There were voices all around me. It sounded like people were arguing about something. I thought I heard someone say my name then I felt someone lift my head off the floor.
"Lucas!" They shook me. "Wake up Lucas!"
My eyelids felt like sandbags as I tried to force them open. There was a hint of light and it stung my eyes so I squeezed them shut.
"Lucas! Dammit! Stop playing games and open your eyes!"
I knew that voice; that was Lionel. I wanted to see him. I willed my eyes open and soon I was looking in someone's face, but it wasn't Lionel. The face was familiar though. Michael. Yeah, that's who it was. It was Michael. I smiled at him. "Hi, Michael," I said.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Um." Hands came out of no where and started pulling me to my feet.
"He's fine! Now go away."
"Why don't you let him tell us that Lionel?"
My body was pressed against someone. I leaned further in to them, trying to balance myself and stop the room from spinning. I put my head on the person's shoulder and smelled them. They smelled like Lionel.
"Lucas. Are you okay, Lucas?" I turned my head to the side and saw Henry.
"Henry?" I asked.
"What did he do to you?"
"Nothing. I'm drunk, but Lionel's here now, so I'm okay."
"See, everything is fine. Now get the hell out of our room!" I felt Lionel's chest vibrate as he spoke. I put my arms around him and pulled him closer, not caring who was watching.
"Lionel, just shut up," Michael said.
"Is there a problem here or not?" asked a voice I didn't recognize.
"I keep telling you everything is fine. He fell out of the bed, that's all."
I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Is that true?"
I turned and looked at the person. The security guard was shorter than me. He had black hair on the sides of his head with a bald spot on the top. "Yes, I fell. I'm fine." I put my head back against Lionel's shoulder and took a deep breath. I wanted everyone to go away and leave us alone. "Everyone can leave now. I'm okay."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Michael shouted. "I heard him yelling at you! Tell us what he did! I know he did something!"
"Why don't you shut the fuck up and leave! Nobody wants you here." Lionel told him.
Michael grabbed me and pulled me away from Lionel. He turned me around so I could face him. "Look at me!" I focused on him. "He hurt you and we both know it, but if you want to stay here then that's fine. Do whatever the hell you want to do, but don't keep pulling me in to this shit!" He shook me. "You need to snap out of it!"
I wasn't able to warn him before my mouth opened and the alcohol in my stomach came spewing out, landing all over his shirt and pants. Lionel came up behind me and grabbed me to keep me from falling. He held me gently then rubbed my back and helped me over to my bed. He sat me down and grabbed a t-shirt off the floor and wiped my mouth and whispered, "Are you okay?"
His gentleness and genuine tone of concern was surprising. I caught myself thinking, `He does care.'
"Do you need a trash can? Are you going to be sick again?" His eyes seemed to smile at me.
"I feel a little better." I looked at Michael. "I'm sorry."
"Its okay, these are your pants anyway." He walked over to a pile of clothes on the floor and grabbed his pants. We all watched him as he turned his back to us and changed pants then picked up one of my shirts. "I'm just borrowing this," he said as he pulled my shirt over his head.
"Okay."
"Where did the security guard go?" Michael asked when he turned around.
"He left," Henry said. "Maybe we should leave too. I don't think we're going to get anywhere by staying."
"I don't think so either, but at least we tried," Michael responded. Both of them seemed to be ignoring us.
"Good, now leave," Lionel told them.
They both walked towards the door. Michael stopped at the doorway and looked at me. Our eyes locked and I knew he would be there if I needed him, no matter how often I called him. "Goodbye Lucas," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
I shook my head and Michael and Henry left, closing the door behind them. Lionel walked over and locked the door. He picked up the vomit covered clothes and put them in his dirty clothes bag before he came back to the bed and gingerly rubbed my cheek. "Just get some sleep and we'll talk later." I sat back in the bed and he pulled the covers up over me. "Do you need anything?"
I wanted to ask Lionel what had gotten in to him but I liked the change too much to say anything and risk the return of the old him. "No thank you."
"Okay. You get some rest." I turned to my side and tried to relax, but my stomach still felt weird.
"Lionel?"
"Yes," his voice sounded far away. I turned around to find him, but I didn't see him anywhere. "Yes?" he said again. This time his head appeared at the side of my bed.
"Hi," I said, startled by his location. "What are you doing?"
"I was doing a few push-ups."
"Oh." I paused for a second to allow my brain to understand what he was doing. "I think I need some water."
"Okay." He got up off the floor and went to our fridge. He took out a bottle of water and brought it over to me. I watched as he opened it. "Here." I sat up and he was at my side trying to soothe me.
After a few sips of water, I didn't want anymore. "Thanks," I told him. He put the bottle on the desk next to my bed. He was getting back on the floor. "How long are you going to be down there?"
"I don't know."
"Well why don't you take a break?"
"And do what?"
"Hold me?" I needed to feel someone's arms around me, making me feel safe.
He stopped moving and was perfectly still for a few seconds. "Okay," he whispered.
I turned around so he could spoon with me and I listened as he took off his clothes. I let out a gasp as he pressed up behind me and I felt his hard dick against my ass. "Lionel that's not what I meant."
"Sorry. It won't go down."
"Well put your boxers back on."
"I'll behave." I felt his dick jump.
"What got you so excited anyway?"
"I was holding this guy because he was sick and all I could think about was his ass grinding on my dick."
"What?" I wanted to tell him that only a sick-o would get turned on by something like that, but I couldn't.
He held me for a few minutes and his nose brushed against the back of my neck. "I did this to you, didn't I?
"Did what?" I became aware that I was involuntarily pushing back against him.
"The drinking. You went out and got fucked up because of me." I didn't say anything. "You don't have to answer. I know it's my fault." Again, I was silent. I wasn't tired anymore; I just wasn't in the mood to have a conversation. "I made up Rachel. There was no girl waiting to have sex with me, I only wanted to hurt you." He kissed my neck. "I hate knowing that you know me. Even before the trip, I would look at you and I knew you got me and then we got back and you told me that you knew all of my shit. I freaked. I fucking freaked, and I'm sorry, but I couldn't talk about it then. I still don't want to talk about it." He leaned close to my ear. "Why do you want me to remember? I try so hard to fucking forget it, and you want me to remember?" His hand landed on my hip. "Do you want me to tell you about it?"
I wanted to say, `no' but I feared he would never be willing to open up again. "Okay."
His hand came around to the front of my boxers and slipped inside. He grabbed my soft dick and started stroking it. I wanted to tell him to stop, but I didn't. "I don't know what happened while I was there," he said, "all I know is I woke up and she was next to me, naked. Is that what you want to hear?" I kept quiet. "Or how about how my father used to beat me when I was a kid? How about that? Do you want to know how many times he whooped my ass just because I was there? Or how about how the whole fucking family knew, but nobody stopped him from hurting me?" His grip tightened on my dick. "Oh, no, I know, what you want to hear! You want me to tell you about the first time she did me. I was twelve. I was big for my age, in more ways than one." He started grinding his dick hard against me. "That bitch got me drunk and took advantage of me. That's what you want to hear, right? She asked if I wanted to learn about sex, and I told her yes. Why the hell did I tell her yes? My father found out a few months later." His voice sounded shaky. "I really wanted to go to this birthday party and she told me I had to fuck her to get permission. Stupid kid that I was, I did it. My father caught us and it was hell to pay. You would think he would go after her, maybe even kill her, but not him. He beat me so bad that I was in the hospital for a week. When I came out, he was gone and it was just me and her. She blamed me for chasing him off, so she was extra rough on me. How about that? Is that good?"
I realized he was off in a world of his own and he didn't expect an answer from me. He continued, "I was as tall as her, and no doubt stronger, but I would never hurt her so I took whatever she dished out. It was our little secret, but I knew it was a dirty secret and I didn't want it. I complained so much about it that when I was fourteen, she sold me to two guys for a weekend. We needed the money and I needed to be taught a fucking lesson. Pun intended. Those guys fucked me all weekend and I came back appreciating her more. At least I got to get off when I did her. Is this the type of shit you want to hear?" He licked my ear as his hand sped up on my dick. I was still soft, but he didn't care. "Well I got more. I cut her off when I went to play basketball over the summer. She was okay with it because she had a boyfriend." He nibbled on my ear for a second before he blew hot air over it, causing a strange sensation of warm where his tongue hadn't been, and cool, where his saliva was still drying. "I didn't know they broke up until I went home. Ronnie was there so everything was normal until the day before we left. I had a few drinks and she must have spiked my beer because the next thing I knew, I was waking up next to her. Is that enough for you, or do you want to hear some more, because I've got more."
His hand gave up on trying to get me off, and he moved his hand to rest on my stomach as he held me in place while he ground against me.
"That's enough," I told him.
His pace quickened. He was moaning. `Stop!' I thought, but I didn't say anything to him. I stayed still. I felt something dropping on my neck. His moans never stopped. Finally, his cum erupted and landed on the outside of my boxers.
"I'm sorry," he told me as his hand glided up and down my chest.
`He's crying! Oh my God, he's crying,' I thought, as I realized what the liquid was that was dripping on my neck. "It's okay," I said.
"No, it's not." I felt him pull away from me.
He got up and I heard him putting his clothes on. What was I supposed to say to him? What was I supposed to feel? I had too many thoughts running around in my head and I couldn't grab hold of any of them. That's when I saw the little boy's face as he opened the door that day. "How old is Ronnie," I wondered out loud.
"What?"
I couldn't believe he heard me. "How old is Ronnie?" I turned around to see his face.
"Six. I showed a girl down the street what I had been taught and seven and a half months later, she was popping out a premie. She kept him until she got her new boyfriend, then her parents kept him, but they died in a car accident over the summer so they gave him to me, even though I guess technically I don't have him."
I wondered why there wasn't a hint of emotion. "How come I never saw him before?"
"She takes care of him, not me."
"Is it okay to leave him with her?"
"She won't hurt him."
"But"
"Just shut up!" I looked at him and his wall was back in place. "Don't look at me like that!" He sounded like his old self again.
"Like what?"
"Like there's something wrong with me. I'm not broken! I aint even chipped. I don't need you to fix me because I'm doing fine on my own."
"Right and what you just told me was perfectly normal," I said under my breath.
He swung and hit me upside my head. "Shut up!"
`Maybe Michael was right. Maybe Lionel is crazy,' I thought as I grabbed my head.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you."
"You never do." He backhanded me. "I suppose your hand slipped," I told him sarcastically. Something was wrong with me. I couldn't shut up. His hands went around my neck and he squeezed, blocking my next sentence in my throat.
"Would you shut the fuck up?" he screamed as his fingers pressed in to my neck. I brought my hands up and scratched his arms, but there was nothing I could do to make him stop. The room started to go black and I wondered if my eyelids were closing or if I was dying.
Copyright Lustyville 2006 Please send comments to lustyville@yahoo.com and check out my yahoo group at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lustyville.