Little Man - 9. A Dark Night

It was Saturday and Eric had barely spoken a word to me all week. The tension in the house was thick and no one was really talking to each other. Eric avoided me at every opportunity and only spoke when necessary. What we had done couldn't even be considered a conversation. Every time I saw Eric I hoped he would forgive me. How long could he hate me?

It hadn't been much better with Ogre either. Revealing ourselves to Eric was supposed to free us to see one another more easily. Now we saw each other less frequently. No one went to the gym to avoid running into each other. Ogre wouldn't come near the house and told me he hadn't spoken to Eric all week. When he spoke of Eric he couldn't hide the sorrow in his voice. Their relationship was in remnants and it was my fault. We were all wandering around in a fog. It was awful.

The sun was starting to go down and no one was home. I had no idea where Eric was. I had no idea what to do. I had almost resigned myself to watching bad movies on TV when my phone came to life. I anxiously hoped it was Eric.

“Hey Little Man. Any change on the homestead?” Ogre's voice came over the phone but did little to quell my edginess.

“No. But he can't keep this up forever can he?”

“Give him a chance. He'll come around.” I could hear in Ogre's tone that even he had doubts. “What are you doing, right now? Up for something to eat?”

“I hadn't thought about it.” I mentally stumbled for a moment. “I guess so. This sounds suspiciously like a date. I'm not really sure what that sounds like so you might have to speak up.” His deep, soft laugh came through the speaker.

“I guess it is. I can pick you up in fifteen minutes. Meet you out front.”

The call ended and I couldn’t help feeling sad. Ogre's plan was to meet me in front of the house. He wasn't planning on coming to the door just in case Eric might be home. I sighed quietly to myself wondering how long this could really go on. Sometimes I just wanted to punch someone in the face. I just wasn't sure whose face.

I freshened up quickly and was standing at the curb as Ogre's truck came around the corner. He reached across and opened the door. He was casually dressed in a simple tee shirt and jeans and he laid his large arm along the back of the seat. I climbed in and gave him a quick kiss in the dark. From the moment I entered, he couldn't take his eyes off the house.

“He's not home,” I whispered. His eyes dropped and he turned back to the wheel. The truck pulled slowly away from the street.

Ogre took me to a local Italian restaurant and we fed on pasta and garlic bread. The food was hearty and delicious. The restaurant was quiet and secluded. It should have been perfect. We finally were together the way I had wished and it was tainted. Ogre had seemed mildly agitated from the moment he got out of the truck. The conversation was weak and stilted. We didn't talk about Eric and all the tension, but we couldn't really come up with much to say. Our lives were consumed with the drama surrounding us and we just didn't have the resolve to push it aside. A week's worth of depression had taken its toll. We were raw and beaten.

Sadness tinged every phrase Ogre uttered. I didn't know how to fix it.

The meal came and went and Steve paid the bill. His mood was still soured. A strange weight was bearing on his shoulders. I could feel it from across the table. A few times he started to say something and then stopped himself. I told myself it was just the conflict the three of us were in. This night sucked.

“Let's go for a drink,” he said. We climbed back into the truck. It seemed early to be going to the bar, but I didn't have a better option. I didn't really want to go home and a drink actually sounded good. There wasn't anything there right now.

We drove for a while and found ourselves on the other side of town. I didn't recognize the streets or neighborhoods we passed through. The stores on this side of town were run down and poorly lit. I didn't protest as Ogre led me into a seedy dive called “Smitty's”.

It was a dirty little place. It was poorly lit with a pool table in the corner. The bar was built from dark wood panels and was run by an average height overweight man with a receding hairline. The juke box played out-dated country music that provided a loud background noise. A single patron sat at the bar. He wore a filthy flannel shirt and jeans sipping whiskey from a short glass while flipping his cigarette end over a filled ashtray. You couldn't see his face clearly from the baseball cap smashed down over his eyes. At least three empty glasses sat in front of him. He and the bartender watched NASCAR on the small television mounted to the wall.

All I could think was that this place must have cheap beer because I couldn't imagine why the fuck we were here. We were in a dirty redneck bar whose only customer was a dirty redneck. Excellent.

Ogre ordered two beers and we headed to a table away from the others. We sat across from each other and I looked down and wondered when the last time the carpet had been vacuumed. We sipped our beers silently and Ogre couldn't sit still. He fidgeted nervously and his gaze was all over the bar. We'd almost finished our drinks by the time he finally spoke.

“Clay. We need to talk.” That phrase had never ended well for me. It was how Eric's parents started the conversation that ended with how my parents were never coming home. My defenses went up instantly.

“This thing that’s going on. Between all of us. It has to stop.” His voice began to tremor as he began shredding the label on his beer.

“You and me. This isn't right.” He took a deep breath as his eyes were searching everywhere but to me. “We can't keep seeing each other.” My chest tightened as the words slammed into me like a freight train. My face must have instantly blanched. Of all the things he might have uttered, this was not even remotely on the list.

“You can't be serious.” I suddenly understood what was occurring here. “You're dumping me?” It was here. A quiet dinner with awkward conversation. A public place no one knew you at. It was the setting for a breakup when you expected an ugly scene. I was that sad, clingy girl that you scraped off to make your life easier.

“Don't say it like that. You have to know we can't be together.” Ogre's eyes were misty and he began grinding his teeth. I tried to look at him, but he kept turning his head. He was unable to look me in the eye. I sat back unable to absorb this. “Football has to be an option for me. As soon as we get found out, it'll be over. There goes my future. I can't let it all go down over a scandal.”

My breathing became deep and shaky. I was outraged. This was so far out of left field. Ogre's words were halting and rehearsed and there wasn't an ounce of conviction within them.

“You need someone who can love and protect you, not someone who bails on you the second the secret's out.” My anger spiked when I realized I had already heard these words and they simply weren't his.

“Excuse me?” My voice began to rise. “Did Eric put you up to this? What has he been saying to you?” I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

He nodded as he sniffed sadly. “Eric and I have been talking. You know he's right. Your life will be better once it goes back to what it was before I fucked it all up.” Ogre took a deep breath and stood from the table. His whole body looked ready to collapse.

“I'm sorry, Clay.”

All the conflicting emotions of the last month had taken their toll on me. The high points and the crushing defeats simultaneously came to mind. The incident with Heidi. Every lovemaking session flashed through my head. The moment Eric found out and everything went to hell. You would have thought this would bring me to tears, but I was beyond it all now. Heat rose in my face. Anger was all I could see. I knew Eric had preyed on Steve's fears and convinced him to walk out on me. I was so pissed that he was actually believing the bullshit he'd been fed and felt that this was the right thing to do. I did the only thing that felt right.

I jumped off my seat and hit Ogre in the face as hard as I could.

All my frustration and angst poured into my fist. His head snapped to the side and he staggered back catching himself on the table across from us nearly knocking it over. Shaking his head he centered himself and cradled his jaw. He turned back to me horrified. The shock in his eyes registered off the scale. His large frame seemed so suddenly small as his shoulders sank. I couldn't contain my contempt.

“Get. Out.” I could only utter one word at a time, the venom on them was so thick. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Slowly, Ogre backed up and exited the bar.

My fingers dug into my fists as I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling as slowly as I could manage. In spite of the rage, I calmed enough to function. I walked up to bar. The bartender and redneck hadn't taken their eyes off us for the whole exchange.

“Whiskey. Make it a double,” I said. I needed to wash this night, this week away. I paid for my drink and the redneck gave me a dirty look.

“Fucking faggots,” he whispered loudly so I could hear.

“Fuck. Off.” The bile in my tone could not be mistaken. I watched him out of the corner of my eye and he turned back to his regularly scheduled programming.

The first drink when down quickly. Harsh bitter liquid filled my mouth. I was too upset to sip. I gasped sharply as the vapors burned going down, but I felt that was appropriate. I deserved to burn right now.
I couldn't believe how this night had progressed. I decided to stay angry. It was so much better than being the crying mess I'd found myself in recently. I was furious with Eric. I was incensed with Ogre.

I ordered my second whiskey and realized I didn't know how to get home. Ogre had driven and I didn't want to see him right now. Eric was no prize either. I wasn't about to call him and give him the satisfaction of a job well done. Fine. I decided to just sit here and drink.

I watched the TV with the others and realized by whiskey number four that I'd been here for over an hour and I was feeling very numb. Alcohol seeped into the edges of my sight and that was exactly what I was after. No sadness. No weakness. No people turning my life inside out. My drunken gaze spun the small bar. No one had come or gone the whole time.

I needed to take a piss. I downed my drink and stumbled to the men's room. The lighting was just as bad as the rest of the bar which was probably just as well. The place stank of urine and stale beer. It was probably to my benefit not to be able to see clearly in here. I ignored the mirror and hobbled to the single urinal against the wall. I was too drunk to fish my cock out so I had to open my pants from belt to crotch. I heard the door open as I relieved myself.

As I finished, the hair on the back of my neck went up and a nauseous heat came up my chest and face. I could feel a presence directly behind me. Something was suddenly wrong.

“Fucking faggots.”

The redneck drawl was all I heard before my face slammed into the wall.

Time slowed down as my broken nose gushed blood down my throat and face and my body ran into the unyielding ceramic urinal. I fell backwards, my right foot landing on its side. I heard the pop and the rip of pain that knifed through my collapsing ankle as I fell over. My hand reached out and on my full weight I landed badly, jamming my wrist and hand painfully and I felt my shoulder tear out of position.

Scant seconds had passed as I writhed in pain barely aware of my surroundings. I laid on the dirty floor and looked up at the redneck from the bar. He swayed under his own intoxication and I couldn't miss his sneer of revulsion. In the dim light I almost saw his eyes before he kicked me in the face.

The world spun painfully as a second kick to my stomach left me retching on myself and the floor. Italian cuisine and cheap whiskey stained my clothes. Three more heavy kicks to my side and I felt what had to be my ribs breaking. I was now having trouble breathing. I couldn't scream out for lack of a decent breath.

“Shouldn't be around decent people. . . ” His slurred words trailed off as he continued to kick me. His heavy boots pummeled me over and over. I had lost track of how many times as I weakened under the assault. I was hobbled and I couldn't defend myself if I tried. The best I could manage was curling in on myself and that only seemed to strengthen his resolve. Every movement I made was agony and he wouldn't stop kicking me. I struggled to keep from crying as he leaned down and then proceeded to use his fist.

I was going to die here laying on the floor in urine and vomit. My world had fallen apart and was nearly at its end. It was happening so fast. The beating stopped for a moment giving me a brief respite. It didn't last. I cried out as he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me around, flipping me on my stomach. My face lay on the fetid floor. I hurt so much. I just wanted to go home.

I suddenly wished I hadn't hit Steve and told him to go.

He grabbed my belt line and pulled my pants down to my thighs. I hadn't been able to close my pants and they came down without effort. A streak of ice ran down my spine. I could barely move or defend myself as I heard the unmistakable sound of a belt and zipper being opened.

“No. . . ” The sad sound came out of my bloodied mouth.

Suddenly he was on me. I sadly attempted to scramble away, but his weight crushed my damaged ribs and his hand covered my mouth and nose. He found his spot and forced himself inside of me. Sweat alone gave him access and his organ turned me inside out. My voice burned as I wailed into his palm. Each bleeding thrust made him spit along the side of my face as he held me by a fistful of hair. I tried to keep him out, but he just beat me with his free hand. My suffering inside and out reached a peak and broke my will to survive. I lost the energy to resist. He sweated and heaved and hissed in my ear as his foreign cock bled my inner self. I could smell the liquor and nicotine on his rancid breath. Tears and blood wet the hand covering me to smother my screams.

“All you deserve. . . ” He hissed in my ear as I felt his weight rock back and forth on me. His one arm gripped me tighter as he reached back searching for something. Moments later I felt the touch of a short, sharp flat edged piece of something. It pressed in a thin line along my damaged flank.

Oh dear god, he had a knife.

My lingering resolve crumbled as he dragged the blade along my side and over my shoulder. I could feel the steel reaching toward my neck. I panicked. I saw my short future. It would only be moments before he vented my throat in sticky red across this filthy floor and there wouldn't be anything I could do to save myself. I didn't think I could cry any louder. I was about to die.

“What the fuck!” I heard as the bathroom door opened. The redneck stopped and twisted, his weight rolled partially off me and his hand released my mouth. A small, sad, gurgling voice that couldn't be mine spit out two words.

“Help me. . . ”

The redneck's weight was suddenly ripped from my body. Even his sudden withdraw was harrowing agony. Shouts and rage filled the room. I collapsed on the floor as I heard an anguished roar and the sound of breaking glass. The sound of bodies slamming violently in the small room echoed along with angry wails. I flinched involuntarily at each large crash. The sound of a long series of wet punches ended the conflict.

Shuffling footsteps came in my direction and reached for me. When he touched my back and rolled me over I let out a strangled cry mixed of pain and terror. I instinctively tried to run but my broken body defied me. I couldn't continue. My limbs flailed of their own accord.

“Little Man? Clay, it's me!” Ogre cried. He pulled me close and I started screaming uncontrollably. “It's okay! He can't hurt you now! Clay!!” My startled eyes scanned the room. I could barely see out of my swollen eyes. The mirror was broken and the redneck was laying unconscious under the sink. The bathroom stall door was off its hinges and the trash can was upheaved. A buck knife lay on the ground coated with a thick smear of blood. The shoulder of Ogre's shirt was soaked in deep crimson.

“Oh my god! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” Ogre was frantic. “Oh, god! What did he do to you?” A wave of crippling disgrace came over me. I buried my face in his chest as wet, shaking sobs tore free from me. My good hand gripped the flesh of his chest as hard as it could, trying to ground my reality.

“What the hell?” The bartender finally burst into the room. I could still hear the noise of the juke box. It's no wonder no one had heard anything up until this point.

“Call an ambulance, now!” Ogre shouted at him and the bartender left us alone again. “Oh my god. What did he do to you? Oh, god.” He continued to repeat himself as he hugged me carefully and I couldn't stop crying. He desperately tried to comfort me as my anxiety was reaching a frenzied state. I was hyper-ventilating and couldn't catch a decent breath. Pain stabbed me with each attempt. I felt very cold.

“Oh, God. I have you, Clay. I got you, baby.” The tremors in his voice were matching my own.

Everything blurred and darkened. I couldn't feel myself in the room. I couldn't feel Ogre's arms around me. Quicksilver flashes of awareness swam through my consciousness as I lost track of my sense of time.

“Clay? Clay! Stay with me! Talk to me!” Why was he sounding so far away? And who were the other voices that kept saying my name?

I could hear Steve's shouts in the distance while unfamiliar hands examined my broken form and shined pen lights in my eyes. Questions were being asked of me and I couldn't make myself respond. I could hear myself cry out as I was lifted up onto a rolling bed. I was strapped in to keep me from moving, but it wouldn't have mattered. I wasn't going anywhere.

I heard his enraged voice. “I don't care what your rules are! I'm riding with him!” I could feel his hand on mine as we were moving. More unfamiliar hands touched me like a piece of meat. He whispered to me the whole ride telling me I'll be okay. I couldn't tell how long I lay there.

The bright lights and chaotic sounds of a hospital swept across me. Steve and I were separated as I felt my clothing being cut loose from me before I was wheeled from room to room. The doctors kept asking me questions but I stayed quiet. I wouldn't bring myself to speak out loud. It was much safer in here.

More unfamiliar hands examined me in evasive ways before they wheeled me away again. They took photographs of my body with cameras and x-rays. Sympathetic voices spoke to me and explained what was happening to the unresponsive victim in front of them. They probed and documented my injuries for evidence. I tried not to cry as they catalogued my shame. Where was Steve? I needed Steve right now.

I found Steve when they set my broken nose and shoulder. It was the first real sound I'd made since arriving. I screamed as loud as I could because I just couldn't take anymore. My threshold for abuse had long since been passed.

“What are you doing to him?” I rolled my swollen eyes in the direction of his shouting. I could see how hard he'd been crying. His face was streaked, swollen and red, and not just where I hit him. It took two large orderlies to keep him under control.

“We're going to help him,” shouted a large nurse. “But we can't do that with you here. Let us do our job.” More tears burst out of him before he relented and Steve was escorted from the room.

“Clay, I'm so sorry!” Ogre cried. Those were the last words I heard before the darkness numbed me unconscious again.

* * *

“He's awake.”

I heard the voice coming closer out of the fog. My eyes started to focus and I found myself in a hospital bed surrounded by off white walls. I ached all over. Some areas were worse than others. I couldn't center on it. I looked over to one side and found Eric at my side. Dark circles were painted under his eyes to match the harsh lines drawn into his normally pristine face. On the other side, Steve was sitting anxiously in the chair across from me.

“You've been asleep since last night, Little Man. You're going to be okay,” Eric said. He brushed his fingertips through my hair and forced a smile. Steve stood up and walked to my side.

“You scared me, Little Man,” he said. He reached out and took my hand in his own. Eric's weak smile evaporated.

Eric wouldn't look in Steve's direction. Their voices were strained as they tried to talk to me. I still felt muddled and couldn't really focus on their words, I could only feel the tenor of their voices. They were trying to stay pleasant for my sake, but each man was radiating a quiet hostility to the other. Their animosity weighed on me. Their relationship was in tatters and I was at the center of everything. I couldn't cope and started to weep. Each breath sent a stab of pain into me that made me gasp erratically. Eric's weary face sank and his body threatened to collapse as he told Ogre to get the doctor.

“Use the call button, I don't want to leave him.”

“Just go!” Eric barely contained himself. Ogre shot him a glare as he hesitantly exited the room, looking back to me more than once.

Eric watched the door for several seconds afterwards before he turned his attention back to me.

“Shh. . . Calm down. Breathe easy. Don't cry, Little Man. I'm going to take good care of you.” Eric whispered as he stroked my hair until my sobs began to subside. As much as I drew comfort from his familiar voice, I wished it was Steve saying these words.

Minutes later, Ogre returned with my physician.

“It's good to see you awake, Clay.” The doctor was a young man in his thirties with compassionate eyes behind thin rimmed glasses. “You two should wait outside while I examine him.” The doctor motioned to Steve and Eric.

“No.” My voice was raspy. “I need them here. Both of them.” It was the first coherent words I'd spoken so far.

“Whatever you'd prefer, Clay.” He examined me gently and asked a few questions about my physical condition. He flashed the penlight in my eyes again and checked my face for swelling. My responses were weakly voiced and hardly notable.

“Do you remember what happened, Clay?” he asked.

For a moment I sat confused, my memories escaping me.

“You were beaten and raped in the men's room at a local bar called Smitty's,” The doctor spoke with genuine sympathy. Eric noticeably shuddered as he tried to hide his reaction. Ogre's reddened eyes held back tears that refused to fall. Flashes of my abuse rushed suddenly in and tears ran down my face as I nodded feebly. The doctor waited until I gathered myself before he continued. I swear I saw him take a subtle deep breath to center himself as well.

“Clay, you came in with a mild concussion as well as a badly sprained ankle, fractures to your hand and wrist and four fractured ribs. Your nose was broken and your shoulder was dislocated. You have significant bruising over most of your body, but no evidence of internal bleeding. We had to put a few stitches in your rectum to repair some tearing, but there's nothing that won't heal.” I continued to cry softly as he went over my injuries and rehabilitation in greater detail. It seemed to go on forever.

“I know you've been through a lot, Clay.” The doctor looked honestly sorry. “The police want to ask you some questions now that you're awake.”

“Do I have to?” My question was feeble even to my ears.

“I'm sorry, Clay, but this really is a criminal matter. It can't just be ignored.”

My shame heightened as two detectives entered the room and ushered everyone out. I asked them to allow Eric and Steve to stay with me but they refused. They wanted to interview me without outside influence. In my fragile state I answered their questions. With tremors in my voice, I recounted the events of my assault. I wasn't fortunate enough to have amnesia. Every moment of horror was at my fingertips.

Once the humiliation of recounting my shame was finished the police left and Eric, Steve and my doctor filtered back into my room. The discussion had stolen what little strength I had. My voice seemed to escape me as I felt the dull ache of my injuries.

“Can I take him home, doctor?” Eric asked.

“Of course. There's no reason he can't recover in a more comfortable setting.” The doctor explained the prescription and recovery instructions for my injuries. I was listening but was unable to bring myself to interact.

“What can I do?” Steve asked. Eric couldn't spin on him fast enough.

“Haven't you done enough?” Eric's biting remark did maximum damage. Steve's face reddened immediately.

“If I hadn't listened to you, this never would have happened.” he retorted.

“I didn't leave him in that fucking hellhole. You did. This is all your fault.”

“That's not fair, Eric.”

“You can go home now.” Eric turned to me and his face went suddenly impassive. “I'm his emergency contact. I've always been his emergency contact.” Eric caressed my battered face without revulsion.

“You're nothing.”

Steve's shoulders rose in defiance as his jaw began to noticeably grind. His hands immediately drew into fists. Eric was ignoring him and Steve's anger was rising.

“Perhaps you should go,” the doctor said. His voice was calm and his firm hand touched Steve's chest. “This is no place for a conflict. Clay doesn't need this right now.” Steve looked at us both and deflated. He slowly turned away while Eric refused to acknowledge him. It pained me to watch him shamble out the door with his confidence shattered. I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to say something but I hurt too much and the words stalled.

Long seconds elapsed. The awkward silence was upsetting as the hospital door swung closed.

“Clay,” the doctor said, “please take this card. Dr. Lambert is an excellent therapist. She may be able to help you make sense of all of this.” Eric reached out and claimed the card.

“Thanks, Doc. I'll make sure he makes an appointment once we get him healed up a bit. If you could get his discharge papers set up, I'll get him dressed and ready to go.” The doctor agreed and left us alone in the room.

Eric opened a duffle bag and produced a pair of sweatpants and large hooded jacket. My clothes had been destroyed. Sitting me upright, he helped me into the pants as I moved gingerly. Each inch of movement brought me agony. I could hear my own whimpers. Eric winced and elicited soft gasps in response to each one. My right arm was useless in a wrist splint and shoulder sling and he could only wrap the jacket around my shoulders. It was one of his, so it almost swallowed me. There was no point in trying shoes or socks as my right ankle was grossly swollen and in a compression cast.

I slumped into a wheelchair as they finished discharging me and rolled out the door. He gently stroked the side of my head as we stopped at the curb. A nurse stood quiet watch while Eric produced his car and lifted me into the passenger seat.

I didn't even recall the drive home. Not a single word could be spoken. I wasn't sure we knew what to say. I couldn't even look Eric in the eye anymore. I couldn't bear the weight of his sad stares. I was thankful it was night out as we pulled up in front of the house. I would be mortified if the neighbors saw me. I was ashamed at how many people knew my degradation already.

Eric turned off the car and ran to the house. He unlocked the door and quickly returned to me on the passenger side. The door opened and Eric carefully lifted me from the seat. I made no effort whatsoever. My head lay against his neck and chest as he carried me into the house. Without turning on any of the lights, he walked me into his bedroom. Like handling a newborn infant he laid me in his bed. Eric immediately left me and I heard him go back outside once more. When I heard the door close the next time, I could hear the sound of the lock and deadbolt being thrown into place.

Eric appeared and placed a pair of crutches just inside the bedroom door and dropped his duffle to the floor. He stood at the foot of the bed and I heard the ragged sigh from his chest.

Eric toed off his shoes and climbed in with me. I weakly curled up into his chest. I couldn't stop myself as I cried myself softly to sleep as he pulled the blankets over us both.

A sense of calm began to peek into my awareness as Eric's arms surrounded me.

“I wish Steve was here,” I whispered. I felt his arms grow rigid.

“Sleep, Little Man.” His reply was shaky as he carefully pulled me closer.

“Don't hate him, Eric. I love him so much,” I whispered into the large man surrounding me.

I swore I could hear his soft cries as my consciousness faded away.