Pure Innocence (17 page)

Oliver sat motionless. Kinley was talking to
Damon, they had both tried to involve him, but he wasn’t having any
of it.

He wanted to go to the bathroom, so he
stood. Damon started to rise but Oliver shook his head and mumbled.
“I’m just going to the bathroom. Let me try.”

Damon nodded, seeming torn, but then Kinley,
not realizing there was a problem, started talking about more
search sites. They’d identified another two boys that had
disappeared after having contact with Kevin, but no bodies had been
found.

Oliver tuned them both out. He couldn’t
think about it. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door; he
couldn’t lock it. His right hand wasn’t able to twist anything, and
his left…

You’ve been a bad boy,
Oliver. So bad. You’re so whiny, so demanding.
Oliver screwed his eyes up tight.
No
. He needed—desperately
needed—something to get the voice out of his head. It wouldn’t
leave him alone, it whispered to him sometimes in the night, it was
poison. He stumbled to the sink, his gaze falling on Damon’s razor.
Oh,
Oh.
He needed
it so much, just a little. It wasn’t like he didn’t…know how.
Oliver managed to pick the razor up, but there was no way he could
get the blade out. He looked with frustration around the room. His
eyes fell on a small pair of nail scissors, innocuous, just jutting
out on the shelf. Oliver had missed them last time he was in
here.

It was going to be okay. Oliver stared at
the shiny silver-colored metal and reached out.

“
Oliver?”

He looked up nervously. Damon strode in and
opened his arms. Oliver stepped into them without question.

“
I’m sorry, but it’s a long
way off. So much can happen, and he could easily change his mind
when he sees how much evidence is stacked against him. I don’t want
this to be something else that you worry about, and I don’t ever
want you worrying this is something you will have to deal with
alone.” Oliver nodded, but right then he heard the doorbell; Damon
sighed. “That will be Alec. I forgot we still had that
today.”

Oliver felt guilt creep in. Damon had been
looking after him all the time, he’d never asked if he had
something else he needed to do—he’d just taken all of Damon’s time
without question. “I’m okay if you need to do some work.”

Damon hesitated. “I don’t
need to go out.”
Oh God
, he didn’t trust Oliver to be with Alec. Did Damon think
Oliver would hurt him again? Damon came back from the door with
Alec. “I’ll just be in my office.”

Alec smiled and nodded. Oliver tried to be
calm.

“
How are the exercises
coming along?” Alec followed Oliver into the lounge and they sat
down on the couch.

“
Fine.” Oliver blushed—he
hadn’t exactly done them in the way Alec wanted, but it wasn’t a
lie either.

Alec dropped his voice. “If you want to have
any chance of getting use back in that hand you need to do them
every day.”

Oliver hated that the sentence started with
doubt. Damon’s cell phone rang and soon after his office door
closed. Oliver’s heart rate jacked up a little and he didn’t know
why.

“
We’re going to start
strength training exercises today for your right hand.” Alec
brought out a weird looking upside down V-shaped object with rubber
handles. “You squeeze it together, see?” Alec pressed both handles
in until they touched. “It has different settings, so we’ll start
on the easiest.”

Alec turned a small pinwheel on the handle
and passed it over to Oliver. Oliver managed to clasp it with his
thumb and first two fingers. His fourth finger just rested on the
handle but he couldn’t put any pressure on, and his smallest finger
still wouldn’t bend enough.

“
Good,” said Alec, “now
squeeze as hard as you can.”

Oliver bit his lip and squeezed hard. An arc
of pain shot up his arm, and he dropped the handle on the carpet
with a yelp.

Alec tutted. “You’re going
to have to try harder, Oliver.” Oliver bit his lip again.
Stupid,
he was so
stupid. Oliver bent to the carpet to pick the thing up when he
realized Alec wasn’t going to. He managed it between his thumb and
finger again, but it slipped before he could grip it and it went to
the floor again. Alec tutted again, and Oliver wished he could pick
it up just so he could throw it at him.

Alec beat him to it. “Let’s have a rest for
two minutes.” Alec got up from the couch and walked to the
window.

“
I always loved this
view.”

Oliver gaped. He’d been here? He knew Alec
knew Damon but he didn’t know he’d been to the apartment.

Alec turned and smiled. “I heard you met
Adam?”

Oliver nodded, his hand throbbing. He didn’t
know whether Alec was talking about their lunch meeting, or the
time before.

“
I haven’t seen him since
we were members at Breathless,” Alec went on. “I hear he’s
collared? Lucky thing.”

Oliver glanced towards the office—the door
was still shut. “Have you ever been to Pure?” The words were out
before Oliver could stop them.

Alec smirked. “No, but my membership has
been approved. I’m definitely going next weekend. I hope Master
Damon will be doing the demonstration. He’s the best.”

Oliver swallowed. “Demonstration?”

Alec smirked again, then paused, horrified.
“I’m sorry, please don’t tell Master Damon I told you. If he wanted
you to know he would have told you himself, I’m sure.” Alec looked
worriedly to the office door.

Oliver was curious
now.
Demonstration?
What did Damon demonstrate? And why didn’t Damon want him to
know? “I won’t tell him.”

Alec looked relieved, and settled back in
the chair. “You know, of course, that Damon’s a sadist?” Alec
shivered. “I’ve never seen anyone so talented with a cat.” Alec
looked at Oliver. “That’s a whip, a cat o’ nine tails. Evil.”
Oliver shuddered. “Of course, anyone can use a bullwhip, but O-M-G,
can Master Damon make that cat sing.” Alec giggled, trilled, he
didn’t seem to notice Oliver sitting immobile, frozen.

The office door opened and Alec jumped up.
Damon strode in.

“
Sir, I have my schedule
for the next two weeks’ therapy sessions. Dr. DeSouza is wondering
if Oliver could start attending clinic.”

Damon glanced at Oliver and hesitated. “Come
to my office and we’ll put them in the planner.” They both walked
back to the office.

Oliver stood, Alec’s words haunting him.

I’ve never seen anyone so talented with a
cat.

One foot in front of the other.

...Master Damon make that
cat sing
...

Nearly at the bathroom door.

Oliver…Oliver.

Where were they?

Such a good boy…

Cool metal, his fingers finally reached them
on the shelf.

Daddy wants you to play…

Gripped with his thumb and forefinger, drew
them towards him.

Good boy, Oliver, such a good boy.

Yes, yes he was.

****

Damon closed the door behind Alec, closed
his eyes briefly. If anyone else rang that damn doorbell today, he
would ignore it. He was also turning his cell phone off. Damon
walked back into the lounge, he was hungry. Maybe they could get
pizza? He was a bit sick of sandwiches. When he saw the empty
lounge, Damon walked into the bedroom. “Oliver?”

Every hair on the back of his neck stood up.
It wasn’t that Oliver wasn’t in the bedroom, and it wasn’t that he
was obviously in the bathroom, it was the complete silence. The
glaring lack of a reply. Damon twisted the handle to the bathroom
door, heart thudding.

“
Oliver?”

In that single second in time Damon stopped
kidding himself. He stopped pretending that he was caring for
Oliver because of guilt. He stopped pretending that he was a
sadistic son of a bitch Dom with a spotless reputation to maintain,
and he absolutely stopped pretending that the shaking curled up
scrap of humanity on the floor wasn’t as important to him as his
next breath.

“
Oliver?” The rest of the
words dried up in Damon’s throat as he took everything in. Oliver
was crying, deep, bottomless rivers of tears that you could drown
in. Blank, unseeing eyes that you knew had seen too much and had
just given up. And the very worse? That every sob, every harsh,
gut-wrenching cry, every echo of misery, that he should have heard
from Oliver just wasn’t there. Because Oliver was completely
silent, even as if his voice had died, as if his very soul had
stopped speaking.

Damon kicked away the small nail scissors
that were on the floor, and catalogued the scratch on Oliver’s arm.
He reverently bent down and picked him up, murmuring what he was
going to do, that Oliver would be safe, that they would get through
this, because Oliver wasn’t going to be on his own for one single
second of one single day.

Oliver curled into Damon automatically, and
Damon felt such a rush of relief at the small reaction, he could
have cried himself. Damon carefully carried him to the bed.

Five minutes after Oliver went to sleep,
Damon went to call Derek.

Chapter Thirteen

Oliver stretched slightly
and opened his eyes. He smiled at the first face he
saw—
Damon—
until
he saw the second, Master Jameson. His heart started thudding, even
as Damon stood and bent down to kiss his cheek softly. “I’ll be in
the kitchen ordering pizza.”

Oliver looked at Master
Jameson and winced.
He
knows
. How he’d felt as he picked the
scissors up, what he wanted to do. How he’d thrown them down with
frustration when he knew Damon would have been so disappointed in
him. He didn’t remember Damon finding him though.

Master Jameson smiled calmly. “I want you to
tell me the last thing you remember.”

Oliver frowned; one of the last things he
remembered was Alec standing by the glass wall, talking about
Damon’s sadistic side.

“
I want to go to Pure,” he
said.

If the doctor was surprised, he didn’t show
it. He put his head on one side thoughtfully. “Why?”

Oliver sat up. He felt better sitting up,
not as low. He chewed his lip and the doctor waited.

Oliver glanced at the bathroom door—he
needed to pee. Master Jameson stood up. “Do you need to use the
bathroom?”

Oliver nodded.

“
Can you manage, or do you
need Damon?”

Oliver hesitated. “Let me try.”

Derek nodded. “Just shout.”

Oliver walked into the bathroom. His shorts
were quite loose, and he managed to slide them down enough. He
didn’t bother sitting down, just used his right fist to lift his
cock away from his body a little, and he managed without any
problems. Oliver smiled; he even managed to get his shorts up
afterward. He went back into the bedroom, and sat in the chair. His
special cup had appeared with water in it—Damon of course—and he
slurped it nervously.

“
Now, Oliver. Can you
remember how I helped you relax last time? We’re going to try that
again.”

Oliver was soon floating. Master Jameson had
such a way with words, calming, unhurried, so peaceful. It was
almost—but not quite—as good as listening to Damon.

“
I want you to think about
my original question. What’s the last thing you remembered before
you went to sleep? Anything, words, smell, a feeling.”

“
Dirty.” Oliver’s breath
caught and he rubbed his arm.

“
What’s dirty,
Oliver?”

Oliver whined, shuffled.

“
Medium breaths, Oliver.
In…out, and again.” Yes, he could do medium. Medium didn’t hurt,
didn’t hurt his lungs.

“
That’s it. Does your arm
hurt?” Oliver shook his head, but continued to rub it gently,
soothingly. “How do you feel when you touch your arm?”

“
Dirty.” Shouts.
Stupid filthy little fag. Fucking waste of
space.

“
Did someone tell you that,
Oliver?

Yes, she had. All the time, even when he
tried his best.

Master Jameson wiped under his eyes with a
tissue. He hadn’t known he was crying.

“
Who’s she, Oliver?” the
doctor asked.

Oliver hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud
either. “My mom,” he said.

He’d buried these memories for so long. He
was back there, in that shitty little trailer, they’d just told him
he was so lucky because he didn’t have to go to school no more. He
could smell the booze as she laughed at him, put her face up close,
made like she was gonna kiss him, made him want to gag.

Mike was with her; he hated Mike, she always
drank more when he was there, smoked the cigarettes that smelt
funny. He tried to avoid her breath, the stench, but Mike had seen,
seen that tiny movement of him turning away, and he always laughed.
Mike laughing was scarier than when he was silent, even when he was
angry, and he laughed and laughed. He laughed as he pulled Oliver’s
arms around his back, laughed when he clasped his chin hard in that
big rough hand so Oliver couldn’t move. Laughed when his mom had
slapped his face a few times until tears were running down it; he
laughed when Oliver’s mom held the cigarette between her son’s lips
and held his nose so he had to inhale around the cigarette in his
mouth.

The smoke had choked him at first, made him
gag, then as they forced him to take more he seemed to relax a
little, get a little dizzy, not so aware. Mike didn’t hold him so
forcefully, and he breathed the smoke in some more, little by
little, until he felt he was flying. Mike laughed again then
because he had to stop Oliver from toppling over, even though he
was seated in a chair. He was sorry when they took the cigarette
away and they had to hold him up as they dragged him to the
bed.