Slash Work - 6. Starving For Truth/What Was Up With That Cliffie?!

Chapter 6: Starving For Truth/What Was Up With That Cliffie?!

I woke up on my couch. I wondered where I was briefly before realizing that I was in my room. It was then that I noticed that I had a KILLER headache. Then, I realized something much worse. My ass hurt like a motherfucker. Though no one else was in the room to see it, my eyes widened and I frozen completely. No...dear God no! Not that. Please God, not that! I started crying right there on the spot.

“Hey, you’re awake,” came a gentle but firm voice.

I turned around to see Chad walking in from the kitchen area. He had a wet washcloth in his hands. What the hell was HE doing here? Was he...?

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I asked softly.

He gave me a puzzled look.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

“Ummm...you sent me here, bro,” he said, looking at me curiously. “Don’t you remember?”

Tried as I might, I couldn’t remember anything after walking up the stairs to my apartment. This may be due, in part, to my steadily growing headache, which made it REALLY painful to think right now. I shook my head.

“No. I...I only remember walking up the stairs, and then waking up here. And I have a major headache right now, so thinking ain’t going to come easily to me right now.”

“Well, I called the campus doctor, and she said to make sure that you get plenty of rest right now. So I think that you should just go back to sleep. Don’t worry. I’ve got my essentials and stuff right here, so I don’t plan on leaving here tonight unless something else happens.”

He seemed to have thought this out. But something was still troubling me. And it went hand-in-hand with that whole “called the campus doctor” thing.

“Um...Chad?” I asked, fear laden in my voice. “Was I...raped?”

He stayed quiet for a moment. I swear it was the scariest and longest moment of my entire life. Finally, he answered.

“No. At least, that’s what you told me,” And before I could say anything else, “Hey, listen, it’s three-something in the morning. We should both be getting some shuteye. I’m going to sleep in your bed tonight, if you don’t mind. I’d move you in there and take the couch myself, but the doctor said that I shouldn’t move you unless absolutely necessary. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And then he made his way into my room, shutting off all the lights as he did so. Through the dark, I noticed a spare blanket on the floor next to me. He probably had that on me while I was out, and removed it every so often to check up on me. I sure hope that he remembered to lock the door. I put the blanket over me and tried my best to get back to sleep.

I awoke later on that day to the sound of crashing kitchenware. I peered over to the kitchen just in time to see Chad do the same thing back to me.

“Damn. Guess that did wake you. Honestly,” he went back into the kitchen, “I don’t know how you do it. There’s not a single scrap of cereal in the room, yet you have half a dozen eggs left in the fridge. Are these still even fresh?”

“How should I know?” I said back. “I haven’t touched them in a month.”

“Do you honestly cook your breakfast?” he said, completely amazed at the thought.

“Not usually. Just on the weekends.”

I tried to stand up. There was a sharp pain down below, I yelped, and sank back into the couch. Chad came out of the kitchen.

“Dude, what happened?”

“Nothing. I just tried to get up. That’s all.”

“So you’re still sore, huh?”

“Guess so.”

Last night’s events came back to mind.

“So, while we’re at it, why don’t you tell me about what happened last night, as I clearly still cannot remember it.”

Chad glanced at the clock.

“Dude, I’d love to, but I got about five minutes left before I have to head off to class. Guess you’re on your own for breakfast. If you can get up, that is. Do you want me to bring you anything from the kitchen?”

“Eggs, scrambled, toast and butter, sausage, waffles, and some orange juice would be nice,” I joked.

“That would be nice, except for the fact that I can’t cook and if you ate anything made by these two hands, you’d be in worse shape than you’re already in,” he said, laughing at the end.

His laugh was infectious. I started laughing too.

“Well, now that that’s settled, I gotta get going. Here’s your laptop,” he said, plopping down the device on my lap. “I don’t know the password, so I couldn’t email your professors last night, telling them that you wouldn’t be in. Guess you’ll have to do that as well.”

“Dammit. I almost got raped, am couch-bound, and you’re still making me do all the work!” I said in faux anger.

“Which reminds me,” he interrupted. “We still have that project meeting. I WILL hold you up to that still.”

“Are we EVER going to talk about last night?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. As soon as I come back, we’ll talk.”

He left. I sat there, wondering what to do. I booted up my computer. I figured I might as well tell my professors that I won’t be in today. Glancing at the clock, I knew that it was already too late to inform my first professor of the day about my absence. As I started typing out an email to my next professor, I came across a conundrum. How was I going to explain the situation to them? I don’t even know the situation myself! What am I supposed to say? “Sorry, I almost got raped last night.”? Nobody is going to buy that. I’ll just make up some excuse, saying that I came down with something bad overnight. That ought to satisfy them.

After sending out the emails, I came to realize that I had nothing to do for the next several hours. I don’t know when Chad is coming back, and I don’t know if I can move at all. I surely don’t want to tear up my asshole anymore that it already has been. Though Chad did say that I wasn’t raped. If that’s the case, then why do I still feel a stinging sensation down there? Not much else can happen to a guy’s ass besides being raped. I’m pretty sure my attacker didn’t shove a gun up there. At least, I don’t think he did. I don’t remember anything last night, so maybe that’s the case. Though what kind of moron would shove a gun up a guy’s ass? First you would have to sedate me, then manage to get my pants and boxers off, then stick the thing up there, which is probably easier said than done. Unless he lubed the gun beforehand; but what kind of sick individual lubes a gun up for any reason?

And why do I have eight emails, dammit?! Did EVERYBODY hear about my raping?!

‘Now now. You know you didn’t get raped. Chad told you so.’

Shut up, logic! I’ll think what I want to think, regardless of common sense! The first review was the one I didn’t look at yesterday. Pretty much said the same thing as all of them did. Great job. Love the story. Continue. Update soon. So generic that I could paraphrase the thing. Oh wait, I just did.

The next several all complained about me not updating fast enough for them. I guess if they’re used to me updating every few days, then me going longer than a week without giving them something is something to cry about. Sound the alarms! Juvenile Wizard has gone missing! Look on all milk cartons! Look under every rock! Look in every ditch! He must be found!

Maybe I SHOULD tell people that I’m still alive. I’d leave a message in the forums, but nobody ever reads that stuff. And I’m pretty sure that the moderators would ban me if I made a chapter that was nothing but an Author’s Note explaining (vaguely) why I’m not posting as fast as I usually am. So now I’m stuck. What to do, what to do.

Well, while I’m sitting here doing nothing, I might as well work on the next chapter. Can’t really move anyway, so why not? The remote control for the TV is on the other side of the room, so I can’t even watch TV. Man, I’m hopeless when I’m practically paralyzed.

While writing the chapter, I noticed something. The whole mood seemed to be darker than usual. The situations suddenly seemed more serious than normal. Maybe it’s because of my previous experience? Should I let my own personal life leak that much into my story?

“Fag!” they all said, some taking the time to spit on me as they walked out of the locker room.

I didn’t have much of a choice but to take it, seeing as I was pretty sure that my rib cage was at least bruised, if not broken in several places. I would not be getting up anytime soon. I coughed, not really surprised to find small traces of blood sputtering out of my mouth when I did.

‘Tuberculosis,’ I thought to myself.

I smiled. It hurt. Strange that the medical condition would come to mind at a time like this. Although, the only reason I knew of it was because of the tragic life of Poe. I don’t know why I liked that guy so much. Maybe it was because of that one famous work of his. Maybe it was the movies I never told anyone that I watched in secrecy.

‘That’s what they all died of. Tuberculosis,’ I thought again before...before...bef...

Well how the hell did THAT happen?! Where did that come from? I never expected something like this to happen to my story. I thought I was supposed to steer clear of clichés like this one. Gay-bashing was NOT part of my plan for this story! Should I delete it? Keep it in there? I already thought about doing a rape scene, so how is this any different? And should I have Guy B come to the rescue? I mean, that would be the obvious choice, but do I want to go with the obvious at this point in time? Maybe I should mix it up a little bit. Have somebody else find Guy A’s body. How should I handle this?

A couple hours later, I was famished. I hadn’t eaten since last night. And THAT had consisted of Pepsi, M&Ms, and a bag of Fritos. The dinner of champions! Stupid work and stupid lack of being able to cook something and stupid Simon for eating beforehand so he didn’t have to go out and bring something back for me. And now I’m dying on the couch here, literally a few feet away from the kitchen, and I have no way of getting there without tremendous pain.

Dammit, I’m going to try anyway! I’m fucking starving and I want, no, NEED to eat!

I sat upright and prepared for the painstaking task of standing up. As soon as I leaned forward to gain momentum to stand upright, I felt as if my butt crack was larger than it really was, and was getting larger the more I bent over. I failed in my first attempt to get up. I tried and tried again, but each time, the pain was just too great for me to handle. Oh God, I’m going to die. I’m going to die from starvation in my own apartment room, mere a few feet away from glorious food.

Half an hour later, my cell phone rang. It was on the counter next to the couch. I could just barely reach it. Did Chad place it there on purpose, for some sick, sadistic pleasure of his? I’m going to kill that motherfu-

“Dude, how’s it going? Do you mind if I bring back lunch for the two of us?”

I LOVE that guy!

“No, I don’t mind. I haven’t been able to eat anyway. Can’t get up off the couch.”

“Still hurt?”

“Like a mother.”

“I’m going to stop by the medical center and see if they have an ointment or something to help lessen the pain.”

“That’ll work.”

“I’ll do that before I get lunch, so I’ll be back in around a half an hour.”

“That’s the lousiest plan I’ve ever heard.”

He laughed.

“I’m sure you won’t resort to self-cannibalism in the next half hour, dude. Just hold all your bile in. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

We hung up. This next half hour is going to be the longest and most painful half an hour in the history of mankind.

A half an hour of the longest and most painful kind in the history of mankind later, there was a knock on my door.

“Hey, dude, it’s Chad,” he said, as if I needed to be reaffirmed with his name. “So I wasn’t thinking ahead when I did this but, apparently your door locks from the outside after you shut it.”

“Yeah, all the doors do that in this building.”

“Yeah, so I totally don’t have the key on me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Soooo...how are we going to do this?”

“I don’t know. At least I won’t starve out here, though.”

“Man, NOT funny! I’m close to anorexic here, and about to die of the most ironic kind!”

“Dude, I know that it’s painful, but can you TRY to get up and open the door? Please?”

He had said the last bit so sweetly, I almost couldn’t believe it. I felt COMPELLED to try, just for him.

My body felt otherwise.

“AHHHHHH!!! Damn that hurts!”

“Sorry, dude! I just thought that maybe...”

“Hey! Whoa, I’m standing!”

“What?”

“Yeah, I did it all at once, and I’m at least upright. I still hurt though.”

“Can you walk?”

“Hope so. It’s only been a day.”

I walked over to the door and opened it.

“Thanks, dude,” he said, smiling. “Does it hurt to walk?”

“Not as much as trying to stand up.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re able to stand and all, but now you gotta sit down so that you can eat,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“What? But I just overcame the hardship of standing on two legs! I can’t go through that all over again!”

“Well next time you’ll have the ointment I got to help you.”

“It better help me!”

We soon got down to chowing down on food. Unfortunately, Chad’s break was only an hour long, and with him getting the ointment and food, by the time he got to my place, he only had a half an hour left. In that time, we managed to talk a little about random things. He wouldn’t talk about last night’s incident just yet. Said he would probably need more than the half an hour allotted to him. He, of course, didn’t actually say the word “allotted.” He also managed to track down the key to the door (he figured he’s more likely to re-enter the room than I am leaving it), put his cell phone number in my cell phone in case I needed to call him (“Only in case of an actual emergency,” he said. Does he think I’m nine?), AND brought me some snacks from my kitchen so that I don’t starve again and gnaw my arm off. Or to get me to quit complaining. I’m not quite sure which. But he must’ve been like a Super Maid of some sort. He’ll make a really good father some day.

“So I think I’m all set,” he said, almost like he was out of breath.

“I think so, too. Did you remember to scrub behind the toilets?”

“Shut the hell up, dude. I’m doing all this for you, you know.”

“I know, Chad. I know. And I’m eternally grateful for it. Until the food runs out. Then I’ll bitch and moan again.”

He gave me a hard stare.

“But in all honesty,” I said, trying to save face. “I really appreciate you doing this all for me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

“That’s what friends do, dude. I’m going to get going now. I’ll be back in about an hour, and then we can talk about last night.”

He turned the knob to the door. Just then, I heard a vibrating noise. Chad fished his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. A frown formed on his face.

“Damn,” he said.

“What?”

“That was just one of my friends in my next class. Said that class is cancelled. Teacher’s car engine blew.”

“So you just did all of this preparation for me for nothing?” I stated bluntly.

“Yes,” he said back, the tone indicating that he wasn’t too thrilled with his wasted efforts. He turned back around to me.

“So I guess we CAN talk about yesterday now,” he said.