Craig, I just finished talking with Daphne,” Jennifer Taylor said as she pushed through the door to Craig’s home office. “Daphne said that Justin left the Prom with someone else - someone he met at the dance. She didn’t know the guy’s name. She told me she figured he was just getting a ride home with this other boy, so she drove home by herself. She hasn’t heard from him yet either. Now I’m really worried, Craig. It’s been three days. Craig? Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes. I’m listening. I already told you, Jennifer, what the police told me. Justin’s over eighteen - he’s legally an adult - they won’t put out a missing person’s report on him until it’s been at least 72 hours.” Craig lied. He knew where Justin was - or at least where he had been the night of the Prom - and he hadn’t actually spoken to the police. He was still adamant, though, that the boy was now a complete write off - he wasn’t going to have a damned faggot living in his house.
“Well, it’ll be 72 hours tonight. I want you to call the police back and get started on that missing person’s report. Something could have happened to him. I called all the local hospitals already, but none have any records of a Justin Taylor being admitted in the past three days. I’ve called all his friends. What else can we do?” Jennifer was frantic. She hadn’t slept for the past two nights plus she was getting a little ticked off at Craig’s nonchalant attitude.
“Jenn, this isn’t the first time Justin’s run away, you know,” Craig responded. “If he doesn’t like living under my rules, then he’s welcome to leave. He’s eighteen and he can damned well take care of himself. If he wants to run off and live his disgusting faggot lifestyle with some guy he met at his Prom, fuck him. He’s not welcome here if that’s the case; he knows it and you know it.”
“Craig, no one said anything about him running off with anyone. I think you are jumping to conclusions. And, even if he had, he would have at least called or come by to get his clothes and stuff. I can’t believe you’d sacrifice your own son like this just because he’s gay. And yes, I said the word ‘gay’. Like it or not, Craig, we have to deal with reality here.”
“Well, I DON’T like it and I will not tolerate it in my house. That’s final, Jenn.” Craig turned his back on his wife, who shook her head and looked even more despondent.
“Fine. Just . . . You promised to call the police again and file that missing person’s report. Please. I just want to know he’s alright. Craig?”
“I told you I’d call the police. Now, get off my back already. I don’t want to talk about this any more.”
-Like fuck I will. Jenn was always too soft on the boy. I will not have him back here spreading his abomination. Good riddance to bad rubbish - Kinney is welcome to the little fairy for all I care.