The Darker Side of Trey Grey (9 page)

“Relax, Mr. Grey. I have to set an IV. We can’t move you until you are better hydrated,” the prick in the blue medic uniform informed me.

I somehow managed to peel his hand off my lower arm as I grumbled incoherently.

“You said five days?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes.” Tom I think.

“He should be almost dead, but somehow he still has some strength. That’s a good sign.”

“No hospital,” I mumbled.

“Sir, you have to go to the hospital.”

“No hospital,” I repeated.

“Sir, you need medical treatment.”

I managed a small shake of my head. “You can’t make me go.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, and finished setting up the IV in silence. He turned the dial and I felt a slight burn, then cold, as the fluid merged with my blood. I was awake now, but I kept my eyes closed. The room was too bright and everyone was staring at me piteously.

“I suggest you call his family. They can override his decision.”

“I don’t think he has
any. I know his parents are deceased and his emergency contact is a dead end. A strip club near the airport actually,” Dean Williams said.

I would have laughed at that had I had the energy to do so.

“That leaves you no options then. He has every right to refuse medical care, and there isn’t anything we can do about it. We’ll treat him here, and can have a nurse come by everyday until he’s strong enough to care for himself. Honestly? That’s all we can legally do.

“I can call in a mental health professional but I doubt he would be admitted. He might be mentally ill, but looking at the evidence, I can’t say with any conviction he intended to harm himself. The trail is pretty clear. I worked at a mental hospital for a stint, and even though I’m not a psychologist, I can guess with reasonable accuracy he suffers from OCD and it got out of hand. Sorry... you might have something in your bylaws to protect the school?” the prick suggested, and I liked him a little better. The laws might suck, but they were sucking in my favor right now.

The good vibes towards the prick evaporated, however, when he and his buddy took it upon themselves to carefully lay me on the floor so they could clean me up. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. What a degrading process. While one of them held me, the other had to wet my ass down until the fecal matter was softened enough so the blanket could be divested from my person.

Too feeble to fight them, they didn’t even bother to restrain me. They would probably leave and l
augh at the stupid, sad, twenty-year-old kid that freaked out over ejaculating in his own bed.

My body, in an act of defiance I appreciated, peed on the prick’s partner as he wiped me down. I didn’t feel it, just heard the breathy, “Sonofabitch, he peed on me.”

“That’s a good thing,” the prick said behind his mask.

He regained my favo
r when he went above and beyond by stepping in to help Tom clean my room.

“Mr. Grey, how bad is your OCD?” he asked, slipping on a new pair of gloves.

I grimaced.

“Can we salvage—”

I shook my head as adamantly as I could.

“Bags, bathroom sink,” I rasped out from my position on the floor. I was getting fuzzy again, and my throat was beginning to hurt.

“What about the bathroom sink?” Tom asked, but the EMT was already in there fluffing a bag open. I heard something drop into it— my bathmat I hoped.

“This guy has his system, that’s for sure. Four mattress pads, impressive. Mm... take down
to the second vinyl one, yes?” He glanced at me for affirmation.

I nodded, and mumbled, “Yes.”

“No, take the quilted one and the first vinyl one off. They get thrown away with the bedding.”

“I can wipe this one off. It still looks new.”
 

I cringed at Tom’s ignorant words.

“No, you can’t do that with an OCD. He says to get rid of it, so we throw it away, or he might sleep on the floor and that won’t do him any good.”

Okay, now I liked the prick. He was good. He removed his gloves
, putting on new ones between each step, and made Tom do the same. I appreciated that. I understood that made me a freak, but I have earned every freakish tendency I have.

“That’s definitely
not
salvageable,” Tom said, sighing, as he slid the chair holding my ruined spare bedding across the floor with his foot. Fucker. He had a point as it was school property. Although he could have just billed me for it, or had me replace it without saying a word. He did begrudgingly supply a clean blanket from storage however.

Prick and his partner settled me on my bed with a new IV, bottle of water, my cell phone, towel for a pillow, and pee pads crinkling under me.

“Mr. Grey, the nurse will be here at eight, and again around five. Do you know how to use your cell phone?”

“Hit the green button until it beeps and dial.”

“Just checking, since it was the only thing in here covered in dust. Don’t try to get up. You’ll fall if you do. The nurse will clean you up when he or she gets here.” He gave me a compassionate look.

He actually looked like a nice guy, not a prick. He had a wedding ring on his finger, and probably had kids. I’d lay a bet he was a great dad too. Someone who takes his kids to the park
, and coaches little league. He just had that look about him.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been here before. And I didn’t try to kill myself, by the way.”

“You’ve had this happen before?” he asked.

I gave a short nod. “Mental coma or something,” I muttered.

“Psychological coma. Your mind broke down so far it put your body to rest. Did you go off your meds?”

“I don’t take any.”
 

He shook his head at me beratingly. “Maybe you should. Try to take care of yourself, Sir. I don’t want to see you again.”

“I don’t want you to see me again either. Thanks for everything.” And I meant it. He gave me a thin smile. Within a minute everyone but Tom, the dorm super, had gone.

“Trey, I know you’re a smart young man, and as such understand there may be repercussions from this. We’ve arranged for a therapist to come here in three days
to do a mental evaluation. At present it is not our intention to suspend you as you have been a model student thus far.” He shook his head gently. “Not one mark on your record. Exemplary really.” 

Nice words coming from a man whose brow was sweating, and hands were moving nervously as if I was dangerous, and at any moment would jump up and slit his throat. Laughable, considering I couldn’t even raise my arms.

“Well, this has my cell number on it.” He placed a slip of white paper on the nightstand. “Relax and don’t worry about your courses. We can work something out later. I’ll try and check in after the nurse has been here.” He stood there looking unsure about what to do.

“Mr. Capri, I didn’t try to kill myself. I’m not suicidal.”
 

He nodded grimly, but managed a version of a smile before leaving me to a quiet room. I didn’t even have the TV remote.

Alone in the waning daylight, I suddenly wished I had been able to take kitten for a drive. It was an odd thing to remember, that last normal thought before chaos ensued, but I deeply regretted not having been able to go. Maybe this happened for a reason. Maybe I did need help. Maybe— Oh hell. My crazy ass fucked up, plain and simple.

No. This happened for a reason. And somewhere in my messed up head I knew that.

Without my permission my mind wavered over the first and only other time this
had
happened. I was sixteen. My mother had died two weeks earlier of a heroin overdose, and ever since her death Willie had been pimping me from the house unmercifully. I remembered eating pizza, and the start of his party, but I had never been able to recall exactly what happened that night. I was ninety-percent positive Willie had drugged me somehow. 

I awoke alone
, and battered pretty badly on the floor of our living room. There were bottles, beer cans, drug paraphernalia, and pizza boxes scattered everywhere. I had tried to get up, but the pain kept me down. I called out for Willie even though, somehow, I knew he wasn’t there. The house was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the whir of the furnace. My face felt sticky. I wiped my mouth off and saw the milky gunk thread between my fingers. I rolled over attempting to sit up and saw the blood, felt the slime down my legs, and that was the last coherent thought I had had. 

Nine days later I was found by our neighbor
, Celia, when the mailman could no longer fit anything in our box. He had gone to her to ask if we had moved. She came over, peeked in the windows, and saw me on the floor. I didn’t wake up for several more days.

I went from the hospital to what they referred to as a mental health hospice, which was
actually a nice name for the teen angst mental ward at Fairfax. I stayed six weeks, saw a collection of therapists, and then I was moved to a group home. I left that rattrap the very next day.

I returned to the house that night. Broke through the police seals, packed a bag, took my keys, and kitten and I left together. Even though I knew I couldn’t escape my past, I’ve never looked back... Not intentionally anyway.

I wasn’t sure if Willie ever returned. I didn’t know if he was
out there somewhere or rotting in jail. I’d never cared to follow up and find out. I had made the papers though;
Local teen found battered and severely abused. Police are looking for the stepfather, William Carnel, who is wanted for questioning in this case...
It was just a bunch of bullshit written to make others feel better. The story was dead a day later. I had only been interesting until another story came along. 

I continued going to school, maintained my GPA, and never caused a lick of trouble. I had been reasonably sure CPS listed me as a runaway, and then conveniently lost my file even though they knew right where to find me. By then I was less than a year away from becoming a legal adult, so I probably wasn’t worth the effort.

It had been easy to piece together a fairly accurate account of what happened that night. I didn’t need to know every sick, twisted detail— I knew more than enough.

Three things came of that night. I discovered what pure, unadulterated rage felt like, and if I were to ever run into Willie I just might end up in jail for murder. Secondly, my aversion to certain fluid emissions was taken to a whole new level of madness, and a person might wonder why I still fucked men, and let men fuck me. That was easy. Men were simple, single minded, and fast. Women were
sloppy, hard to please, and could take forever. Plus I liked men, when they’re not gang banging teenage boys that is.
 

Lastly...
I broke free
.

However, if I were being honest with myself, I really hadn’t. I was still working the streets. I was still a paid whore. I was still letting the Willie’s of the world use me. I also knew as soon as I was able, I would be back out ther
e again getting fucked. Because truthfully, it was the only world I felt I belonged in.

I dozed off on that cheery thought, and didn’t wake again until the nurse arrived.

“Good morning,” the nurse sang as he waltzed right into my room. “I’m Gale. Let’s get you cleaned up first, shall we?” he said merrily.

My first impression was that he was gay. But nope. He was definitely a straight boy, with an annoyingly cheerful disposition. Even hi
s scrubs were sunny, and I mean literally. They were covered in assorted smiling suns on a baby blue background.

He was oddly clean
even by my standards. He applied gel disinfectant
before
he snapped on his gloves, and he smelled strongly of Dial soap and rubbing alcohol. It was as if he used it for aftershave— which would be ironic since he didn’t appear to shave much. His dark, wide goatee and mustache were trim enough; however, his hair was not. A coffee colored bird’s nest of frizzy hair covered his head and carried down his cheeks in a disorderly fashion.

He hummed, smiling often, as he cleaned me off and changed the soiled pads underneath me as if it were the highlight of his day. For some silly reason I found myself grinning at his overjoyed attitude.
What person takes pleasure in doing this?
He just might be more disturbed than I was.

“Let’s see here.” He pulled a thin laptop out of a messenger bag on the floor, then tapped the keys. “Ohh, yu-um. It looks like you get to have a little broth this morning, Trey.” He pulled out a can, and headed to the microwave. Without compunction, he rummaged until he found my can opener
, then dumped part of the can into one of my coffee cups.

“Hey, can I have coffee too?” I asked, but it sounded more like a growl.

“Sure, it’s considered a clear liquid. Where’s your... oh, I got it.” he waved the box of coffee singles over his head. “How do— ”

“Black, thanks.” I gurgled then coughed, dislodging the phlegm in my throat.

The microwave beeped, and he pulled out the mug of broth then put in a cup of water before turning back towards me.

“Where’s your pillow? Did you lose it last night?” He ambled over, glancing around as he came. “I don’t see it—”

“No, they were disposed of. I haven’t had a chance to buy a new one.”

“You are silly, aren’t you? I’ll pick one up today. What do you like?” Gale asked with a tilt of his head, as if he was sizing me for a suit. I stared at him, not understanding the question. “Soft, Medium, firm? Do you sleep on your side, front
, or back?”

It was a pillow for God’s sake. Gale waited expectantly, tapping a finger to his goatee.

“Medium, and I sleep all over so you can pick. I trust you. There’s cash on top of the microwave.” 

“No worries. I’ll get reimbursed. Now... let’s see what we can use to prop you up.” His gaze traveled around my sparse room. “Ah, that might work.” He toddled towards the opposite wall.

“NO!” I said abruptly.

He froze in mid-stride, giving me an uneasy look.

“Sorry. Not
that
closet. Nothing out of that closet.” I rapped the wall behind me. “This one. You can use anything you want from this one. There should be clean towels on a table in the bathroom too.”

He was rifling around in the closet as the microwave beeped again.

“Oh, this should work.” He popped out with my down parka that I’ve never actually worn. “Do you think you can stay upright leaning against the wall?”

“Yeah.”
 

Maybe.
The only way to find out was to try. He was incredibly strong and— without any help from me— had me in position in seconds with the coat between my back and the wall. It wasn’t even that uncomfortable.

Tugging the blanket over me, he frowned.
“Where’s your spare bedding?”

“Gone.”

“Thrown away?”

“Yep.”
 

He sighed dramatically, tapping a finger to his lips, while he looked around. He headed in
to the bathroom, and suddenly screeched like a girl seeing a spider. Either he really did see a spider, which happened from time to time in this old building, or more than likely he spotted my bloody shower. Tom and the EMT had only taken care of the bed because I needed it— and the chair... well, enough said on that.

He returned with a towel and laid it across my lap then went about repositioned the blanket around me. The girly scream didn’t seem to warrant an explanation. He bustled over to the microwave, and re-heated both mugs. I was getting the impression he could be a little flighty, but I decided not to hold that against him considering who he was caring for.

He retrieved both cups, and set the coffee bag to brewing then came over with the broth. He held onto it, looking down into its depths.

“Would you... would you mind if I cleaned your shower while you ate?”
 

I snorted a laugh and he immediately looked hurt.

“Knock yourself out,” I said, and he slumped, relieved. “A little OCD?” I asked lifting my eyebrows, rather amused.

“No, but people sometimes think that. If it had been mildew I wouldn’t have cared. Bodily fluids— I just can’t leave them, and blood is the worst. Oh, here, can you hold this?” He handed me the broth, and I wrapped my hands firmly around the mug.

“Yeah, I can hold it.”

“Sips, then let it settle. If you can eat half of that and hold it down, I’ll give you your
coffee.”

He tilted his head as he
gazed at me. I took a sip of the chicken broth, and was surprised it actually tasted good.

“Is that what happened? You’re OCD? It isn’t in my paperwork and should be if you are.” He indicated my... well, my whole body actually.

I lowered the cup and nodded. “Yeah, I am, and I’ll admit a pretty bad one too.” 

He tipped his head
again, smiling sympathetically. I took another sip of broth while he headed off to clean my shower, pulling a pair of rubber gloves out of a pocket I couldn’t even see.

It actually felt good to admit that to someone who wouldn’t judge me for it. I glanced at the cup in my hands and realized I had swallowed more than half the
yellow liquid. I lowered it to my lap, waiting to make sure my stomach was okay with the intrusion. While I waited I chuckled over the high pitched singing emanating from my bathroom.

I couldn’t remember the name of the song, but it had to do with birds when you appear, and it’s one of those songs everyone knows. I found myself mouthing the words. It was a goofy song, yet echoing in my shower
, while being sung by a joyous male nurse, seemed perfectly normal— not to mention entertaining as hell.

My stomach started jumping around, and not because it was refusing my offering, thank God, but rather demanding more fuel. My body had always been forgiving, taking abuse and bouncing back with hardly a thought. I supposed that was one reason I had survived as long as I had.
 

I sent down the last of the cooling broth, and leaned forward to place the empty mug on my nightstand.
My body lurched forward and I didn’t have quite enough strength to stop the descent. Maybe I hadn’t started bouncing back
quite
yet. I managed to stay on the bed, and shuffled myself onto my side with my legs still over the edge.

All of a sudden I really wanted a smoke. The desire came out of left field and I was surprised it hadn’t hit earlier, but possibly almost falling out of bed had been enough of a stress to demand nicotine.
 
   

That was how Gale, the singing nurse, found me as he exited the bathroom slathering his hands and arms with gel sanitizer.
 

“Trey, what happened? Were you being a bad boy trying to get up? You can’t do that yet.”

He drew the blanket back and set me up against the wall again. This time with a tiny bit of help from me. The effort, however, left me breathing heavily.

“Don’t do that again. You have to give your muscles some time to recover.”
 

I shook my head at him. “I wasn’t trying to get up.” I pointed a wimpy finger to the mug. “Just setting that there.”

He picked up the cup and grinned. “What a good patient! You drank it all. Do you still want your coffee?” 

“Yes.” Damn straight I wanted coffee. What kind of Washingtonian did he think I was? He headed over to retrieve it for me, while I pondered how we had become such a coffee addicted state. It wasn’t just the big cities. Even in little towns you could find an espresso stand every few blocks. It
had to be Starbucks fault. I mean hell, there were three just around the campus.

Gal
e handed me my re-warmed coffee. I stared at him over the lip of the cup trying to decide whether he would allow me to smoke. His eyes began widening.

“What? Does the coffee taste wrong?” he asked nervously.
 

I chuckled. “No, I’m sure its fine, thank you.” I took a sip to prove it. Even if it had tasted like oil I would have still drunk it. “Think I can talk you into breaking a few rules?”

He pulled a stern expression, which didn’t fit his cherub face.

“Open the windows and let me have a smoke.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, silly. You’re not in a hospital.” He paused, looking confused. “Why am I breaking rules?”

“Because it is strictly forbidden to smoke in the dorm,” I pointed out. Not that I gave a rat’s ass, but I obeyed the rule nonetheless. I felt this was an extenuating circumstance however.
 

He waved my comment away, and went to open the windows.

A few minutes later I was drawing the toxins into my lungs, sighing appreciatively as I exhaled. Smokers aren’t any different than drug addicts. Except that the substance we’re addicted to happened to be legal, which I found moronic if the truth be told. Had tobacco been an illegal substance, I never would have tried it.

A few drags later the light headedness hit from too many days denied. It passed quickly, and I savored the last long drags knowing it would be many long hours before I could have another.

When I squashed out the butt, Gale reached for the ashtray he had found in the same drawer as my can opener, and set it on the stand by the bed. He re-arranged me flat on my back then flipped me effortlessly onto my stomach.