Prophylaxis - 5. Chapter 5

Guy was as good as his word. The next day was Thursday and he did indeed get himself naked and me down to just a shirt before he maneuvered me into a sixty-nine position and was sucking my cock down into his throat then encouraging me to do the same for him. It was always a difficult position for me. I alternated between frantic sucking and being distracted to inattention, totally forgetting about the dick in my mouth. Strangely, I've yet to have any complaints about my poor performance. My lovers have always either been amused at my distractibility or smug that they could elicit such reactions. And so it was with Guy, as we nearly fell off my couch trying to suck each other into oblivion. Christ, I was going to run out of spray cleaner for the couch at this rate. Maybe I should have started buying those jumbo bottles at Costco. Somehow, even with my random moments of ignoring his dick Guy beat me to the finish, coming hot down my throat. It meant I could relax and enjoy him finishing me, finally getting me to come after wiggling a finger inside me and rubbing my sweet spot. I felt limp and half-comatose, Guy's grip on me the only thing keeping my ass from hitting the floor. He turned me around and tugged me to sprawl on top of him. There were benefits to having an uber-strong bed partner, well, couch partner anyway. As I snuggled shamelessly I thought to myself that maybe we should go visit his place soon, maybe even visit his bed. He'd mentioned wanting to show me his place. The flash of an image I'd caught from him that first night came to me again. Guy behind me, fucking me, it had been stuck in my head all week. The idea was increasingly appealing.

I had empath work that weekend, Chicago again, though not with the werewolves. I'd leave Saturday and wouldn't be back until Sunday, maybe Monday.

“Aww.” He'd pouted. “And I have a case tomorrow evening. I won't see you until you get back.”

I rolled my eyes and poked him in the side. “Clingy.”

His lower lip pooched out and I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of me. “I'll probably be back Sunday night. I don't work Mondays.” I dropped my eyes, suddenly feeling foolishly shy. “We could get together Monday, if you want to.” What the hell was I doing? I was acting like a fucking fifteen year-old girl.

“All day?” He asked. “Maybe at my place?”

I shrugged, shifting against him. “If you want.” I tried to fight down the anxious ache in my belly.

Guy grinned at me. “Oh, I want.”

I nipped his shoulder and wriggled into a more comfortable position. “So, you were saying, before you got distracted?”

He pinched my ass and I yelped, scowling at him.

“If you hadn't been waving this around, I wouldn't have gotten distracted.” He smirked. “But what I was saying was that you're recommended online. That's how I found you, on the message boards.”

I reached under the couch and pulled out my laptop. I handed it to Guy. “Show me.”

He quickly pulled up a website. It had cheesy pictures of vampires, werewolves, and ghosts. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “It's the cover.”

Guy scrolled down. It looked like updates on the site, wordy posts I didn't bother trying to read. There were occasional happy or sad little emoticons interspersed. Guy stopped at a post that looked the same as the rest. There was a little emoticon smiley alternately waving and bouncing. Guy clicked him. Guy scrolled and clicked through other pages, several times entering usernames and passwords, until he stopped.

“This is the real site. It was actually originally set up by the Seattle pack quite a while ago. It was so popular that they ended up allowing other packs to use it. Now, it's not just werewolves that use it. Registering is complicated and not cheap, but worth it.”

He pointed to a button with the word FORUMS on it. He clicked. In the search bar he typed recommend dentist. A list popped up. He clicked the third one down, Finding a Para/Super/Myth-friendly Healthcare Provider.

I blinked stupidly. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

The first heading on the forum claimed to contain general tips and ideas. Further down Guy clicked on Regions, then Midwest, Iowa, Southeast Iowa, and finally Iowa City/Coralville. There were headings for several different kinds of providers, even obstetricians and eye doctors. Guy clicked on Dentists. There were several post-headings. He clicked one and shifted the computer to my lap. I skimmed the posts. There were questions and requests for recommendations. There was a dentist in Cedar Rapids recommended that I had met a few times at the yearly Iowa dental meeting.

“Who's Fae?” I asked.

Guy looked over and snickered. “He's Fae. It means he's some kind of fairy.”

“A fairy.” I scoffed. “That guy is over six foot and outweighs me by a hundred pounds.”

Guy just smiled. “I didn't say what kind of fairy.”

“Jesus.” I muttered. I wasn't sure I wanted a further explanation.

I continued reading. I saw the Fae dentist's name a few times, but more often I saw my own name. In fact, I was the recommended dentist almost every time. I was described as discrete, nonjudgmental, and competent. I'd just been pretending I didn't know my nonhuman patients were anything other than human. Apparently that had been the right way to go. I wondered if maybe I needed to add a new section to the health history form to determine the species of my patients. That would be fun to explain to Maricella.

It was clear that I hadn't been as careful as I'd thought I'd been about not using my abilities on non-humans. It seemed I'd worked on a few that I'd thought were human that weren't. Well, shit. One post detailed how to get me to use my empathy to relax them. It suggested mentioning nervousness or fear of dentists several times and acting as human as possible. That sounded about right. Another thread debated what species I was. This was too fucking surreal. I shut the laptop.

“Hey, you okay?” Guy looked concerned.

I nodded then shook my head. “Just a little creeped.” I shrugged.

Time for pants. Pants, ward against the creepies. I tugged them on and went to get a drink of water. I ended up sharing it with Guy. In the midst of fun-times I don't mind the taste of semen, I can even admit to kind of liking it. Post-afterglow, the aftertaste left something to be desired. It wasn't long after that I shooed Guy off so I could clean and get ready for bed.

******************************

Friday at work was a pain in the ass. The scheduling didn't flow. By the end of the day we were running extremely late. The root canal on the tooth with way too many canals was followed by the extraction of the molar that shattered on the patient whose dose of anticoagulants was poorly regulated. I ended up stitching and babysitting his bleeding after digging out root tips. I thought we were never going to get out of there.

I was tired when I got home and guiltily glad that Guy wouldn't be coming around that night. Then I mentally went back and forth because I had nothing to be guilty about, goddammit. I needed some downtime. My foot was on the second step before I noticed someone was sitting on my porch swing. Even then I didn't see him, I felt him. Amusement and anticipation tingled against me. I stepped back. The sun was still up and would be for more than a hour, but the shadows were long.

“Can I help you?” I asked stiffly.

The man stood and grinned down at me, coming out of the shadows of the lilac bushes. “Well, that would be nice.”

I knew that voice and face, the square jaw and wide eyebrows over slate gray eyes. There was a little more silver at the temples than when I'd seen him last, but the shoulders were still broad and the thighs were still thick and muscled.

“Les?” I stiffened. “Lester, what the fuck are you doing here?”

He came down the steps to stand next to me. I sidled a little to the left.

“Can't an old friend come visit?” He said mildly.

“Yes.” I said, taking a couple steps up toward the porch. “They can, you aren't. So, you can't.”

“Nathan.” He put a hand over his heart. “I'm wounded.”

“You aren't.” I snorted. “But you fucking will be if you don't leave. What are you even doing here?” I waved a hand, suggesting I meant more than just creeping in front of my house.

He grinned. “I live here. I'm with the ICPD now, have been for a few months.” He stayed at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me. “Took me a while to getting around to looking you up.”

I gritted my teeth. “Making sure you didn't accidentally show up on a day my mom was visiting?”

Lester winced. “I didn't expect her to see me last time, or to come after me with sharp garden implements.”

“You're just lucky I don't have any on hand right now.”

He took a step up and towards me, his eyes ominous and stormy. “Or baseball bats.”

His advance towards me was purposeful and slow, my heart rate bumped up. “Well, you've seen me. It's been unpleasantly awkward.” I stepped to my door, keys clenched in my fist. I didn't think I could get it unlocked and myself inside quick enough. Maybe I should switch to a keycard system like at the hotel. That was convenient. Or maybe I needed to analyze why I needed to escape large men at locked doors so often. I shoved my keys in my pocket. I wanted my hands free. I'd heard a person could hold their keys so they stuck out kind of like brass knuckles. I knew I wasn't going to be throwing any punches though, so better to have them open. “Feel free to make it another five or fifty years before you look me up again.”

Lester stood a foot in front of me, I stopped myself from flattening my back against the door. I felt him trying to get his emotions under control. He drew a breath and blew it out slowly, composing his face into a pleasant smile that almost reached his eyes.

“I miss you, Nathan.”

I hated being called Nathan, and the reason why was standing right there trying to act harmless.

“It's over and done. All of it.” Was I trying to reason with him? God I was an idiot. “It's been fucking done for what? Fourteen years, now? Let it go, and leave me alone.”

His hand lifted, I think he was going to stroke my cheek. My back hit the door as I dodged his touch.

“It's not over.” I saw the muscles in his jaw flex as he clenched his teeth. “I've tried to leave you be. I've seen other people, it just doesn't work out. They aren't you.”

“I expected you two years ago, but not now. What, you get bored with your latest victim?” I hissed.

He looked confused. “Two years ago?”

I shut my mouth with a snap. “Nevermind.” God, why had I liked how secluded this house was? With the bushes and trees no one could see me from the street and I couldn't see any of the neighbor's houses. It was still cool enough that everyone's windows were shut. No one would hear me if I yelled.

“No.” His hand against the wall blocked my scoot to the left. “Should I have come two years ago? Are you mad I didn't come then? Is that why you're resisting me now?”

I shook my head hard. “Fuck no. I didn't want you here, I was just... I thought...”

“Tell me what was two years ago.” His eyes were dark again as his body crowded mine. “You tell me.” He demanded.

I couldn't see a way past him and I could see he wasn't going to drop it. I was also pretty damn sure he wasn't going to like it. “Two years ago the statute of limitations was up.”

He still looked confused. “What?”

My stupid mouth kept talking. “I had until I was twenty-eight if I was going to bring charges.” My eyes darted to his. “I had ten years after I turned eighteen.”

I'd expected anger, but his eyes softened as he leaned in to me. “I knew you wouldn't, Nathan. I know now it was just a big misunderstanding that messed everything up between us. I forgave you years ago.”

I think I would have preferred his anger. Fucker was carrying a torch. Shit.

I brought my hands up between us, not wanting to touch him but not wanting him closer to me either. “It's over. I told you, it's been over. I don't want... that.”

His smile made my stomach churn. I swallowed the extra saliva the queasy feeling produced.

“I remember at first you needed coaxing before, too.” He closed the short distance between us, trapping my hands between our chests.

His emotions and desires swamped me with the close contact. I fought it, reminding myself this shit wasn't mine. These weren't my feelings, I didn't want this. I turned my head away from him. The worst was my traitorous dick, it plumped happily, not caring that the desire and arousal wasn't mine. I pulled my hips back as far as I could, digging into the door behind me, as I pushed with my hands trying to regain some space between us. I could go with the flow when Guy got me worked up. Getting caught up with Lester would be a very bad thing. So, I fought it.

“No.” I hissed.

“Yes.” His eyes flashed in the fading light. “You just need an excuse to yourself, just like before. You just need a reason to let yourself go and have what you want.”

“Fucking no!” I was starting to panic.

Lester kissed my cheek and nibbled up to my ear. “There's always your sister.” He whispered. “I think you better play along or I might just have to go amuse myself with your sister. I don't think Rosie would enjoy it nearly as much as you.”

“Fuck you.” I struggled against him, but he just leaned tighter against me. “You tried that bullshit line before, didn't you? I won't fucking fall for that again.” I got a hand free but he grabbed it, pinning my wrist above my head. “You touch my sister again and I'll fucking finish the job this time.”

So, maybe I wasn't in the best position to be threatening, pinned easily against my own door. I also probably shouldn't have been provoking the guy who outweighed me by about a hundred pounds and had easy access to guns and handcuffs. His anger lashed me as he took a step back, startling me enough I didn't even see him swing. I doubled over as the air left me and pain exploded in my guts. Well, fuck.

“Why do you make me do this, Nathan?” Lester's voice was low and cold. He pulled me upright by my hair and pressed his body to mine. “I can feel how you want it, how you want me.” He ground his thigh against my erection. “Little slut.”

I was still sucking wind. “That's not my fault and you know it.” I gasped out. “You know what I am. That's your goddamn horndog shit, I'm not hard because I want to be. I feel what you feel because you were touching me.”

“Still running that old excuse?” Lester laughed, I didn't like the wild edge it held. “You just keep telling yourself that. Does it make you feel better to pretend that this doesn't make you so hard? So hot?” He gripped my hair hard and pressed his thigh tight against my crotch. “Little liar.” He nipped my ear. “Little whore.”

My eyes widened and I fought him wildly, almost wriggling free until he snagged me again. He still had a grip on my hair so the backhand hit me solid and square. My teeth cut into my cheek and I spat blood onto the wood planks of my porch.

“Don't call me that.” I panted. “Don't ever fucking call me that.”

His eyes narrowed. “I'll call you what I want to, you little shit.” He gave me a shake by his fist in my hair. My hands grabbed his wrist, trying to stabilize myself so he didn't snatch me bald.

“I'll give you what you deserve, too.” His voice was low and ugly.

He pointed to the space in front of the toes of his boots and pressed on the top of my head. “Down.”

I fought his hold. “No.” I tried to pull his fingers from my hair. “Cut me loose, dammit.”

I saw it coming this time, but I couldn't move away. Lester cuffed me hard on the side of my head, leaving my ear ringing. It knocked me a little loopy, so when he pushed hard on my shoulder I dropped to my knees in front of him. I tasted bile and felt a thrill of fear as I heard the distinctive clack of his belt being undone followed by a button click and a zip.

His fist was in my hair again, yanking me forward as I pulled back. “Do it, whore.”

Now, what I should have done is just sucked the bastard off and then tried to get away when he was distracted, orgasms being pretty damned distracting. Hell, I should never have pissed him off in the first place. I should have played nicey-nice from the start and weaseled my way out before it ever got to this point. Shit, when I first recognized him I should have turned and bolted, not let him get me cornered.

But I didn't do any of those things. Instead I spouted off, “You stick that tiny limp prick in my mouth and I swear to fucking Christ I will bite it off and swallow it so you can't sew it back on.” Because I'm a goddamn genius.

I had a wild thought that as a dentist I should know the best angle of bite to use.

Lester didn't appreciate my sass. A big clue to his displeasure was the fist that hit like a freight train to my left temple and cheekbone. He hollered in rage and let go of my hair. My vision was spotty and I toppled over like a drunk. I waited for a kick to the ribs or belly, that was classic Lester, but it never came. I blinked until my vision cleared and pushed until I was halfway sitting up. Lester wasn't standing in front of me. He wasn't on the porch at all. I turned and noticed there was a commotion on my lawn. Lester was on the ground, dripping blood from his nose, and crab-walking backwards away from Guy.

A threatening growl filled the yard. Fuck. It would be kind of bad if Guy ripped off Lester's arms then beat him to death with them, wonderfully entertaining but ultimately bad.

I didn't have to work to make my voice waver. “Guy?”

His head snapped in my direction, the green of his eyes feral and nearly glowing. Once I knew I had his attention I let myself fall over. It was a little too much of a relief not to hold myself up. Jesus, my face hurt. But my damsel in distress routine, if emasculating, was effective. Guy was at my side in a hot second.

“Mick! Fuck, Mick!” His hands fluttered over me, afraid to touch in case I was hurt worse than I looked.

My eyes slid behind him and I saw Lester hightailing it out of there.

Guy had his cell out and was muttering. “Ambulance. Ambulance.”

I grabbed his wrist and made myself sit up. “No ambulance.” As much as I'd been enjoying the comfort of being horizontal, it wouldn't serve me if Guy dragged me off to the ER. “Just help me inside.”

Guy helped me stand up. I was able to get out my keys and find the right one, but Guy had to unlock and open the door for me. I staggered to the kitchen with Guy following, arms out, like I was going to swoon and crash at any moment. I nabbed two ice-packs from the freezer and staggered back to the living room. I let myself half fall onto the couch. Icepack number one I shoved under my shirt, hissing as it settled just below my sternum. Icepack number two I held across my temple and cheekbone. I tongued the cut inside my mouth. It wasn't bad, and that cheek just felt a little warm and tender. It probably wouldn't bruise up. God, I used to be able to take a hit. Dentistry had made me soft. Nobody swings at the dentist, we have the needles and drills. My hair clip was missing, I noticed grumpily, no doubt it was out on the porch somewhere. It probably fell through the slats and would never be seen again. I liked that clip, dammit.

I took stock of myself and didn't feel anything worse. I would probably just be sore and bruised tomorrow. I also wasn't raped, orally or otherwise. Hooray for not getting raped.

I was also not alone, I remembered.

“Guy?” I had to clear my throat. “Not that I'm complaining, but I thought you had a case tonight.”

“Rescheduled. She couldn't make it.” He pulled a hand through his hair. “Thank god.” He looked at me. “We need to call the police if we aren't calling an ambulance.”

I chuckled carefully. Ow, my belly. “That was the police.”

“That was...” He shook his head. “That was a cop?”

I nodded as he started fussing over me. No bones sticking out anywhere, woohoo. I stopped him when he tried to check my stomach and gave him a stern look.

“Then we definitely have to call the police.” He said. “They have to know they have someone like that on their payroll.” He wiped the trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth and showed it to me accusingly.

I snorted, pulling his hand to wipe his finger off on my shirt. It was bloody anyway. “No. Besides I'm fine. I think you scared Lester off.” Jesus, I hoped Guy had scared him off. Lester had looked pretty scared, but maybe it was more startled. Startled wasn't nearly as good.

“Lester? You know that asshole?”

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, not wanting to see Guy's face. “Yeah, that would be my mom's ex-husband.”

“Your mom's... That was your fucking step-dad?”

Yep. Definitely didn't want to see his face. I felt the swell of his anger as things clicked together in Guy's head. In my own head I felt the stinging shame that he'd figure things out about me that I did my best to not even think about.

I sighed. “My sister has a restraining order against him. She renews it every year, as far as I know.”

“It looks like you need one.” Guy sat carefully next to me, like he was afraid of jostling me.

I shook my head. “It's too complicated for me to get one. I don't have the grounds that she does.”

Guy looked at me expectantly.

The ice was starting to hurt. I should have grabbed a towel to wrap around the pack. I kept it pressed against my face and stomach anyway. “When Rosalind was thirteen Les was charged with trying to rape her.”

“Your sister? He didn't look interested in your sister tonight, Mick.”

I ignored him. My skin was tingling unpleasantly. Fuck, I needed to get the feel of Lester off me. His sadistic lust sat on me like slime, it felt like it was seeping inside of me. It was a feeling uniquely Lester's. I hadn't felt it in years, I hadn't missed it. I wanted it gone. I stood, letting the ice-packs drop where they would. This called for more than a shower.

My legs were much steadier as I went to the bathroom to rifle behind the mirror. It didn't take me long to find the bottle of diazepam. I shook out one small tablet, thought better of it, and shook out another. I capped and dropped the bottle in the sink. I didn't pay attention to the sound of Guy picking up the bottle for a moment then putting it back in the medicine cabinet. I went to the kitchen next. I pulled a glass from the shelf then turned around and put it back. I tugged the freezer door open and rooted around until I successfully yanked the bottle of Smirnoff free from its home under the bag of tater tots. I tossed the pills to the back of my tongue and spun off the vodka lid without bothering to close the freezer door. I was about to put the bottle to my lips when a hand on my arm stopped me. I blinked stupidly at Guy. The look on his face was pained.

“One or the other.” He said gently. “Not both.”

The pills sat bitter on my tongue. He held my eyes until I handed him the bottle. He handed me a cup of water. Okay, yeah, mixing booze with schedule IV drugs is generally a bad idea. I prescribed this shit. I knew that. The cool water washed the taste off my tongue and helped me swallow the little pills down. They would take about half an hour or forty-five minutes before they started numbing me out. I preferred not using drugs to shake off unpleasant empathic hangers-on, but I always kept some on hand just in case. Over the years I'd always been on the lookout for things that either dulled my empathy or helped me shake off leftover emotions that had stuck to me. Diazepam was generic Valium. It was good for both. Opioids like Vicoden worked, but the effect was shorter-lived. Alcohol, in large enough quantities, was excellent for damping my empathy. The resulting hangover was less fun. Marijuana also worked well, but was illegal and harder to obtain.

Shit, my little quest for something to chill out my empathy was the reason for Lester ever getting involved in our lives.

“It's my fault Les ever met my mom.” I sat heavily in a chair at the small kitchen table. I hadn't really meant to say my thoughts out loud.

Guy eased himself gently into the chair next to me. “How so?”

I looked at Guy. What the hell, might as well tell him. “When I was almost twelve he busted me after I'd just finished smoking some pot in the park near our house.” I slumped back in my seat. “It was a joint. It was all I had, too, so I didn't have anything on me. But I'm sure I stank of it. He hauled my ass home to my mom. God, she about had kittens.

“I wasn't doing real great then. It was hard after Dad was killed. Then at that age everybody gets all crazy and hormonal. It was nuts just trying to deal with my own shit, but at school I was surrounded by everybody else's too.” I grumbled. “And everything seemed to stick to me. I couldn't tell what were my feelings and what weren't anymore. It was a mess. Mom knew I could sense other people's emotions sometimes, but she didn't really understand. I wasn't inclined to explain it to her, either.” I shrugged. “I didn't think she could help anyway. So I looked for ways to self-medicate.” I held up a finger. “Booze.” I put up a second finger. “And pot were the things I found that worked. I found more as I got older.”

I didn't mention other things I'd found. I didn't imagine he would appreciate the need to hurt myself to keep my empathy under control. “Mom was smart as hell, so I could never get away with either at home. I drank or smoked at friends' houses when I could, but half the time I'd end up sneaking off to a park after dark or down the railroad tracks.”

My face throbbed. I grunted as I stood. “Ibuprofen.” Guy followed me silently as I retrieved three of the non-steroidal anti-inflammatories and took them with the remaining water Guy had given me before. I talked as I went. “That fucker, Lester, seemed to catch me half the time. He had a goddamn sixth sense about it. I should have wised up, but I was a dumb kid. I just kept trying to hide in different spots.” Back to our seats at the table. “He never arrested me or took me to the station. He always took me to my mom. Every damn time. She was so grateful. She thought he was looking out for me.” I rolled my eyes. “He played it up too, that he knew I was a good kid going through a hard time of life with no father-figure, blabbity-blah-blah.” I rubbed my eyes. “It wasn't two months before they were dating. In six months they were engaged, less than a year before they were married.”

My head and stomach were feeling better but I still felt slimy. My cheek and temple were still throbbing so I retrieved my third and last remaining ice pack from the freezer. I wrapped it in a towel this time before I held it to my face.

“How long were they married?” Guy asked when it was clear I wasn't going to volunteer anymore.

“They divorced when I was sixteen.” My mouth was dry, I tipped my little cup back and sucked out the last of the water in it.

“What happened?” Guy's voice was quiet, but it felt like a shout.

I looked at him then away. “Mom worked weird hours. She'd be at the hospital at least four days a week for overnight twelve hour shifts. Then usually she'd get three days off unless she got called in. I was awake one night when she was gone. I heard Lester go in my sister's room. I heard them talking, real quiet so I just heard their voices but not the words.” My voice was draining of emotion, just saying the words with no heat behind them the more I spoke. “I heard something moving around and then Rosie was crying.” There was a chip in the paint on the wall behind the salt shaker. It held my gaze as I spoke. My eyes followed its edges, it was sort of shaped like a maple leaf. “I crawled out of bed and snuck to her door. I peeked in.” Maybe it was more like an oak leaf, it was a little long to be maple. “Lester was all over her. Her shirt was up and her pants were off. She was crying so hard she could hardly breath and he had a hand over her mouth.” I reached over and scooted the shaker further out of the way of my little paint chip. “I went back to my room and got my baseball bat. I was in baseball that summer. I did pretty well in it. I couldn't do basketball or football because there was too much touching.” I pushed the salt shaker in front of the chip and then out of the way again. I scooted it back and forth. Peek. Cover. Peek. Cover. Peek.

“When Mom saw bruises on me, Lester always accused me of fighting, but it never was. It was always him. I can't fight. If I hit someone I feel their pain or distress real strong, and for some reason it makes things echo weird in my head. I got in one fight in second grade, I only traded a couple of sissy-punches with the other kid but I had to go home sick with a whopper of a migraine. So, I never hit anybody again until that night.” My gaze slid over the scratched tabletop to Guy's fingers. They were gripping those of his opposite hand tightly. He was trying to not touch me, I knew, afraid I would stop talking if he did. My eyes slid over his wrists and up his arms, across his shoulders and throat, up his chin and cheeks, to latch on his hazel eyes. They were browner than I'd ever seen them. “I had a good swing. I kept swinging until I passed out.

“I woke up two days later in the hospital. They were keeping Lester in an induced coma because of swelling in his brain.” I realized my eyes felt strange. I forced myself to blink. “They let him wake up after two weeks.” My voice regained its heat. “Bastard made a full recovery.”

I yanked my gaze away from his. “They charged him with assault with intent to commit sexual abuse and indecent contact with a child. Later they dropped it.” I spat. “Lack of evidence. They conveniently lost the rape kits.”

“Kits?” I heard him murmur. “More than one?”

I ignored him. “The findings at the scene were conveniently ambiguous. After Lester recovered, they got him a transfer and hushed everything the fuck up. For a while they were kicking around a plan to charge me with attempted murder, but they didn't follow through. I think they were trying to hold it over our heads to shut us up. Les had a lot of buddies and a lot of people who owed him favors.”

My mind swirled back, unable to avoid thinking of those things I always fought to keep locked up tight in a little box inside me. I'd pieced together what happened when I'd been out mostly from when I'd used my empathy on my sister to untangle her so she didn't implode emotionally. I'd knocked Lester the fuck out, but I was out too. That meant my baby sister had to take care of everything by herself. She pulled her clothes back on and tried to wake me up, but I was dead to the world. She finally called 911, terrified of my unresponsiveness and sure Les was dead, there was so much blood. Alone, she let in the EMTs and spoke to them and then the police. They used two ambulances, she rode with me. I found out later she held my hand the whole ride even when they tried to get her to move. She didn't cry until Mom found her talking to a cop in a little exam room in the ER. Then she spilled it all over again for my Mom, telling her absolutely everything she could remember. Mom demanded a rape kit be done right away. Rosalind's tears were slowing down but she was still wild-eyed.

“He always goes there at night. He never comes to my room. I thought he got it wrong.” She was hiccuping.

“What, mija?” Mom stroked Rosie's hair. “He goes where?”

“He always goes to Nate's room when you work, after I'm supposed to be asleep. When I was littler I was... I was jealous that Nate always got tucked in special, that he would stay with Nate until he fell asleep.”

Mom had gently settled Rosie with a nurse friend working the ER that night. Mom had removed the cop from the room and shut the door behind her. She carefully got out of earshot of my sister. Then my mom had totally lost her shit. Mom got several guarantees that they would do a second rape kit on me. Then she had narrowly avoided being arrested when she had to be forcibly removed from Lester's room where she tried to finish what I'd started. She hadn't settled down until Nana Ortiz, her mother and our grandmother, had arrived at the hospital. The next morning Mom called a lawyer and got the ball rolling for a divorce. When I woke up Lester was still in the ICU. Mom was sitting next to my little bed, holding my hand. Rosalind was staying with Nana, no doubt being stuffed with comfort foods. Mom looked terrible, worse than she'd looked after going to identify Dad's body.

“Conejito?” She squeezed my hand. “Baby, you're awake.”

I coughed and my voice was raspy and strange. “I'm not a little bunny, Mom.”

“Hush.” She gave me a straw in a cup to sip from. “You'll always be my conejito. Even if you don't hop around behind me anymore.”

My head was pounding but my throat felt better after the drink. “Rosie? Is she okay?”

Mom nodded, her eyes were shiny. “She's okay. You saved her.” She gave my hand another squeeze. “I'm so proud of you. You protected your little sister.” She took a shuddering breath.

“But I didn't protect you, mijo.” The tears slid down her cheeks. “I'm so sorry. So, so sorry.”

I shook my head and regretted it when the room tried to tilt. “S'not your fault. S'my fault.”

“Nathaniel, no.” She pressed her hand over my heart. “Never say that.” Her touch lightened and her hand shifted to the side of my chest. “And these... did he?”

I turned my head sharply away from her and rested my head back on the pillow, letting the room swim, hoping I'd pass out again. A nurse coming in was the next best thing. Then the doctors wanted to see me and there were tests to run. Then I was talking to the police. Mom sat there and listened as I explained how I'd heard Rosalind crying and went to investigate. I didn't tell them I was awake that night because I was waiting for Les to come to my room. I told them what I saw and told them what I did. When they asked what knocked me out I told them I didn't know. The theory was that either Lester got a good hit in and knocked me out or I'd lost control of a swing and bopped myself with my own bat. I neither confirmed nor denied either idea. They wanted to know if I'd been doing any drugs that day. My mom stiffened. I told them no before she could say anything. It was true. They asked if I ever did drugs. I told them I smoked pot sometimes but I hadn't for at least a week. They would already know that Lester nabbed me semi-regularly for smoking-up. It was no big secret. I knew there wasn't any contraband in the house, even if they searched. Then they made me tell them the whole thing again. Then Mom found a doctor to kick them out of my room.

“Mick?” Guy was leaning across the table. “Mick?”

I blinked and shook my head. “Sorry, what?”

“You okay?”

I put down the icepack. “I need a shower.”

And I did. I hadn't cleaned and reset from work, and it had been a rough day anyway. Then I had Lester's muck on top of that. I shuddered. Hopefully by the time I was done the diazepam would be kicking in.

“I'm fine now.” I told him. “You can take off. I've got everything under control.”

“Oh, no way.” Guy said firmly. “I'm not going anywhere until one of three things happens.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Either I'm convinced that you're alright and aren't going to be getting anymore unwanted visitors tonight, we take you to the hospital to get checked out, or we call the cops. That man is a goddamn lunatic.”

“He's an asshole, but he can be dealt with. I'm just rusty. I haven't had to settle him down in years.”

“You shouldn't have to deal with him. And I caught the tail-end of how he was dealing with you.”

I rubbed my forehead. “The big problem is that he thinks I want it.”

Guy looked horrified. “It looked pretty obvious to any sane person that you didn't.” Such a nice little vanilla boy scout Guy was.

“Believe me, he honestly thinks I enjoy it.” I felt sick thinking about the things we'd done that Les had thought I'd liked. At a few points he'd convinced me too. But that was a long time ago, and I was far away from that confusion. “I think that's how things went so far. There were no limits, no boundaries, because he believed that anything he wanted to try was something I liked. He thinks I say no because I'm, shit I don't know, embarrassed or something. It's how it's always been.” I shook my head. “I'm older now. I just need to figure out a way to convince him that I really don't want to play his fucking games anymore. Then he'll leave me alone.”

An inhuman growl rumbled in Guy's chest. “And how many punches to your head do you think that will take?”

“He won't catch me by surprise next time. I'll deal with it.” I sighed, suddenly very tired. I turned away from Guy. “Remote's on the coffee table. Have fun.”

Guy watched me carefully as I walked to the bathroom and shut myself in. I thought I heard him wander off to the living room. The shower was good and bad. I turned it hot as I could stand. It set my cheek and temple to throbbing again, but after I carefully soaped and shampooed twice I felt at least a little more myself. My scalp stung where Lester had yanked me around so roughly, but all my hair seemed to be present which was a relief. I was blooming a bruise on my hip from the doorknob, I hadn't noticed it even hurt before. A fist-sized spot below my sternum was red with purple tinges in the middle. I got out and dried off, hitching the towel around my waist. I wiped the condensation from the mirror. The swelling at my cheek and temple was better than I'd expected. The ice had kept it down. It was already bluish-purple though. It was going to be a helluva bruise. Hopefully it kept to the side and didn't leak over to give me a shiner. If I kept my hair down on that side I could probably hide it pretty well, I thought.

In the mirror my eyes looked tired as fuck. I never liked my eyes much. They were dark enough most people thought they were brown unless they looked closer. I always thought they were strange eyes. Most blue eyes were bright and pretty, some even tending to green. Mine were dark and oddly uniform, without the normal shading striations I'd seen in most irises. The color did shift a little depending on my mood or what I was wearing. Usually they were around the color of newer denim. At the darkest they were navy.

As I looked in the mirror they were navy. I felt a spark of amusement with the thought that the bruises really brought out the dark blue in my eyes. Lovely.

I ran a hand through my hair, pushing it out of my face. The thorough shower had pretty effectively rid me of the crappy emotional detritus of my workday. It didn't do much for the feeling Lester had left me, like I'd been rolling around with rutting snakes. My skin crawled and my breath hitched. I fought to keep it even. It'd been years since I'd had a panic attack. I wasn't about to fucking start that bullshit again.

I reached and accidentally knocked over the little cup holding the cotton balls, but was able to catch one before it went over. I didn't bother picking the rest up. I hit the alcohol dispenser and rubbed it over a generous swath of my wrist. The first swipe of the blade across the still damp skin stung soothingly, but no matter how I pressed the cut, the nasty feeling on my skin wouldn't leave me. I gave my wrist another sharp swipe just next to the first. I rubbed alcohol into both shallow cuts, biting my lip with the harsh sting. Nothing. Fuck. I was not spending any more time with this taint on me. I had to fucking get it off of me. My breath started to hitch again. Dammit.

I turned the blade so the tip dug into the skin above the other two cuts. I laid the back of my arm on the edge of the sink for stability, I was starting to shake. I felt the knife biting in then yanked hard. I pushed cruelly on the cut with the flat of the blade, trying to milk pain out of it. Usually the sharp sting was immediate, but it took several seconds before I felt it. I should have taken notice of this, but I didn't. When the pain then the familiar shocky feeling swept over me I sighed in relief. It was chasing the nasties away. I almost cried with happiness. I wouldn't have to go to bed with that slime crawling over me.

With the relief came the realization that my arm was cold. I looked down to see blood had made a lazy path down my forearm and was dripping off my elbow. I thought I could almost hear the soft plink plink as it hit the tile below. I lifted the knife up and looked at it stupidly. Well, shit.

The door behind me suddenly whipped open.

“Mick, you okay? I smelled...” His eyes opened ridiculously wide as he took in my little tableau, one arm up and red from wrist to elbow and the other holding a ruby spotted knife. “...blood.”

Guy immediately grabbed my hand and plucked the knife from my fingers. “Mick! The fuck are you doing?”

Being the goddamn genius I am, I said something immensely clever to defuse the situation. “Nothing.” Yeah, great. That helped.

He gave me a look that comment deserved and grabbed a washcloth from the shelf. Guy tossed the knife in disgust, letting it skitter across the floor to end up somewhere under the dining room table. The washcloth went around my wrist. His hand clamped around it, tightening like an iron manacle.

“First aid kit.” Guy demanded.

“Uh, right behind you. It's the big basket with the snowmen on the side.”

Guy snatched it angrily from the shelf and dragged me by my washcloth gripped arm to the living room couch. He didn't let go as he plunked himself down and tugged me into his lap. He loosened his grasp long enough to peek under the cloth. It must have still been bleeding because his hand clamped back down and he lifted so my wrist was elevated above my heart.

Shit. I tried to hold myself stiff and upright but I didn't have the will. So I let my body lay back against his. I realized I was naked, I lost the towel somewhere. It was okay because Guy was so warm. I tipped my head back to rest against his shoulder. Maybe I could just pretend we were having a bit of a cuddle.

“Explain.” Guy's voice was tight.

Or not a cuddle.

Maybe if I just kept quiet he would let it go.

“You talk to me or I'm hauling your ass the the ER and they can sort it out.” He growled.

Or not let it go.

Dammit.

“Remember when I told you emotions are sticky sometimes and I have to wash them off?” I was facing away from him, but I felt him nod. “Well, all the lotions, herbs, and showers in the world won't unstick half that shit. Pain takes care of it though. Pain resets everything nicely. It works best with a little blood.” I blew out a breath. “I usually don't go deep at all. I just... I was having a hard time tonight.”

“So you weren't trying to...”

“Off myself?” I flinched as Guy's grip tightened on my arm. “No. I just couldn't get him off of me. I tried two small cuts and they weren't working.” I swallowed hard. “I guess I panicked. Forgot about your nose.” I shouldn't have though. I'd known Chrissy's mom had smelled her blood from across the house. Guy had just been a room away.

“Scared the shit out of me, Mick.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He peeked under the washcloth again then kept the pressure on. Shit, it was still bleeding? I hoped I didn't need stitches. I had everything I needed in the first aid kit, but it's a pain in the ass to do one-handed.

The fingers of Guy's other hand ghosted across my chest. I'd forgotten I was shirtless in all the excitement.

“And these? Did you do these?” He asked seriously.

I shifted awkwardly. “Some of them.”

“Which did you do?”

I looked down at my chest and pointed to a series of marks just to the right of my sternum. Each was at an angle, a smooth slightly raised line an inch and a half long. All of them together made a set of V-shapes in a sort of chevron pattern about five inches long. Guy turned me in his arms so he could see better. I then pointed to a faint set of X marks below my ribs. The ones over my bruised gut showed up brighter. They were fading over the years, I hoped eventually they'd be unnoticeable.

“What did you use?” Guy's voice was soft but solid.

I slid my finger over the X marks. “Razor.” I shook my head. “I don't use razors anymore.” Tonight's little oopsie was a reminder why. Too sharp, too dangerous. I would have probably hacked half my arm off with a razor.

I set my hand over the V marks. “Putty knife and a candle.” These scars would never fade away, I knew that. “I try not to burn anymore. The effect lasts longer but it's just... I don't like it.”

Cutting was quick and clean. It took minimal set up and time. Burning always took more time. Waiting for the metal to heat, then deciding the best place to press it. I never could get over my natural reflex to yank the fucking hot thing away from my skin, so sometimes it would take more than one try. If I overheated the putty knife it sometimes would make a stomach-turning sizzle when I set it to my chest. Sometimes there was a smell that reminded me I was cooking my own flesh. The scarring was worse, as well. It also reminded me too much of other... things.

“And this one? You didn't do this?” Guy's fingers ghosted the skin over my heart.

Speak of the devil.

“Les gave me that.” I pulled his fingers away from it.

“It's a 'W'?” He asked gently.

“Yup.” I closed my eyes. “You know, for 'whore'.” I rubbed the mark. It still stung sometimes. “He was going to do the whole word, but I puked and passed out after just the one letter. So, he quit and said that was enough. That I knew what it meant.”

“Jesus.” Guy said under his breath. “It's a burn?”

I nodded. “Soldering iron.” Guy sucked in a shocked breath but I kept talking. “It was after that I figured out how well pain works to nix my empathy. I don't think I'll thank him though.”

That had been several months before he attacked Rosalind. I'd been freshly sixteen and sassy as hell. I was getting a little bigger and a lot less happy with Lester and everything else. He'd hauled my butt home drunk or high who knows how many times. Sometimes he'd rough me up a little before we got home and tell Mom I'd been fighting. Mom fully supported Lester's idea for a manly little week-long trip up to a cabin Lester's uncle wasn't using. The idea was to get me away from all the bad influences around town and have plenty of masculine heart-to-hearts with the father-figure Les pretended to be.

Halfway through the week Les got tipsy on cheap beer and happened on the soldering iron in the junk drawer while he was looking for batteries. I'd ended up tied tight to the little two-person table in the cabin's small kitchen. He took his time with the soldering iron, said he wanted it to look just right. I'd woken up later freezing cold in the bathtub, he left me there and went to bed. I'd had to clean up my puke the next day. My reaction to the branding was strong enough, though, that he didn't try to finish more than the first letter. A delightful side-effect was when the burn hurt enough, it didn't matter how turned-on Lester was it wouldn't transfer to me. I loved thwarting him in that way. It had really pissed him off when he couldn't force me to get hard. Sometimes you have to take joy in the little things.

I'd been experimenting with burning and cutting for a few weeks when I'd introduced Lester's head to my aluminum practice bat. It had taken me that long to get up the nerve to hurt myself on purpose.

I didn't share this with Guy.

Instead I told him, “I haven't burned for maybe eight or nine years. And now I only do things to my wrist. If it's someplace more visible it helps remind me to keep from getting too, um, vigorous with the action.”

He gave me a pointed look.

“Well, it usually works.” I muttered. “I haven't accidentally cut so deep since I quit using razor blades.”

I didn't think I was making Guy feel better. He looked a little green.

I gave my left arm a little tug. “Well, let's see it. If it's still gushing then I suppose it needs stitches.” I grumbled.

Guy hesitantly let my wrist go. I tried to turn myself away from Guy, but he stopped me. Great, he wanted to lookie-loo. The washcloth was wet and red, but not soaked. It peeled thickly from my skin, leaving me a little queasy. Funny how I could deal with blood, pus, and bone bits at work and it didn't bother me at all, but this squicked me.

It reminded me of something a classmate had said in dental school to another classmate. He was a champ at oral surgery but he got woozy when we practiced drawing blood on each other. He'd said, “I could paint a barn in your blood. Mine, I don't like to see so much.”

I laid the washcloth on my thigh and inspected my boo-boo. It wasn't as bad as I'd feared. It was still oozing blood, but not quickly. The cut gaped slightly, but I didn't see any exposed muscle or ligament. If I was honest, a few stitches wouldn't be a terrible idea. But I knew I could get away with a couple of butterflies and it would close up fine. Stitches would minimize scarring, but I didn't worry about a scar. It would have plenty of company. Besides, maybe a bigger scar would remind me not to be quite so overeager next time I was feeling twitchy. The other two cuts looked fine. They would scab and heal easily. There were a few other lines in different stages of healing. They all looked good and I was going to weasel my way out of giving myself stitches. Yay. I smiled slightly and looked up at Guy.

Guy didn't look particularly relieved. Guy looked like he was about to have a hissy fit. He stood carefully and I slid slowly off his lap onto the couch. I resisted the urge to go 'whee', I don't think it would have been well-received.

His voice was low and rough. “In your room, which drawer has your pants?”

I'd never had a wardrobe inquiry sound quite so ominous. “Uh, the bottom one?”

He stomped away to flung open my bedroom door. Okay, then. I had cotton circles and a small bottle of alcohol in the first-aid basket. I used them to clean the blood from around the cut. It took a couple. I dried my skin then dug around one-handed in the basket. I found the mini-butterflies and flipped a pair of two-packs onto the coffee table. Some more blood had snuck out, so I cleaned that, then pinched the cut closed and wrestled a butterfly into place. The second was a little easier. I was about to stick on the third when I heard a dresser drawer slam and Guy stalked into the living room. A handful of clothes landed next to me on the couch.

“Pants. Shirt. Hospital. Now.” The last word was almost a shout.

I blinked at him and finished securing the third butterfly. It would probably be alright with three, but I thought four would be better. They were the little ones, there was room. I peeled open the fourth and worked on setting it so it would be tight. When it was done I looked up at Guy. He stood expectantly, fists on his hips, legs wide. He was posed like a giant pissed-off Peter Pan.

I sighed. “I'll take the pants, thank you. But I'm not going to the hospital.” It was very hard to keep the sass out of my tone.

I wanted to go to the bathroom and clean up the blood, get it off myself and the floor, but I was feeling a little shaky. I didn't think it would do my case much good if I fell over in front of Guy right now. I looked at him. He looked perfectly capable of throwing me over his shoulder and taking me by brute force. God, I would be so pissed if he tried that. First of all, it's demeaning. Secondly, I had a bruise on my stomach, ouch.

“You need stitches and you were hit in the head.”

“I do not need stitches.” I ignored the second half of the statement.

Wobblies, be damned. I needed this blood off me. I stood carefully, trying to play it cool. It wasn't a sprint, but it didn't need to be. I rinsed the bloody washcloth until the water ran clear. It was stained, I'd throw it in the wash later, see if it was salvageable. It was cool and damp and did a fine job of getting the now crusting blood off me, only minor scrubbing necessary. I dropped it to the floor and pushed it around with my foot to clean the mess I'd left there. Tomorrow I'd crack out the good cleaner and scrub it properly, right then I was just looking for out of sight out of mind. Bending over seemed like a bad idea, so I kicked the cloth next to the shower to pick up later. I turned around to go back to the living room and narrowly avoided crashing into Guy.

“Christ!” I yelped.

He steadied me then started handing me the clothes in his hands. “You need help?”

I scowled at him and tugged on the sweatpants. I held onto the shirt and stepped around Guy to go back to the living room. I wanted a bandage on my wrist before I tried to get the shirt on. I heard water running in the bathroom as I retrieved what I needed from the snowman basket. I must have leaked red onto Guy and he was washing it off. I inspected my wrist. It looked like the bleeding had stopped. Good. The butterflies were holding the cut closed fine. I put some antibiotic ointment on a gauze rectangle and put it in place. I had a roll of bandage that would stick to itself, but not my skin. I wrapped it around a few times until it felt secure. The cut was a hot ache across my wrist. It wasn't bad, though. The meds I'd taken earlier were probably helping. I slipped into the t-shirt, careful not to screw up the bandage as I put my arm through.

“Ready?” Guy asked.

“Ready for what?” I played dumb.

Guy looked unamused. “Stitches, possibly an MRI.”

“Oh for pity's sake. Are you sure you aren't a weredonkey, 'cause you're stubborn like one.” He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “It's stopped bleeding, it's closed, it's dressed. It doesn't need stitches. Even if it did, I have a suture kit. I could stitch it myself.” I glared at him. “I've done it before, so don't even start. And my head is fine. I never lost consciousness.” It had been a little gray around the edges, but I hadn't gone out. I think. “They wouldn't scan me for that.” I was pretty sure they wouldn't. “I'm fine. The hospital would be a waste of time and money.”

Guy's chin dropped to his chest. When he lifted it, his face had softened. He sat heavily next to me on the couch. He took my hand gingerly. The meds and the pain made his emotions distant, even with the skin contact.

“There are other people at the hospital you should see, Mick.” His voice was level and serious.

I raised an eyebrow.

“You're hurting yourself.” He squeezed my hand. “It looks like you're doing it a lot, maybe even every day. When things got more stressful than you could deal with, you hurt yourself really badly. You have a history of physical, mental, and sexual abuse. You need help. What you're doing right now is dangerous, Mick.” He rested his hand on my shoulder.

I shook it off and stood stiffly, gathering the trash from the bandages. “I fucking get it. You'd get me in there for stitches and then you'd have them pop a psych evaluation on me. Maybe have them shut me in for a twenty-four hour assessment.” I flung the bandages' papers into the little garbage by the TV stand.

Guy pulled a hand through his hair. “It's for the best, Mick. You have to figure out a way to stop hurting yourself. It's not healthy, it's not right.” He looked at me pleadingly. “I want you to be safe and happy with healthy coping mechanisms.”

“Fucking listen to you.” I hissed. “I'm not one of your goddamn confused puppies and I'm not just some little emo bitch who needs more hugs.”

“Mick, please listen...”

“No, you fucking listen, you unbelievable shit. You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about.” My hands clenched into fists. “Do you have any idea what a hospital is like for someone like me? What do you think I get from the ER? In the waiting area should I sit next to the little girl with the broken arm? That would feel nice. Or maybe I could chit chat with the guy who fired the nailgun into his knee? Do you think they'd put me in a room next to the kid who was just in a car accident or the chick who got drunk and fell into the bonfire?” I threw a hand in the air. “Thank you, now I don't just have a headache and sore arm. Now I get to feel their pain and fear and worry, too. Some of it is sure to stick to me, so I get to keep on feeling it until I can get rid of it.” I cocked my head to the side. “Oh, but I can't fucking hurt myself anymore because it bothers you. So, I'll have to get so drunk or so drugged that it finally fades.”

Guy winced.

“But I won't be able to do that either, will I, Guy?” I spat his name. “Because they'll have me shut up for a day while they assess my mental stability. But that's okay, I can wait. Maybe they'll give me a roommate with a disorder I haven't felt before? Schizophrenia would be new. Probably roomie would just be depressed and suicidal. I could hang out that whole day, just sucking that up. After a day of that how do you think I'd be? You think they'd fucking let me out after that? How desperate do you think I'd be?”

I forced my fingers to unclench. “I am never go back to a place like that again, do you fucking hear me?”

Guy's eyes were wide. “Mick, I...”

“You know so much, but you can shut the fuck up.” I snarled and pointed at the door. “And you can get the fuck out of my house. I won't be around someone who thinks they can make my decisions for me, thinks they know what's good for me better than I do.”

Guy opened his mouth and closed it. He started to the door then stopped. “But if your step-dad comes back...”

“I'll lock up and if he comes back I'll call the cops. Now you get the hell out, or I'll be calling them for you.”

Guy dragged himself slowly out the door and stood on my porch, looking forlorn. I was unmoved.

“I think it would be best if you didn't come back.” I said coldly. “If I have any more trouble with Lester I promise to talk to the police and I'll get a restraining order or something. You don't need to worry about it.” I started to close the door. “Thank you again for the help tonight. 'Bye.”

I shut the door with a click and threw the deadbolt. I turned around and leaned against it.

Yeah, that went well. Fabulous.

Fuck it. I was going to bed. The fading adrenalin combined with the diazepam should let me sleep easily. That sounded like exactly what I needed. I snagged the two ice-bags I'd left earlier and put my ass to bed.