The Darker Side of Trey Grey (27 page)

“Where’d you learn to cook?” I asked.

“He’s a great cook, always has been. That’s why I’m so fat,” Kelly said licking her fork with relish.

“You’re not fat. You’re voluptuous.” I took a bite of creamy goodness and savored it. I could get used to this.

“That’s just a nice way of saying fat,” she said pointing her fork at me in what I took to be a menacing way.

“No, it isn’t. It means you’re curvy, womanly. I like voluptuous women, and if you ask any guy they will say the same thing. When their skinny-ass girlfriends aren’t around anyway.”

“Trey’s right,” Justin added around a mouthful of food.

“I call bullshit. If it weren’t for the parties I’d never get laid.” She shook her head, taking another bite.

“And how do you dress for the parties?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at her. I knew most of her problem stemmed from her hideous wardrobe and blatant lack of style, which were not the same thing. Marie could make pink leopard skin pants and a lime green scarf sexy with the right accessories.

“I don’t. I strip in my car and wear a robe the rest of the night.”

“There you go,” I said before shoveling the last bite into my mouth. I was a little disappointed to find my plate empty, but I knew in about ten minutes I would feel like I had eaten half the kitchen.  

“I see a nap in my future. God, that was good.” I stretched, forgetting my stitches until they cinched tight. “Ow.” I laid a hand across the spot.

Justin grinned, blushing over my compliment. He was the only guy I had ever met who could look proud and shy at the same time. I wondered if he knew how fucking sexy that made him.

“You know, I’m beginning to realize you have a lazy streak,” Justin said as he scraped the last of his sauce from his plate. “Every time we talk on the phone you’re in bed.”

“At least I’m alone.” I pointed out. “I like my bed, it’s my sanctuary.”

“That’s a double entendre if I ever heard one. Same with your shower. You consider them safe, yet the most horrific things happen in those two places. By the way I bought you a sprayer for the bathroom.” He stood and cleared the table. My mouth dropped open, my eyelids blinking at supersonic speed.

“You bought me a sprayer?” I said stupidly.

“That’s all you pulled from that? Yes, and there’s bleach in the cabinets, but try not to go overboard. I’d prefer the house not smell like a swimming pool.”

I nodded, still shocked Justin had done that for me. Kelly broke me out of my trance.

“What did you mean by; there you go?”

“What? Oh, your clothes. If you learned to stylize, guys would be all over you.”

“I’ve told her that, she doesn’t listen,” Justin said, flopping back into his chair and setting his socked feet in my lap.

Kelly stuck her tongue out at both of us.

“That’s attractive.” Justin gave her a chiding look.

She groused as she went to wash the dishes.

“What should we do today?” Justin asked, leaning his head onto the cradle of his hand. His first two fingers were stained dark. He must have been painting or drawing last night when he couldn’t sleep.

“Be lazy and watch sad movies all day.” I mirrored him, looking into his brilliant blue eyes.

“You think that’s a good idea?”

I nodded. “I like watching you try not to cry.”

He pulled his feet from my lap. “Sadist.”

I grinned at him.

We compromised, ironically, on
Pretty Woman
. I hadn’t seen it in a long time, and I had forgotten how starchy he was in the bedroom. If I were Julia Roberts, he would have bored me to no end.

Justin surprised me and didn’t cry. “I never realized how Hollywood that was,” he said as the credits rolled.

“Mm-hm, if you want to watch something more true to life,
Basketball Diaries
would be pretty close.”

He rose off the couch and retrieved the disk. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that.”

“You probably don’t want too. What they go through depresses even me.” I stretched, and grabbed my soda off the glass coffee table while Justin began rattling off movie titles. Kelly and I shook our heads as he read them off.

“
Beastly
...” He ran his finger over to the next spine.

“Wait. Do you have
I am Number Four
?” I asked with a sideways glance at him.

He nodded, grinning slyly. “Someone have a crush?”

I ignored that. “You kinda look like him, did you know that? In the face anyway.” He did too. I wasn’t sure how I had missed it. Now if I could just get him to grow his hair out...

“Ahyum, Alex Pettyfer is so dreamy,” Kelly said, hugging a pillow and looking a bit too much like a teenager in heat.

Even though I agreed, I teased her anyway, “Now, she definitely has a crush.” I gestured to Kelly. “Don’t drool on the pillow.” I chuckled. She threw her pillow at me and I caught it, wedging it under my elbow.

“Hey, give that back!”

I shook my head at her. “You threw it at me, its mine now.”

She traipsed over, pulled the throw pillow out from under my feet, then huffily returned to her nest on the floor. Justin cued up the movie as he settled once more in front of me on the couch. I snuggled in tight against him, absorbing his scent, his warmth, and appreciating the fact that I still could.

He glanced back at me. “You really think I look like him?”

“You have prettier eyes, and a better smile,” I told him, nuzzling behind his ear.

He drew my hand up to his mouth, biting my knuckle, and making me laugh.

We napped the rest of the afternoon away. Then that night after a dinner of barbequed steaks and garlic mashed potatoes, which rivaled most steakhouses, I remembered I needed to call the Dean. I left a message letting him know I would be back to classes by Wednesday. I informed his voicemail I’d had an accident. It seemed a reasonable explanation, and if he pried, I could cover it all by telling him I was attacked. He didn’t need to know I was the most dangerous of my attackers.

I fluffed a pillow, then lavished loudly in the clean flannel sheets while Justin laughed at my pleasure over something so simple. I loved clean sheets. It was one of my truly carnal pleasures.

“Trey?”

“Mm?” I turned my head and caught his pained expression. It immediately set me on edge. “What?” I shuffled up on my elbows, flipping my head, trying to get my hair out of my eyes.

He rolled over and retrieved something from his nightstand.

“Dr. Greene agreed these could be a good idea, but I don’t want to do anything that will freak you out.”

He laid half a set of ankle to wrist cuffs on the bed.
Just how kinky was Justin to have these?

“You wouldn’t be cuffed to the bed, we’d be cuffed together. If you try to sleep walk, or have a nightmare... I can stop you before you do yourself harm.”

I glanced to the corner where towels now covered the blood I had spilled. I turned back to him and offered my wrist.

“I’m, um, usually okay with restraints, however Willie did handcuff me for awhile, just so you know.”

The little shimmer of anger flashed through his eyes, as it always did over the mention of Willie. His face softened as he clicked the metal cuff on me, then the other on himself. Justin watched me while I concentrated on his face. We both waited for a reaction, some sort of repercussion from my past. But none came. I gave him the goofiest of smiles, sure my lack of response was due to the fact I trusted him, and knew he would never intentionally hurt me.

Since they hadn’t caused a tsunami of side effects, I had to admit the handcuffs were actually a good idea. With a dulcet hum and the slightest of smiles, he closed his eyes and pulled my hand up, cuddling it against his chest.

The cuffs had a leather strap long enough we could move around a bit, nonetheless, neither one of us slept well. Being tethered to each other created some challenges we would need to overcome. I had never known how many times I threw my arm over my face while I slept. Each time the handcuff clunked my head, I woke up. Not to mention, Justin had a tendency to sleep with his arm dangling over the side of the bed, and would tug me almost on top of him to get it there.

I will say, constantly being wrenched awake prevented my nightmares from absconding with me. I didn’t have a single one... that I could recall anyway.

Despite our volatile sleep, the next morning Justin appeared more at peace than he had over the last few days. As a result, I found myself relaxing into my own state of contentment. I knew it wasn’t a smart idea to become overly blissful. Even so, I shoved that happiness-crushing thought out of my head straightaway.

After a breakfast of scrumptious Denver omelets— I could feel myself getting fatter already— we took a stroll around the yard, or, as Justin so adamantly corrected, grounds.

He led me into his studio located in a restored milk parlor. It was the only part of the original barn that remained. The lower half consisted of concrete and round grey stone, while the upper half contained as much glass, as weathered whitewashed wood. It reminded me of a quaint old schoolhouse with a cupola along the crown of the steeply pitched roof.

He had bypassed it before, telling me he’d show it to me another day. Today must be the day. As I stepped inside I noticed it was a menagerie of controlled chaos. Mismatched area rugs, smattered here and there with paint, covered the concrete floor. In one corner sat an Elizabethan style maroon chair, while a fruffy daybed lounged along one wall. An old dark wood desk occupied the area just inside the door, and several easels crouched in an odd display around the long narrow room.

But what caught my attention more than anything were the paintings lining the wall to my left. They were exquisite depictions of tastefully done erotic scenes.

I began a slow traversal down the wall where Justin’s finished work hung. I recognized Candy and Tammy in several, yet Kelly was absent, and I made the assumption she was too conscientious to model for him.

I gestured to a painting of tiny shy Garret, from the cleaning crew, on his stomach with his backside exposed. His whole body was rosed, while his expression was one of coy degradation.

“I couldn’t get him to stop blushing, so I painted him as he was.” Justin waved a dismissive hand at the painting as he shook his head in annoyance.

“You’re really good. Have you thought about a showing?”

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’ve thought about it, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten. My art is not exactly mainstream.” He let me go, moving back as I sidestepped an easel containing a blacked out canvas.

“I don’t know about that. There are galleries that specialize in sensual art—” I stopped abruptly as my eyes landed on a pencil drawing of myself on the opposite wall.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered as my eyes traveled down the wall of smudged white pages. They were all me.

“I drew them for me, and for you. No... no one else will ever see them,” Justin said hesitantly.

My eyes were latched onto the sketch directly in front of me. It was disturbing to say the least. I was obviously in the throes of a nightmare, and I’d never seen myself that way. He had captured every nuance perfectly. Even the tears on my lashes, as I howled with my head back and my body curled protectively unto itself. My hands had a strangle hold on my dick— I trembled and glanced away for a moment gathering the strength I knew I would need before moving down the wall.

Justin stood silently in the center of the room, chewing nervously on a thumbnail. I was sure he thought he had invaded my privacy, and maybe he had, however, I wasn’t seeing it that way.

I lived this, yet I had never seen it from another’s point of view. I probably should have been ashamed, or even angry, but I found myself transfixed instead.

He had captured the anguish and pain in raw, gritty perfection. And even though it was a man before me, the boy who suffered could be seen clearly in every limning. The very last drawing sat on his desk still attached to his sketch pad. He must have done it while I was in the hospital.

I was settled on my knees, resting back on my feet, with my head bowed and knuckles grazing the stained carpet. The knife laid to my right, the blade smeared dark. It was pretty damn haunting. They all were.

I turned to him, nothing less than awestruck at the way he had captured what lived inside of me. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears as he shook his head slowly.

“The images... I can’t forget them until I draw them,” he whispered.

I glanced back at the sketches. “Justin, you have to show them. They’re exquisite.”

“
What?
No—”

I nodded and turned back to him. He was shaking his head adamantly, the tears now zigzagging down his cheeks.

“
Yes.
” 

He made his way to me, and wiped the dampness from my cheeks I hadn’t known was there, while I did the same to him.

He cupped my face. “I can’t do that to you. I thought you might want to burn them, or destroy them someday. You know, as therapy.”

I shook my head fervidly. “No! I want you to show them. They’re tragic, and beautiful, and horrible, and terrific.” I smiled sadly at him. “Like me. Can you paint them?”

He gave me a cocky look before it slid away. He lowered his chin to his chest.

“Trey—”

“Just do it.” I grabbed the sides of his neck and shook him gently until he met my gaze. “Paint them, for me.”

He looked at the wall and nodded slowly. “We could... you know... we could donate the proceeds...” he trailed off.

Even though this had happened to me, and I would never be able to change it, I wasn’t ashamed. This was part of who I was. I thought about the boy, Tommy, and the idea that my pain and experiences could possibly help others began to warm me. It started as a flame deep down and in seconds turned into a fire across my skin. Not unlike the desire Justin had awakened inside me. 

I pointed towards his desk. “Paint that one first.” For reasons I couldn’t understand, I
needed
to see my suicide attempt in gory detail.

He shook his head. “I still have one in my head I want to paint.”

I hadn’t had a nightmare since the night I stabbed myself. Well, that Justin knew about anyway. I must have looked confused because he elaborated.

“When you hit me, the look on your face... it’s still in my head.” He bit his lip as his face contorted. A second later, his hand came up and started plucking at his ear.

“Shit.” I pulled him against me and stayed his hand. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

A garbled sound came out of him that resembled a sob, yet when he spoke his voice was steady, if half an octave higher. “Just... if you hit me again, aim lower...” He shivered as he took a shaky breath and I held him as tightly as I could. Obviously my hitting him had opened up a part of him he had managed to bury.

He slowly relaxed against me while I tried to shift my self-wrought anger towards his father. I couldn’t seem to do it though. I knew eventually it would come to rest there, but for now it clung steadfastly to me.

“Are you sure?” he asked, raising his head off my shoulder to look at me.

“About what?”

“The sketches— your sketches.”

“Yes, I have never been more sure of anything.” I kissed his cheek. “Except you.”

He smiled at that. “You know, this could be a fun project— I didn’t mean fun, I meant rewarding.” He paused and let his gaze run across the white pages. “If we do it right.”

“Don’t pity me, save me,” I said causing Justin’s head to snap back to me.

“Where’d that come from?”

I shook my head, not sure myself. “I don’t know. It just came to me.”

“It’s perfect.”

I thought about it for a second and realized he was right. “It is, isn’t it?” I felt my mouth curve up, and he grinned back.

It was a pitiful truth. That people seemed unwilling to see the abused, even when they were right in front of them, silently screaming for help. I knew, because everyone had done it to me, time and again.

I could have been saved, yet no one ever saw me, no one ever heard my silent cries. Not even when the abuse was blatantly evident via visible bruising, or my shuffling, pain-enhanced gait.

Justin was changing me. He was making me think, and my views on my own abuse were altering into something else, hopefully better— healthier. I supposed that’s why I had done what I did yesterday, with Tommy and his father. I just couldn’t look away anymore.

We were aware our project was a small thing in an ocean of small things. Even so, we spent the rest of the day searching the internet for suitable charities, and possible galleries to contact. You wouldn’t think a project so macabre would be exciting, yet surprisingly it was.

Justin mentioned it would take a few months to transform the sketches to paintings, and Kelly teased he would have them done in half the time because he was so drawn to the subject. No pun intended of course.

While we looked into different charities, Justin began clicking the links to case studies, reading every word. Over the years I had read several books on the subject and done some online reading trying to find enlightenment. But I never found any. The articles Justin was reading were more of the same. Severely abused children seemed to go one of two ways. They either found a way to forgiveness, or they ended up dead by their own hand. I seemed to be trying to accomplish both at the same time.  

Justin sat back in his chair after the seventh or so page, and turned to me with a calculated expression.

“You believe everything that happened to you is your fault, don’t you?” he asked in a rather delicate tone.