Antidote (Don't) (37 page)

I made a point of easing Halliday away; then I reached over and grabbed the chart that the discharge papers were attached to. A pen was fastened to the top and I pulled it free only to find the words on the backdrop of startling whiteness kept blurring. It took someone calling my name and tugging the board from out of my hands for me to focus again.

“I’ll sign this.” My old man’s hand shook as he took out his own pen and started to scribble on the form. “Get you home to mine, yeah, kid?” He mumbled something else, then, “Need to get you home.”

“I’m fine.” He’d picked up the medication, but I took it off him to find he was staring, mouth open slightly. I sidestepped him to go for the door but two other people stood in my way now.

“You need to listen to your father, Jack.” Gray kept closest guard by the door, Jan just to his left, looking more ready to bolt.

Jan.

You earned it after that blow job Boxing Day...

Head down for a moment, I calmed every ounce of shaking and looked back at my old man. “Dad, as ever, it’s really good that you take time out for my shit. I love you for it, you need to know that, because fuck knows I’ve never said it enough, right? But I’m going back to the manor.” I needed the manor, lots of rooms, lots of doors, too many to try and open before...

Kisses came at my neck. “Don’t... fear me, Jack.”

“Dad. I’ll give you a call later, okay?”

That knocked him sideways in all the wrong ways, but I needed to get out now. Gray got my attention as I held a hand to the wall to steady me. “I’m in no state to drive, will you call Ed, please?”

“I’ll dri—”

“No,” I said through Jan’s words, not taking my gaze off Gray. The need to get out and breathe was crushing my insides. “Ed. Please?”

Not saying anything, Gray nodded. Giving Jan a glance, he left. That left my need to go to the bathroom, and I pushed on through, shutting the door and just breathing in the space as I leaned back against the door. That need to piss was there, but the toilet held me still. The ache in my groin had grown to cock-grabbing annoyance, and it was a choice between standing here and pissing myself or dropping my jeans and facing the toilet. A rub at my head, I went over, naturally finding my clasp, my zip, yet my gaze finding sole focus on anything, anything but lower than the waistline. It burned, in ways that had me frowning and fighting back tears, the stream of water I pissed felt like heated wine, with just as distinct a smell.

I was scratching at my hip before I realised it, grateful I didn’t need anything more than a piss. Especially nothing that meant I’d have to sit on this and....

I tucked everything away, the fuck did I shut everything away quickly, and washed up.

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the back of the Rolls, watching the world pass by outside. Snow was still on the ground, deep enough to force the Rolls to a slow crawl. The brightness of the afternoon matched the whiteness of the medical facilities, yet it left behind that startling blank sheet.

A good place to leave things, forget the piss stains that were out there, hidden under bushes that buckled from the weight of the snow. Hiding. Something always hid beneath fucked-up surfaces.

By the time we pulled up outside Gray’s manor, a black Merc sat in the drive, indicating Gray, and no doubt Jan, had made it home first. They both waited by the fountain, and as I got out, whispering stopped and glances took over. Fucked-up whispers and bastard watching. The meds came off the back seat, and I rested against the rim of the open door, briefly closing my eyes, using the excuse that it was against the hurt in my body. After a push away, I headed into the Manor.

The cold from outside followed me in and I took a moment, staring over at the stairs as I inched off my trainers. Bending down brought up too many aches, stirred itching, echoes of—everything that was best left outside on plain white backgrounds.

Somebody spoke, Ed, maybe, and I looked back at him. He’d asked something, but I couldn’t really give a fuck what even though his mouth was still moving. The stairs took all of my attention again, breathing seeming to ease, to calm, and I followed them up to where the stairs branched in two, then just followed my feet, heading right, more stairs, through corridors that took me deep into the west wing.

The familiar came upon me, and I pushed on through to the bedroom Ed always ensured I took when Gray needed space. Covers hadn’t been changed, curtains opened, my assortment of work boots I kept in here nowhere to be seen. I went over to the bed, meds still in hand, just looking around before noise back by the door caught my attention.

“Let me arrange for Mrs. Booth to set the bed with fresh sheets,” said Ed, coming over, hands running over the duvet cover almost as if to check for creases.

“Why?”

Ed looked at me. “Because they’ve been on since your last stay here and....” He glanced at the sheets, then back over by the door. I knew Gray and Jan were just in the doorway. “I know how you....” Ed started to say but I looked at him and he seemed to falter. “But if they’re okay?”

“They’re fine.” I briefly stroked at the bottom of the bed. Yeah. Fine. Just fucking peach—Just fine.

“Jack, you don’t have to stay in here.” Jan came a few steps closer; I could feel it, space reducing. “I mean....” He frowned, stopped, and threw his hands out. “Gray and me....”

“It’s okay, Jan.” Gray stayed over by the door, watching. I watched him back. “Jack knows we’re here. All in his own time, yeah? Same with you.”

“Maybe?” Jan was in front of me, seeming to cover those last few steps in record time. “Me, talk? Do you need...” He stumbled with his words, but the softness in his eyes said so much, it offered so fucking much. He needed to talk. He needed to not be alone, maybe needed to hide, to forget how—

Covers kept us warm as kisses came at my neck again. “Please. Just tell me that you love me, not that bastard that’s in your head.” More kisses tenderised my throat. “Fucking say it: you love me.”

Amongst all the grey cloud, echoes, and screw-ups, that instinct was there to grab hold of Jan, hold on, not let him be alone, to let him know it was okay, block out the tumbling images. I think I even started to, but the breeze from the doorway shifted at the same time, catching his cologne, something else... how—

Real men get dirty now, Jack.

“Fuck, no.” The rejection was soft, not meaning to hurt, and I wanted to swear all the fucking sorries in the world for all the hurt that tore through his gaze then, but I was already in the bathroom, stomach hurting, paying homage with the acrid taste of meds in my throat, and nearly crying hate and hurt with it.

Jan

Hearing Jack’s retching going on in the bathroom, I ran my hands through my hair, gripping tight, watching that closed door, hearing the silence break with the choking.

“Hmph.” It was all I had.

A look at Ed, nothing but a shrug at Gray, I turned and ran. By the time I’d reached Gray’s bedroom, passed his bed, clothes were already torn off as I headed into the bathroom. For the sixth time in five days, steam instantly clouded the cold air, leaving the bathroom in near-clouded darkness, and I stumbled under the steam, water instantly hitting skin, soaking, drowning out all noise as I gripped onto the shower head above my head and held on. Just fucking held on.

Hands traced around my stomach and a body shaped me from behind. Kisses came in quick and the hold tightened, forcing me to cry out.

“Easy, easy.”

For a moment I thought Jack; the care and love behind the touch said everything about him, the tenderness so fucking much the same, and Gray only made everything hurt more when I realised it wasn’t Jack. Crying out again, I let my hands and head fall to the wall, fingers digging, desperate to keep a grip on something. Anything.

One hand on my stomach, the other around my neck, nearly strangling me, Gray pulled me back, held tight, so bloody tight. “Time,” he whispered quietly, “you both need time.”

After the second day of watching Jack, I knew, we all knew, that he’d woken up over the days that followed, just listening, drifting in and out of sleep over the New Year, twisting the covers as he’d dreamed. I’d let him, knowing he’d speak in his own time, when he was ready. Yet when he had, it had been to say he needed to run, to throw up at the thought of being near me. Why wouldn’t he? I’d fucking lay down next to him as he was raped; they’d made him hide in me as he was fucking raped, then as real men got dirty—

“
Should have stopped it
.” I cried out, digging my grip hard into Gray’s arms. “Should have fucking fought and stopped it.” I tried to get Gray off, hating him being anywhere near me. “You didn’t, you fuck,” I growled. “He fucking cried out for you to stop it, crawled up close to me, nudging my neck up as though I was you, asking me to stop it and—he needed it stopped, we both needed it to just... fucking... stop—”

Gray shifted, turning me around. Hands came to my face, forcing me to look at him, gaze so angry. “I didn’t,” he snarled, brushing my cheek with his thumb, each swipe hard enough to hurt. “When it really mattered, I wasn’t there for him, for you...” A kiss at my cheek, he pulled me in close. “Fucking kills me, Jan,” he said into my ear. “But that’s not my priority. Jack is.” He gripped my hair. “You are. And you, you’ve done nothing but hide in Jack’s hurt these past five days, watching, fucking waiting. You’ve got your own wounds.”

“I’m fucking fine.”

“You’re never more far from it. So same question again, Jan,” he said quietly, keeping me close. “Nobody else here, just us, just me. Vince and his bastard, what did they do to you?”

Real men get...

Head resting down on his shoulder, I screwed my eyes shut and cried out.

“You go quiet over the details surrounding Christmas night, over you in general. What happened? No one else here, Jan. I need to know who, I need to know how. But I also think you need to tell someone.”

“You took bloods whilst I was asleep. You know what they did.”

“I know what they didn’t pass on when they touched, nothing more.”

“Jack—”

“Not Jack. You.”

“Don’t...” I gripped onto his back. Vince... Real men got dirty. Real men—real men had said—

“This cleaning yourself shit is really starting to piss me off now, Jack.” Vince wiped the come on Jack’s cheek for a second time as Jack sat on the bed. Christmas dinner was long since thrown up, Vince making the mistake of giving Jack a full Christmas dinner when he’d been pumping nothing but drugs and fluids into Jack since he’d touched him. Now all that was left of Vince’s Christmas fun was Jack, sat there on the bed, a thin sheath of sweat covering his body after he’d let Vince fuck him. He’d enjoyed it. How the fuck could he have enjoyed it?

“S-sorry,” mumbled Jack, hand still gripping onto the mattress, body all rigid, breath barely drawn as he looked down at the come staining his thighs.

“We’ll sort you out, kid,” said Vince, folding his arms. “Don’t... worry.”

Henry seemed to come out of nowhere, two other men licking close at his heels, Jack’s startled snarl was as hurt-filled as mine as I struggled on the floor. He tried to fight, but a look came at me, followed by a cry that said fighting would make it worse, then fear hit hard, feeding his flight reaction instead. They caught his scramble off the bed, his intent to get to the door, maybe just remove one half of the problem, and a needle was pushed into his arm as he was held down in the sheets. Struggles eased on the bed, watering down until soft groans and half-hearted attempts disturbed the covers, but not much more.

Vince slipped his black leather gas mask over his face and Henry and another man grabbed hold of Jack and dragged him onto the floor not far from me. I tried to shuffle over, but my hands were still bound behind my back. Henry had loved dragging me in and out of the lounge and dining room, playing with my head as much as Jack’s. Although the way Jack had looked at me, how he sat there with no ropes, barely any drugs—not doing anything but eat... talk...

Fight. Why the hell hadn’t he fought—“
Why the fuck don’t you fight? You’re trained to fucking fight
.”

He was on the floor, quiet, lost to the drugs that only brought on a worse nightmare. I curled up, whispering all the sorries in the world, just needing to get close as the bed was upended, clearing a space, and leaving Jack amongst the dirt on the floor. A black necklace with a black cross sleeping on a silver cross rested around his neck. It looked familiar, only I couldn’t remember why, didn’t really care as Jack was tugged onto his back and bound in a standard X position on the floor. Arm and leg spreaders with black leather cuffs came into play, each fastened to two hooks in the floor, one above his head, one between his ankles, keeping him down, but coming with a bit of slack to leave Jack trying to pull his legs up.

Vince crouched by Jack, slipping a bit gag into his mouth and tying it in place. “Don’t...” he said quietly, and I tried to shield my ears, hiding in my suit jacket, not wanting to hear it anymore, “...clean yourself, boy.”