A red tainted Silence (67 page)

Brandon took it without any reaction at all -- except for the white-knuckled grip on the bed covers, the shudders across his shoulders, the way he bit his lower lip.

It didn’t take long to complete the assault. And then, before I knew what was going on, the tape changed, the date changed. Weeks after the last one, and the whole scenario was repeated. Again it changed, and then again, another month, and another, and another assault, one after the other, just snippets of them, the date changing, the shirt Brandon wore each time and stripped off changing, but always the same room, the same man raping him.

Then, something different. Katie gasped. “This is it,” she whispered. “Brandon came in right after this.”

This time, there were two bodies, two naked men, waiting. Touching each other, their faces hidden from us, but not their hands as they pleasured each other with rough fingers, getting each other hard and ready.

Nausea roiled through me. I wanted to throw up. Understood all too well why Brandon had thrown up, only for him it was so dangerous ...

The door began to open and one of the men hurried out. Brandon came in and did as he always did, stripped and took position. But this time, his attacker made him put on a blindfold. Brandon frowned, puzzled, but did as indicated. Then the door opened again, and another man came in, this one shirtless but with jeans on. The third man leaned against the wall, watching. I wanted to see his face, but the angle was wrong, I couldn’t.

The assault happened as always, but as his rapist was pumping hard and fast, and Brandon just lay there, holding on, biting his lower lip but taking it in silence. Why why why, Brandon? Why did you think this was the only answer? The third man came and yanked the first man back. I watched, mesmerized, horrified, as the second man took the other’s place. He was shorter than the other, a lot skinnier.

“This is it, this is when Brandon came into the bedroom,” Katie said. “Right here.” And the second man raped Brandon, the blue-jeaned man brushing Brandon’s hair back from his face. Brandon jerked, spreading his hands in surprise -- as if he knew something was different. But he held his position. His attacker dug his fingers into Brandon’s hips, finished, then pulled out. The blue-jeaned man slapped Brandon, hard, across the back. He collapsed onto his stomach, writhing in agony -- and then the tape went dead.

Stunned, I stared at the blank screen. Listened as the tape rewound, listened to Katie’s soft crying, my harsh breathing, Jeff’s muttered curses. I stood, had to get away, needed some fresh air. I yanked open the door and stumbled through the main room and out into the bright sunshine. The cold air slapped against my bare damp cheeks, whistled through my sweater. Cold, bitter, horrible cold, how well I remembered it.

I closed my eyes, lifted my face to the sun, and took great gasping breaths. I held my hand against my scar because it hurt so fucking bad. How many times had he endured being 396

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raped? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? I tried desperately to calculate how many times he went

“jogging” -- ha, no wonder he never wanted me along -- and the numbers added up to the hundreds in my mind, and I couldn’t bear thinking that. But it was that much. I knew it, knew it in my heart and soul that Brandon had endured being raped maybe hundreds of times in the year and a half we were there, living at Jon’s, waiting for that wonderful day when Adam got pissed at me and called me a fag in front of our bandmates.

Only Lee hadn’t quit, beautiful, wonderful, amazing Lee. I wished he was with me, right now. And Jon, too.

I took a deep breath. Looked up, saw Katie and Jeff had come outside. A couple hurrying past glanced at us, but no one else paid any attention.

“I don’t understand. How come I didn’t know, Jeff?” He grimaced. “He didn’t know himself, Nicholas. It came as a huge shock. Saw himself getting raped and he lost it.”

Katie shook her head. “But it wasn’t right away, his reaction. He saw it, looked stunned for a minute. Then the third guy came in, and Brandon started to ... to get sick. But it wasn’t right away.”

“I just don’t understand,” I said.

“He must’ve seen something else. Recognized the third guy, maybe?”

“Take me back to him, Jeff. I just want to go back to him.” I just didn’t understand, didn’t know what to think about all I’d seen, and I was too exhausted and worn and depressed to think about it anymore. I just wanted to go home, home to his arms. I leaned against Jeff, let him guide me back to the car, let him help me inside. Nate came out, my coat and hat. I took it, holding my coat tight against my face. He closed the door. Jeff got in and we took off, me remembering too late that I hadn’t said goodbye and thank you to Katie.

We drove through downtown Durango in silence, my chin cupped on my hand as I stared out the window. Then I saw it. “Stop!”

Jeff slammed on the brakes, muttered, “What’s wrong?”

“Pull over. At that corner. Now!”

“What is it?”

But I didn’t answer, fumbled with the door handle. I tumbled out of the SUV, ignoring my coat as it dropped into the dirty snow. We were at an intersection, people bundled against the cold passing by, looking at me, some with recognition but I didn’t care, didn’t care that the cold bit at my bare hands and I’d started to shiver.

I waited for a car to pass, then walked across the intersection. Jeff caught up with me. I stopped in the middle of the street. This was where he’d stood.

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I looked up -- and saw it, whispered, “Fuck,” as Jeff draped his coat around my shoulders, me barely noticing what he was doing.

“What are you talking about -- Shit,” Jeff said.

A car honked at us, but I ignored it, ignored the people looking at me, and stared at the restaurant across the street, the cheerfully painted blue door.

“This is where he got sick the first time, Jeff, where he started to throw up blood,” I said. “He looked up and saw that restaurant, that blue door, and he lost it. His body remembered what his mind didn’t, and he threw up blood.” I fought to pull myself together. Brandon couldn’t see me like this, upset and bewildered and scared. He knew me so well, could see everything I was in my eyes. Yes, he was used to my overly emotional personae, but what I felt then was no act. I stopped Jeff as we stepped out of the hospital elevator into the lobby.

“Do I look okay?” I asked him, looking up.

He nodded. “If he asks why your cheeks are so red, it’s from the cold.”

“Oh, yes, wonderful,” I said, relieved. Handy thing, bitter cold. I could blame the redness of my eyes on that, too. I pulled off my coat; Jeff took it from me. I nodded to him, and we headed down the hall, pausing as a nurse left Brandon’s room.

She spied me. “He’s been asking about you. Go on in.” I glanced once more at Jeff and went into Brandon’s room. Mutt sat in the chair beside him, reading the newspaper. He looked up and stood as we came in. Brandon’s eyes were closed, his breathing even. The lights were dim.

Mutt said, “He’s dozing in and out a bit. The doctor will be by shortly to talk with you.”

“Thanks, Mutt,” I said, my gaze glued to Brandon’s face. “I appreciate you watching over him.”

“I live to serve.”

I smiled at that.

Mutt and Jeff left. Panic fluttered in me again, but I quelled it, knowing they would be right outside. Always close, ready to help at a moment’s notice.

I stared at Brandon. His hand rested just over his groin. I smiled; he often did that, as if he were afraid I was going to ... Was it because of what had happened to him? Was he trying to protect himself?

Was I going to start reading a terrible meaning behind everything Brandon did? No, no, they hadn’t ... they hadn’t hurt him like that, they hadn’t ... I forced all thoughts like that, about what I’d seen, out of my mind. I couldn’t let him know what I’d seen, what I thought, what I knew.

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He shifted, his hand clutching briefly, a grimace crossing his face as he slept. I sighed in relief. Poor Brandon. No, no, he was covering himself probably because of his catheter. I’d kept pulling at mine in my sleep, trying to get rid of its offensive presence. They’d had to tie my hands down at first. At least they didn’t have to do that to him. I hoped he wouldn’t have to have it much longer. I didn’t like to think about that thing stuck up him.

He opened his eyes. Smiled. “Hey, why looking so glum?” I gave him a tremulous smile. “Not glum. Except about that,” I said, pointing at his dick.

“Miss it?”

I laughed, surprised at him. Decided to say, “Yes, terribly.” He shifted in the bed, wincing. I moved to his side. “They said if I was a good boy it’d come out tomorrow.”

“Good,” I said. Then leaned over and brushed my lips across his. His return kiss was so weak I couldn’t help but be shocked, but I pushed away my fears, steeled my expression as I pulled back and sat carefully on his bed. “Maybe then we can, you know --” I waggled my eyebrows at him.

He lifted his hand up and brushed the back of his hand across my face. I closed my eyes, leaned into his touch, and pretended to purr. He laughed softly. “You trying to cheer me up or something?”

I opened my eyes and grinned. “Of course I am, silly.” But dammit, I lost it then, my eyes welling with tears. I looked away, wiped my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this, am I?”

He rested his hand on my thigh and squeezed it. “I love you soppy or not, Nick. Get a tissue.”

I glanced furtively at the bedside table, snatched up a tissue. “Thanks,” I said, dabbing my eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just been ... been a long afternoon. I wanted to be with you.” He frowned at me; then comprehension lit his eyes. “You went to the police station?

What did the detective say?”

Oh, shit. I forgot my cover story. Then I remembered. “He wasn’t there. I could’ve been with you.”

“You’re here now.” He closed his eyes, his breathing evened out. And just like that, he fell back asleep. I leaned over, kissed him gently on the cheek.

“Yes, I’m here now,” I whispered. “And I promise, I’m not leaving you again.” Then with a sigh of longing -- I wanted to crawl in next to him so bad, but didn’t dare it right then -- I slid off the bed and glared at the chair. Then I spied my computer. I walked over to it and picked it up, then returned to the chair, smiling sadly as I thought how many times Brandon had done this, had sat with this computer in the chair next to my bed as I slept, as I fought to get better.

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He’d been so scared, I thought, as I sat in the chair and covered myself with a blanket.

Put the laptop on my lap. A nurse came in then with an IV in her hand, smiling at me as I settled in and opened up the laptop. She checked one of the IVs, then switched it with the new one, nodded to me, and left.

I scrolled down to where I’d left off, found myself really smiling for the first time in a while as Brandon’s voice filled my mind, and my heart.

“Hello, young Brandon. Talk to me. Tell me what I need to know,” I whispered, then settled in to read.

* * * * *

“Well, this is it, Brandon! Our first home by ourselves! I mean, of our own!” I watched, shaking my head in amusement as Nicholas bounded about the one-room flat like an eager puppy, his face shining with excitement, little squeals of delight escaping him as he dashed to the corner that was our kitchen, then plopped on his back on our bed, which was little more than a mattress on the floor, then dash to the worn green velvet couch. He stretched out, eyes closed, his feet crossed at the ankles and his hands clasped over his heart. He sighed happily.

I stared at him, at how his jeans tightened over his dick. I laughed then.

“You’re hard, Nicholas.”

He opened one eye. “Uh-uh, of course I am, silly. I’m a happy boy!” I set the suitcase that contained all my clothes down next to the box that contained his.

“Well, happy boy, you need to get up and help me move all the other stuff inside.” He pouted. “But, Brandon, I’m tired. Can’t we take a wee nap first? Try out our new bed?”

“It’s the same as we had before. At least the mattress is. There’s nothing new about it.”

“I’ll miss that bed.”

“You’ll be able to buy a new one someday, I promise. Maybe even something fancier.

But not if we don’t get all our stuff in.”

“Just a minute, really. In a minute.”

“No, now.” He didn’t move. Pretended to snore. I sighed, walked over to him, grabbed his hands and pulled them. He giggled, yanking me down on top of him. “Nicholas,” I warned, even as I wiggled into place between his legs.

He grinned in triumph. “Gotcha.”

I sighed. “So you think.”

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Then I tickled him, laughing as he bucked and screamed, his laughter loud and clear.

And then we heard banging on the wall. We looked at each other and burst out laughing. I collapsed on top of him, nuzzled his neck, breathed in his scent ... and smiled as his breathing hitched and a soft, melodic moan escaped him.

“Gotcha,” I whispered as I nuzzled him again, and he answered by sighing, sliding his hands into my jeans, and cupping my backside.

“No, I got you,” he said.

I lifted my head, looked down at him. Shrugged. “Yeah, you do, Nicholas.”

“Yeah, I do.” He pulled me tighter against him -- it hurt, the way our hard dicks jammed against each other between us, but it was such a sweet, sweet pain.

He smiled at me as I stroked his hair back. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? What all’s happened to us?”

His eyes glinted. “And it’s only going to get better. We’re on our way, Brandon. You and me. We’re going to be superstars. A year from now, we’ll be on our way to being famous all over the world.”

I kept my sigh to myself, shaking my head at his folly. We saw things different, Nicholas and I. He was so convinced that we were a shoe-in for fame. The both of us.

Looking back, I realize how such opposites we were then. He so full of conviction, me so full of doubt, yet I always believed in him. Believed that if anyone could be -- should be -- a superstar, it was Nicholas Kilmain.