Negation - Chapter Two
WARNING: DEALS WITH ISSUES OF RAPE (BRIAN)
Ch 2
“Sir? Are you Justin Taylor?”
Justin pushed off of the wall. He had been unable to sit, so he paced the length of the waiting room, waiting for anyone to leave the surgery room, someone to come and talk to him. He looked over at the woman who had come into the room. She was small, birdlike. He wondered if she was a nurse, but she was wearing black pants and a button-down shirt, not what he had come to expect from medical personnel. But he had no idea who would come to speak to him; he’d never been on this side of the window. He hadn’t called anyone, didn’t want to, didn’t want or need any support until he had a handle on this, until he had a handle on himself, or at least knew Brian’s status, what the fuck had happened. Besides the obvious. Plus, he had no idea what to say, or even if he was entirely capable of speaking coherently. First, he wanted to get his horror under control.
He had heard nothing since the doctor had spoken to him about the operation. He had kept his presence of mind prior to exiting the loft, and had grabbed the paperwork authorizing him to make medical decisions for Brian, from out of its spot in the top drawer of the desk, just underneath the paperwork for Brian speak for him (Brian had put his on top, saying, with a grim not-quite-humor, that he was much more likely to need Justin’s paperwork than Justin was to need his). Brian had hammered its location into his head, and now he was thankful for Brian’s paranoia over his usual disregard of details. The medical center had, of course, moved to take care of the urgent problems, but because of that piece of paper, Justin was able to accompany Brian through emergency, to quietly begin falling apart in the room specially reserved for family members of patients in surgery.
And thank god, with that simple little paper, no one had even mentioned contacting Brian’s nuclear family. Not with Justin and his papers and their terse legal jargon. The doctor did not question coming to him with the x-rays, explaining that the rectal bleeding was due to a nicked artery that needed to repaired. And then a lacerated liver, god knew how bad that was, no one had gotten back to him to let him know. Not yet. So he paced. And watched the clock. And took deep breaths, and stalked around the room, focusing on trying to firm up leg muscles that felt oddly soupy, instead of thinking of the last glimpse he had of Brian. Or, more accurately, a last glimpse of Brian’s body, a field of medical people prodding at him, sticking needles in him, that body so damn still as they wheeled him away to x-ray with Justin watching as they moved down the hall and away from where he stood, helpless.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Justin told the tiny woman, who looked at him with large, dark eyes holding not sympathy, but… what? Understanding. Maybe. Something. “And you are…?”
“I’m Sheila Clark. I need to speak with you about what happened.”
Oh, fuck. Some official rape response person. Justin knew he should be polite, and he felt the instinctual impulse, but maybe he’d been around Brian long enough. He compromised; he wasn’t out and out rude. “This just isn’t a good idea,” he said.
“What isn’t a good idea?”
“Exactly how many degrees in psychology do you have?”
Sheila actually smiled at that. “You know the approach?”
“You could say that,” Justin answered. He wasn’t about to mention his own experience as the object of professional sympathy. “Professional services aren’t much help.”
“Yes, you would know, wouldn’t you?”
He had been looking away, but now he looked back with sharpened interest. “So maybe you’ll respect my desire to be left alone at the moment. Unless you know how Brian’s doing? That’s the only thing I’m interested in discussing right now. Otherwise…” he trailed off, hoping she’d respect his desire to be left alone.
Sheila shrugged. “I don’t know about Mr. Kinney’s condition, no.”
“Then excuse me.” Justin turned his gaze into the distance again.
“Do you mind if I ask why you’re so against talking to me?” Sheila made no move to leave; in fact, she actually took a seat.
“What services might you be offering, exactly?”
“I serve in part as police services liaison to the Rape Crisis Center. My position qualifies me to understand that these types of crimes, well, have very different considerations, that the police haven’t historically taken into account.”
“Look, I understand what it’s like being the victim of a hate crime…”
“Rape is different.”
“I’m sure the police are going to call this a sexual assault, and treat it with all due serious consideration. As much as the police ever give to crimes against our community.”
“I treat these crimes seriously.”
Justin paused, closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Ask.”
“What happened?”
“I woke up when Brian came in…”
“So you were at home?”
“Yeah, I was in bed. Brian came in…”
“Do you know where he’d been?”
“Last I know, Babylon. The club. I’d been there until about midnight, but left to go home, because it had been a long day. I was tired.” Christ, that sounded like an excuse. But that’s exactly what it was, Justin realized. Fuck.
His mind wandered, suddenly replaying that point in the evening when he told Brian he was too tired to hang around, but in his imagination, this time, he consented to stay, and he and Brian had headed to the back room where he had blown Brian in front of envious stares before they went home and Brian fucked him, tenderly, as he did sometimes when they were alone, and really, they were in bed right now and all this was a bad dream. Justin felt his whole chest seize with an ache so strong that it immediately migrated to his throat, forcing a welter of tears too big to hold back. He blinked rapidly, but could not stop their release down his cheeks. He turned his head swiftly from the woman’s view, and wiped his cheeks, bit his lips, and took deep breaths. Forced calm. Calm. Calm.
“And…?”
He took another deep breath, and made himself speak. “And? I woke up when he got in. I was sort of dozing, waiting for Brian to get out of the shower and come to bed. I woke up about forty minutes later, and he was still in the shower.”
“And that was at three-forty-five.”
Justin looked over at her sharply. She knew an awful lot of detailed information for a rape crisis counselor. She also didn’t talk like one of those touchy-feely emotional professionals. “You said you’re affiliated with the police department?”
“Yes.” Sheila held his gaze. “I’m the liaison between the rape crisis center and the Pittsburgh PD.”
Brian had told him once that anyone you meet will tell you everything about themselves within the first ten minutes. You just need to learn to listen. And ask the right questions. “Who pays you?” Justin asked.
“I’m paid through the city…” she saw the look he bent on her. “It’s a special position, but essentially, I work out of the police department.”
Right question. Justin hesitated, but then pulled his cell phone out of his jacket’s pocket, and dialed a number.
“Hello?” Debbie’s voice was sleep clouded, confused, typical for someone emerging from a sound sleep at six in the morning.
“Debbie, it’s Justin. Is Carl there?”
“Justin? What’s wrong, sweetie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Please, Deb, I really need to speak with Carl. Is he there?”
“Sure, just a sec.”
“Justin? Is something wrong?”
Carl’s gruff voice did much to reassure him, and he felt a sudden relief at the sense of being not quite so alone. Carl was connected to a side of the city with which Justin felt more than a bit of ambivalence. After Brian’s work against Stockwell, to say nothing of the whole Hobbes bullshit, he felt a great deal of apprehension regarding the police as well. Carl would at least translate for him, and might even help. Justin was under no illusion that Carl could help get them justice; that was not even in his mind when he decided to call. Just, someone to help him out when the situation seemed overwhelming. The damn tears would drown him, that thing behind the tears would swallow him whole. He felt his legs wobble again as he was momentarily overwhelmed by a sense of needing to give up to something, to someone, to just let go, but he straightened and reminded himself that Carl would provide no solution. And certainly, there was no excuse to not being strong, as strong as he could be until he knew that Brian didn’t need him. If he relaxed, if he gave into tears or sleep, if he lost control in any way, if he relaxed his guard, Brian would die. That simple. Calling Carl had allowed him to act and distract himself in acting, and that felt better than waiting, better than waiting and not knowing. But that didn’t mean he could let Brian down now.
“Carl, Brian’s in the hospital. He was attacked.”
“Attacked? What happened?” Carl come fully awake, and with a rustle of bedsheets in the background, Debbie did as well. Her shrill voice demanded, “Attacked? Who’s been attacked?” Shit… oh, well, it couldn’t be avoided. Or, maybe it could, but… Shit.
He replied, “I don’t know, it happened while he was out.” He found himself struggling to say the words; he knew his struggle made no sense, that Brian’s attack was an attack like any other insane act of violence. “I don’t know how he is. He’s in surgery. But, there’s a woman here claiming to be the liaison between the police and the rape crisis center, and I’m not sure what she wants, and I don’t know how to talk to her.” He saw her eyebrows move up, but he really did not give a shit. Fuck her. “I’m sorry I’m waking you up this early, but I just didn’t know what the hell’s going on, and I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you know anything, I mean, who’s going to come and talk to me and…” He turned his back on Sheila, his voice dropping. “We could use someone on our side here. I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”
In the background, he could hear Deb demanding, “What’s going on?” but Carl told her to be quiet for a moment, and she shut up. Amazing. “Justin,” Carl said, “You hang on and don’t say anything to anyone, we’ll be right down. But, answer me this, were you called to the hospital?”
“No,” Justin answered. “Brian came home and collapsed. I called the ambulance. We came here from the loft.”
“Okay, listen to me. That woman is probably a police officer who works on rape cases specifically. She wants to find out what the story is without your guard up, and right now, you’re a suspect.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. Right now, from the police point of view, anything’s possible. And the significant other’s first up, especially if you called in the emergency. Of course, obviously, we know that’s not the case. You just sit tight, I’ll be right down.”
“Okay, Carl, don’t let Debbie call Michael. Tell her I’ll take care of letting him know.”
Justin hung up, and looked over at Sheila Clark. “I have a couple of friends coming down. Carl’s a cop.”
She smiled. He couldn’t read the look, and he still didn’t care.
“Justin, my god, what happened?” He was surrounded by a huge stuffed purple coat and a red wig, and the smell of tomato sauce and faint musk that was all Debbie. Enveloped in her embrace, he could only shake his head as his throat closed up and he fought relaxing into Debbie’s expansive arms. Carl stood off to the side, talking quietly to some strange man Justin hadn’t seen up to this point, while Clark looked on.
Finally, Debbie let him go. “Justin…?”
Carl stepped forward. “Sheila and her partner, Rob Gonzalez.” He nodded back at the strange man. “They’re specially trained in sexual assault.”
“So you’re a police officer?”
“I… yes.” Sheila nodded.
“Well what the fuck!” Justin exclaimed, suddenly explosively angry. “So go do your jobs! Go catch this guy!” The police merely eyed him, and Justin turned back to Carl. “So, I’m a suspect,” he finished, swallowing his ire into the bitter tone.
“No,” Carl replied. Clark took a deep breath, but Carl shot her a look. “Justin is not a suspect, Clark. No way. You’ve seen his history?” She nodded, tersely. Carl turned back to Justin. “You were his first contact, and you’re his lover. That’s always the first person we talk to. But the police can move fairly quickly to dismiss that idea, and get onto the case. Right?” The last directed over his shoulder.
“Right,” Clark answered, but she did not appear wholly convinced. “Justin. Brian was at Babylon?”
“It’s not open now!” Deb exclaimed.
Clark shot her a look but Gonzalez ignored her. “Do you know if he drove there?”
“No, I…” Justin paused. “The car would be in the garage across the street from the loft, if he came home in it. Spot 16C.”
“Know the phone number there?”
“No, but the address is 433 Tremont.”
“Okay, I’ll go call the garage and see if we should look for the car. Sheila’s gonna wait here to talk to him when he wakes up. She’ll need to talk to him before he talks to you, okay?”
Justin was going to say something about that, but Carl spoke first. “Is Justin a suspect?” Carl asked.
“Horvath…” Clark started.
“Does he need a lawyer?”
Both police hesitated.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Justin forgot what he wanted to say just a moment before in the need to make them understand. “Brian’s going to be conscious soon enough and he’ll let you know himself, so no, I don’t need a lawyer,” he finished harshly. Fuck this! Let them suspect whatever! Brian would wake up, and exonerate him, so fuck it. “Why don’t you go see if Brian’s car is where it should be, around the club, or if you should be looking for some psycho off driving it!”
Gonzalez gave him a long look, before turning with a nod, and left the room.
The doctor came in the door just as it shut behind them. “Mr. Taylor?”
“Yes, doctor…”
“Hom. Mr. Kinney’s going to be fine.”
“Oh, thank God!” Debbie exclaimed as Justin felt every muscle in the back of his neck relax and release all muscular control down his spine to his sphincter. He drew in a breath, regaining control. Dr. Hom continued, “We’re settling him into a recovery room.”
“Oh, thank god,” Deb breathed, and Justin closed his eyes and let the pulses of relief sweep through him.
But only for a moment. Pushing off the wall, and bringing his gaze back to the doctor, he asked, “What happened?”
“The worst of it was the liver laceration, and we took care of that. He came through the surgery just fine. He has three broken ribs…”
“Broken ribs, fuck that, get to it…” Deb muttered, but Justin shot a look at her, and she shut up.
Dr. Hom continued, “The blood loss was not as severe as it might have been; he passed out partly because of that, partly because of shock, and partly from the alcohol in his system. It could have been much worse. There’s tearing around the sphincter, but except for the one rent in the rectal canal that damaged the artery, only fairly bad bruising of the tissue inside. He’ll have a fair amount of pain from that.”
“Holy shit, what happened?” Deb asked, looking at Justin, who just shook his head.
“Dr. Hom, um…” How did he ask this? “What about possible infection?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. We have him on antibiotics, and of course we’ll be monitoring him…”
“No, I mean, what about the potential for STD’s?”
The doctor nodded. “Of course, I’m sorry, I should have let you know right away. We believe he was assaulted with an inanimate object. We only found splinters, nothing else. No semen, no foreign tissue.”
Justin just gaped.
Carl glanced over at Clark, where his gaze was arrested. She did not look surprised at that bit of information. While Justin and Debbie digested the last of the doctor’s information, Carl walked Clark out of the room.
Justin found his voice. “So there’s no chance of AIDS or anything else.”
“Well, that’s something,” Debbie said.
“You’ll be able to see him in twenty minutes or so. I’ll send Janice, our nurse, back for you.”
“Yes. please,” Justin answered. Dr. Hom nodded, and left. Justin turned to Debbie. “Look, Debbie.” How did he put this? Well, bluntly seemed best. “I don’t want you to tell anyone about this.”
“Not tell… Brian’s going to need his family around him!”
“I don’t know how he’s going to want to handle this. Until we know, I think it’s best we hold off on crowding the situation. By that, I mean, with anyone. Even you.”
“Justin, even though Brian thinks he doesn’t need anyone, he does.”
“I appreciate that, but… this is different.”
“What, are you saying he should be ashamed because some asshole beat the shit out of him?”
“It has nothing to do with how he’s supposed to feel or not feel. I don’t know how he actually does feel. Debbie, it’s,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “It’s Brian. With this kind of assault. He’d be upset enough to be seen by his friends beat up, knowing that they know he’d gotten his ass kicked. But this particularly.” He stopped, and saw that she understood.
Deb studied Justin’s features, noted how wasted he looked. “Okay, I get what you mean. But, honey, what exactly happened?”
Justin shook his head. “I don’t exactly know. But if people find out about this, they’re going say he asked for it. People want to blame someone.”
“They can blame that asshole that did this!”
“But they won’t. Brian’s not exactly known for his caution in getting naked with strangers. Besides…” Justin hesitated. Should he confess this next bit? He hated that it was on his mind at all; it certainly did not reflect well on him. But, on the other hand, it might help keep Debbie’s mouth shut, if she thought it was for him, and not for Brian. She was oddly unsympathetic to him. So, fuck, it’d make Justin look bad, but it would suit his end. Very Machiavellian. Very Kinney-esque. “Besides, people will blame me.”
“What the fuck? Oh, fuck, you don’t need to worry about that, Carl is straightening that out right now with the cops.”
“Not that. I mean, people in general, they’ll think that I allowed it.”
“Oh, please!” Deb exclaimed. “What crap!” She saw the look on Justin’s face. “Brian makes his own decisions. What the fuck, are you telling me because he picked the wrong playmate, it’s your fault? Fuck, it’s not even his fault! Some psycho is out there, beating up gay people...”
“I don’t think other people are going to be so understanding, Debbie. People want someone to blame. I should reign him in, right? Isn’t that my job?”
“No, it’s not, Justin.”
“But the thing is,” Justin continued softly, “I think maybe… maybe it should be. If I could just…”
“What? Control him? Brian? Oh, my sweet boy, it ain’t gonna happen in this lifetime.” She patted his cheek.
His face twisted under her hand. “But, it’s not just whether I can, it’s whether I should try. Everybody just accepts Brian’s tricking and all that as who he is, but I mean, why? Why should I just accept that? It’s not good for him. Shit, look at… I just… I don’t think it’s good for him. I really don’t like that he does it. Lately, I’ve just been walking away from it. Like tonight. I mean, I was tired, right, but I also didn’t want to have to deal with Brian wanting to play with someone else. Even if it included me. I can’t judge him though, I’m not going to judge him, so I’m just ignoring it, kind of letting him off to his own. And I bet he gets lonely. And bored.”
“So you’re to blame for his choices? Fuck that, really Sunshine. You have your own feelings. And Brian would be pissed if he thought you’d made yourself the watcher over him.”
“Yeah, but, obviously, he could use one. Maybe since he didn’t get one growing up, he should get one sometime in his life.”
Justin didn’t see the grimace that passed over Debbie’s face at this last, and he continued. “And, as I said, I can’t exactly say that people will be wrong to think that this is, at least partially, my failure.”
Debbie said nothing for a long moment, just stared at him. “Okay,” she finally said, “I won’t say anything. To anyone.”
Bingo.
They stopped talking then, and it seemed a very long time before the door swung open, and a very fat woman in a nurse’s uniform entered the holding room. “Justin Taylor?” She asked. He nodded. “Brian’s in his room, I’ll take you to see him now.”
Chapter 3
Ch 2
“Sir? Are you Justin Taylor?”
Justin pushed off of the wall. He had been unable to sit, so he paced the length of the waiting room, waiting for anyone to leave the surgery room, someone to come and talk to him. He looked over at the woman who had come into the room. She was small, birdlike. He wondered if she was a nurse, but she was wearing black pants and a button-down shirt, not what he had come to expect from medical personnel. But he had no idea who would come to speak to him; he’d never been on this side of the window. He hadn’t called anyone, didn’t want to, didn’t want or need any support until he had a handle on this, until he had a handle on himself, or at least knew Brian’s status, what the fuck had happened. Besides the obvious. Plus, he had no idea what to say, or even if he was entirely capable of speaking coherently. First, he wanted to get his horror under control.
He had heard nothing since the doctor had spoken to him about the operation. He had kept his presence of mind prior to exiting the loft, and had grabbed the paperwork authorizing him to make medical decisions for Brian, from out of its spot in the top drawer of the desk, just underneath the paperwork for Brian speak for him (Brian had put his on top, saying, with a grim not-quite-humor, that he was much more likely to need Justin’s paperwork than Justin was to need his). Brian had hammered its location into his head, and now he was thankful for Brian’s paranoia over his usual disregard of details. The medical center had, of course, moved to take care of the urgent problems, but because of that piece of paper, Justin was able to accompany Brian through emergency, to quietly begin falling apart in the room specially reserved for family members of patients in surgery.
And thank god, with that simple little paper, no one had even mentioned contacting Brian’s nuclear family. Not with Justin and his papers and their terse legal jargon. The doctor did not question coming to him with the x-rays, explaining that the rectal bleeding was due to a nicked artery that needed to repaired. And then a lacerated liver, god knew how bad that was, no one had gotten back to him to let him know. Not yet. So he paced. And watched the clock. And took deep breaths, and stalked around the room, focusing on trying to firm up leg muscles that felt oddly soupy, instead of thinking of the last glimpse he had of Brian. Or, more accurately, a last glimpse of Brian’s body, a field of medical people prodding at him, sticking needles in him, that body so damn still as they wheeled him away to x-ray with Justin watching as they moved down the hall and away from where he stood, helpless.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Justin told the tiny woman, who looked at him with large, dark eyes holding not sympathy, but… what? Understanding. Maybe. Something. “And you are…?”
“I’m Sheila Clark. I need to speak with you about what happened.”
Oh, fuck. Some official rape response person. Justin knew he should be polite, and he felt the instinctual impulse, but maybe he’d been around Brian long enough. He compromised; he wasn’t out and out rude. “This just isn’t a good idea,” he said.
“What isn’t a good idea?”
“Exactly how many degrees in psychology do you have?”
Sheila actually smiled at that. “You know the approach?”
“You could say that,” Justin answered. He wasn’t about to mention his own experience as the object of professional sympathy. “Professional services aren’t much help.”
“Yes, you would know, wouldn’t you?”
He had been looking away, but now he looked back with sharpened interest. “So maybe you’ll respect my desire to be left alone at the moment. Unless you know how Brian’s doing? That’s the only thing I’m interested in discussing right now. Otherwise…” he trailed off, hoping she’d respect his desire to be left alone.
Sheila shrugged. “I don’t know about Mr. Kinney’s condition, no.”
“Then excuse me.” Justin turned his gaze into the distance again.
“Do you mind if I ask why you’re so against talking to me?” Sheila made no move to leave; in fact, she actually took a seat.
“What services might you be offering, exactly?”
“I serve in part as police services liaison to the Rape Crisis Center. My position qualifies me to understand that these types of crimes, well, have very different considerations, that the police haven’t historically taken into account.”
“Look, I understand what it’s like being the victim of a hate crime…”
“Rape is different.”
“I’m sure the police are going to call this a sexual assault, and treat it with all due serious consideration. As much as the police ever give to crimes against our community.”
“I treat these crimes seriously.”
Justin paused, closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Ask.”
“What happened?”
“I woke up when Brian came in…”
“So you were at home?”
“Yeah, I was in bed. Brian came in…”
“Do you know where he’d been?”
“Last I know, Babylon. The club. I’d been there until about midnight, but left to go home, because it had been a long day. I was tired.” Christ, that sounded like an excuse. But that’s exactly what it was, Justin realized. Fuck.
His mind wandered, suddenly replaying that point in the evening when he told Brian he was too tired to hang around, but in his imagination, this time, he consented to stay, and he and Brian had headed to the back room where he had blown Brian in front of envious stares before they went home and Brian fucked him, tenderly, as he did sometimes when they were alone, and really, they were in bed right now and all this was a bad dream. Justin felt his whole chest seize with an ache so strong that it immediately migrated to his throat, forcing a welter of tears too big to hold back. He blinked rapidly, but could not stop their release down his cheeks. He turned his head swiftly from the woman’s view, and wiped his cheeks, bit his lips, and took deep breaths. Forced calm. Calm. Calm.
“And…?”
He took another deep breath, and made himself speak. “And? I woke up when he got in. I was sort of dozing, waiting for Brian to get out of the shower and come to bed. I woke up about forty minutes later, and he was still in the shower.”
“And that was at three-forty-five.”
Justin looked over at her sharply. She knew an awful lot of detailed information for a rape crisis counselor. She also didn’t talk like one of those touchy-feely emotional professionals. “You said you’re affiliated with the police department?”
“Yes.” Sheila held his gaze. “I’m the liaison between the rape crisis center and the Pittsburgh PD.”
Brian had told him once that anyone you meet will tell you everything about themselves within the first ten minutes. You just need to learn to listen. And ask the right questions. “Who pays you?” Justin asked.
“I’m paid through the city…” she saw the look he bent on her. “It’s a special position, but essentially, I work out of the police department.”
Right question. Justin hesitated, but then pulled his cell phone out of his jacket’s pocket, and dialed a number.
“Hello?” Debbie’s voice was sleep clouded, confused, typical for someone emerging from a sound sleep at six in the morning.
“Debbie, it’s Justin. Is Carl there?”
“Justin? What’s wrong, sweetie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Please, Deb, I really need to speak with Carl. Is he there?”
“Sure, just a sec.”
“Justin? Is something wrong?”
Carl’s gruff voice did much to reassure him, and he felt a sudden relief at the sense of being not quite so alone. Carl was connected to a side of the city with which Justin felt more than a bit of ambivalence. After Brian’s work against Stockwell, to say nothing of the whole Hobbes bullshit, he felt a great deal of apprehension regarding the police as well. Carl would at least translate for him, and might even help. Justin was under no illusion that Carl could help get them justice; that was not even in his mind when he decided to call. Just, someone to help him out when the situation seemed overwhelming. The damn tears would drown him, that thing behind the tears would swallow him whole. He felt his legs wobble again as he was momentarily overwhelmed by a sense of needing to give up to something, to someone, to just let go, but he straightened and reminded himself that Carl would provide no solution. And certainly, there was no excuse to not being strong, as strong as he could be until he knew that Brian didn’t need him. If he relaxed, if he gave into tears or sleep, if he lost control in any way, if he relaxed his guard, Brian would die. That simple. Calling Carl had allowed him to act and distract himself in acting, and that felt better than waiting, better than waiting and not knowing. But that didn’t mean he could let Brian down now.
“Carl, Brian’s in the hospital. He was attacked.”
“Attacked? What happened?” Carl come fully awake, and with a rustle of bedsheets in the background, Debbie did as well. Her shrill voice demanded, “Attacked? Who’s been attacked?” Shit… oh, well, it couldn’t be avoided. Or, maybe it could, but… Shit.
He replied, “I don’t know, it happened while he was out.” He found himself struggling to say the words; he knew his struggle made no sense, that Brian’s attack was an attack like any other insane act of violence. “I don’t know how he is. He’s in surgery. But, there’s a woman here claiming to be the liaison between the police and the rape crisis center, and I’m not sure what she wants, and I don’t know how to talk to her.” He saw her eyebrows move up, but he really did not give a shit. Fuck her. “I’m sorry I’m waking you up this early, but I just didn’t know what the hell’s going on, and I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you know anything, I mean, who’s going to come and talk to me and…” He turned his back on Sheila, his voice dropping. “We could use someone on our side here. I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”
In the background, he could hear Deb demanding, “What’s going on?” but Carl told her to be quiet for a moment, and she shut up. Amazing. “Justin,” Carl said, “You hang on and don’t say anything to anyone, we’ll be right down. But, answer me this, were you called to the hospital?”
“No,” Justin answered. “Brian came home and collapsed. I called the ambulance. We came here from the loft.”
“Okay, listen to me. That woman is probably a police officer who works on rape cases specifically. She wants to find out what the story is without your guard up, and right now, you’re a suspect.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. Right now, from the police point of view, anything’s possible. And the significant other’s first up, especially if you called in the emergency. Of course, obviously, we know that’s not the case. You just sit tight, I’ll be right down.”
“Okay, Carl, don’t let Debbie call Michael. Tell her I’ll take care of letting him know.”
Justin hung up, and looked over at Sheila Clark. “I have a couple of friends coming down. Carl’s a cop.”
She smiled. He couldn’t read the look, and he still didn’t care.
“Justin, my god, what happened?” He was surrounded by a huge stuffed purple coat and a red wig, and the smell of tomato sauce and faint musk that was all Debbie. Enveloped in her embrace, he could only shake his head as his throat closed up and he fought relaxing into Debbie’s expansive arms. Carl stood off to the side, talking quietly to some strange man Justin hadn’t seen up to this point, while Clark looked on.
Finally, Debbie let him go. “Justin…?”
Carl stepped forward. “Sheila and her partner, Rob Gonzalez.” He nodded back at the strange man. “They’re specially trained in sexual assault.”
“So you’re a police officer?”
“I… yes.” Sheila nodded.
“Well what the fuck!” Justin exclaimed, suddenly explosively angry. “So go do your jobs! Go catch this guy!” The police merely eyed him, and Justin turned back to Carl. “So, I’m a suspect,” he finished, swallowing his ire into the bitter tone.
“No,” Carl replied. Clark took a deep breath, but Carl shot her a look. “Justin is not a suspect, Clark. No way. You’ve seen his history?” She nodded, tersely. Carl turned back to Justin. “You were his first contact, and you’re his lover. That’s always the first person we talk to. But the police can move fairly quickly to dismiss that idea, and get onto the case. Right?” The last directed over his shoulder.
“Right,” Clark answered, but she did not appear wholly convinced. “Justin. Brian was at Babylon?”
“It’s not open now!” Deb exclaimed.
Clark shot her a look but Gonzalez ignored her. “Do you know if he drove there?”
“No, I…” Justin paused. “The car would be in the garage across the street from the loft, if he came home in it. Spot 16C.”
“Know the phone number there?”
“No, but the address is 433 Tremont.”
“Okay, I’ll go call the garage and see if we should look for the car. Sheila’s gonna wait here to talk to him when he wakes up. She’ll need to talk to him before he talks to you, okay?”
Justin was going to say something about that, but Carl spoke first. “Is Justin a suspect?” Carl asked.
“Horvath…” Clark started.
“Does he need a lawyer?”
Both police hesitated.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Justin forgot what he wanted to say just a moment before in the need to make them understand. “Brian’s going to be conscious soon enough and he’ll let you know himself, so no, I don’t need a lawyer,” he finished harshly. Fuck this! Let them suspect whatever! Brian would wake up, and exonerate him, so fuck it. “Why don’t you go see if Brian’s car is where it should be, around the club, or if you should be looking for some psycho off driving it!”
Gonzalez gave him a long look, before turning with a nod, and left the room.
The doctor came in the door just as it shut behind them. “Mr. Taylor?”
“Yes, doctor…”
“Hom. Mr. Kinney’s going to be fine.”
“Oh, thank God!” Debbie exclaimed as Justin felt every muscle in the back of his neck relax and release all muscular control down his spine to his sphincter. He drew in a breath, regaining control. Dr. Hom continued, “We’re settling him into a recovery room.”
“Oh, thank god,” Deb breathed, and Justin closed his eyes and let the pulses of relief sweep through him.
But only for a moment. Pushing off the wall, and bringing his gaze back to the doctor, he asked, “What happened?”
“The worst of it was the liver laceration, and we took care of that. He came through the surgery just fine. He has three broken ribs…”
“Broken ribs, fuck that, get to it…” Deb muttered, but Justin shot a look at her, and she shut up.
Dr. Hom continued, “The blood loss was not as severe as it might have been; he passed out partly because of that, partly because of shock, and partly from the alcohol in his system. It could have been much worse. There’s tearing around the sphincter, but except for the one rent in the rectal canal that damaged the artery, only fairly bad bruising of the tissue inside. He’ll have a fair amount of pain from that.”
“Holy shit, what happened?” Deb asked, looking at Justin, who just shook his head.
“Dr. Hom, um…” How did he ask this? “What about possible infection?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. We have him on antibiotics, and of course we’ll be monitoring him…”
“No, I mean, what about the potential for STD’s?”
The doctor nodded. “Of course, I’m sorry, I should have let you know right away. We believe he was assaulted with an inanimate object. We only found splinters, nothing else. No semen, no foreign tissue.”
Justin just gaped.
Carl glanced over at Clark, where his gaze was arrested. She did not look surprised at that bit of information. While Justin and Debbie digested the last of the doctor’s information, Carl walked Clark out of the room.
Justin found his voice. “So there’s no chance of AIDS or anything else.”
“Well, that’s something,” Debbie said.
“You’ll be able to see him in twenty minutes or so. I’ll send Janice, our nurse, back for you.”
“Yes. please,” Justin answered. Dr. Hom nodded, and left. Justin turned to Debbie. “Look, Debbie.” How did he put this? Well, bluntly seemed best. “I don’t want you to tell anyone about this.”
“Not tell… Brian’s going to need his family around him!”
“I don’t know how he’s going to want to handle this. Until we know, I think it’s best we hold off on crowding the situation. By that, I mean, with anyone. Even you.”
“Justin, even though Brian thinks he doesn’t need anyone, he does.”
“I appreciate that, but… this is different.”
“What, are you saying he should be ashamed because some asshole beat the shit out of him?”
“It has nothing to do with how he’s supposed to feel or not feel. I don’t know how he actually does feel. Debbie, it’s,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “It’s Brian. With this kind of assault. He’d be upset enough to be seen by his friends beat up, knowing that they know he’d gotten his ass kicked. But this particularly.” He stopped, and saw that she understood.
Deb studied Justin’s features, noted how wasted he looked. “Okay, I get what you mean. But, honey, what exactly happened?”
Justin shook his head. “I don’t exactly know. But if people find out about this, they’re going say he asked for it. People want to blame someone.”
“They can blame that asshole that did this!”
“But they won’t. Brian’s not exactly known for his caution in getting naked with strangers. Besides…” Justin hesitated. Should he confess this next bit? He hated that it was on his mind at all; it certainly did not reflect well on him. But, on the other hand, it might help keep Debbie’s mouth shut, if she thought it was for him, and not for Brian. She was oddly unsympathetic to him. So, fuck, it’d make Justin look bad, but it would suit his end. Very Machiavellian. Very Kinney-esque. “Besides, people will blame me.”
“What the fuck? Oh, fuck, you don’t need to worry about that, Carl is straightening that out right now with the cops.”
“Not that. I mean, people in general, they’ll think that I allowed it.”
“Oh, please!” Deb exclaimed. “What crap!” She saw the look on Justin’s face. “Brian makes his own decisions. What the fuck, are you telling me because he picked the wrong playmate, it’s your fault? Fuck, it’s not even his fault! Some psycho is out there, beating up gay people...”
“I don’t think other people are going to be so understanding, Debbie. People want someone to blame. I should reign him in, right? Isn’t that my job?”
“No, it’s not, Justin.”
“But the thing is,” Justin continued softly, “I think maybe… maybe it should be. If I could just…”
“What? Control him? Brian? Oh, my sweet boy, it ain’t gonna happen in this lifetime.” She patted his cheek.
His face twisted under her hand. “But, it’s not just whether I can, it’s whether I should try. Everybody just accepts Brian’s tricking and all that as who he is, but I mean, why? Why should I just accept that? It’s not good for him. Shit, look at… I just… I don’t think it’s good for him. I really don’t like that he does it. Lately, I’ve just been walking away from it. Like tonight. I mean, I was tired, right, but I also didn’t want to have to deal with Brian wanting to play with someone else. Even if it included me. I can’t judge him though, I’m not going to judge him, so I’m just ignoring it, kind of letting him off to his own. And I bet he gets lonely. And bored.”
“So you’re to blame for his choices? Fuck that, really Sunshine. You have your own feelings. And Brian would be pissed if he thought you’d made yourself the watcher over him.”
“Yeah, but, obviously, he could use one. Maybe since he didn’t get one growing up, he should get one sometime in his life.”
Justin didn’t see the grimace that passed over Debbie’s face at this last, and he continued. “And, as I said, I can’t exactly say that people will be wrong to think that this is, at least partially, my failure.”
Debbie said nothing for a long moment, just stared at him. “Okay,” she finally said, “I won’t say anything. To anyone.”
Bingo.
They stopped talking then, and it seemed a very long time before the door swung open, and a very fat woman in a nurse’s uniform entered the holding room. “Justin Taylor?” She asked. He nodded. “Brian’s in his room, I’ll take you to see him now.”
Chapter 3