The Darker Side of Trey Grey (8 page)

Freddie had settled at the breakfast bar, where a sandwich and two fingers of whiskey waited for me. I pulled out the fifty from my jeans pocket and tossed it on the bar.

“What is that for? Services rendered?” he said snarkily.

I laughed at that. “No, I don’t ever pay for sex. It’s all I have on me. Just let me know how much the doctor’s bill is and I can send you the rest.”

He slid it back to me. “I don’t want your money. He’s a friend, it was a favor.”

I left it on the bar and swallowed the whiskey before taking a questing bite of pastrami. By the time it reached my stomach I discovered I was actually starving, and polished off the sandwich handily. Food settled the nauseous waves, but my hands were still trembling, and my skin was beginning to itch. My OCD was trying to escape and I hoped I could keep it under control, at least until I reached the sanctity of kitten.

“Thank you for the food and drink... for everything. I’m going to smoke then I’ll be ready to go.” I set the small ivory plate in the sink, along with the glass.

He nodded distractedly. His mind was somewhere else and I left him to it. I headed towards the same arched door that had tried to keep me here this morning.

“Trey...” Freddie’s voice rang out clearly but there was an indecisive edge to it.

I stopped, glancing over my shoulder. “Yeah?” I had a feeling, and it wasn’t a great one.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said without turning around. He was probably afraid of what my face would show, and justifiably, since I was staring at his back, shocked over his stupidity.

“Are you fuckin’ insane?” I laughed, and it came out dark like a madman’s laugh. “Oh wait, that would be
me
— No.” I shook my head emphatically. “
Hell-no!
”

“Why?” he asked calmly.

“Why?
Why?
Are you fucking serious? God and I thought I was crazy. You were here this morning weren’t you? No. I refuse to drag anyone into my mire.”

He swiveled around and faced me. “Just, think about it, alright?”

I shook my head.
Unbelievable.
“Listen, I like you Freddie, I really do and I don’t like very many people. But the answer will always be no.” I heaved a sigh.

It was way past get the hell outta here. My nerves were beginning to chaff under my skin, I needed my room, and I was worried about kitten. I headed out for a much needed smoke, closing the door on his harebrained notion.
 

I stepped into the damp, starless night and glanced at
Mercer Island. It appeared to be floating on a sea of undulating tar. Everything was dark, yet rather than feeling foreboding, it was strangely peaceful. Even with the traffic noises coming from the converging freeways.

Freddie exited the house from a side door, and headed to the garage along a covered walk. He glanced over. “Do you have everything?”

“Yeah. I’ll be ready when I finish my smoke.”

“No worries. Take your time,” he called over his shoulder as he opened the door then disappeared into the four car garage. A moment later the roar of the Masserati filled the night.

I looked back at the house, really seeing it for the first time. It was such a nice old place. All rock and rough cedar embraced by ancient Wisteria. To bad my presence here had spoiled the tranquility, and possibly damaged Freddie in the process.

I turned away, and took one last long drag before scuffing the cherry off in the grass. Shoving the butt in my front pocket, I headed to the garage and out of this particular nightmare.

Freddie attempted small talk as we sped across the bridge towards Seattle, but I stared out the window and remained mute. With a soft swear he quit trying, and we drove the rest of the way in thick silence.

The Masserati dropped down onto
Seneca street, and when we pulled up to the club, I climbed out without a backwards glance.

“Don’t let me ruin you, Freddie. Forget you ever saw me.” With that bit of wisdom, I closed the door.

Kitten purred at me all the way home, telling me how much she had missed me, and that she forgave me for leaving her in a strange lot overnight. I wasn’t as forgiving of myself.

I ended my weekend sitting on the floor of my shower, watching the blood-tinged water swirling down the drain until the shower ran cold.
 

The next morning as I sat in the coffee shop sipping my coffee and picking at a banana-nut muffin,
Taylor settled across from me with a hopeful expression.

“Hey, did you get the job?” he asked.

It took me a second to remember what I had said to him.

I shook my head, waving my fingers dismissively. “No, that job wasn’t for me. Um...” My skin stung, my nerves rattled, and after my weekend I knew I couldn’t handle
Taylor right now. “Listen, I had a mental breakdown yesterday. I’m not a very stable person”— I laughed a little too cynically— “Honestly, I’m too fucked up to be involved with anyone on a personal level. You need to just forget about me.” I slumped back in my chair and took a swallow of my coffee as I watched Taylor’s face twist in confusion then disappointment.

I’m not sure he believed me; however, he rose and walked stiffly away without a word. I wasn’t bothered that it might get around. This wasn’t gossip, it was true and the truth would keep people away from me.
What a fucktabulous start to my mini vacation.

After classes, I grappled through half my laundry before I was a sniveling, quivering mess. Some days the task of washing my work clothes was fairly easy, and others impossible. Today the black bag did me in, and sent me running to my shower like a coward. It hadn’t touched my skin, but what it held was filthy and foul.

An hour later I returned— and with shaking, gloved hands I managed to finish. I left the tainted jacket in a washer, and the bag on the floor though. I couldn’t touch either of them again.

After the laundry debacle, I managed a sense of decorum for a few days and began to feel more in control. I maintained a simple routine that seemed to be working; breakfast at University Coffee, classes, homework, cup o’ noodles, movie, and then bed. A numbing calm settled over me, and my breakdown at Freddie’s became a distant hazy memory.

I’d made the week without any more episodes, and in celebration I had dinner at a little cafe called
Sunrise Friday evening before I headed to the drug store to pick up a few things. Razors, shaving cream, bleach, and as I stood searching the scrub brushes I was dismayed to find they no longer carried the one I’ve used for the last two years.
Now what?

I touched them one by one. Too soft, too soft,
whoa
, I could do some major damage with that one— I was tempted, but I decided I really did need my skin. I sighed. I didn’t like the ones with handles. They were hard to control. I knew all the body brushes would be too soft, so I didn’t even go to that aisle. Resigned, I left without a new one. I would have to take extra care with my old one until I found a suitable replacement.

With everything put away, I flipped on the TV and settled in with my licorice whips and a soda. Gad, for a Friday night my choices were limited. I clicked on Battleship, having never seen it. Despite the fast pace of the movie, I found myself dozing. I thumbed the remote, killing the flat-screen, and went to bed.

Tomorrow was Saturday, and the empty day yawned before me. Maybe kitten and I would go for a drive. We hadn’t done that in a long time. I fell asleep on that happy probability.

* * * * *

“I love watching you. Fuck him harder, Trey,” Willie said from his perch on the couch.

I glared at him. I hated him watching, but this client liked it, so here he was taunting me. It was bad enough I had to screw, or be screwed, by ugly old bastards with a young boy fetish, why did he have to talk? Couldn’t he just sit there and let me work?

Business was cherry, and it seemed every rich guy in the city wanted to play with Willie’s pretty boy. It was amazing how many professional types were closet pederasts. The one I had my dick buried into was some sort of lawyer with some fucked up rape fetish. Come on, get real. There was no way skinny thirteen-year-old me could ever take this guy by force. I wondered what his clients would think if they knew he liked to be fucked by teenage boys. 

“TREY, get off him. Jesus Christ, he’s done.” Willie shoved me with his foot, sending me sprawling onto my side. I rose up and punched him. When I realized what I had done I scurried back until I bumped into the corner between the end table and the blue couch.
Fuck
.

Willie’s neck turned the color of a stop sign, but he kept his cool and apologized to the client, refunding him some of his money.

The guy waved it off. “He’s a teenage boy. They get feisty. You’re just going to have to work him harder.” The man, I think his name was Gregg, or something like that, glanced at me and smirked as he did up his belt. I hated these fucking rich pricks. They looked at me like I was a toy they had bought and could do anything they wanted with. I guess that’s really what I was. Willie’s whore, rented out for your enjoyment, to do with as you please, while my mother shot the profits into her arm without a care in the world.

“You little shit,” Willie roared, after closing the door. He moved towards me in a rage. His shoulders squared and hands fisted.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was just pumped up or something,” I pleaded with him. His belt zinged through the loops on his jeans as he grabbed my neck and threw me down.

“Knees, now, and if you move even an inch...”

He didn’t have to finish the threat, I knew, and scrabbled to my hands and knees. If I moved he’d make sure I wouldn’t get up for hours. The first smack had me biting back a whimper. Every noise I made would be another lash. Each time the leather hit my skin I tried not to flinch, tried not to make a sound.

I was drooling by the time he finished. My back was a sheet of solid pain, and I didn’t even feel the last few lashes.

“Don’t move,” he said, and I began to shake wondering what he was about to do to me.

He leaned over my back and grabbed my dick while his hard-on pressed against my hip. I whimpered as the palm vibrator slid over me. It made me do things against my will. Forced me to come.

“I learned my lesson. Willie, please don’t,” I said, my voice a squeak as I felt my eyes grow hot with tears.

“Shut up. You fucked up and need to know why.” He turned the thing on, and in seconds I was hard and he was ruthless. Soon I was pushing into his hand, unable to stop myself.

Willie was breathing heavily, and starting to bump against me, and the tears finally fell from my eyes. I knew what he was going to do now.

“You’re so sexy when you’re turned on, all flushed and warm.” He started jabbing his dick at me like he used to when I was little, unable to restrain himself long enough to slide in. My stomach lurched, and I was sure I was going to be sick. Instead my muscles tensed as the surge of pleasure shot through my groin. I hated myself for liking it. I sobbed as I came, the tears streaming down my face and dropping from my chin to the maroon carpet.

He pushed into me then, and pummeled me until I was so sore I was sure I was bleeding.

“My dirty little boy, so sexy, so tight.” He finally came on a loud groan. He reached around me and fondled my dick. “Dirty boy, don’t ever say you don’t like it. Fucki
ng hard again.” He chuckled, as I bolted out from underneath him. His laughter tormented me all the way up the stairs and to my room. I threw up in my trash can before collapsing on the floor. I hated him. I hated that he was right. I did like it sometimes. I was dirty, tainted, perverted. I was sick just like he was.

* * * * *

My eyes flew open, focusing on my mattress in the waxing light of early dawn.
Easy, I’m okay.
I rose up releasing the pillows I had been gripping.
Relax, just a bad dream.
Oh god, I had been fucking both my pillows, how had I managed that? I began to tremble.
Relax.
I flexed my fingers.
Just a bad dream.
Nothing to freak out over. I moved the pillows and felt the slime all over them, on my thighs, it was everywhere.
Filthy.
Dirty.
My body shook violently. I moaned as the bile rose in my throat, and threw myself onto my hands just as I coughed. Yellow slime trickled out of my mouth onto the mattress.

Swiping a hand across my mouth, I stumbled to the shower.
Tainted.
I grabbed the sprayer from the corner, and began coating myself with bleach. My mind spun out of control as flashes of my abuse ran amok.
God, make it stop, make it stop
.

Vile, dirty, Trey. Tainted. I am. I am. I am. Sick child that fucks anyone. And you liked it. You liked being raped.
No. No. No.

* * * * *

So cold. My teeth were rattling in my head. As I opened my eyes, my brush came into view. It was dyed red with little flecks of pink stuck into the white bristles. The shower was still on, but I was already so cold I was beyond feeling the icy sting. There was a pool of crimson beneath me, fading to pink where it joined the water. I closed my eyes again.

* * * * *

Pain dragged me too consciousness, forcing me out of the shower. I crawled to the door, and pulled myself up. Reaching out, I turned the water off then fell onto the bathroom floor, my body too stiff to work right. I felt myself fade off again.

* * * * *

I came to with a pounding head, screaming stomach, sore jaw, and a throbbing ache along every inch of my skin. I couldn’t fathom a reason for my existence right now. I just wanted it all to go away. Why couldn’t I just die and start over with a new life? With my luck it would be worse than the one I was living. However, I wasn’t sure I cared anymore.

God smote me, and I felt a trickle of heat push along my dick. Fuck, I was peeing. I grabbed myself, struggled onto the toilet, and winced when the urine pushed out in burning blasts.
When my bladder finally emptied I sagged against the wall next to the toilet, shivering and sweating.

How long have I been laying here?
 Awhile obviously. I glanced down at the bathroom rug. A little puddle of dark urine was soaking into the beige yarn, joining the large blotches of blood. I toed the rug over on itself. I’d throw it away later.

I stayed on the toilet until my ass fell asleep and began to prickle. I forced myself to pee again then staggered to the main room and directly to my normal closet
. I pulled the spare flat sheet as well as my heavy winter blanket from the upper shelf, and managed to get them both around me.

Turning, I lurched to the chair
, and dropped ungracefully into it.

* * * * *

“We need an ambulance at the University of Washington. Breton Hall. Second floor. There will be someone waiting to escort them in. Attempted suicide we think.  No—” 

Someone was touching me. Messing with my eyes
, and pushing on my neck.

“Jerry, he’s coming around.”

“He’s waking up. We’ll be waiting. Thank you.” 

Was
that the Dean? What was he doing in my room?

I cracked my eyes. “I don’t need an ambulance,” I mumbled.

Tom, the dorm supervisor, frowned as he pried my eyelids the rest of the way open.

“Trisha, can you get him some water please?” Tom called over his shoulder to a round middle-aged woman with hideous
horn-rimmed glasses, and an even worse perm. “Trey, what did you do to yourself.” It wasn’t a question. More like a horrified exhalation. 

I tried to move but couldn’t. It was as if rigor mortis had set in and forgotten to take over my brain. The fact I wished it had, probably did make me an attempted suicide, but since I was still alive— the hospital was out of the question. They couldn’t take me without my permission.
Unfortunately right now I was still too out of it to argue... I would, when the time came.

Refusing treatment might get me kicked out of school, not to mention my scholarship revoked, yet it was the lesser of two evils. A hospital stay would eventually end with a visit to the psyche ward. I’d been in one once and saw no reason to visit again.

The ugly perm held a bottle of water to my lips. I tried to take it from her, but I couldn’t move my arm high enough to reach it. So I graciously allowed her to feed me sips. Clearing my throat, I focused in on Tom.

“Why are you here? I didn’t miss any classes.” My voice crackled
like a dead leaves. 

His eyes almost popped out of his head. “You haven’t been to class in five days.”

Whoa. No shit.
Not my longest stint though. Once I had lived without food and water for nine days. That one landed me in the hospital for a while before being dumped at Fairfax for over a month.

“No one has seen you out of your room, and your car is in the lot. One of the other students came and told me there was a stench near your door.
Five days
, Trey.” Tom swallowed, looking rather peaked.

Probably six actually, since I wasn’t sure how long I
had been on the bathroom floor, but I doubted it had been more than a day. Wow, I was impressed I figured that out.

I quickly became thankful I couldn’t feel anything. The sour air was worming its way into my consciousness and it was fetid. Correction; I was fetid. I didn’t let myself think about that. I was sure there was nothing to throw up. Even so, I didn’t want to start gagging.

It was easier than I thought— blanking everything out. I grew muzzy and passed in and out of consciousness. The prick pricking my arm woke me up though, and I tried to jerk my arm away.
Who am I kidding? I’m as weak as a baby bird.