Do Unto Others

Chapter 5

Warnings: Rape

Note: All past happenings are in italics.

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Brian…

Half an hour goes by and I force myself to stay sitting in my chair, the same plastic chair that has bore the weight of my worries for the past few days. "It seems like longer. It seems like forever."

"What?" Lindsay asks her attention brought to me by my whispered thoughts. I don't answer her. I don't even look at her. I am tired of talking, of explaining things to all of them. I want them all to go home, vanish… vaporize and turn into nothing but open space, and my too late realized, wishes of companionship. "Brian, did you say something?"

I turn to her and force myself to smile, to comfort her. "No," I tell her and turn my attention back to watching Justin's door, waiting for Michael to emerge. I didn't want to leave, but right now it is not about me, and I am glad… because none of them, my family, my friends, knows what to say.

Rape, can manage to take your breath away, leave you speechless.

I see the door to Justin's room start to open and I sit up straight, debating whether or not to stand up. Michael comes out, closing the door behind him and all eyes are fixed on him. He smiles to the people around the hall before taking a step toward me.

I am not going to ask him what Justin said to him. God I want to know.

Michael slides into the seat next to me and licks his lips. "He's worried about you. He wanted to know when you had last eaten." I give a small laugh, never looking at Michael.

"Yeah, well, that's Justin," I say as I stand up and walk toward his door. I feel a hand land on my shoulder and turn to meet Michael's eyes.

"He wants me to take you home and make sure you get some sleep and something to eat," Michael tells me. Lindsay walks up beside him, the rest of the gang following her, closing in on the prey like vultures.

"He's right, Brian, it might do you some good to go home and get cleaned up," Lindsay says, her right hand clutching onto a used tissue like it is all that is holding her together.

"Yeah baby, you go on home, we'll be here," Debbie says, louder than she needs to. I turn from Michael and look over at her, past her, through her.

Ted and Emmett look on, all comments kept to themselves.

I am tired of hearing about Justin. How he looked in the hospital bed, small and broken. I don't want to have to face it again; the pain.

The blood.

I step out onto the back porch, my right hand shaking as I try to light my cigarette. I hear the back door open and slam shut. I already know who it is. "It's cold out here," Vic says as he pulls his jacket closed around him. "You know, my first roommate was robbed."

I finally light the cigarette and watch, for just the briefest of seconds, as the tobacco and paper burn, sending tiny flecks of ash falling to the ground.

"He was shot in the stomach and left to die. Everyone said he'd be fine, he'd be home soon…."

"And let me guess, he fully recovered, with you right there by his side every step of the way." Vic looks at me and smiles, his eyes leaving mine to find the stars. I follow his gaze, staring into the moonless night.

I blow a ring of smoke out into the air and take in a deep breath. "No, I never went to the hospital. He asked for me. He was my first roommate, but he was also my best friend. We'd known each other for years and when he needed me the most, I wasn't there," Vic tells me.

He turns to look at me, the burning tobacco of my cigarette reflecting in his eyes.

"Went out and fucked?" I ask with a tint of amusement and curiosity painting my words.

"Sat at home, drinking, and thinking how much it was hurting <b>me</b>, how bad it was making <b>me</b> feel. I was scared…."

"To see him?"

"No, for him to see me," Vic says, his hands letting his jacket go and finding their way into his pockets. I look at him, the burn of tears starting in the back of my throat, threatening to choke me. "He died, two days later, and I have never forgiven myself for not going to see him… for not being there."

"It's not like he knew if you were there or not," I reason as I raise the cigarette to my lips again.

Vic nods, his lungs taking in the dew from the air. "But I know." He lets the silence fall between us, the only sound coming from the voices drifting through the house and out the back door.

"Thank you," I say sarcastically, turning so that I can see everyone. "But the last time I checked I was a big boy. I can take care of myself. Thanks for coming, but, maybe you all should go home now. I'll tell Justin you were here." I close the door, not waiting to hear any arguments.

I walk over to Justin and sit in the chair next to his bed. "You thought you were going to get rid of me. I thought you were supposed to be smart," I say as I watch the plastic mask as it delivers oxygen directly into his lungs.

His eyes are closed. He is sleeping, and for the first time I cry, really cry. I close my eyes and wish for the impossible. Wish that when I open my eyes again… none of this, will be real.

Justin moans in his sleep, his right arm moving painfully slow into a more comfortable position. The white bandages on his cuts, the stitches, the bruising all telling me that time is not going to roll backwards.

I hear words, whispered and low… trapped. I look at Justin and realize that the sounds are coming from him, held prisoner behind plastic and metal. "It's okay," I whisper as I cover his left hand with mine, wiping all evidence of my emotions away with my right.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask as I open my eyes and squint against the light. Justin stares at me, his legs folded into a pretzel shape and his sketchpad and pencil held loosely in his hands.

"Watching you dream," he says softly, quietly, cryptically. I move my hand, searching for the warmth of his body underneath the royal blue sheets; a count so high it feels like sleeping on air.

I look over at him, the sun lighting him up from behind, and for the briefest moment in time… I see inside of him. "I hate it when you watch me sleep. It's fucking creepy."

"I was not watching you sleep. I was watching you dream and from that most impressive boner you're sporting, I'd say it was a pretty good one. Although at your age I am almost certain that you can't remember," he tells me as I push him backwards and lay my body down on top of his, his pencil getting lost between the sheets.

"Not only can I remember it," I say as my lips find his. "I can act it out, in 3-D."

"I'm impressed."

The time flies quickly, measured in half hours by the nurses that come in like clockwork. I fight off the urge to sleep as I sit in the chair. I hear the lock on the door click and I turn to see Jennifer standing there. She walks onto the room and stops at the foot of Justin's bed.

"The police are here; they want to talk to Justin. They are already talking to the doctors and nurses that were here when he came in," she tells me.

I nod my head slowly and turn toward Justin. His eyes are open, pale blue, like ice water. I suppress the urge to shake the life back into him. He is looking, but not at me and I can feel the temperature of my blood changing, dropping. I move so that I am in his line of sight.

I move slowly.

"Justin," I say. He shifts his eyes and looks at me. "The police are here. They want to talk to you about what happened." A small frown passes over my face as he stares at me.

I get closer to him and touch his arm. "It's better to get it over with, okay?" I stand up and tell Jennifer to tell the police to come in.

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Ronnie Jr. …

"Mr. Matthews," Janna says as she stands in front of my desk holding onto her books, her portfolio draped purposefully across her torso, the portrait of a budding art student. I turn to her and smile, mask slipped firmly into place.

"What can I help you with Ms. Malone?" I ask as I turn back to my task, wiping the dry erase board clean of all written knowledge. She shifts on her feet, her sneakers catching on the linoleum.

"Yeah, umm, well, the 'Life is Art' project that we have to do. I was, well, I was wondering if I could get an extension." I put the eraser down and turn around to face her. She is standing with her books held tight to her chest and her left hand holding the strap of her brown leather portfolio.

"The due date is next week Ms Malone, you know that." She releases the strap from her grasp and smoothes a hand over her hair, pushing a stray piece back into place.

"I know," she says as she starts to walk around the desk. I take the brief moment to take her all in. My eyes do a quick inventory of her body and I will my libido into submission. "But, I had some personal things that came up and…."

"And if I let you have an extension then I have to start giving them to everyone who needed one. I'm very sorry that you are having difficulty with the due date of the assignment, but I can't give one person special treatment," I tell her as I gather my things.

"Mr. Matthews, if I fail your class I don't graduate," she tells me. I slip into my jacket and grab the handle of my own portfolio and tote bag.

"Then I suggest you do your best," I tell her before leaving. I leave her standing in the middle of the room, tears falling silently from her eyes.

I can taste her already.

"Nothing tastes like tears," my dad says and I cringe as I feel his heated tongue dampen the skin of my left cheek.

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Justin…

I look at the detective, my eyes trained on the gold badge clipped so proudly to his belt. "Justin," he says again, repeating his question. I can't seem to get myself to focus. Everything seems foggy. "Had you ever seen your attacker before?"

Brian is standing over by the window, his body glowing as the sunlight hits him, lighting up the prominent stubble on his face. I move my head left and right, telling him 'no.'

My body hurts too much to talk right now. I can't see his partner but I know he's there, standing somewhere in the background taking notes. I can hear his pen as it scratches over the paper.

He asks me question after question and each time I move my head, just slightly, from side to side. No, I hadn't seen him before. No, I don't know who would have wanted to hurt me. He starts to ask me for details of the rape, and I involuntarily tense, lock up.

I feel like I'm suffocating.

I move my good arm, searching frantically for the oxygen mask. "Justin, honey, what's wrong?" I hear my mom ask. Brian turns around in all the commotion and I can see him walking toward me, moving past the officer and the detective. He takes the mask from me and puts it on my face, watching me closely as I take the air into my lungs.

My mom stands on my right side, concern on her face. I know she has to leave soon to make sure Molly is taken care of. "Okay, I think that's enough," Brian says. I let my eyes close as the detective and his partner ask Brian and my mom more questions as they walk toward the door.

"I think we have all we need for right now. We have all your information, in case we need to contact you later," Detective Rodriguez tells me before turning his attention back to Brian. "We have released the property back into your possession," he says. I hear papers being exchanged and then the door clicks into place.

"How are you feeling sweetie, better?" My mom asks.

Brian walks in front of me, just in time to see the tears slip from my eyes. I can feel my body start to shake and my nerves tingle as they nervously scratch at the surface of my skin.

She touches me, and when I flinch I can almost hear her heart break.

"I don't want you to walk me to the bus. I can do it all by myself," I tell my mother, my eight year old voice protesting against her need to always be there, protect me.

"Justin, you're only eight years old," she tells me as she hands me my lunch money and two extra pencils. I can never keep up with my pencils.

"Eight is big enough," I tell her, my hat pulled unceremoniously on my head. She takes a deep breath and looks down at me, her son, her baby.

"Okay, okay, you can walk by yourself. But please, please be careful… and stay on the sidewalk."

I can feel her eyes on me, the whole way to the bus stop.

I don't have to look at her to know that there are tears falling from her eyes. "I have to go and check on Molly. I'll… I'll be back as soon as I can," she says. She touches my shoulder, just barely, grabs her purse and leaves the room.

Jennifer…

"What's wrong Jen?" Craig asks as he stands next to me, his travel cup filled with coffee held tightly in his right hand and his keys and briefcase clutched tightly in his left. He never misses a day of work.

Any excuse, to be anywhere but here.

"He doesn't need me anymore," I tell him as I watch Justin walk down the street, his book bag planted firmly on his back and his pencils in his hand. I make a mental note to buy more; that task, he still needs me for.

"Is that all?" Craig asks as he walks past me, puts his briefcase on the hood of the car and unlocks the door. "Honestly Jen, if you don't let the boy have some breathing room you're gonna turn him into a little sissy." He grabs his briefcase and gets in the car. I watch as he pulls out of the driveway.

"I can't help it, I love him," I whisper to no one but myself.

Justin…

Brian sits down and looks at me. He doesn't move. He doesn't talk, but, he holds my hand and waits with me as my body calms down. Yesterday I felt fine, almost normal. But, normal is too far away from me now. Normal is gone.

"Brian… Justin," Dr. Salas calls as he comes in the door and closes it behind him. He stops at the side of the bed and looks at my charts. I move my head and look at him, the oxygen drying out my lips. "Well, it looks like you're stable and because there was no severe damage caused by the stab wounds I think we can see about getting you out of here by tomorrow, at the latest."

Dr. Salas puts down my charts and pulls on some gloves. He checks all of my wounds, the wires, the bandages, everything. "Everything looks good. When you go home you are going to be on a strict diet Justin, all of which will be liquid for the first few weeks or so until you get the wires taken off." I shake my head and pull the mask off of my face. I take my time and adjust to the normal flow of air.

I take my time, my dry throat evident in my speech. "What about the… therapy?" Brian sits in the chair watching the doctor quietly, listening.

"It's not going to be easy. The bone in your wrist was essentially snapped in half," he tells me as he pulls off the gloves and uses his own his wrist to tell me exactly how my own wrist was affected. My immediate thoughts are about whether or not I'll be able to give a decent hand job… hell, blowjob too.

My next thoughts are, 'Fuck, how in the hell am I supposed to draw?'

"Will I… be able… to draw?" I ask. Brian reaches for the plastic water bottle that they have given me and helps me drink as I hold it with my good arm. "Thanks," I say as I let my eyes take him in.

"I'm not going to lie to you Justin. Most patients with severe wrist injuries never regain the full mobility in their wrist and hand, but with the proper therapy and strength training you should at least be able to have about eighty to eighty-five percent mobility regained, and that's being generous."

I let the air fall out of me slowly as I fight to keep the tears inside. "We also recommend that rape victims see a counselor to…."

"No," I say before he can finish.

"Justin, it might be a good idea to…."

I turn my head toward Brian and repeat what I told the doctor. "No." Dr. Salas moves closer to the bed and I turn my gaze to him. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't… okay."

"Are you sure, Justin? We can't make you see someone but it is highly recommended."

"I said… no." Dr. Salas writes something down in my charts and I can only guess what it says. 'Patient refuses to speak with rape counselor prior to release.'

"Okay," Dr. Salas says as he gathers up his things. "A nurse is going to come in and finally help you get cleaned up. I know you're ready for that, and then tomorrow we'll go over everything and get you out of here. How's that sound?"

"Good," I say.

Dr. Salas walks out of the room and when the door clicks into place I let myself completely relax. The only person who does not make my nerves stand on end is Brian. I stare at the white wall in front of me and it seems to stretch on into forever.

"You know, just because he says that you may never get all the strength back in your hand doesn't make it true," Brian tells me. I let out a small huff. "They said that once before." I look at Brian and smile as best I can, which isn't much at all, as I feel a single tear roll down my cheek.

"Justin, do you want to talk about it?" I know he is asking because he wants to help me. I know he doesn't really want to talk about feelings and shit, but he will, for me, he will.

He will alter his personality for me, because he loves me. I need that right now.

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