OK, I was pretty whiny there in the preface to the last part about not getting any reader response. I've received a lot since then, and I thank you deeply for it all. Please don't stop, though - it's too fun (and ego stroking, let's face it) to receive.
This is of course entirely fictional, and all rights are reserved - you should know the drill by now. I hope you continue to like the story as it develops.
By the way, I sent the last part via a different e-mail address, which confused people. You can write me at either this address or sanclemente1@gay.com, though I look at this one a lot more frequently. Sorry if that messed anyone up - you can't tell the players without a program.
The sun was shining through the curtain around his bed when he awoke. He felt groggy, but much more aware of himself and his surroundings than he had been. How long have I been out, he wondered, and how badly messed up am I. He raised his arms, cautiously, as if they might break. His head ached just a little from the effort. The hep lock was in his left hand still, and his eyes followed the tube back to the long plastic bag hung at his bedside, which slowly dripped some clear fluid. He touched his face, felt a few bandages on his cheeks and eyebrows. He felt around his mouth, tactilely examining the restrainer lodged in his mouth. The realization that it was there made him conscious of his tongue beneath it, and also made him feel vaguely like gagging. His tongue felt thick and prickly as he pressed it against the underside of the retainer. He frowned, and the bridge of his nose gave off a sharp bolt of pain. He grunted loudly in protest, his legs instinctively jerking. Well, they work too -- that's a relief.
A nurse pulled aside the curtain. "Well, good morning," she smiled at him. "You feeling better?" Jesse nodded, blinking a bit at the light. "Good," she said absently as she looked over the bag of liquid and his hep lock. "OK, time to rise and shine. You need to go urinate. You want some help?" Jesse stared at her blankly. Help? Pissing? He realized that he did have to go really bad, though, so her suggestion to do so was a real incentive. He sat up, too quickly. His head throbbed and the room seemed to grey over. The nurse held him up by the shoulders as he slumped, groaning. "Little at a time, now. You took a nasty blow to the head." It took a minute or so for his vision to clear before he got up the nerve to put his feet onto the floor -- an act that again made him woozy. The nurse's hands were on his bicep, gentle but reliably firm. Safe.
He looked at her when he was ready and nodded. She smiled back encouragingly. "That's good, now just take it easy -- it'll be better the more you move around." He rolled slowly forward onto his feet and stood, swaying (he felt) alarmingly for several seconds before his sense of balance came back to him. His head hurt, and he put his right hand to his temple. "That'll pass too," the nurse said soothingly. "Just walk now, slow and easy. The bathroom's right over here." She walked beside him, rolling the rack on which his IV bag was hung along with them. He found the movement reviving, and by the time he'd taken a dozen or so baby steps towards the bathroom, he was able to take a long breath in through the hole in his restrainer and feel refreshed. That, unfortunately, made his bladder ache for release even more. He shuffled quickly towards the toilet. "No, Jesse, you need to go in this," she said, holding up a large plastic jar with measuring marks on its side. "We need to see how much fluid you're losing, to be sure you're properly hydrated. Just put it on the lid." She set it up for him, smiling. "There. Now go for it."
He obviously was supposed to pull out his cock and pee now, but the idea of exposing himself in front of this nice, vaguely Hispanic woman was acutely embarrassing. She noticed his reluctance and laughed. "It's OK, Jesse, I do this all the time. It's part of my job. You going to be able to aim all right?" Jesse nodded, but as he looked down and fumbled to free himself from the hospital gown he began to doubt himself. He held himself out over the jar's opening, trying to focus on his target. His bladder released itself spectacularly, and he missed jar, toilet lid, and almost the floor. He groaned with mortification as the nurse stepped to his side and directed his stream into the jar. "It's OK, it's hard to focus right now for you. You were sedated there overnight, and you have a concussion." She went on calmly talking to him as she held his penis in position. To his horror, the feeling of another's hand on him began to make him tumescent. He stood frozen, unable to think of what to do, as the last of his urine leaked out. The nurse smiled up at him. "That's OK, too. It's no big deal, it happens. I'm actually surprised you weren't erect when you woke up, having to urinate that badly." She expertly tucked Jesse back into the gown, turned and washed her hands, then screwed a lid onto the jar. She looked at the marks on the side. "Good," she said. "Good color, no blood, good volume. You're going to be just fine, Jesse. Now let's get you back into bed, all right?"
He was able to move more easily now, and as he walked back toward his bed he saw Dr. Stassi standing in the door. He raised his hand to wave.
"Looking good, Jesse. Feeling a little better today?" Jesse nodded as he thudded back onto the bed, feeling suddenly very tired. The nurse and Dr. Stassi huddled a second, and he saw them looking at his jar of piss. How gross is that, he thought.
Dr. Stassi stepped over to him and smiled. "Let's have another look at the stitches, all right?" Jesse nodded, and lifted his head to make it easier to free his mouth of the restrainer. "Now don't stick your tongue out, just open your mouth and relax. If you stick out your tongue it'll just pull on the cut and the sutures." Jesse did as told, while Dr. Stassi looked carefully with a small flashlight. "Good. I only put a couple of stitches in there, and only shallow ones at that, across the deepest part. Your tongue is very vascular. That means it has a lot of blood vessels, and that means it bleeds a lot when cut. But it also means that it heals quickly. Now hold still here, I'm going to clip these off and let's see how things look." He reached into Jesse's mouth with a small pair of scissors; Jesse's eyes widened. "Don't worry, Jesse, I promise I won't cut you any more." Still, Jesse couldn't help shrinking a bit from the feel of the cold metal as it lay against his tongue. He felt them snip, and a slight jolt, then another, and another. Dr. Stassi handed the scissors to the nurse, receiving now a pair of long tweezers. Jesse felt a tug and some stinging on his tongue, again repeated twice more. Dr. Stassi again examined him with the flashlight. "That's good," he said, sitting back and smiling at Jesse. "Try to talk now, just a little."
"OK," Jesse said. His tongue felt raw and tender, like it had a huge burn mark from a too-hot pizza all over it. "How's that?"
"Good," Dr. Stassi said with a smile. "Now try not to talk much for a day or two, let that tongue heal on its own. Don't stick it out to look at it or anything, you'll just stretch it out and break it back open again, all right?" Jesse nodded. "Now, your mother and Detective Manuel need to speak to you -- are you up to that?"
The events of the previous night rushed back to him. "Is my dad OK? Did they find him? Sir, he didn't --"
"Slow down, Jesse," Dr. Stassi said calmly, palms out. "Let them talk to you, OK? And keep your answers brief for now." He seemed more solemn.
Jesse lay alone in the room for a few minutes after that, kicking through all that he remembered. How could he explain that his dad hadn't molested him without telling them everything? He couldn't get Mike in trouble too, he was in enough trouble himself. The tension made his head throb, and he lay back, eyes closed against the pain, trying to figure out what to say. No choice but the truth, he decided -- or at least part of the truth . . .
His eyes opened at the bustling noise of his mother rushing in. She looked bruised all over her face, and her eyes were red as if from crying, but she had her best cheerful smile on. "There's my baby!" she cried, kissing his forehead and smoothing his hair. "Are you feeling better, Jesse?"
"I'm fine, Mom -- how about you? You look awful."
She seemed surprised to hear him speak. "I took out the sutures," Dr. Stassi said from the door. "He needs to talk as little as possible today, though, to give his tongue a chance to heal. All right?" He looked hard for a second at Detective Manuel, who reflexively smoothed his moustache again and looked sharply at Jesse.
"Mom," Jesse said, trying to stay calm, "are you all right?"
She nodded bravely. "I -- I slipped and fell, Jesse -- that was most of it. You father was angry, and --"
"Bull, Mom. He hit you." He felt anger rising in him. The bastard, look what he did to her. I ought to kick him in the balls the next time I see him -- he deserves it.
"Yes, Jesse, but please," his mother interrupted him, her tone pleading. "Your father was -- was so very unhappy. His job had been going bad for a while, and -- and he had been drinking, and I -- I had no idea that he -- he hurt you like he did, Jesse, I'm so sorry, oh my baby please forgive me . . ." She dissolved in tears and put her hands on Jesse's cheeks.
Jesse wasn't in a forgiving mood. "He didn't hurt me," he said simply. He'd explain the rest later; first things first. "Where is he?"
His mother looked up at Detective Manuel, who looked sharply at Jesse. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, son," he said in a level voice. "We picked up your father last night and put him in jail. We told him what your condition was, and your mother's - and what we'd discovered," he added with a small emphasis. "He was very belligerent until we told him everything. Then he got very quiet."
"This morning," Manuel continued, shifting from foot to foot as if uncomfortable, "we found him dead in his cell. He hung himself, son. I think the knowledge of what he'd done -- to his family, to you -- was just too great for him. We tried everything we could to revive him, but we were just too late." He looked straight at Jesse. "Your father's dead, son. I'm sorry."
Jesse was aware of his mother, weeping quietly at his bedside, her shoulders heaving. He felt the morning light warm but diffuse on the side of his aching face. He realized everyone was looking at him, waiting for a reaction. He had no idea what to say. "But -- but he didn't hurt me," he finally whispered. "I told you that."
"We all understand, Jesse. We know he didn't mean to hurt you, and perhaps he was even careful. And we know you're a tough kid. But we also know what happened. The good thing is that you won't have to testify about it now, not to anyone. We can help you through this, all of us. That's part of our job -- not just getting the bad guy, but helping the victim." Detective Manuel's expression had not changed, but his voice was soothing now.
Jesse's mother clutched his arm. "I promise you, baby, I'll do anything to make you -- whole again, so that you can forgive your father. He was a good father, Jesse, whatever he did . . ." She began to cry again.
Jesse looked at the eyepatch on his mother's face, the bruises and sutures. He saw the splint on the fingers of the hand that held his arm. She was sobbing now, her face in her arm, and the marks on her neck where his dad had choked her clearly visible. The bastard, he thought, look what he did. He deserves the blame for everything. It's all his fault. And I'm not even lying about it.
He looked at Detective Manuel with as much resolution as he could. "I'll be fine. He didn't hurt me. He couldn't get to me, not ever. He never hurt me." His mother let out a single sob. Dr. Stassi was looking intently at his shoes, the nurse's eyes were shiny.
Detective Manuel regarded Jesse for a long moment, then nodded. "I can tell that, son -- you're a strong young man. That's a fine attitude to have, that it never got to you." He looked at Dr. Stassi. "I don't see much need to ask a lot further, not now at least. I think they've both got a lot to deal with, and we've pretty much confirmed what we already knew. Are they still going to do the DNA tests?"
Jesse's eyes widened.
"Do you need them now?" Dr. Stassi asked. I think we'll just prolong this whole thing by doing them now."
Detective Manuel thought for a moment, preening his moustache. "I don't think so," he said at last, as Jesse tried not to exhale too loudly. "Let me see about it. Don't destroy the samples, but hold off on the tests. If we can close this out without that expense, so much the better." He turned back to Jesse, taking a step towards the bed. "Son, you have a lot of healing to do. You and your mom. We have victim assistance programs that can help. Your doctor will talk about them with you in a few days, when you're feeling better. You just need to know -- both of you -- that you're not alone in this, and that we'll all do whatever we can to help. All right?" Jesse nodded, his eyes starting to well up now. His father was dead. He was responsible. He did it. He did everything. It was all his fault. He deserved this. The loss, the rage, the shame, overcame him, and he began to sob quietly, inclining his head to his mother's beautiful loving, pummeled face.
They took his mother back to her own room for some treatment after that, and left him alone. He stared out the window for a long time, watching seagulls flit past every so often. He felt a surge of grim satisfaction. This is what the bastard deserves, he thought. I'm the great disappointment, huh? Suck on this, you drunken fucking bully . . . He kept crying, though, and couldn't seem to stop no matter how hard he tried. When someone brought a small tray of lunch to him, he found he couldn't eat it without starting to sob. They'd been at dinner . . .
It was sometime in the afternoon when he heard a familiar voice crying "Jes??" As he sat up, Mike appeared in the door, then flung himself across the room to Jesse's bedside, his face flushed. "Oh God, Jes, are you OK? I'm so sorry, Jes, so sorry . . ." He took Jesse's hand and held it hard against his own chest, his eyes welling up. Jesse looked into them and started crying again, too. Their heads met gently, forehead to forehead, and they cried. Jesse was vaguely aware of Mike's mother standing in the doorway as if she'd intruded into some very private scene, her hand over her trembling mouth. Jesse's attention, though, was all on Mike, whose chest heaved against the back of Jesse's hand as he kept whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over.
Jesse found himself comforting Mike, even though he was still crying himself. He knew what Mike was sorry for. "It's OK, Mike, I know. It's OK." He ran his hand through Mike's glorious soft brown hair, feeling its silky texture. He felt better all over.
He knew he had to communicate with Mike somehow, let him know what was going on. He looked at his friend's bleary eyes. "Mike," he whispered, "you know my Dad's dead?" Mike nodded, his face puffing up further. "He did this, Mike. To me, and to my mom. He deserved it, OK? And -- and they discovered more, Mike, when they brought me in. They -- they found I'd been raped, Mike." His friends stopped crying and stared at him with a terrified look. "They figured it all out, Mike -- that it was my dad that did it. That was why he hung himself, Mike. They figured it all out. OK?" He stared hard at Mike. You have to understand, dammit, you have to.
Mike blinked slowly, pulling back from Jesse a little. "Th -- that's what you said??"
"That's what they figured out, Mike," Jesse repeated, stressing the "they".
A long few seconds passed before Mike slowly drew back from him. "Oh, God, Jes, no."
Jesse nodded at him, firmly. "They figured it all out, Mike. I didn't tell them. They figured it out. It's all written up and everything." He set his face. "It's over and done with. They know, it's in the reports and stuff, and it's final. OK?"
Mike blinked at him, his mouth open in horror. "Jes," he finally choked out, "No. Don't."
"I didn't. They figured it all out themselves."
Mike's mother stepped up to the bedside. "Jesse, I'm so sorry for your loss, and for all that's happened. Mike here has been a wreck all last night and today about it. I never realized how truly close you two were. Pl -- please know that Don and I are always here for you and your mother. You're like family to us all." Her eyes were misty.
"Thanks," Jesse mumbled, feeling suddenly embarrassed. He needed to talk to Mike in private. "Have, um, you seen Mom?"
"I'm on my way. I thought you and Mike might want a little time alone anyway, and I know he doesn't want to sit in with your mother and me. You stay here with Jesse, all right darling?" Mike nodded, his face ashen, and pulled a chair up next to Jesse's bed. His mother leaned over, Kissed Jesse's forehead, and smoothed his hair. "It'll be all right, dear. It'll all be all right." Jesse nodded, and she left, a hand over her mouth.
Jesse couldn't look at Mike for several seconds. He knew what he was doing was the right thing, but he felt ashamed at the same time. He finally got up the nerve, and saw that Mike had been regarding him warily the whole time.
"So that's it, huh? Your dad molested you, and no questions asked?" Mike seemed quietly incredulous. "You can do that to your dead father?"
Jesse shook his head, slowly so it wouldn't hurt. "Look at what he did do, Mike. Look at me, look at my mom. You know he killed Tina? He fucking shot her. Don't go making me feel guilty, dude. He earned this. He's dead, and I'm glad he's dead. I only wish I could have beaten the motherfucker to death myself." He was as pissed off at himself for crying as he said this as he was at his father.
Mike wiped his eyes. "Dude, nobody deserves to be accused of raping his own son. It doesn't matter what an asshole he might have been, it's not right."
"So what's your idea?? They know, Mike. They examined my -- my ass, or whatever. They know what we did. You want me to tell them? `Yeah, me and Mike fucked each other raw for a couple of days there.' You want that?"
Mike shifted in his chair, eyes downcast. "Of course not. I don't want to - to tell people. Y'know, about us and all. Not yet, anyway." He looked at Jesse. "I feel like this is my fault too. I was such an asshole to you about the whole thing with -- with Ernie." He whispered the last part. "I was just so freaked out. I mean I should have just been cool with it and you could've stayed over again, and you'd be OK and --"
"It was gonna happen, Mike. It would've happened. He was wound too tight, that's' all. Only question was when he'd snap." Jesse sighed. "I should have known it, too. It's been so bad lately, I just thought he was being a jerkoff. I -- I never worried about him," he sniffed. Goddammit, stop crying, he thought.
"Jes, he loved you, don't you know that?"
Jesse's chin set angrily. "No, I don't. Some love, beating me and Mom up like this, and -- and fucking killing himself on top of it. What's Mom gonna do? She can't sell houses worth shit. We're gonna be fucking broke, Mike." He was crying harder now. "I thought you'd get it. I have to protect you. I got nothing else now. I can't tell them about you -- us -- whatever. It'd just fuck things up for you."
"I don't care."
"Oh yeah?" Jesse asked. His tongue was starting to hurt, he could taste a small trickle of blood on it. "Then go tell `em. Now." Mike sat very still, with his hands over his face. "See? It's not so easy, is it? And that doesn't even get into the web shit, and you know that'd turn up if we told."
Mike stood up and paced around Jesse's bed. "It just feels so wrong, Jes. There's got to be another answer, somehow."
Jesse shook his head, harder now, ignoring the dizziness the movement caused. "You figure one out and tell me. I'd love to hear it."
Mike sat back down, heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I -- I just know how scared I was. I thought I'd fucked up so bad, the way I acted, and then this . . . I thought I'd -- like -- lost you, and shit." He sniffed loudly. "I can handle a lot, Jes, but I can't handle that. That can't happen, or --"
"Dude," Jesse whispered. "It didn't. That can't happen." He held his hand out, and Mike pressed it to his face. Jesse wiped Mike's eyes with his fingers. The anger had flowed out of him, and all he saw or felt was Mike's hurt soul next to him. "I meant it, and I mean it now. I fucking love you, OK?" He smiled wickedly. "I just wish I could jump your bones right now without setting off some alarm or something. They got me wired for all sorts of shit." He opened his gown at the chest, showing Mike several sensors for vital signs taped onto his skin.
Mike smiled softly and ran his hand over Jesse's exposed chest, sighing. "You are the hottest sick guy I ever saw, you know that?"
Jesse laughed. "That's a compliment, right?"
Mike joined in. "You bet." He bent down and kissed Jesse softly on the cheek, then, after glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being watched, on the lips. Jesse longed to open his mouth to Mike, but he knew he couldn't. He pulled away with a sigh. "Sorry, I gotta be careful. I can't split my tongue back open Frenching my boyfriend -- people would talk." The two dissolved into laughter.
The noise they made drew the nurse who'd helped Jesse that morning to the door. "You take it easy now, Jesse. You're not all better yet." She strode in. "My name's Carlotta," she said to Mike, extending her hand.
Jesse smiled, perhaps a little too broadly. "This is Mike. He's my -- my best friend, and all." They grinned stupidly at each other.
Carlotta stood quietly, regarding them for a moment with a smile. "All right now, time for you to get some walking around time in. I think Mike here can help you out, so I can take care of actually sick people. That all right?"
"Sure!" Jesse said, eager to be with his friend more. He sat up slowly, the spins less violent this time, then slowly stood. Mike took his right arm as if he might break if handled too roughly. Jesse looked at him and laughed. "Dude, I'm OK. I just get spacy when I stand up for a second."
"Now be sure to roll this along with you," Carlotta advised, placing the rack next to Jesse's left arm. "We want the saline in you for a while yet."
Jesse nodded, and with Mike at his side walked slowly out of the room. The floor was roughly circular, with a nurse's station in the canter and rooms like spokes on the outer side. A hallway led to a glass enclosed pedestrian bridge past a bank of elevators. Jesse walked toward the bridge and its abundant sunlight, feeling strength and balance returning to him with every stride. He looked over at Mike and smiled. "This feels good."
Mike leaned in. "You think this feels good?" he whispered. "Just wait, dude." They started giggling, and Mike's arm wrapped around Jesse's shoulder to hold him steady. They stopped in the middle of the pedestrian bridge together and stood, looking out toward the ocean they knew was just over the bluff past the freeway beneath them, each with an arm casually around the other, heads close together. Carlotta watched them and smiled. She could see he would be fine.
Jesse eventually walked, Mike in tow, to his mother's room on the far side of the nurse's station. She wasn't there. "They went downstairs to get some air," Carlotta explained. "Your mother should be leaving tomorrow."
"What about me?'
"We'll see what doctor thinks about your recovery. I think he's ordered another head CT to be sure you're progressing. We'll see."
By themselves in the room, Jesse couldn't resist groping Mike's crotch a little. Mike giggled and pulled away. "Dude, you're sick and all."
"You're denying a poor injured guy a small favor?" He touched again. "Hmmm, it's not so small any more, now, is it?"
Mike sighed. "C'mon, Jes, you know I can't do anything back. No fair."
Jesse chuckled devilishly. "If stuff was fair, I wouldn't be all fucked up like this to start." His hand was deep in Mike's jeans pocket, rubbing him erect. The tops of Mike's high cheekbones began to flush slightly. "There," Jesse breathed, "no way can we get fucked up, dude. Never." He nuzzled into the crook of Mike's neck, taking in the deep aroma of his hair, listening to Mike's shallow breathing as he caressed him. It was the best he'd felt all day.
They stood like that for several minutes, until Jesse suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion overtake him. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten. "Damn," he mustered, sinking onto the bed.
Mike bent over him. "You all right?"
Jesse slumped forward a bit, holding the rack like a cane. "Tired, all of a sudden. Didn't eat lunch"
Mike was kneeling before him. "I'll get somebody." Their fondling was now long forgotten, Mike was just concerned about his friend. That was how their mothers found them when they opened the room door a minute or so later.
Jesse's mom had her eyepatch off; her right eye was deep red instead of white. She rushed to the bed. "Jesse, are you all right?"
"Yeah, Mom, "Jesse said softly. He didn't really feel al right -- his head and tongue hurt, he felt dizzy, and mildly sick to his stomach. "Just overdid it a little, I guess."
Mike's mother called for Carlotta, who appeared a moment later with a wheelchair. "I thought he might overdo things a bit -- seeing his friend and everything." She helped Jesse into the chair. "You feeling queasy, Jesse?" He nodded. "That normal with a concussion -- it'll go away." She looked at his saline bag. "I'll have doctor order something to calm your stomach. From the urine output you've been having I don't think we'll need this much longer."
Mike stared at Jesse. "Dude, you been measuring your piss??" His mother tried to shush him, but the question -- and his horror was so absurd that she, Jesse's mom, and Carlotta couldn't keep from breaking out into laughter. Mike was unapologetic. "No way, that's just like gross!!" The laughter only, Jesse trying not to join in because it only made him feel more like puking.
He was back in his bed a few minutes later, trying to rest. Mike and his mother had left (Mike with a surreptitious squeeze of Jesse's hand as he departed), and his mother had remained only a short time more, stroking his hair and assuring him that things would be all right. He closed his eyes for a while.
It looked like later afternoon when he awoke, realizing before he opened his eyes that he was not alone. He figured it was Carlotta, or his mom sitting by the bed, or something, so he stayed still, with eyes closed, luxuriating in the comfort of being half awake. "Jesse?"
His eyes shot open. Ernie was standing near the door, his hands clasped in front of him.
"I hope I'm not intruding."
"N -- no, not -- I mean, it's -- but they can't see you -- I mean my mom -- "
"Is down getting her eye looked at," Jesse said evenly. "I made sure nefore I came up. We have a few minutes."
"Um, OK. Cool. Thanks, uh, for like coming and -- and all." Jesse had no idea what to say.
"I only wish I could do more," Ernie said quietly. Did this guy ever blink? He stepped to the bed, holding out a small piece of paper. "I thought this might help, at least a little."
Jesse took the paper. It was a deposit receipt, for an account in a San Diego area bank in the name of Ron Gantry. It showed an electronic deposit of $ 1,427.55, dated that day. "That's your share of just the first bit of pay per view sales. The hits on the site have been very high, and we've priced them accordingly -- hourly, daily, and so on. It's very, very successful. I know that can't make up for -- for all that's happened here, but it's a ray of sunshine, I think."
Jesse looked at the receipt. He recalled his fathers' tension over the past few months as he had paid minimums of credit cards. He could help, this could help. "Only a few days?" he asked quietly.
Ernie nodded. "Ordinarily, I'd have waited until the end of the month to make the deposit, but I thought seeing it might help you a bit."
Jesse blinked, trying to make sure his head was clear. "Um, thanks, Ernie. This is -- a nice, y'know, gesture. And all."
Ernie smiled, a deeper, more open smile than Jesse had seen from him before. It made him look younger, almost boyish. "I'm glad you didn't feel it was inappropriate," he said. "I lost my father when I was young as well -- I know how, how destitute that can make you feel."
Jesse felt grateful for the sympathy, but he really didn't want to be talking about this stuff with the guy who'd pimped dirty movies of him onto the Internet. "Thanks, Ernie. I, um, appreciate it." He glanced at the door. "Look, dude, I really think you should go -- I dunno how I could explain who you are and all if -- "
"Not a problem, I understand," Ernie said, retrieving the paper from Jesse. "You just get better, and you and Mike and I can talk when you're out of here. There's already a demand for new product, so I hope it'll be a good discussion."
"Sure. Thanks. See ya." Ernie waved subtly, then slid out the door. Jesse stared after him, processing things. New product??
Dr. Stassi interrupted his pondering a few minutes later. "OK, Jesse, let's have a look at you." He seemed more cheerful as he examined Jesse's tongue, bruises, and vitals. "I think we can take you off the hep lock -- you seem to be in good shape there. You'll continue to be woozy for a few days, and you may have some stomach upset, but I think you'll be ready to go home with your mother tomorrow. I'd like to do another head CT in the morning, just to be sure, though."
This was the second such reference. "Another?" Jesse asked. "When did I have any - any, um, whatever that is?"
"Last night, when you were brought in. We had to check for possible skull fractures, bleeding, things like that," said Dr. Stassi evenly. "this is just a followup one to be sure nothing bad has developed since. If it had, you'd likely be showing symptoms, but I need to be certain. We'll do it first thing, and if nothing shows up you'll be on your way home by noon."
Carlotta entered the room. "Let's take out his hep lock," Dr. Stassi directed her easily.
"Free at last, Jesse!" she teased him as she disconnected the saline bag from the needle in the back of his hand. Jesse got a bit queasy as she undid the tape holding it in place, exposing the bare needle stuck into his skin. "Now, this will just tingle a little," she said soothingly as she placed a gauze pad over the needle insertion site and pulled. He was unstuck in an instant, and she swabbed him with alcohol or something. "Hold that over the puncture," she directed, putting his right hand onto the gauze pad, "and raise your arm." He obeyed silently. They were so nice to him, he almost wished he could stay. Going home wasn't such an attractive idea . . .
Dr. Stassi had him follow a finger in front of his eyes again. He did better this time, though the finger still had an annoying habit every so often of jumping about and becoming indistinct. "That's a lot better, Jesse," he said as he finished. "Looking very good." He patted Jesse's knee, and sat on the bed. "Now," he continued, his look serious, "we need to talk about what happened."
Jesse tensed up. "Nothing happened," he answered.
I understand how you feel, Jesse, but this is a very painful and traumatic thing you've been through. You need to confront it, come to terms with it all. I'd like you to get HIV tests for the next six months, just to be safe."
"What??" The idea of AIDS terrified Jesse.
"We just don't know about your father, Jesse. It appears he wasn't infected, but we know that people can be asymptomatic for some time after exposure and still be potentially infectious."
"But -- but . . . " Jesse realized he didn't have the nerve to go through with it. He had to tell. "He didn't -- didn't do that to me," he whispered.
Dr. Stassi looked at him kindly and stood up. "It's OK, Jesse," he said. "You take your time about it all, OK?"
"No, I mean he didn't do this!" Jesse said, louder. "I - I -- I did -- " His head was pounding, he knew he was looking vaguely incoherent.
Dr. Stassi shook his head. "Just rest now, Jesse. There's lots of time." He walked quietly out of the room, ushering Carlotta with him, as Jesse struggled to find the words. Only after the door closed with a gentle click did he manage to scream out, "DAD!!!" in a hopeless, agonized voice, sobbing loudly and sinking back into the bed. It couldn't be taken back now, his sin was irrevocable. Oh God, what have I done, he thought as sleep washed over him. . .
The lights were out; it was dark. Someone was standing by the door, the light from its opening and closing had awakened him. He sat up slowly. "Hello?"
"Hey Jesse," said a quiet female voice. It was Kate.
Jesse fell back into the bed, surprised. "Whoa!! How'd you get in here? Isn't it late?"
"After 11," Kate said evenly. "I used to do some candystriper work here, so they kind of let me in when I want." She moved towards him. "Are you OK? I'm so sorry about your dad."
"What - what did they tell you about my dad? What do people say happened?"
Kate sounded confused. "You know, that he beat you and your mom up really bad, and killed your dog when she tried to defend you, and that he -- he killed himself in jail," she answered, her voice growing quieter as she went on.
Jesse was sitting up again. "Anything else?"
Her blond head, silhouetted by the streetlight glow from outside, moved back and forth. "No," she said, sounding confused. "Isn't that enough? What else happened?"
Jesse thought hard for a moment. They weren't telling anyone, he realized. The deed that dare not speak its own name. "Just -- just the part about Tina," he stammered. "I wasn't even sure that had happened myself." The lies pained him.
Kate nodded, he felt her weight settle on the edge of the bed by his feet. "I understand," she whispered. "In some ways that's almost the worst thing of all -- a poor dog. Tina was so cool." He could hear her sniffle wetly.
Jesse felt an intense need to move the conversation to other things. "I think I'm going home tomorrow," he said.
"That's great," Kate said, her voice brightening.
"Yeah, it will be." I hope, he thought.
"Cool that you don't have to share the room," she observed, looking around. "They're pretty slow here."
"I never thought about it," Jesse said. What was the point of that?
"Well," she said, standing again and moving a little closer to him, " thought I should come here and give you a little something, if you're OK with it."
"What do you mean?" he asked. He could see her more clearly now that she was so close. She was wearing a long doctor's lab coat.
Kate giggled very softly, then slid the coat off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Even in this light, Jesse could see that she was naked. She pulled back his covers and ran her hand over his chest. "Good, you aren't hooked up to the EKG monitor any more," she said as she slid in next to him. Her body was atop his right arm as she pressed against him, and as he instinctively pulled her closer he felt her bare skin warm and velvety.
"Holy shit, Kate," was all he could gasp.
She giggled next to his ear. "Now, I don't want you to like fuck me or anything, OK? I just want you to feel good." She ran a hand down inside his hospital gown until she got to his crotch. He was hard as a rock. She began stroking him and kissing his throat and chest. He took her in his arms, groaning, and surrendered himself to her touch. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, her nipples large and very hard. He reached for her crotch, found her wet, and starting pushing fingers into her. She groaned loudly, which only added to his excitement. Within minutes he was tensing up, gibbering "K -- Kate I -- I'm gon' ," as she moved away from him a little, stroking hard, and he erupted across himself, his head flashing white with pain and pleasure. Her other hand was over his mouth, stifling his grunts. When he was finished, she laid back against him, rubbing her body over his and slickening them both. She kissed his neck for a few more minutes, than stood and put the doctor's coat back on.
I better go before they come check on you," she said with a smile in her voice. She reassembled his gown and covered him over again, bending down to kiss his cheek. "I care about you, Jesse. Don't forget that, OK?"
Jesse was trying to find the ability to speak again. "I -- I can tell," he sputtered.
Even in the dark, Jesse could see her grin. "Well, I'm glad you noticed. I may never take a shower again, you know." She pulled the coat tighter around her. "OK, good night. I'll stop in to see you at home, OK?"
"Sure"
She peeked out the door, the light hurting Jesse's eyes, and then was gone. He laid back in his bed, tingling and sleepy from coming. What a day, he thought, as he drifted slowly off.