Eight

SPENCER PACED the length of the rec room again. Aaron prided himself for being on time—every therapy appointment, every date, even just hanging out and watching a movie, he either showed up on time or he called. The texts Spencer had sent over the last forty-five minutes were all coming back green, going over SMS instead of iMessage. Something was very wrong; he could feel it. Like sandpaper on the back of his teeth or biting into tinfoil, the sensation grated against his sanity. It was the first time he’d been back in weeks. They’d been talking over IM every day, and Aaron seemed okay, but maybe he wanted to punish Spencer for leaving by not seeing him.

“Have you heard from him?” his father asked for the third time as he checked the expensive watch on his wrist. “It is not like him to miss a session. Maybe I should call his mother.” In nearly three years of psychotherapy sessions with his father, Aaron had not missed one. Aaron dedicated himself to the therapy because he wanted to live life without flashbacks or nightmares or constant pain. Only in the last year had they made significant headway, to the point where sometimes Spencer thought maybe he saw glimpses of the boy Aaron might have been.

“Give him fifteen more—” Spencer stopped signing midsentence when a text came through on his phone.

Doorbell

Without another word to his father, Spencer vaulted over the low table and ran for the door. It had to be Aaron, it just had to be. The rug that covered the entryway near their front door slid beneath his bare feet, and Spencer had to catch himself on the doorframe to keep from falling on his ass. When he found his footing, he flung the front door open to find a shell-shocked looking Aaron next to his equally distraught mother.

“Hi, Spencer,” Michelle said after a moment, and Spencer nearly missed it because he couldn’t take his eyes off Aaron. The angry scar made a sharp contrast to his gray-tinged pallor.

“Hello. Mrs. Downing.,” Spencer said as he tried to form a question other than “What the fuck?” Why had his mother shown up for a therapy appointment? She never came to therapy with Aaron. After a moment, the words came to him, and he reached for Aaron, who pulled away.

“What happened? Are you okay? Please talk to me,” Spencer signed even as he forced himself to slow down. Aaron hadn’t been signing as long as he had, so he needed to be careful. He considered leading Aaron to the bathroom off the main hall because his skin, which had been almost mottled gray, started to have a tinge of green to it.

“We need to talk to your dad. Is he in the rec room?” The absolute lack of emotion in Aaron’s face, the bleak darkness in his eyes scared Spencer. Without another word, he led them to the room where his father waited.

“Aaron, are you okay?” his father asked, but Aaron simply turned to Spencer.

“I will come and find you when we are done,” he signed, and Spencer felt his heart crack. For the first six months, Aaron insisted Spencer be there for his therapy sessions. It helped calm him. But after that it had been just him and Spencer’s father because Aaron couldn’t talk about the details of the rape in front of Spencer. He couldn’t understand why Aaron wanted his mother there but not him. Maybe he would tell Spencer later. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Spencer at all.

When Aaron turned purposefully so that Spencer couldn’t see his face and started talking to his father, who nodded, he found he couldn’t stand it. Without another word, Spencer retreated and left the room. It was one of the few times in his life he wished he could eavesdrop. Instead, he shuffled to the kitchen, not paying much attention to anything but the hurt in his heart. When he reached the light wood-paneled room, he stood for ten minutes in front of the open refrigerator door before deciding he didn’t want anything—not the leftover pizza from the night before, not even a pop. All he wanted was Aaron.

After twenty minutes, when Spencer thought maybe he would actually lose his mind from the wait, he sent a text to his father asking if Aaron was okay. He received nothing in return.

After thirty minutes, he went upstairs to get a book just to keep all of the different awful scenarios out of his head but wandered back down to the kitchen empty-handed anyway.

After forty-five minutes, he slid down the cabinet below the sink and sat on the floor, bouncing a super ball against the refrigerator across from him. He’d gotten the ball on one of the very few days he and Aaron had gone to get pizza—one of the few times they’d been out of the house.

That’s where Aaron found him.

“Do you want me to stay for a while or go home with my mom?” Aaron asked in sloppy, halfhearted signs. Everything about Aaron, from the way he curled in on himself to the dark circles under his eyes, made Spencer want to tell him to go home, but the words wouldn’t come. The ball blurred with his tears as he watched it bounce back to him again and again.

Boing

Boing

Catch

Boing

Boing

The action stopped when Aaron caught the ball in midair as it flew back to Spencer, and Spencer looked up into his face. He was thankful he sat on the floor because the pain he saw would have brought him to his knees.

“Answer my fucking question,” Aaron said aloud, not bothering with the signs.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on?” Spencer signed, afraid if he spoke his voice would shake.

“I am not going to have a choice. It will hit the news soon enough, and then everyone will know. They will all know.” Aaron slid down the refrigerator across from Spencer after finally succumbing to the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’d never seen Aaron so completely broken—not even that day in the quad when he’d scared him so badly. A cold blade of fear pierced him, digging into his soul. It was the first time he’d truly feared for Aaron’s safety, because the lack of a person behind the blue eyes he loved so much meant Aaron could easily go home and hang himself in the garage, taking himself away from Spencer forever. Please, God, whatever it is, please let Dad be able to help.

“What do you mean?”

“The police came to talk to my mom and me this morning. They found the men who attacked Juliette and me. There is going to be a trial.” Just like that, Aaron shut down completely, like it had taken that last little bit of energy to get the words out, and then he broke into a million tiny shards of pain. He fell sideways onto the floor, curling up into a ball and pulling his knees to his chest. It reminded Spencer painfully of the day they met, and he only caught fragments of what Aaron said.

“… can’t testify….

“… die first….

“… get away with it….

“… oh God….”

Spencer launched himself at Aaron, pulling the man he loved across his own body, holding the pieces together as Aaron lay sobbing in his lap. God, he couldn’t hold Aaron close enough, tight enough. The weight of his pain suffocated Spencer, and he had to swallow back the bile in his throat before he could scream for his father.

Aaron’s mom reached them first, dropping to her knees in front of her son, hair falling across her pale face. Spencer’s father stayed in the doorway, assessing the situation before he strode over to the canisters on the counter they never used. Spencer guessed that in other households they would contain flour or sugar, but his father jerked off the lid and pulled out a pint of Jack Daniel’s. His heart stopped pounding, stopped beating for a split second as he watched. His father pulled a small glass tumbler from the cabinet above the sink and poured a bit of the whiskey into the glass.

“Spencer, Michelle, can you help Aaron sit up, please?”

He reached above the pile of bodies on the floor to open the freezer door. He dropped two ice cubes into the whiskey, took a can of Coke from the case near the back door, and filled the rest of the glass. After swirling it for just a second, he handed it to Spencer.

“Aaron, I want you to drink that, slowly. Small sips. It’s going to help.”

“You. Are. Going. To. Take. Booze. From. Your. Stash. And. Give. It. To. A. Patient.?” Spencer asked with disgust as he tried to coax Aaron into a sitting position and still breathe around the death grip Aaron had on his waist. He didn’t come easily, and Spencer shook as he put a hand to Aaron’s cheek.

“Look. At. Me.,” he whispered, but Aaron kept his eyes tightly closed around the tears streaming from them. Spencer used his sleeve to wipe the tears from his own face, his voice cracking as he tried again. “It. Is. Going. To. Be. Okay., Baby… I. Promise… Just. Look. At. Me., Please., Aaron….” Aaron’s head came up then, and a stabbing pain lanced Spencer’s heart at the utter devastation in his boyfriend’s face. Lost. That’s the only way Spencer had to describe it.

Spencer put the glass to Aaron’s lips, and at first, it merely rested there. Aaron made no move to take it or drink the contents.

“Make it go away. Please. Please, Spencer,” Aaron said, and Spencer took the opportunity to tip the glass. The liquid splashed into Aaron’s open mouth, and he swallowed and opened again.

“Good., Drink. A. Little. More….”

Aaron took another long swallow and started to cough, a hacking, spitting thing that made Spencer hurt, but he held the glass away so it didn’t spill and waited for the fit to be over. Eventually, Spencer got the entire glass of whiskey and pop into Aaron, who lay against him not moving.

“What do you think we should do?” Aaron’s mom asked, directing the question to Spencer’s father while Spencer sat running his fingers through Aaron’s hair as if he were a toddler who’d fallen on the sidewalk. Aaron had serious scrapes and bruises, but they weren’t on the outside where Spencer could kiss them better. Instead, he kissed Aaron’s forehead, and Aaron snuggled closer into him. He hadn’t said anything else, and that worried Spencer. Aaron had a habit of retreating into his own mind when things got hard, and he couldn’t stand the thought of Aaron never coming back out of his head. To be trapped in there with nothing but memories and nightmares would be the worst possible kind of hell.

“That’s the best I have in the way of sedatives in the house. We need to keep him calm so he doesn’t go into shock. Then I will call a colleague and see if we can’t get him an emergency prescription to keep him sedated until he’s lucid enough to reason with. I can work with you to have him declared incompetent to testify if I need to. Hopefully, the prosecutor will get them to accept a plea and it won’t come to that.”

Spencer hated the way he talked about Aaron like he wasn’t there or like he didn’t understand. Aaron fisted Spencer’s shirt tighter, and he kissed Aaron’s hair, damp with sweat, as he made his decision.

“I. Am. Taking. Aaron. To. My. Room… You. Are. Not. Doping. Him. To. The. Gills… Give. Him. Some. Fucking. Time. To. Get. His. Shit. Together….” Spencer slid his feet under him so he could stand, shouldering most of Aaron’s weight to get him off the floor. He glared at his father as Aaron leaned heavily on him. “Use. The. Jack. To. Dope. Yourself. Up. Instead….”

“Spencer, if you’d been calm, you’d have seen that the bottle was full. I never touched it. I’d forgotten it was there until right then.”

“Sure., Doc… That. May. Work. On. The. Girlfriend., But. Not. On. Me….”

Aaron’s mother followed them out of the kitchen and helped Spencer get him up the stairs. He’d considered taking him to the spare room, but it only had a twin bed, and his old room still had the king. No way would he leave Aaron alone right then. Aaron needed to be held, and Spencer would be the one to do it.

“Do you need anything?” she asked when they reached his bed. He shook his head and didn’t even bother undressing either of them. Aaron remained unresponsive as Spencer sat carefully on the edge and brought Aaron down next to him. His insides froze at the lack of anything in Aaron’s eyes, and he slid from the bed to kneel on the floor and remove his boyfriend’s shoes. Gently, reverently, Spencer laid Aaron on the side of the bed closest to the door and climbed in from the bottom so he didn’t have to go over the top of Aaron’s unmoving form. Without caring what Aaron’s mother thought or saw, he pulled Aaron into his arms.

“It. Is. Going. To. Be. Okay., Baby.,” he whispered against Aaron’s hair. A small flare of hope warmed Spencer when Aaron snuggled closer to him as if he’d heard and trusted Spencer enough to make it true. The flare died when he remembered that Aaron shouldn’t trust him. He would be going back to work on Tuesday, after the Labor Day holiday ended. He only reason he’d been at his father’s house when Aaron showed up was because the company gave their employees the Friday before Labor Day off too. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving.

AARON OPENED his eyes slowly, breaking through some kind of crust that seemed to glue them closed. He turned, and everything in him felt like shards of broken glass, thousands of tiny pinpricks against his soul. He had no idea why. Panic crept into the back of his mind. Something held him down. Spencer. It had to be Spencer. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to see Spencer’s sweet hazel eyes staring back at him.

“Hi….” Spencer’s voice, soft and calm, helped to put the panic back in that little box at the top of his spine, perfectly positioned to flood his body at a moment’s notice. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could feel it sitting there, like a time bomb waiting to go off.

“Hi.”

“How. Are. You. Feeling.?”

Aaron took stock and tried to sit up, but someone had turned up gravity in Spencer’s room. His swollen, heavy head barely came off the pillow. Nothing else wanted to work either. He’d felt like this before, usually after a really bad night with flashbacks and meds and the haunting vision of his mother’s weary face. It took exactly thirty-seven seconds for it all to come rushing back, the gale force of a momentous hurricane, complete with huge waves of fear and anger threatening to drown him.

“Like someone beat me, raped me, and left me for dead.”

“Aaron., Dad. Said. He. Can. Declare. You. Unable. To. Testify.,” Spencer said with quiet desperation.

It had been years since the destruction incapacitated him like it had the night before. Spencer hadn’t been forced to witness it often, hadn’t been desensitized to the madness like Aaron and his family had. His sweet hazel eyes were full of compassion and apprehension. Pity. Fuck that.

“What he said was that he could have me declared incompetent.”

“Aaron….”

“And if he does, they will get away with it because no one else survived their little party games. Do you know what they said? They said these monsters killed six other teenagers, all boy-girl pairs. All dead. I am the only one who made it. Why, Spencer? Why me? Why couldn’t I have died like the rest?” The question had been forming in Aaron’s mind since the prosecutor explained his case. Why did he have to live when everyone else these animals came in contact with was at peace? He thought once Spencer came into his life, maybe, maybe, he could get through it, but Spencer left him, visiting every couple of weekends like a sailor on leave. Well, except he didn’t get laid.

“For. Me. To. Love.,” Spencer said and hugged Aaron just a bit tighter, but Aaron wasn’t interested.

“I’m sure that’s it.” Aaron threw back the covers and forced his body to work. He needed to take a piss, and while he didn’t want to admit it aloud, he needed to get away from Spencer for a few minutes. The anger and resentment from Spencer taking the job coupled with his unending kindness about Aaron’s freak-outs just made everything worse.

As he stood and stretched aching limbs, he noticed Spencer hadn’t undressed him before crawling into bed, and Aaron thanked him silently. Crossing the room in a few large steps, Aaron stepped into the bathroom and closed the door tight behind him, clicking the lock into place. He rarely locked the bathroom door at Spencer’s, but right then he needed the extra security to stop his back teeth from grinding against the way his life had fallen apart in the past month.

He thought things were bad when he came home from the hospital, but then he didn’t have to talk about it, he didn’t have to tell them. Even though he’d been able to say the word aloud after months of therapy, it didn’t mean he wanted to get into specifics with anyone, especially a courtroom full of strangers. Plus, the prosecutor had said they would be there. The men who murdered Juliette and ripped his life to shreds—he’d have to be in the same room with them again.

The dry heaves went almost as soon as they came, and he grabbed a toothbrush from the medicine cabinet.

He wouldn’t think about it. If he didn’t think about it, it would go away. His mother would make it go away.

His mother would save him again.

He couldn’t contemplate the alternative.

He refused to see the blue tint in his lips and the white gleam of the rope around his neck as he stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

No.

Not again.