Red Bull

Red Bull Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Early bird catches the worm brah," a cool melodic voice states.

I turn and look to my right and see him standing there. The look on his face says it all. Meek's name was ridiculously accurate to his character. He was this thug in the streets that had made a reputation for himself throughout the years and he still managed to be somewhat humble, especially in this weird situation where he had the ability to flex his real power. I was completely vulnerable to him, but he didn't do anything that I probably would have done in his position. He didn't try to take advantage of this downtime with me.

He just seemed...pleasant. And for a moment, I forget that I'm in some conversion therapy madness. For a moment, I forget that anything matters but him and me.

"You always this chill?"

"Nah," he shrugs before posting up and thinking about what I said. After a cool second, he adds, "Maybe I just always seem that way."

It was weird. I'd gotten used to niggas in the hood not really smiling or saying anything about you. There is one thing about men. There is another thing about black men. The Black community had this huge fear that their men were being demasculated. So you see all these black men going around with this ridiculous amount of testosterone. Each day these men walked around trying to prove which one of them had a bigger nutsack.

So seeing someone smile, even if it's just a slight smile----from another black man, is amazing. It seems as though everything we've been through until now just wasn't as bad just because Meek takes a second to smile while waking me up.

"Well enough of the niceness...they sent you here for a reason."

"Therapy starts today."

Therapy. The sound of the word causes my mouth to get extra dry.

"Did they have to send you?"

"Yeah. See you are a test for me. And they think...because of our experience that I may be a test for you."

"Do you think that? Do you think you're a test for me."

"I don't think anything," Meek responds, "That's not my job. My job is to follow orders. This place..." He pauses as though about to say something but catches himself, "Nevermind..."

"What is it?"

I'm desperate to understand what it is that removed Meek's smile from his face. He has a look on his face as though he knows something that I don't. I stare at his face feeling the awkwardness in his emotion and the tension in his facial expression. Something was wrong.

"Nah, nothing," he responds giving a little slight shrug for emphasis, "Nothing at all. All your brothers are doing it, but the groups will be separate today so we can focus on an individual plan of therapy."

"I bet Jamison is succeeding all expectations."

There is a slight laugh between the two of us. I think it's because Meek may remember Jamison from back in the day. I don't confirm this and I don't think it's even important enough to point out, but I believe it to be the case.

After a short laugh Meek nods in agreement, "Oh he is the teacher's pet at this point. Everyone loves him here."

I smile at the thought even though I shouldn't be. Jamison could be a hot fucking mess at times especially when it comes to how radical he was.

"What about Joshua?"

There is silence.

"I can find out...how he is...if you want?" Meek states.

When he says it he looks at me. It's as though he's studying for my face. I don't like it. It creeps me out. It makes me feel like he is paying a little too much attention to me. I shake a little bit and feel anxiety run through my stomach all of a sudden.

That anxiety is replaced with pure rage.

"I don't need you to do shit for me," I state getting up off the bed, "Matter of fact, yo----- stop fuckin' looking at me like that all the time. I'm not with that fag shit."

"I'm just trying to be nice----"

"I'm not here for no one to be nice to me. I want to do my shit and get the fuck out," I tell him before leaning in just enough to give him a warning, "Anyone who gets in the way of my recovery is going to get an ass-whooping."

I say those words and I mean it. I look at Meek. He looks like he's about to challenge me. If there was anyone it would be this motherfucker who invaded my turf not too long ago. He'd been invading my mind as well. All that shit was going to end; the easy way or the hard way.

~

We are in a room. When I get in the room, Meek tells me to sit down. I do as he says. He is being extra stiff with what words he says when we get in there. I think he doesn't want to piss me off, especially with what happened earlier. He has this really strange look when he is serious. His thick eyebrows lift a little bit across his perfectly symmetrical face and his soft, smooth lips open up to the slightest pucker you ever have seen in your life.

Meek smiles. He looks a bit off his game when he starts strapping me to the chair. At first, I think it's because of how I treated him earlier but it isn't until the end of him strapping me up that he whispers, "Sorry," and from that moment on I knew I was into something.

"This is the most common therapy. We do this three times a day or more depending on how bad your case is."

"My case?"

"Your homosexual case," Meek states as though it was the most normal thing to say, "That's what we call it. Now I'm going to play some videos and you are going to have to deny them. "

"I'm confused.

"What if I don't?"

That's when Meek pulls out some extra cords. This is when he takes some cords and I almost begin to panic when I see him digging in my pants.

After a few seconds, he states, "I have to connect it to your genitals. Stop struggling..."

One of the metal pieces he has connects to a round circular pad that is placed on my dick and the other is placed gently on my balls. I look down and see this, but almost panic. I can't reach down to pull it off because Meek has strapped me in.

"What does it do?"

"I play a few images. If you react to these images you will be shocked."

"What do you mean react?"

"I mean I am going to play gay porn and the moment you get hard to it, you will be shocked. This therapy is used to stop you from having gay thoughts."

I'm shocked when this happens. I'm shocked by the words coming out of his mouth. I'm so shocked that I'm sitting there with this lost look in my eyes wondering how the hell I ever signed up for this. This is what I get for listening to Jamison. I keep thinking that same thought over and over as though this was the end of my life or something. I didn't get why anyone would ever want to SHOCK another man's dick.

"This is dumb."

"This is what they want," he explains, "Ready to start?"

"Ready."

A few seconds pass when the television clicks on. There is a white man, in his mid-30s sitting at a desk. He has on a well-fitted suit jacket on and his muscles seem to almost be busting out of the white shirt and tight slacks he has on. You can tell it's gay porn because his hair is beyond perfect. Some new hire walks in the room and there is some cheap cheesy porn dialogue which all ends up with the businessman bent over on the desk. I'm watching as his new hire plows his ass over and over pleading for the businessman to be happy enough to give him a step-up in his company.

The moans from the porn are deep, manly moans. They are the type of moans that get you immediately hard if that was something you were into.

All I hear are the words, "Fuck me like you mean it. Yeah. Just like that. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like your job depends on it."

Hearing those words come out over and over is shocking, to say the least, but then again it isn't anything ridiculous. I'm watching the porn and maybe it's the cheesy lyrics or the fact that these guys are a little too polished to make this real that turns me off.

"Nothing?" Meek says.

"Nothing."

No shock. Maybe this wasn't a bad idea at all. Maybe I wasn't as gay as I thought I was, after all. It would have been a nice thought to know that perhaps all of this was in my imagination. It would have been nice to know that maybe I was straight and normal after all.

Meek changes the porn.

"Try this on for size..."

This porn was black gay porn. These were more guys that looked like me. It starts halfway through a gangbang where 12 guys all pile up on guy. The guy is on his knees. There are all these muscular-looking gang-banging thugs over him. It reminded me of the times I spent in prison. I'd seen some shit in there that makes me think this shit was a bit more realistic. Still even as realistic as it seems there is nothing that happens. Even though these guys were thugs who I could relate to, I didn't feel anything.

"Nothing?"

"Nope."

He pauses, "Damn. Let me check if we have anymore."

At that moment he gets in front of me to check the DVD player for the television. He opens the library and looks at me. Our eyes connect for a moment and I feel a bit at home. Then he turns away from me. He bends over to fix the DVD player. I doubt he does it on purpose, perhaps but it seems like an honest mistake. What he doesn't realize is when he bends over the seam of his pants rips.

Shrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrkkkkk.

When he steps back I realize that he has on no underwear. The seam has been split open and his bare brown ass is gazing back at me. His hole is so small and tight. It seems perfectly centered between his two-round melon-like cheeks.

"Damn, my bad," he states.

It's kind of hilarious when he does it, but I don't laugh. I just stare but don't realize at that moment that maybe I'm a little too comfortable. Maybe I enjoyed his little incident a little too much because my dick is getting hard.

My dick is getting hard specifically for Meek.

After that happens he looks over at me, "Damn."

I don't know what he means until I look down and see my dick really hardening and then I feel it. I feel the sharp pain. It's sharper than anything I could ever imagine. My body is filled with the disgusting feeling of shame as I am electrocuted.

Over.

And over.

And over.

It's Meek who reaches over and stops it. It's him who interferes, "That's enough for today..."

"We just started..."

I don't know why I say that. I don't know why the words came out of my mouth even as I'm in pain. Maybe it's because I feel the shame too. I had gay tendencies in me. I was getting aroused from a man and that wasn't something that I felt comfortable in.

~

I'm in pain. Meek brings me ice. He places it down next to me without saying a word. I remember what he said before he began though. He apologized. He knew I would have been in pain. I don't know how I feel about this but I take the ice none-the-less.

We end up back in the room and to be honest he just keeps staring at me. Everyone once in a while he'd say, "Are you feeling OK?" It was a weird question because my dick had burn marks on it but then again I realized that this was what I signed up for in the long run. This is what matters.

"How'd you end up doing something like this?"

I don't know why I ask him that. It's pure curiosity but honestly, I don't want him to think that I care. I don't want him to think that anything that I'm saying is because of him. I don't want him to think that I am letting him into my life. But still, I ask the question. Not only do I ask it but I wait almost desperately for him to think about an answer.

After 2 painful minutes, he finally opens his mouth after thinking about it, "I guess it's a long story. Not like you care."

"Why you say that?"

"You hate me..."

"I don't-----" I start off before stopping out of nowhere, "Just tell me OK?"

He sighs a little bit. He has this way of putting his face into a curious position and squinting at who he is talking about in a very seductive way. It makes you feel like when you talk you are the only person in the world who he would listen to.

It made me feel important.

After a few seconds, he finally explains, "My dad found me having sex with a guy. I was young...15. I guess fooling around with guys just wasn't enough for me. I had to want to take it further. I wanted to be in a relationship. And then at 15, I was sleeping in a car, homeless. One of the homeless shelters was a church. In that church, I met people. I specifically met the people that I met here. They took me in. They gave me food. They gave me clothes..."

"And they gave you the idea that being gay is wrong.'

He shrugs, "I guess so. That's just how it is. I'm the toughest case they've had yet."

There is this look of guilt on his face. Of sadness. It sends shivers down my spine thinking it's possible that Meek might have dealt with this.

I look over at him, "You did what I did before?"

"And more...much more. "

I couldn't imagine that because my dick was still in pain. It literally ached as though it was on fire. I look over at Meek and even though he just sat silently by my bed up until this time it was almost as though he knew exactly what to give me and how to act to make me feel better. That only came from experience. He's been through this.

"Like..."

"Imagine what you did today mixed with Nausea inducing drugs," he states, "Or imagine being 15 getting hormonal treatment that can cause chemical castration."

There is a pause at that moment from me because the thing is I couldn't imagine any of those things. Chemical castration? The idea causes me to swallow a bit. I'm shocked that these people would go so far to do something like this.

"There's no way in hell I'm doing any of that."

"When it comes to saving your soul---" He looks over at me, "What wouldn't you do?

It was a great question. One that I hadn't even thought of. He walks over to me and pats me on my back before saying, "I should go."

~

I'm at lunch with a few of Jamison's new friends that he's made. Sure enough, Jamison is sitting out there. I haven't seen Joshua. They still haven't brought him around the rest of us but every time I bring it up at the table Jamison assures me that he checked upon him and that Joshua is doing fine. So I try to calm down but the truth is I don't know if I trust Jamison when it comes to Joshua. Joshua had a very strange personality that a lot of people didn't understand. He could either come off as an uppity know-it-all or he could come across as this soft spoken, shy victim who needed protection at any cost. It's the latter that makes me desperately looking around the room to make sure my little brother is OK. But still no sign of him. Instead I catch Meek walking into the room. As usual Meek sits alone, as though drafted into some sort of hallucination or something.

"You two getting along," Jamison says out of nowhere.

His friends are having their own conversation. I don't remember their names and I don't give a fuck to remember them. They were a bunch of ass-kissers if you ask me. That was the thing about Jamison...even back in school, he was always able to make friends with the biggest ass-kissers in the city. It worked for him. It worked for his ego. But it was irritating to having them around, but in the end even they wouldn't stop the important conversation I was going to have.

"He's cool."

"He seem like he got a lot going on," Jamison states, "You need to despise him. He should be a symbol of everything you no longer are."

The way Jamison is talking is radical but then again that's Jamison for you. He had a flare for the dramatics and often times became so passionate about a subject that someone like me wonders which way is North. I wanted to do better and become straight. I wanted to not have feelings for guys any longer. But he's telling me I should hate Meek.

And hating Meek...is kind of hard to do.

"I know it's just----"

I let the words fall out and I stumble. Jamison catches it.

"Wasn't it him?" Jamison says, leaning in, "Wasn't it him who REALLY  left that gun at the house. Isn't he the REAL reason Isabella is dead."

"OK so either it was AK's gun or it wasn't. I can't keep up anymore with us changing the story..."

"All of them are the same."

"Meek ain't even like that. He's cool. He's trying to be straight just like you and me."

"AK...Meek...anyone else that lives that lifestyle," Jamison explains, "And instead of you worrying about how cool he is you should be a better uncle and worry about how it's possible for you to get revenge on what happened to your niece. "

"Jamison you tripping...as always.."

"Dad warned us that there would be days like this. Maybe that's why you're breathing so hard..."

I hadn't noticed until he called it out how hard I was breathing. I hadn't paid attention. I feel my body get numb and a bit of anger starts taking over. I look down the hallway at Meek as my brother finishes his meal in silence. I was angry. Sure we had made it seem like it was AK's gun in the house when Isabella died. But that wasn't the case. Meek was there before AK. It was Meek's gun.

So wasn't Jamison right after all?

It was Meek's fault that Isabella was there.

~

The next day is more of the same. I'm assigned to Meek. I'm not really surprised that I'm assigned to him. I'm not surprised either that he looks good today. I'm even getting to the point that I get aroused at the smallest things he does. All he is doing is looking at me. All he is doing is walking past me and without even knowing it I find myself overwhelmed by how attractive I find him. And now I'm just finding myself finding it difficult not to really like his personality too. It was enough that he was the most attractive man I've ever met. But he had a great personality as well.

But Jamison gave me a reason now. It's a reason to despise him. It's a way that I can go through my day without being completely thrown off by him.

"Good morning..."

He's nice. He's Meek. The calm, collected gangster with a voice deeper than California valleys. He offers me a smile, full of white glimmering teeth and squarely looks at me, again squinting like he does. He has a way of doing that. He has a way of making me feel as though I'm so special...even in this conversation.

I grab my clothes and head in the shower, after completely ignoring him. When I come out he's still waiting for me.

"There's no rush. We have 10 minutes but I can cover you..."

"I don't need any special treatment from you," I assure him.

The way that I says it has all this toxicity in it. I want there to be. How could someone who was responsible for my niece's death be anything but evil? Truth is Meek had been a curse from the very beginning and it takes Jamison to have a conversation with me for me to realize just how bad of a person he is.

Hearing Jamison say that immediately puts me in a different mindstate. Was that the truth? Did that really happen?

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, "Say something really wrong?"

"You know what you did..."

He gives me a look. A look like he didn't understand what I was saying. There is a light in him even then when he is staring at me with this serious look. I hate how he takes a step towards and pauses for a moment.

"What I do?" he asks.

"The gun..."

"Gun?"

He acts like he is confused at that moment. I remember the night that Isabella died. I remember how I put my gun up. I double-checked. It wasn't my gun. I was the only one in the house who would have had a gun. The only other person who came over that day was him...

It had to be his.

"You know what I'm talking about," I explain.

He looks over at me and shakes his head, "I'm actually not 100 percent sure what it is you're referring to. But I'd love to find out. Please tell me what you're talking about..."

He leans in on me. If I didn't know better I would have thought he was actually sincere in what he's saying. I feel an anger growing in me wondering if he is lying or something.

Just then there is a knock on the door. When the door opens it is Father Simpson. He looks over at us and I can tell almost immediately that he is suspicious about what was happening in the room by our body language. To be honest, it does look quite odd with Meek standing over me and I can tell Simpson is a bit off...

"Sir...I wasn't expecting you," Meek explains.

"I read your report last night and was curious," Father Simpson states, "I figure maybe that therapy isn't working. So I want to try something else."

I'm confused, "Something else?"

"We are turning up the volume on this..."

I look over at Meek. My eyes silently cry out. I'm so strong when it comes to other things, but for some reason I feel so weak in this moment. I can overpower Father Simpson if he forced me to stay. I could be strong in this moment if I wanted to be. I had a lot of experience speaking out but there is something that makes me weak in this moment.

It's as though I needed my soul to be strong, but right now it's just my body that is strong.

"You OK?" Meek asks me.

"He's fine, aren't you Mr. Wallace?" Father Simpson states, "I know more about you than you think. Your father would be proud of you for coming here. Your father would have loved that you came here."

I nod, "I'm fine."

Even the mention of my dad turns me into a weak child. This Father Simpson reminded me of him. My father was a pastor. Sure, they didn't look alike but they both had a way of just looking at you. One single stare from someone who you believe is close to God and you realize all your flaws. How short you've come.

"Strong, not like his weak brother," Father Simpson, "I promised your Father when he was murdered that I would reach back out to the family. I promised I'd make sure that his sons didn't go to hell."

Meek swallows his spit, "Murdered?"

Father Simpson nods, "Didn't you know. Jamison killed their father. He is here to repent. He is here to repent that decision. And his brothers are here to repent their sins as well. Thru me I can lead them into  grace but only if they change."

He doesn't mention how fucked up my father was to the family. He doesn't mention how evil my father was at times. But I guess it didn't matter. In the end my father was dead and Jamison wasn't.

We had a chance to correct the things that needed correcting.

Father Simpson gives me a look that my father used to give me. It is this look that tells you that no matter what you do, there is still more that you need to give. It confuses me because I'm not sure how to respond. And I know this is a battle of the spirit. Every part of me wanted to overpower him and push out of here. I was Joyous Wallace and fighting wasn't new to me. But my fists aren't clenched and my will is weak in this moment.

So I just nod, "Whatever it takes to getto grace is what I'll do."

I had to make my father proud. If he was alive right now he'd want me here. This was his friend. If I couldn't trust a friend of my father, then who could I trust.

"Can I have a moment?" Meek asks Father Simpson.

Father Simpson seems reluctant, "For what?"

"I must pray for him. Pray away all that evil in him before he is worthy to even be worked on by you," Meek explains to Father Simpson in a way that almost seemed fanatically religious.

Father Simpson nods, "Make it quick. His soul is at stake. We must not lose him to the fire Brother Meek. We must save this poor soul."

Hearing him speak of the fire sends shivers down my spine. My stomach turns in this weird way. Was this really what happened to all gay people? Hell and brimstone? Was that what we were all destined for. Feeling that makes me almost sick to my stomach. I was so sure before now that all I had to do was love others the way they loved me. But perhaps unnatural love didn't count. Unnatural ways was what Father Simpson was referring to.

I felt dirty. I felt nasty. I felt undeserving in this moments to even stand in the same room as someone so pure as Father Simpson. He was a pastor. He had to have known the way. And I wasn't anyone but someone lost in the wilderness.

When Meek is alone with me he shakes his head, "You don't have to go. I want to make sure you know that. I want to make sure you understand that you don't have to go anywhere."

There is this heaviness behind his eyes. As though it's been waiting on his heart for a while or something, but I'm confused.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I understand why Jamison is going so hard now on this religious stuff. He feels guilty about what he did to his father. He's trying to save himself...but it's when I look at you that I get confused. I have been doing this for so long but for some reason I don't understand why you're here."

"I have gay tendencies?"

"But you aren't a slave to them," he explains, "I just...it doesn't feel right this time. And maybe it's because you're the first one of our clients I've cared for in any form or fashion, but right now this just doesn't feel right."

I look at him as though he had two heads.

"You care for me?"

He pauses. Then softly he smiles.

"Remember when we were young. Your father was always suspicious of me. Kept warning me of the next coming and saying I'd be thrown into the fire."

"He believed strongly the 2nd coming was going to be in his lifetime," I explained, "He felt like if he didn't save our souls that Jesus himself would throw him into the fire as well for failing to make us straight."

"They put a lot of emphasis on being gay, don't they?"

"They?" I ask, "Aren't you one of them?"

He pauses, "Yeah. I guess I am. And I'm unsure of a lot of things in my life. I'm lost just like you. But the only thing that makes sense right now is that you shouldn't be here. That is the only thing that I've really felt in a long time besides knowing God was real. Everything else in life is a theory to me, but I know you shouldn't be here. I know that as much as I know right from wrong. I know that as much as I know anything. You should not be here."

He sounded so convinced, which made me think he had time to think about this.

"You don't know me," I remind him, "There was a lot of my past you have no idea about. The short time growing up with us being friends mean nothing."

"What's behind you doesn't matter," he tells me, "Only what's in front of you."

"You talk a big game for someone who is here, doing the same thing as I am."

"We can walk out of here together," Meek explains, "Figure out what the path of God is. But for some reason I haven't been able to sleep. I can't get it in my head, but it just...doesn't feel right anymore. You shouldn't be here. Just leave with me OK? We can go get your little brothers and all three of us can leave."

I pause. Something inside of me was telling me to go with Meek. Something inside of me that I haven't really felt for a long time. Something I haven't really listened to since I was a child perhaps. A conscious telling me GO. RUN. GET AWAY FROM HERE. SOMETHING BAD IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN. Something very bad...

"You're scared of what is about to happen," I realize.

He pauses, "I have an idea of the therapy about to happen. I don't want you to do it. It's something you won't be able to get better from."

"What is it?" I ask him.

"No time to explain. Just agree to come with me."

I want to go. Every part of me wants to go. I even start to nod but stop. When I stop I think about Jamison. I feel fear fill my body.

I remember what Jamison said. He said my father said there would be days like this.

"My dad said there will be people who seem nice to me. They will try to mislead me from my path. They will seem like angels, but they will really be demons."

Meek looks at me, "You think I'm who your father warned you about."

I don't hesitate, "If the glove fits..."

Meek raises his eyebrow, "So you think I'm an angel."

"Never said that bro."

"You said that there will be people who `seem' like angels," He recalls and turns it back on me, "So I get from that you must think I'm like an angel."

I try not to laugh at what he's saying even though it's hard to because he snickers quite a bit to himself at my little saying. I stay sober and serious.

"An angel wouldn't be the reason Isabella is dead right now."

My heart gets heavy even saying my niece's name. Maybe it wasn't Meek's fault. He definitely didn't know there were kids in the house. I should have warned him. But still one thing led to another.

He brought a gun in the house, left it unattended and it got in the hands of a little boy who was looking for nothing more than a toy to play with.

Meek looks at me, seemingly confused, "You keep talking about this thing that I did. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Your gun..."

Meek pauses, "I don't have a gun. I never owned a gun in my life."

All of a sudden I'm panicking, "It wasn't you..."

I'm beyond confused when he says that.

The good news was that I believed him when he said it. Meek didn't bring the gun. I didn't have to hate him anymore.

The bad news was worse though.

Pastor Simpson was back and I had lost my chance to escape this place. I would be facing the worst punishment ever.

And even worse than that.

I'm not sure whose gun was used to kill Isabella...

To read the next chapter in advance go to www.crushedcrown.com