The Geek and His Artist (19 page)

Simon took a deep breath, swallowing and trying to push the panic back. He managed to tie his other shoe and get his flannel on by the time Jimmy got back. Jimmy took his hand and led him to the door, then helped him into his coat. Then they were on their way.

They rode in silence, Jimmy refusing to release his hand, even to shift. He managed to drive and shift one-handed, though Simon was too focused on breathing to notice how. He kept telling himself it might not be so bad—The Bastard would yell, probably throw a few things, then demand dinner. Simon wouldn’t get any, but this time that was okay because he’d had that big meal with Jimmy’s family. He didn’t need it.

The trip took forever and yet entirely too little time all at once. Before he was ready, Jimmy had parked in front of the building. He took the car out of gear, pulled the parking brake, and turned to Simon. “I know it’s difficult for you, but I need you to call me tonight. After things… calm down. After he passes out. Can you do that?”

Simon swallowed but nodded. “I’ll do it, somehow. I’ll be okay, really.”

The muscles in Jimmy’s jaw jumped in what Simon was learning was Jimmy’s way of fighting anger. “I’m not so sure. I’ll worry.”

“I’ll call,” Simon promised, then leaned in. “May I have a kiss?”

In response, Jimmy yanked him across the car and crushed his lips onto Simon’s. Simon could taste Jimmy’s fear and worry, and he lifted his hands to hold Jimmy’s face, pouring all the reassurance he could into the kiss.

When they broke apart, he cupped one of Jimmy’s cheeks. “I’ll call.”

Jimmy nodded, eyes moving over Simon’s face as if to memorize it. “I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

Simon smiled. “Yes.” With another short kiss, Jimmy let go, and Simon climbed out of the car. He turned to watch Jimmy drive away, but Jimmy waved at the door, and Simon understood he’d be waiting. With a return wave, Simon took the few steps into the building. He turned to see Jimmy drive away, then went up the last few steps to the hallway. He paused outside the apartment door, and his heart started pounding loudly when he heard the TV on the other side.

Shit. Oh shit.
Hands shaking, Simon opened the door and stepped inside. He closed it behind him and looked up to see The Bastard standing at the window.
Oh fuck! He saw Jimmy!

“So, not only are you a lazy good-for-nothing, but you’re a
fag
too?”

Simon didn’t answer, knowing The Bastard didn’t expect one. He shrugged his coat off and hung it up, then started to inch toward his bedroom. Maybe he could get out of this, maybe The Bastard ate, so he wouldn’t have to cook, and he could just escape to his room and be left alone.

The Bastard turned around, and Simon knew in that split second he was kidding himself. The Bastard’s face was bright red with rage. “I didn’t raise a fag!” he screamed, nearly flying across the room, his fist landing in Simon’s stomach before Simon even registered he’d moved.

Pain exploded in his middle and his stomach twisted, nausea rising. Simon couldn’t decipher the words The Bastard was shouting. He was too busy trying to dodge fists and subsequent pain. He couldn’t stop the whimpers and cries, though he’d be damned if he begged. It only fueled the man on, so he kept his mouth firmly shut as the fists flew. One hit his ribs, another his arm, a third in his back. It didn’t seem to matter where the blows landed, The Bastard kept throwing them, and Simon tried to move out of range. But he couldn’t get far enough, because as soon as it was obvious he was moving, The Bastard grabbed his hair and yanked. Simon felt some of it tear, but couldn’t worry enough about it before he took another hard hit to his stomach.

The bile came up this time and he lost what little bit was left in his stomach, right on The Bastard’s hated steel-toed boots. “You fucking little shit!” Simon’s eyes were still glued to the mess he’d left, so he couldn’t miss one lifting toward him. He dodged just enough to keep it from getting his crotch, but it landed on his hip instead. It hurt like a bitch, but the adrenaline running through him in that moment helped. He knew he’d feel it badly later, though.

Despite his best attempts, the first “please” slipped out as Simon tried again to get away. But The Bastard’s grip on his hair was still tight, and even with the hair that had already been pulled out, there was plenty left. Simon held his arms up, trying to block the fist, but The Bastard apparently anticipated it and it landed on his chest. Simon reached up to try to pry the hand out of his hair, but that was anticipated too, and he took yet another hit to his belly. There was nothing left to come up, but his stomach heaved anyway, and he was forced to give up on the hand in his hair, his arms going around his stomach. He let another cry out and another “please” escaped.

To Simon’s surprise, The Bastard let go. Simon staggered and fell, but scrambled to get right back up again. He needed to get to his room, needed to get the locked door between them. As furious as the man was, Simon wasn’t sure if it would be enough this time, but he had to try. He ignored the shouts, still not able to understand the words, and when he glanced up, it was to see The Bastard’s face almost purple with rage.

Simon had the thought it would be nice if The Bastard would just die of a heart attack, but he wouldn’t get that lucky and tried again to get up. Just as he got on his feet and spun, he looked up in time to see The Bastard heft a baseball bat.
Where the fuck did he get that?
Simon darted to the left, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. He moved just far enough that the first hit from the bat only grazed his thigh. The second time The Bastard swung, he grazed Simon’s arm.
At least he’s a shitty batter.
The thought almost made Simon laugh and he wondered at that, but didn’t have time to think about it. The bat came down on his ankle, and with a cry, he went down again. Once more The Bastard swung and the bat hit the same spot, sending spots in front of his eyes from the pain.

“I’m sorry!” Simon shouted. “Please! I’m sorry! Stop, please, stop,” he begged. “Please stop!”

To Simon’s shock, the bat landed on the floor in front of him. “If I ever see you so much as smile at another boy, you’ll get worse.”

Simon nodded, not that he believed for one minute he’d really give The Bastard what he wanted, but just to shut the man up. He huddled on the floor, shaking as the adrenaline started to fade and the pain kicked in hard.

“Well, looks like you finally got hit by a car with that fucking skateboard of yours. Now you’re gonna fucking make me sit in a hospital.”

“Why do you care?” Simon spit, then shook as soon as it slipped out. It earned him another hit to his stomach.

“Can’t have the cops asking questions, can we? Get up,” he said, kicking Simon’s leg with his boot. Simon noted with some detachment it was the same spot he’d taken the baseball bat earlier, the same place that was likely to have a very big, very ugly bruise.

He struggled to stand, but as soon as he tried on that ankle, he fell again.

“Aw, fuck, such a fuckin’ baby,” The Bastard said, grabbing Simon’s arm and hauling to him to his feet. Simon cried out, but the grip on his arm—which would likely also bruise—was too tight for him to fall again. The Bastard snatched up a set of keys from the table by the door, their coats, flipped the light switch, and opened the door. As soon as they were through the door, Simon noted The Bastard wrapped an arm around him, the very picture of a caring parent.

Simon wanted to vomit again, and not just from the pain.

The trip to the car hurt like hell. Every step, another stab of pain hit, every movement pointed out a new place he’d bruise. His empty stomach roiled, and when he was finally in the car, he bent over and put his head between his knees to try desperately to get a hold of himself. But the pain in his middle from the punches was making it damned-near impossible.

He paid very little attention to anything around him—not the trip to the hospital, not the wheelchair outside the emergency room, nor the people waiting. He heard the lady at the intake desk say something about “Presbyterian,” so he knew enough to know which hospital he was in, but that was it. He couldn’t stomach the pleasant way The Bastard replied or the things that were said as she asked him Simon’s information to put into the computer, then directed them to the chairs.

Simon did everything he could to focus on dealing with the pain. It’s something he’d gotten good at over the years. But this was worse than anything Simon was used to, and he was afraid fighting it was going to be a losing battle.

He was so focused on breathing, he had no idea how much time passed, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t very long before they were taken back. The Bastard verified Simon’s information, waited impatiently as the bracelet was put around Simon’s wrist, authorized treatment, signed a bunch of papers, until the nurse—a male nurse named Doug who towered over The Bastard by a good six inches—showed up to speak to him about options. He said the doctor would be in to talk about what they’d do for treatment, but in the meantime, Simon needed an X-ray. Doug promised painkillers—though Simon thought he caught the annoyance on The Bastard’s face over that—as well as provided ice packs for the swelling.

Once he left, The Bastard turned a glare on Simon and leaned in. “It’s a good thing you’ve got medical insurance,” he whispered furiously. “Or this little trip of yours would cost a fortune.” He stood abruptly. “I’m getting coffee so I don’t have to listen to your whining.”

Simon said nothing, too grateful to finally be alone.

When Doug came back, he frowned. “Your father left?” he asked as he set a small vial and a few other things on the counter.

Simon nodded. “Yes, he… he said he needed to make a phone call.”

Doug looked at him for a long moment, then checked the chart in his hand. “Simon, I need to ask you a few questions.”

Simon’s eyes darted to the door, then back to the nurse. “M-my father should be back soon, he can—”

“No, I want to ask
you
. Simon, do you feel safe at home?”

Simon couldn’t hold the piercing gaze for long. He nodded automatically, having been through
this
before. “Yes, of course.”

“Does anyone hit or threaten you?” Doug asked, and Simon was pretty sure his normal answers weren’t coming out as confident as they usually do.

“No, of course not.”

“I see,” Doug said and Simon looked up. Doug didn’t appear even slightly convinced, and Simon tried for a smile.

“Really, I fell off my skateboard and right into a car. It was stupid, really.”

Doug raised his eyebrows. “You fell into a car?”

Simon had to smile at that. “Sort of. Right off a curb, wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“So you went off a curb, fell into a car, and broke your leg?”

“I don’t know that it’s broken,” Simon replied.

Doug nodded. “Well, we’ll find out for sure in a bit. First, let me give you this,” he said and picked up the vial.

Simon didn’t watch as Doug prepared everything, doing his best to keep his gaze fixed on the wall until the nurse was done. Finally Doug stepped back. “That should help pretty quick. They’ll be here shortly to take you to X-ray.”

“Uh, is there a, uh, phone I can use?”

Doug nodded, pointing to the phone on the counter. “Dial nine for an outside line. Here, let me help you,” he said when Simon shifted, then picked up the phone, unwound some of the cord, and set it on the rolling table. “You might want to make it quick, though. That stuff should kick in soon.”

Simon nodded. “Thank you.”

But Simon didn’t get a chance to dial. Just as Doug left, The Bastard came back, sipping his coffee. He sat in the corner and flipped on the television, laughing at something Simon refused to pay attention to. He let out a soft sigh of relief when the pain started to fade.

A few moments beyond that, a young black guy who couldn’t be much older than Simon stepped into the room. “Hello, I’m here for—” He paused and looked at a little sticker on his hand. “Simon Williams?”

Simon nodded. “I’m Simon.”

“Your birth date, Simon?” he asked, eyes still on the sticker.

“Six, twenty-two, ninety-six,” Simon confirmed.

“Excellent. I’m here to take you to X-ray. Sir? Do you want to go along?”

“I’m sure my son’s grown up enough to not want his old man around for everything,” The Bastard said, and Simon had to fight hard to not grit his teeth.

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Simon managed, instead.

“Okay, we’ll be back really soon, anyway,” he said and rolled Simon out of the room.

With the painkiller kicking in, Simon had to struggle to focus on where they were going. But as with any hospital, the halls merged into one, and he lost track until he was rolled through a door into the big X-ray room. The tech helped get him onto the table, and Simon was triply grateful for the painkiller. Were it not for that, he was sure that move would have hurt a
lot
more, though it still hurt plenty as it was. He held still when they told him, shifted when needed, and did his damnedest to keep his grunts to himself.

In what felt like no time, he was being wheeled back to his room. When they got there, The Bastard was gone again. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Before he could second-guess himself, he picked up the phone.

J
IMMY
ALMOST
ignored it. He didn’t recognize the number and thought someone had misdialed. But something told him to pick it up, if nothing else to inform the person they had the wrong number. So Jimmy swiped his thumb over the screen on his phone. “Hello?”

“Jimmy?” Simon’s voice, sounding odd, came through the speaker.

“Simon? Baby? Where are you calling from?”

“Presby. Least… I think it’s Presby….” He paused, then said, “Yeah, that’s what she said.”

Jimmy heard the slight slur in Simon’s words, but it didn’t make a lot of sense to him. He’d figure that out in a minute. “Presby? You’re at Presby
hospital
?” Jimmy asked, trying to keep his voice even and make sure he knew what was going on before he panicked. He considered himself well-read. Had seen the phrase “ice in his veins” or some variation many times. He’d always thought it was an exaggeration, but he knew there was nothing literary about it. That was
exactly
what it felt like.