Consequences - 1. Story

They told me I would always have a limp. I would never walk normal again, but I guess walking with a limp is better than not walking at all. I’ll also probably have memory problems the rest of my life. But all in all, I’d say I was damned lucky. It could have been worse, I could have been stuck in a wheelchair being fed through tubes and shitting in a bag for the rest of my life.

 

It’s been two months since he found me, broken and bleeding on the rocks at the bottom of the Hanover Street bridge. I’d missed the shallow stream that steadily rushed by beneath the bridge by about two feet, and landed in a bloody heap on the rocks. Lucky for me, the drop wasn’t very far, otherwise I’d have surely been killed. I’d suffered some kind of nerve damage, but I don’t really remember what the doctor said. I was pretty messed up on painkillers when he told me. He did say he was amazed I hadn’t broken my back.

 

I also suffered a slight skull fracture, which caused my brain to swell. That resulted in my memory problems. I sometimes have trouble with my short term memory. On a good day, I’ll go through the day only forgetting what I was just doing once or twice. On a bad day, I’ll have entire stretches of time where I simply don’t remember anything. Like losing an hour or two. Its really annoying, especially when I’m suddenly someplace else and can’t remember how I got there.

 

The first two weeks after I woke up were the worst. I literally had no idea who I was or what had happened to me. I felt like I had been pushed onto a movie set and told to act, without any script or direction. Everyone was looking at me as if I was supposed to know all the answers, but none came to mind. It welled up inside of me until I thought I would burst. I felt like I was drowning.

 

Then I saw his face, and somehow felt that things might just end up alright.

 

In truth I’d been seeing his face for quite a while, in my dreams. Dreams that were formless, misshapen snapshots of a life I couldn’t remember, and from the looks of things, from the horrible nightmarish things in my dreams, a life I didn’t want to remember.

 

One dream in particular stood out from all the others. Perhaps it was because this one had some semblance of form, like a short film that wasn’t missing too many of it’s scenes.

 

The dream started off simple enough, I was walking along down a quiet street in an average neighborhood. Nothing in particular about the street stood out, but I had the distinct feeling that wherever I was headed, it was somewhere I didn’t want to be.

 

The dream flashed forward, and I was entering a house. Raised voices could be heard from somewhere within, but I couldn’t make them out. I knew they were talking about me, but for the life of me, I didn’t have any idea what was going on. Or why they were so angry with me.

 

The dream sped up again, and now a middle-aged woman was screaming in my face. A vein in her forehead protruded slightly, and the few wrinkles at her eyes and by her mouth stood out more prominently. She was a very pretty woman, but at the moment, she was utterly terrifying to me. Strangely, although she was a mere few inches from my face, I still couldn’t understand what she was saying. Then I felt the strong fingers at my shoulders, digging in as I was thrust backwards toward a couch.

 

I stumbled over my own feet, and barely managed to stay standing. My hands gripped onto the back of the couch, and before I could do anything to stop it, my shirt was pulled up and over my head, becoming tangled in my arms. I felt the cool air-conditioned air on my bare back, and turned my head to catch a glimpse of who was behind me.

 

All I saw was the black leather of an old and cracked belt. I heard the nearly silent whistle as it flew through the air. It hurt. In a dream you aren’t supposed to be able to feel pain, but I swear to God it hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before. At least that I could remember.

 

An eternity, or a mere moment passed, and my torment receded. I lay quivering on the floor, a strong and unpleasant smell lingering on the matted carpet, and I realized I was lying in a puddle of piss. I was still a little hazy as to whose it was, but the fact remained I was quivering in pain in a puddle of urine. I heard someone approaching.

 

I looked up, and saw a figure of a boy, no older than sixteen standing above me. He was in shadow, so I couldn’t make out his features. Finally, he bent down, and as he extended his hand for me to take, I saw his face.

 

My angel.

 

My blonde-haired, green-eyed angel. And he smiled for me.

 

The dream ended, and as usually happened after one of these dreams, I was left with more questions than answers.

 

The weeks passed, and slowly I regained much of my memory. And as I’d feared, the life I’d glimpsed in those horrible dreams was my own, and it was indeed a life I didn’t want to remember.

 

My mother and father were alcoholics. Met in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, and never went back. They’d been made for each other, and when I was born, it was a miracle I hadn’t died from neglect. All my life they’d cared more about the contents of their liquor cabinet than about me.

 

To my father I was the punching bag with the smart mouth. I don’t really understand where he got the idea that I had a smart mouth from, I cant remember the last time I actually complained about anything. Even when he started hitting me, I didn’t do much more than cry and try to protect the more tender parts of my body.

 

My mother was more aloof than anything. She saw everyday what my father was doing to me, but never once did she raise a finger to stop it. She simply didn’t care. She’d see me, cowering in fear, and she’d sneer at me and go find herself some alcohol. As long as she was intoxicated she wouldn’t have to deal with me.

 

Then I was outed.

 

All hell broke loose at home. I now remembered where that dream had come from, it was the day my parents found out I’m gay.

 

Before, when my father was hitting me, it was more for him to get out his aggression. He’d hit me for a while, and when he got tired, he’d leave me alone. But now, it seemed to me that his purpose in life was to cause me pain. The belt wasn’t even the worst of it. He did some things to me I don’t even want to talk about.

 

My mother had changed significantly now too. She didn’t just ignore it anymore, she goaded him on.

 

My life, as bad as it was, had become a living–

 

A nurse entered the room, and I lost my train of thought. It was incredibly frustrating, having to focus on something completely, or else I’d risk forgetting it. She checked my blood pressure, and after checking my meds, she left me in peace. I struggled for a short while on trying to remember my train of thought, but it was elusive, the ghost of a memory hovering just outside of my grasp.

 

I’d forgotten how boring hospital rooms can be. I stared blankly at the TV that was hanging in the corner of the room, which was playing some boring soap opera about a hospital, and needless to say, I’d had just about my fill of hospitals lately without needing to see a fictional one on TV. I needed to find something better to do to pass my time.

 

An hour later, I’d learned that there were eighty-three ceiling tiles in the room, and the one directly above me had approximately nine hundred and sixty tiny holes in it.

 

The door to my room opened, just as I was about to try and reach the TV remote that was just out of reach. My head spun to the door, hoping it would be my angel.

 

It wasn’t.

 

My father walked into the room, followed closely by my mother. I squeaked in fear, and my body curled up into the fetal position.

 

“Get the fuck out of that bed, faggot, they’re sick of you already,” my father sneered at me.

 

I opened and closed my mouth two or three times, but no sound came out. Finally, I was able to almost inaudibly ask, “What?”

 

My mother rolled her eyes, and came toward the bed. “They’ve released your ungrateful ass, and since we didn’t use a condom fifteen years ago, that means you’re in our custody.”

 

I started shaking with fear. The entire time I was here, never once did they come to see me. I knew they were in the hospital occasionally, because some of the nurses would say things about them. Never anything good.

 

My mother reached the bed, grabbed the sheet I was lying under, and ripped it off of me. She then grabbed my upper arm and pulled me off the bed onto the floor. I grunted in pain.

 

“Ugh, why do you have to be so disgusting?” she asked, looking at me. Well, she was looking at my body, and when I looked down I was horrified to realize that the thin gown the hospital made me wear had ridden up, exposing my entire naked lower half. I felt the heat radiate on my face, and as quickly as I could, I scrambled to my feet, pulling the gown down over myself as I did.

 

“Hurry the fuck up! We don’t have all day,” my father yelled at me. “Get dressed!”

 

“Umm… I don’t remember where my clothes are,” I mumbled.

 

Before I could even register the movement, my father pulled back his fist and punched me in the face, knocking me to the floor. I tasted the metallic taste of blood, and was not surprised to see some of it on the floor in front of my face.

 

“You mother fucker!” I would recognize that voice anywhere. It was the voice of my angel, Tyler Jamison. I lifted my head and looked in their direction, and saw my father actually take a step back away from Tyler. My father wasn’t a man who intimidated easily, but the look of sheer fury on Tyler’s face would be enough to scare the devil himself.

 

“Security!” Tyler screamed toward the open door. “Help, security!”

 

“Shut up you little shit!” my father yelled at Tyler. He took a lumbering step forward, and I scrambled backwards, scooting my ass towards the other side of the room. My hand slipped on the small puddle of blood from my gushing nose, and I went down hard on my side.

 

Just then a security guard came in, looking every bit like a full fledged cop. The only thing that ruined the image was the badge on his shirt, because it looked obviously fake. He was even armed, but his gun wasn’t out. After the security guard looked around for a few seconds, Tyler frantically told him what happened.

 

“That’s ridiculous!” my father said. “This little bastard rushed into the room and punched my son in the face! Didn’t he honey?”

 

The security guard looked at my mother as my father asked her the question. She quickly nodded her head up and down.

 

The guard unclipped a pouch on the back of his belt, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

 

“Alright kid, hands behind your back,” the cop wannabe said to Tyler in a rough voice.

 

“But I’m telling the truth!” Tyler yelled in frustration. “I didn’t do anything!”

 

My parents argued back, and it quickly degenerated into a shouting match between my parents against Tyler. My head was starting to spin, and I’d had enough.

 

“No!” I said over everyone’s voice. I looked into the security guard’s eyes. “Tyler didn’t do this, my father did.”

 

With my nose bleeding like it was it sounded more like, Doe! Dyner nidn’t new dis, my fahner nid, but I was understood. I was surprised I had the courage to say anything at all. This was the first time that I could remember ever standing up to my parents.

 

The security guard’s eyes snapped over to my father as I said this. My head was really starting to get dizzy, and I’m glad I was already on the floor because I doubted that I could stand.

 

I was vaguely aware of my father’s raised voice, frantically trying to shift the blame on Tyler once again. He was trying everything he could think of to get out of this mess, but nothing was going to work. He was in too deep. Not to mention the fact that there was a security camera in the room.

 

My vision started fading…

 

When I awoke it was dark outside. The TV in the corner of the room was on some game-show that asked ridiculously hard questions that you have to answer in the form of a question. I don’t remember the name of the show, but it’s not like it matters. I hate the show anyway.

 

My memory of what had happened before I passed out was hazy, to put it lightly. I had a vague remembrance of raised voices, and then someone hit me. I remember a fake looking gold badge, like an imitation of a cop’s badge.

 

“What was the name of the agreement of peace that officially ended World War I between the Allied and Associated Powers and Germany?” the game-show host asked with his ‘I’m better than you’ voice.

 

“What is the Treaty of Versailles,” Tyler said from the chair on the other side of the bed. I’d forgotten how smart he was.

 

One of the contestants answered the question a moment after Tyler did.

 

“You would’ve gotten that one,” I said sleepily.

 

Tyler looked over and smiled at me.

 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

 

“I’ve been better, but I really can’t complain,” I said cheesily. “I’ve got you by my side.”

 

He smiled wide and blushed hearing me say that. Red was a good color for him. Made him look even more adorable.

 

“Really, though, any pain at all? Your dad broke your nose,” he said.

 

My memory came flooding back to me, as much as I wished it hadn’t. My body started shaking as the fear of my future came back to me full force. I could still hear my father’s remarks, cruel and far more painful than his fists could ever be.

 

“Justin? Are you alright?” Tyler asked, concerned now.

 

“I don’t want to go back with my parents,” I said as a tear slipped out of my eye.

 

“Oh, babe, you don’t have to worry about that,” he said with a smile. He pointed to the ceiling in the corner of the room. “The security camera up there caught your father’s stunt this afternoon plain as day.”

 

“So what’s going to happen to me?” I asked with a glimmer of hope.

 

“Well, last I heard the hospital contacted a social worker, and she’s going to meet with you tomorrow,” he said. “She said to tell you that she’s looked over your records, and is trying to get into contact with your uncle, as he’s your next of kin.”

 

“Next of kin?” I asked confused. I know I’d heard the term, but had no idea what it’s meaning could be.

 

“Next closest blood relative,” he answered with a smile.

 

“What about my mom?” I asked. “She didn’t hit me.”

 

“Yes, but she lied for your father, putting you in direct danger,” he said, a look of sympathy on his face. “She could challenge it and fight for custody, but somehow I don’t see her doing that.”

 

“I know,” I said. I cant say that I was very broken up over that. The prospect of living somewhere where everyone doesn’t hate me was like a dream come true.

 

I yawned, and looked over to Tyler.

 

“Why am I so tired? Haven’t I been sleeping most of the day?” I asked him.

 

“It’s probably the pain killers you’re on,” he said. “Go ahead and go back to sleep, you’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

 

“Just meeting with the social worker, how hard is that going to be?” I asked with a smirk.

 

“And your physical therapy,” he said with a grin of his own.

 

Shoot. I’d forgotten about that. My physical therapist was a demanding beast.

 

I groaned out loud, and Tyler laughed at me.

 

“But I don’t wanna!” I whined, only half joking.

 

“Too bad, babe,” he said, leaning in close to me. “Sooner you’re all better, the sooner we can play.”

 

I pulled him into a kiss, as passionately as I could possibly make it. He kissed back, and I was about to lose control. I started pulling him down to the bed, but he pulled back breaking the kiss. I gave him a confused look of hurt.

 

“We can’t,” he said softly. “Security camera.”

 

My eyes widened in shock, as another big piece of my memory puzzle locked into place.

 

“Oh god,” I groaned. “When my mom pulled me out of bed this afternoon, I fell on the floor.”

 

“So?” he asked. “What’s so embarrassing about that?”

 

“I’m naked under this gown,” I said, but he still wasn’t getting it. “The gown rode up, and I was on full display in front of the camera.”

 

After a full two minutes of me yelling at Tyler to shut up, I finally rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head to drown out the sound of his hysterical laughing.

 

* * *

 

The meeting with the social worker in the morning was uneventful. She was a small, young looking woman with thick, yellow framed glasses and just a hint that she was wearing too much lipstick. She had a small notepad, the kind you can find just about anywhere, with spiral binding across the top and she scribbled in it constantly. She would ask me questions about my general day to day life and then scribble down what I’d said. At least, that’s what I think she was doing. She might’ve been doodling a sketch of Mickey Mouse in blue ballpoint for all I knew. She paid particular attention to my memory loss. She thought that it would be a pretty strong case for removal of custody, as I obviously will need a lot of help from now on, and my ‘parents’ weren’t fit for it.

 

She left not much longer after that, and I had the profound sense of unaccomplishment. I felt like I was stuck in limbo, free floating through my own life as it passed me by. I had hoped that when the social worker arrived today things would begin to fall into place for me. And I guess it was, just not as quickly as I would’ve liked it to.

 

Maybe I’d just built up my hopes way too high, and was just a little disappointed.

 

Tyler came back about an hour after she left. I guess he must’ve left sometime after I passed out, because he was nowhere to be found when I woke up. That’s not really all that surprising, considering the hospital staff has been bending the visiting hours rules for us for months now.

 

Or it was totally possible that I had been completely conscious when he left, and I just couldn’t remember it.

 

“Hey babe, ready for a grueling workout from Dr. Backbreaker?” he asked as he walked in.

 

“I heard that,” Dr. Shoemaker said from just behind Tyler. Tyler jumped, and spun around.

 

“I…uh…” he said eloquently.

 

“It’s okay, Dr. Shoemaker said with a smile. He pointed at his beer gut and said, “Believe me, I know how bad my workouts are. You don’t get into a shape like this without hours and hours of rigorous training.”

 

I was struggling to hold in the giggles now, because Tyler’s face couldn’t have been more red.

 

“Well, sorry anyway,” Tyler said sheepishly.

 

The doctor nodded to him, then set his sights on me. And I gulped. Literally made the exaggerated gulping noise and everything.

 

The next three hours were excruciating. I’m convinced that the muscles in my left leg just don’t exist, and there’s just thousands of tiny needles in there instead. When I try putting my full weight on the leg, those needles spin around and try to jab at the most painful spots possible.

 

Tyler was with me, right by my side throughout it all. At times, when the pain was nearly unbearable and I thought I was going to pass out from it, Tyler gripped my hand tightly and whispered reassurances to me. It seemed to help. With him by my side, the worst of the pain seemed like merely a tickle compared to the comfort he was exuding.

 

After the doctor left, Tyler and I lay in my bed, him whispering in my ear and holding me until my tears dried up. It was in these times I wished for a memory blackout.

 

I could still feel the presence of moisture along the tracks down my cheeks my tears had made when Tyler turned on his side, looking me in the eyes.

 

“Do you ever wish you hadn’t gotten in the car that day?” he asked me, referring to when we first met.

 

“What do you mean?” I asked.

 

“Well, look at what’s happened since you met me,” he said, unable to hold my gaze any longer. “First you almost die, then you lose partial movement in your leg, and now you’re losing your home.”

 

“Tyler–” I began.

 

“No, Justin, think about it,” he said. “I’m like some kind of bad luck curse or something. The only thing keeping me from running and saving you from me is my selfish addiction to you.”

 

I looked at Tyler and blinked away a tear.

 

“I swear to god, Tyler, sometime’s you think too damn much,” I said with pain in my voice.

 

Tyler looked back into my eyes.

 

“You really don’t understand the good you’ve done for me?” I asked him.

 

“What good?” he asked. “I’ve done nothing but hurt you.”

 

“No, Tyler, you’ve given me something to live for,” I told him. “Don’t forget that the reason for this whole mess is that I was selfish and tried to kill myself.

 

“And over what? Some assholes tied me to a bench naked? That was what sent me over the edge? Not the countless beatings from my father, not the months and months of torment from classmates that was far worse than being strapped to a bench any day.

 

“I was selfish, nothing more. None of this is your fault. If you have to blame someone, either blame the people who tormented me for years.”

 

Tyler looked down at the bed, thinking over what I’d said.

 

“Hell, blame me,” I said. “I’m the one who decided to see if I could fly.”

 

Tyler chuckled at that, and met my eyes again.

 

“I know you’re right, but it feels like I should be doing more,” he said.

 

“Babe, you’ve done so much for me already,” I said. “More than I feel I deserve, but when I’m with you, I can’t help but feel like I’m the king of the world.”

 

“I’ll show you what you deserve,” he said, and literally pounced on me. He began kissing me with such a passion that my head felt like it was going to spin off.

 

“Tyler,” I gasped when he broke free of my lips and moved on to sucking on my neck hard enough to be slightly painful. “What about the…ohh…c-camera?” I moaned.

 

“Screw it, I don’t care,” he said with a gravelly voice.

 

“B-but…” I began, but quickly gave up. I needed him just as bad as he needed me. But there was a problem.

 

I was close. Way too close. And given my track record of controlling that certain bodily function when Tyler started kissing me, I knew I had to stop him somehow.

 

“Tyler…you better stop…cant hold it,” I said, in between throaty, grunting breaths.

 

He didn’t.

 

I’d like to be able to say I had somehow fought my body’s natural impulse, but I’m just not a very good liar.

 

As I came down from the high, I opened my eyes to find Tyler grinning from ear to ear.

 

“I still think that’s cute,” he said.

 

“Shut up!” I shouted, giggling. “It’s your fault, you know. You’re just so damn sexy.”

 

“And your self control has nothing to do with it?” he asked.

 

“Absolutely nothing,” I said. “And it has nothing to do with this, either.”

 

This time I did the pouncing.

 

And he didn’t hold out for much longer than I did.

 

An hour or so later, as Tyler and I lay in a comfortable silence, I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath. It felt as if this particular breath I had been holding for as long as I could remember, just waiting for a moment of peace and quiet to release it. I felt that, even though I was completely uncertain about my future, as long as my Angel is by my side, I’ll live through it.

 

It’s in the choices we make in life that our character is put to the test. We have to live with the results, whether they be good or bad. Sometimes these choices can destroy lives, break apart families, or cause nations to burn to the ground. Sometimes they can bring hope to someone who has none, they can rescue someone who is drowning in a sea of loneliness and sorrow, or make the great horrors and evils of the world seem a little less bad.

 

All I know for sure as I lie here next to my beautiful Tyler, is that if these are the consequences of the choice I made, why would I even be tempted by the path I didn’t take?