“No.” Danny shook his head, wondering if Paul had put him off women forever. He couldn’t close his eyes and not see Paul’s back, raw and bleeding. A hatred for dominant women blossomed in his soul and he didn’t see how anything, save severe memory loss, would cure him of it. “Fuck no.”
“So what?” Jason asked, laughing at him. “You think he’s going to give up the lifestyle? You know that’s not true, not once he’s gotten a taste of it. That’d be like trying to turn a gay man straight.”
“Yeah, I know that’s probably unlikely. He’s pretty into it.” Danny put out his cigarette and turned to Jason. “Actually, I have a different plan. I think you should be my older, wiser guide to the lifestyle. You seem responsible to me.”
“No.” Jason swallowed hard as he looked away. “I’ve already helped you more than I should. I’m not a BDSM outreach program. No way.”
“Why do you do that?”
“I’m not helping you,” Jason said defiantly.
“You can keep telling yourself that, but we both know you’ll end up saying yes,” Danny said knowingly. “I told you I’d be your friend for life if you helped Paul. That means you’re stuck with me.”
Jason snorted. “Great.”
Chapter Six
It happened as the sun rose and Danny found himself lying in bed after an exhausting thirty-six hours of caring for Paul. It was something he wouldn’t have thought possible, a complete one-eighty in his OCD, when one compulsion died and another was born from the ashes.
Despite a short visit from Jason on Saturday, it wasn’t until the wee hours of Sunday morning that Paul’s fever came down significantly enough for Danny to relax. Instead of much-needed rest, he lay there next to Paul and stared at the ceiling, watching the dust dance in the beams of sunlight filtering into the room. He’d barely slept, but the only thing he could recognize was the wild panic caused by the knowledge of just how dirty his house was. With Paul’s back in the condition it was, anything could cause infection.
They’d have to hospitalize him if he got an infection and that would destroy everything Paul had worked so hard for. The only way Danny had to protect Paul was to clean the ruin of a house he called home and keep it sterile.
Before Danny knew it he was out of bed. He gathered up the beer bottles still lined up everywhere, throwing them away as if he never had the problem to begin with. Every pizza box, discarded napkin or soda can was mocking him, a glaring reminder that he had failed Paul. He couldn’t make up for what happened. There was no way to go back in time and know that pushing Paul away would leave him horribly vulnerable, but he could make sure he was safe from this point forward.
Cleaning with manic vengeance left him with a full garbage can and an overflowing hamper of dirty clothes, but that didn’t fix the underlying problem. His house was a lot dirtier than just the discarded trash and clothes caused by laziness.
Desperate for some sort of control, a haven that would protect Paul, Danny started searching for cleaning supplies underneath the cabinets. When he found none he ended up at the kitchen table, making a shopping list for supplies. It was considerable, and he realized he was flat broke with no way to pay for them. He tapped the pencil against an old envelope he was writing his list on, debating between the blowjob-for-cash prospect or doing something much more sinister.
He unplugged his cell phone from where it was charging and did something he considered a last resort. He dialed the number, listened to it ring and then swallowed his pride when it was answered. “Hey, Mama.”
“Oh,
Chico
,” she said, sounding panicked, obviously catching a desperation in his voice. “What happened? Are you in trouble?”
He snorted, hearing the unspoken question. “They don’t let you use cell phones to make calls from jail.”
“I didn’t think that.”
“Can I borrow some money from you?” he asked, feeling his cheeks burn and choking on the words. “Do you have any?”
She was silent for a moment. “I spent my grocery money. I’ll get more on Monday. He hasn’t started giving me money for Christmas shopping yet, but I could ask. How much do you need?”
“Shit.” Danny groaned, covering his face with his hand because his father was tight-fisted with their money. He always bought them nice things, probably to make up for being an asshole, but as far as actual cash, he was too much of a control freak to let his wife have more than a small weekly allowance. “Forget it. I’ll figure something else out.”
“What do you need it for?” she asked, pulling Danny out of his internal musings as he tried to decide who he was going to whore himself out to for cash.
“Paul’s sick,” he said, knowing his mother wouldn’t tell anyone. “He’s
really
sick.”
“His mama—”
“Gimme a fucking break,” Danny said bitterly. “She’s bad for his health.”
“What is wrong with her? I never understood her. Why doesn’t she protect her babies?”
“Fear, probably.” Danny blinked heavy-lidded eyes, feeling almost drunk with exhaustion.
“No excuse,” his mother said fiercely. “I never let your father hit you. Not once!”
“I’m not entirely sure that caused any sort of improvement,” Danny said, and then looked down the hallway to where Paul slept and reconsidered. “But thank you. I do appreciate it.”
“He knows I’d kill him in his sleep.”
“Nice.” Danny laughed despite everything. “Calm down, Mama bear. I just need some cleaning supplies. I can feel the germs in this house.”
“
Oye
!” she shouted. “What’s this? You’re getting new compulsions! You’re not taking your medicine!”
“I am,” Danny lied.
“Liar! You know you’re OCD. Feeling germs, that’s a compulsion.”
“Look, the doctor helping Paul told me to clean the house,” Danny argued. “He did, I swear. I’ll have him call you if you don’t believe me. He said it was a hazard.”
“It
is
a hazard.”
“What’s wrong with cleaning it? Paul’s got a million stitches. If he gets an infection we’re in big trouble, Mama.”
“Stitches?” she gasped. “What happened to him?”
“He got mugged,” he lied, wincing because his mother was extremely intuitive. “Sorta.”
“Paul’s pretty big to get mugged. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Lots,” he said with a cynical laugh. “I just need this house cleaned. The doctor’s coming back this afternoon and if he thinks I’m not doing anything to make this place livable, I will die. He’ll think I’m not protecting him and I just—”
“I’ll call the cleaners,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “They’ll come today.”
“No, I wanna do it,” Danny said, finding that his fingers were literally itching to clean.
“You’re not taking your medicine. I know you’re not. Why are you always so difficult—”
“It’s not a mental problem,” he reiterated. “I just won’t know they did a good-enough job if they do it. Besides, I need food in this house. Paul looks as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks.”
“He’s not the only one,” she huffed, now properly distracted by the subject of food. “Come pick me up. We’ll figure something out.”
* * * * *
Lucidity was passing at best. Paul was feeling really divine with his back on fire and what felt like a constant pain buzz rushing through his system. Life had an eerie trancelike quality. The shadows on the walls becoming more real than they should, the voices drifting in and out of his consciousness seeming too far to reach out and communicate with. Paul gave up before trying and closed his eyes to vivid dreams bursting with life and color. Some were of Eve, but just as many were of Danny and he clung to them, not wanting to wake up to a reality where both his best friend and his girl were better off without him.
“Paul.” A cool hand ran over his forehead, brushing at hair sticky with sweat. “Your fever’s back up. We need to take your temperature.”
Paul squinted, trying to focus on the face swimming in front of him. He grimaced when he did. “Why?”
“You’re sick.”
“I am?” Paul asked in surprise, though it made sense. He certainly didn’t feel like himself. “Then why are you here?”
Jason smiled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’ll catch it,” Paul said, thinking it was obvious as he pulled the blanket over his head. “’M’fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Jason said softly. “I need you to let me take your temperature and then I’m going to give you another shot.”
“Why?”
“God,” he said with an incredulous laugh. “You are, hands down, the worst patient I’ve ever dealt with and I work with small children.”
“Sorry,” Paul said, his eyes falling closed beneath the blanket. His hot breath against the material made him feel smothered but he didn’t mind. “I’ll try harder.”
“Paul?” Jason asked softly as if something had just occurred to him.
“Hmm?”
“Has anyone ever taken care of you while you were sick?”
“And get sick too? That’s dumb.” Paul fought desperately for clarity and failed miserably. “Just gimme a few minutes. I’ll be okay.”
“Come here.”
The covers were pulled away, exposing Paul to more light than he wanted to deal with and he squinted against it as a cool hand cupped his cheek. He flinched from the gentle caress, reaching in vain for the covers to hide from the situation that was leaving him more than a little uncomfortable. Icy panic seized him when Jason was still hovering, seeming unwilling to let Paul be and heal on his own.
“Cooperate and I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
Looking frantically for Danny, Paul kicked at the sheets, intent to get to his feet and get away from Jason. “W-Where is he?” he gasped, needing something to ground him.
“He had to run some errands.”
“What?” Paul looked to the open bedroom door in panic when he realized Danny left him alone with this man. “I’m okay, really,” he said, jumping to his feet and promptly pitching forward. He would have landed on his face if Jason hadn’t caught him, grunting from the impact. Realizing he was in his arms, Paul pushed away, shuddering against his will. “I’m…” He paused, looking for an escape and spotted one when he saw the open bathroom. “I’ll be back.”
Paul shut the door with more force than necessary. He leaned against it, feeling the stitches in his back catch on the aged wood. The small stabs of pain were such a comfort he resisted the urge to slide down to the ground, knowing instinctively that ripping open the stitches would be something Danny may not forgive him for.
“Paul,” Jason said, his voice soft and concerned in a way that sent off every uncomfortable panic sensor Paul had. “What am I doing to upset you? Is there a reason you don’t like to be cared for?”
“Other submissives make me uncomfortable.” Paul felt his cheeks heat as he cursed the situation he found himself in. Usually he could live his life without revealing this hang-up his family had left him with. “They’re too accommodating, too nice.”
“You’re afraid they’ll be nice to you?” Jason’s voice ached as if just saying the words were painful. “You can’t deal with simple acts of kindness.”
“Nope,” Paul whispered, hating that he was laying his soul bare to a man who was practically a stranger, one he still wasn’t certain he even liked. “It’s usually not a big deal. It’s not like people are fussing over me in football, or in classes. I just gotta follow rules and everyone’s happy about it. Kindness is pretty easy to avoid, actually.”
There was a long, deafening silence and for a moment Paul was hopeful he’d become disgusted and left, but Jason finally sighed in defeat, still sounding heartsick. “How ’bout if I disinfect your back instead? I’ll make sure it hurts.”
Paul stood there, using the door to hold him on his feet. “Are you really a doctor?” he asked, because a doctor was an authority figure he could respect. “It’s not just a game?”
“Yes, I’m really a doctor,” he said, sounding in complete disbelief. “Don’t you remember me fixing your back?”
“I thought you had a medical kink,” Paul admitted, feeling his cheeks heat once more. “But I’m not comfortable playing with a switch, n-not without Danny around. I know he won’t go suddenly submissive.”
“Christ.”
“I’m sorry.” Paul felt the room spin, the fleeting grasp he had on reality slipping through his fingers. “I dunno what’s wrong with me. I’m still hazy. I need more time to pull myself together. I’m working on it.”
“You need to open the door and let me take care of you.”
Paul actually groaned out loud, feeling the same raw, uncomfortable feeling he experienced in the bedroom roll over him. He thought he might actually be sick from it. “I’ll be okay. If you just leave me alone, I’ll heal. I always do.”
“Open the goddamned door!”
Paul opened the door and stood back, running a hand over his face as he fought for a way to wake up and get the gears in his brain to start moving again. “Don’t tell Danny,” he said, hating the whiny sound in his voice. “I don’t know why I feel so—” He stopped before he said the word
weak
, not willing to give Jason that much. Knowing he was sounding like a broken record, he repeated, “I’ll be okay.”
“You
will
be okay given some healing time,” Jason assured him. “But you need to learn to accept a little bit of compassion, Paul.”
“I can accept it from some people,” Paul said defensively. “I had a vanilla girlfriend. She was nice to me. Danny’s nice to me. It’s just other people.”
“Okay,” Jason said, his voice doubtful as he went to the bathroom counter, picking up a clear plastic bottle. “I guess we’ll have some fun with alcohol in the meantime.”
Paul raised his eyebrows, staring at the bottle of alcohol. “Is that really what you’re gonna use?”
“Usually I’d use something milder, less agonizingly painful,” Jason explained with a mischievous smile, making it obvious he was indulging Paul. “But I think I’ll make an exception for you.”
Paul felt a smile tugging at his lips. “For real, tell me, are you a switch?” he asked, referring to the term for people who could be both dominant and submissive.
Jason shrugged, looking sad as he whispered, “Only for you.”