Part 21 (1/2)
”Who are you?” Eden asked, laughing to try to hide the tears that sprang into her beautiful eyes. ”His girlfriend or his therapist?”
”Like I said. I've been in your shoes. Younger sister...? Older brothers behaving like total d.i.c.kheads...?”
Eden's smile and laughter became more genuine.
”I never had a sister,” Jenn told Danny's as she pulled the girl in for a hug. At first Eden resisted, her body stiff as if she'd never been hugged by a friend before. ”I'm looking forward to getting to know you better. And? When Dan does act like a total d.i.c.khead? We are going to join forces and let him know it. Is that a deal?”
Eden hugged her back then, almost fiercely, as she laughed. ”Jennilyn LeMay, it's definitely a deal.”
”Come on,” Jenn said. ”Let's go find Ben and bring him home.”
Peter Sinclair the third was gone from the cell when Ben woke up.
Whatever drug they'd given him in that injection must've still been in his system, because he'd heard nothing-and it was hard to imagine that other boy being taken away without raising some kind of fuss.
His arms were stiff from sleeping with them up and over his head, and his bladder was uncomfortably full. He was feeling the first signs of low blood sugar-shaky and sweaty and considerably nauseous. He was also experiencing his trademark irritability-normally a telltale signal that he needed some sugar, fast. When he wasn't being held prisoner, that is.
In his current situation, feeling irritable was a given.
He looked around the cell, at the drab walls, floor, and ceiling, at the bare lightbulb hanging overhead, at the other cot, where...Yeah, Peter Sinclair had definitely p.i.s.sed himself at some point in the night. The smell of urine was unmistakable and nauseating.
And definitely the drug had still been in Ben's system last night when he'd talked to the other boy, because at the time, he'd felt oddly calm.
Now, however, his heart was pounding at the idea that he was locked up and tied down-a prisoner here, for G.o.d knows how long. He remembered telling Peter that Eden would find him and get him out.
Today, he had no such misconceptions. He was a prisoner here, and he would remain a prisoner here-and there was little he could do about it.
It was hard, as he was lying there, not to think about Neesha, about the G.o.d-awful story she'd told him, about what had happened to her after her mother had died. Maybe it was something that she'd made up. Just something she'd told him to impress him or to make him sympathize. Or maybe, like the cop had said, it was a product of her delusional mind.
But somehow Ben doubted that.
And he couldn't imagine the strength that she'd needed, that she'd had, to live as a prisoner for so many years-without hope of release.
”Hey!” he shouted into the silence, his voice rusty from sleep. ”Hey! Gay diabetic in here. One is a disease, the other is not. One can be successfully managed through diet and insulin injections. The other is unchangeable and f.u.c.k you sideways for thinking otherwise, you sons of b.i.t.c.hes-”
The door opened. ”Is that any way to talk?”
It was the man Peter had nicknamed Weird Don.
”I'm a diabetic,” Ben said. ”That means I need to check my blood sugar levels regularly throughout the day so I don't fall into a coma and die.”
”You have to get pretty sick for that to happen,” Don said, coming into the cell and closing the door behind him with a solid-sounding click. ”A lot of boys come in here with ailments. Asthma. Eczema. Acne. It all clears right up when they learn to reject their unnatural yearnings.”
”Yeah, that sounds like bulls.h.i.+t to me,” Ben said. ”I wonder why. Oh, probably because it is is bulls.h.i.+t.” bulls.h.i.+t.”
Don came farther into the room, but he didn't unfasten Ben's hands. Instead, he moved next to the cot and stood there. And Jesus, weird didn't begin to describe the way he was looking down at Ben. ”It's not,” he said.
”Aren't you supposed to untie me?” Ben asked, yanking at the plastic bindings and making the metal frame of the cot rattle. He glanced over at the camera, oddly glad it was there. ”I need to go to whatever pa.s.ses for the medical facility in this h.e.l.lhole. To get tested and get some insulin-and some food-so I don't throw up on your f.u.c.king shoes.”
”That kind of language isn't necessary,” the man chided.
”Yeah, I think it is,” Ben countered, ”because you don't seem to understand what I'm saying.”
”But I do understand your pain. I went through this program when I was your age,” Don said earnestly. ”It helped me. G.o.d, how I hated myself...”
”I think you still hate yourself,” Ben said. ”But me? I think I can probably go now, because for the first time in a long time? I'm actually doing okay in the hating myself department. I met this girl a few days ago, and her courage astounded and kind of shamed me. And then I came here, and I met Peter Sinclair the f.u.c.king third, and I've never met anyone like him before, and you know what? I'm going to survive whatever you do to me. I'm going to say whatever I have to say, and I'm going to walk out of here, and I'm going to fool you and your a.s.shat friends into thinking I've seen your stupid light, but when I leave, I'm going to be as gay as the day I walked in here-as gay as the day I was born. And after I leave, I'm going to be on a mission. I'm going to find my own Clark Volborg and we are going to live happily ever after, and in about ten years I'll think back on this, and I'll think of you with pity, because I'll know that you're still here, and that you still hate yourself-when all you had to do was listen to Peter, too, and understand that you're not alone and there's nothing-nothing-wrong with you.”
It was possible Weird Don had heard none of that, because he said, ”You know, you don't have to leave. You can sign papers and stay.”
”f.u.c.k you,” Ben said, before he realized what Don had just told him-you don't have to leave.
And sure enough, as Don left the little room, someone else came inside and cut him free.
It was the woman who'd bagged up his clothes. She held those bags now, as if she'd been standing there with them, in the hallway, all night long. ”This way,” she said as he rubbed his wrists and rolled his shoulders, as he tested his very shaky legs.
”I need a bathroom,” he said. ”And some insulin-not necessarily in that order.”
”You'll have to wait until you leave this facility,” she said tightly as she led the way down the hall, her heels clopping loudly against the industrial tile. ”And you can tell your parents that your tuition is not not refundable.” refundable.”
With that, she pushed open a door and gestured for him to go through it, and holy G.o.d, it was the doorway to some kind of lobby, and Danny was standing there, looking like s.h.i.+t, but his eyes lit up when he saw him, and he said, ”Ben!”
And Ben's knees crumpled and he hit the floor. And-great-he was pretty sure he p.i.s.sed himself as his brother's worried face wavered and faded and the world went black.
”I hate this,” Eden said as she and Izzy waited in the car in the Crossroads parking lot. ”I want to be in there. I want to know what's happening.”
She was practically vibrating with nervous energy, and Izzy knew that she was scared to death that something was going to go wrong, and that Danny and Jenn were going to come back out of that building without Ben in tow.
He knew exactly how to distract her-if only they weren't sitting in the car in the broad daylight.
Or maybe what he really wanted to do was distract himself, and the best way to do that, other than the very obvious, was to mentally replay-moment by moment-the outrageously great s.h.a.gging he'd given her after they'd gone into her bedroom last night and closed the door behind them.
Or he could deconstruct the incredibly groovy good-morning greeting she'd given him after he'd gotten up to take a shower. She'd followed him, slipping past the shower curtain, stepping into the tub with him, wrapping her legs around him as he'd pinned her to the tile wall, beneath the rus.h.i.+ng water.
But like all good things, their shower eventually came to an end, and he'd dried himself off with one of her clean-smelling towels as he'd wandered into her living room.
He'd realized immediately that he hadn't given the tiny room so much as a single glance last night. The curtains were tightly closed, and he peeked behind them to see-sure enough-a slightly sagging bouquet of bright red roses-the bouquet he'd seen from down on the street.
The card was still with them, and he reached and flipped it open. To Jenny To Jenny, it read. Congratulations and welcome. Love, the girls at the club Congratulations and welcome. Love, the girls at the club.
Much better than a card reading, Thanks for last night. Love, Enrique, your most ardent admirer Thanks for last night. Love, Enrique, your most ardent admirer.
Izzy let the curtain close again and turned back to Eden's living room. It was furnished with sad and sorry pieces that looked as if they'd been retired-and none too soon-from a frat house. She'd valiantly covered the easy chair and sofa with sheets and blankets to conceal their years of wear. There was a bookshelf and an end table, both of which held a collection of smiling Buddha statues, no doubt belonging to the person from whom Eden had sublet the place.
As he stood there, letting the hardworking air-conditioning circulate around his extremely happy genitalia, he'd found himself thinking of Nurse Cynthia's matching furniture.
Which Eden would probably have loved.
And the crazy thing was? If that had been Eden's apartment, with Eden cooking him dinner in that too-perfect kitchen, Izzy would've loved it, too.
As it stood, Eden kept her own place as neatly tidy. The Buddhas were all dust-free-although the clothes he and Eden had shed upon arrival last night were still strewn in the tiny entryway that was open to the living room.