The Darker Side of Trey Grey (15 page)

She grabbed my face and turned me away from Cherry’s retreating form so she could give me a serious reflection.

“Trey, baby, you don’t belong out here,” she finally said. “Why you do this to yourself?”

I opened my mouth to respond and she pinched my lips closed between two fingers.

“You should be living it up, letting someone take care of you—”

“I refuse to be kept. That’s how I ended up here in the first place.” I took a step back and fumbled with my Zippo in my pocket.

“Bullshit.” Her hands landed on her hips. “You ended up here because of your sick stepfather. Not the same thing.”

“It is to me. I own myself, only me, no one else. I won’t be owned again.”

She sighed heavily, knowing she couldn’t argue against that. We all had a similar philosophy. Nobody owned us, they just rented us, and we reserved the right to refuse service. I liked to believe I owned my body, but in truth Willie still did— and probably always would.

“Hey kid, you working tonight?”

I leaned around Marie and glimpsed the silver-blue crossover at the curb.

“I was waiting here for you,” I said, grinning cockily at the scruffy dark blond sitting on the edge of his door, looking over the roof at me. He was a regular, said he was in some band but I’d never figured out which one. He was always twitching on something, and he liked to do it in his car. That meant I had to play contortionist, and usually walked away with bruises or a pulled muscle somewhere.

As I walked over, a pearl-white limo whipped in and stopped inches from his bumper, making us both duck and cringe.

“Sweetheart, you get that luscious booty of yours over here right now,” called a drag queen poking out of the moon roof. She looked remarkably like RuPaul. I squinted—
it couldn’t be
. Marie would have told me if she knew RuPaul. Marie squealed like a cheerleader and threw her hands over her head. The move pulled her shimmery pink skirt higher than I ever wanted to see it go again. Jesus, she could wear a thong at least.

Twitchy gestured for me to get in. I didn’t know his name. He had never offered it, and that was his right since I never told anyone mine. I shut the door.

“I don’t need to see that again. Talk about a mood breaker.” He made a face as he pulled off the curb, and zipped around the corner.

“I can fix your mood,” I said, reaching over and caressing his inner thigh.

“Mmm...You’re the only one who can. Without you my marriage, and my career, would have been all shot to hell a long time ago,” he said in a melancholy tone.

I didn’t pry. I figured most of my tricks were married. Many were secretly gay, strongly bi, or wanted, sometimes needed, something their partner would not give them. I made their lives more bearable.

Twenty minutes later I emerged from the crossover with a bruised knee and a hitch in my hip. How the hell he got me into that position I will never know. For three hundred bucks he could try to twist me into a pretzel if he wanted. Not that I could do it, but he was welcome to try.

I hoped for a nice leisurely string of normal fucks the rest of the night, but that didn’t happen. I would have sworn it was a full moon if I couldn’t see the sliver of white in the benighted sky.

It was an evening full of knees banged against dashboards, gearshifts in all the wrong places, and a pinched nerve in my back from straddling a leaning Harley. As I hobbled back to Paradise, I could feel a chiropractic visit coming on. Other than the shy freaks with small cars, the evening had gone remarkably well— except for learning of Georgie’s gruesome demise that is.  

“Jesus, Trey, you get beat up?” Benny asked, looking me over with concern.
 

I chuckled quietly and shook my head. “No, just a rough night.”
 

“Who the hell clocked your pretty little face then?” He pointed to my cheek.

“This...” my fingers went to the spot, prodded, and I felt the bland pain of a bruise along my cheekbone. “was a steering wheel,” I told him. 

He shook his head as amusement bloomed across his face then quickly turned to laughter.

“I’m glad my discomfort entertains you.” I introduced him to one of my more elegant fingers as I shoved the fuchsia door open.

Salvo wasn’t around. Tim slid my keys down the bar without missing a beat, as he set a line of Jager-Bombs up for a boisterous clutch. The torturous evening was taking its toll, and without a word, I headed home.
 

I showered, scrubbed, swallowed three Tylenol and hit the sheets close to two in the morning. I dreamt about him. Justin. Deliciously sweet imagery that had me aching in a way I didn’t understand when I woke.

A dulcet hum of longing danced over my nerve endings all day. Even “IT” was mesmerized by this new experience, and lay in a semi-lax tingling state.

The feeling magnified as Justin continued to float across the liquid dreamscape whenever I closed my eyes.

By the time I walked into Dr. Greene’s office Thursday, I was in a state of awareness so intense the brush of my cotton dress shirt against my skin was a sort of torture. Doc glanced at me as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. I must have been walking funny, because he frowned slightly as he indicated the couch.

“Nice tie, Doc.” It was the first chartreuse bowtie I had ever seen. It clashed a bit with his orange hair however.

He managed a scrimpy smile. “Trey, tell me about a time when you were happy as a child.” 

I guess we were done with the small talk. I crossed my legs and leaned back to get cozy. It wasn’t the most comfortable of couches, rather firm, and I gave up. I hadn’t been comfortable all day, why should it be any different here. Doc tented his fingers as he waited for me to quit wiggling. I finally settled my ankle across my knee and sighed thoughtfully.

“Before my father died, but I don’t want to talk about that today. I want to talk about my last nightmare,” I said firmly.

I had never been an overseer of the abuse that befell me and I wanted to know what it meant. The man before me could at least offer his own opinion. Whether I would agree with him or not remained to be seen.
 

His face showed a hint of amusement at my attempt to control the session. He paused for a moment, his mind working, as his fingertips strummed each other in succession.

He picked up his pen, smiling resignedly. “Very well. Tell me about your dream.”

“Nightmare,” I corrected, and launched into the details.

It took me most of the session to tell the story. I had to stop a few times as the pain of the experiences I was relating would steal my breath and voice. If Dr. Greene was nothing else, he was a patient man. He sat quietly as I told my story at my own needed pace. 

I was trembling and my cheeks were damp when I finished. He offered me a box of tissues and I tugged one out then dried my eyes. I wasn’t embarrassed. I knew I wasn’t the first boy to cry here, and I had shed so many tears over the years a few more made no difference to me.

I stared at him as he looked at me, his face full of compassion. For some reason the air around me thickened, and it became hard to breathe. I realized it was fear drifting around me. I had never told anyone so much. He didn’t have the whole story, but he had enough to draw a passably accurate portrayal of the path of my abuse. 

“Have you been involved with anyone in a relationship?” Doc asked.

“No,” I all but whispered.

What he said next almost sent me to the floor, and planted a seed of admiration in my mind for the man.

“Trey, are you seeing someone? Someone you want to care about?” 

I shook my head slowly as Justin’s cocky face formed in my head.

“A woman you think about then. Maybe a girl you admire from afar?” 

I shook my head again, and his lips tightened as he bowed his head. He knew I was averting. I had never been a good liar.
 

I wiped my palms down my jeans. “A man, I’ve seen only once. The night I met him,” I admitted, staring at my hands on my thighs as I felt my chest constrict.

Doc sucked in a little gasp and my eyes rose.

“Sorry,” he said. “I made an assumption and shouldn’t have.”
 

My chest released as this struck me as audaciously amusing. I couldn’t help myself.

“You thought I was straight? You figured because of what happened to me...” I trailed off shaking my head. “Doc, regardless of what happened... well, I don’t fight my nature,” I finally said.

“Trey, forgive me. It was presumptuous of me,” he began, “As for your dream, I believe your mind is trying to tell you it is okay to let go. What happened to you will always be there. However, when you forgive yourself, when you allow yourself to feel again, then you will be able to go forward. What happened to you is reprehensible. But you need to understand, you deserve to feel happiness and love. You too are entitled to a life.”
  He paused and studied me, I studied his shoes.

They were ugly mahogany leather lace-ups with thick black soles. His socks were olive green. Kind of Christmassy in a morose way.

“Trey,” he said, waiting until I raised my head to him. “It is not your fault. None of it. Your father’s death, your stepfather’s abuse, your mother’s addiction... none of it is your fault.” 

I cast my head to my chest and droplets of moisture landed on my clenched hands. I had been told this all before, but for some reason this time I felt the words. They sunk painfully into my skin, my bones, my mind. I wanted him to be right. Because I did blame myself for everything.

I found my father in his study. If I hadn’t gone in there he wouldn’t be dead. I knew it was ridiculous, but when you’re eight your mind conjures up the strangest things, and they stick with you like pine sap.

I could work on this one thing. It would be the simplest block to break. The rest— I wasn’t ready, maybe I never would be.
What a depressing thought
.

“Our times up. I want you to think about what you want. Where do you want your life to go, and we can talk about that next session.”
 

“I don’t have to think about that, Doc.” I unclenched my hands and looked at him earnestly. “I want to be normal. I want a normal life.”
 

He nodded sadly. I stood up knowing it was an unrealistic and illogical request. He remained seated as I made my way to the door feeling over rung.

“Trey,” he hesitated, and I paused with my hand on the knob, “work on being unafraid. Do something that brings you joy, even if the idea terrifies you.” 

I glanced at the back of Dr. Greene’s frizzy head, and knew exactly what he was encouraging me towards. Justin, or more specifically a relationship, and the idea
was
terrifying.

I sat in kitten for a long time, letting everything soak in. None of this was new, but the harsh desire to succeed in my own forgiveness was. When I drove out of the lot my intention was to think things further over dinner at Outback Steakhouse. However, I found myself staring down Justin’s tree shadowed driveway instead.

My body zinged and hummed ecstatically, as if it knew where it was. My mind on the other hand, shook and trembled, murmuring;
no, no, no
. My hand shifted to first as my feet worked the pedals on their own.

As I closed in on the house, I was jolted out of my trance as Fawkes came into view. He sat alone in front of the small detached coach house. Kitten pulled in next to him and cut her own engine. Or at least it seemed that way. I appeared to be working on auto-pilot. I gazed at the still house for a moment, as if it were something out of a horror movie. Then, just like a stupid person in that very same horror movie, I opened the door and stepped out of the protection of my car. As kitten’s door closed, the front door opened and Justin stepped onto the cedar deck.

I stopped breathing. He was in blue pajama bottoms and a white tank top, and he looked like he had just woken up. His hair was fantastically mussed.

I couldn’t read his expression; anger, fear, pain?
  I decided a mire of all three, with anger at the forefront since his neck and cheeks were swiftly turning the color of Fawkes.

“What are you doing here? Get the fuck off my property.” The pain flashed like lightning across a red sky as Justin’s face twisted. My fingers twitched against my palms. I deserved this. I had left him without even a good bye, and if I ever wanted him to forgive me, I would have to grovel. Something I was quite adept at. I took a few steps towards him. He glared a warning at me and a stopped.

“I’m sorry I ran,” I said.

“Why did you do that?”

My eyes squeezed closed at his hurt tone. “I was scared.” I had no reason to lie to him, and if I truly wanted this, him, I needed to lay myself in front of the train. “I was terrified. I’ve never...” I looked up at the plain grey
Seattle sky, lacing my fingers around the nape of my neck. 

“Never what?” he snapped.

“Never felt like that before. Felt like this before,” I corrected, glancing sideways at him. He shook his head in disbelief. “Justin, I’ve never liked anyone before. I’m not even sure I know how,” I said softly, bringing my eyes down to his face. 

His blues locked on mine, searching. “Never?” he asked skeptically.

I shook my head. He dropped his eyes to his ladybug slippers— how many pairs did he have?— as his hands worked behind his back.

“You left me. You didn’t even tell me why,” he said so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.

The muscles across my chest ratcheted down. He turned towards the door wagging his head slowly. He wasn’t going to stop, wasn’t even going to pull the brake, he was going to run me over. 

The warning given in the laundry room stabbed into me.
“He’s sensitive, it’s hard for him to like anyone, don’t hurt him.”
But I had, and I’d done it intentionally. My stomach curdled. I knew now what he had felt that day as I stormed out with hardly a word. A rending of flesh, heart, and mind as the steel wheels tore over me. Coming here had made me vulnerable, an easy target for rejection, and the pain that came with it. Neither was anything like I had expected. The turmoil broiling inside me was far worse. I didn’t know whether to run or stand and fight.

“Forgive me,” I found myself saying.

He hesitated on the threshold. It was only a moment but I was there, reaching, as he started to move into the house.

“Please forgive me. I’m sorry, and I think I made a mistake. Give me another chance.” The words tumbled out in a whisper over my lips and past his ear. I found myself leaning into his back, the desire to touch him confusing and almost intolerable.

“I ca—”

“Don’t say you can’t.” That was when I saw and grabbed hold of him tightly. His wrists were covered in nude elastic bandaging. “Justin what have you done?” I said more angrily than I intended. I didn’t need his answer. I knew even before he whimpered and collapsed. I lowered us to the deck, my arm viced around him as my other hand clasped his elbow.

“Why did you do this? Not over me?” I said then whispered, “I’m not worth it... Oh, Justin, I’m not worth it.” I rocked him against me as he quaked in my arms. If he was crying, he was doing so soundlessly. Laying my head against his, I lowered my gaze to his arms held rigidly against his chest. The bandages covered a third of his lower arms. He had been hiding them behind his back since he walked out the door, and I hadn’t thought anything of it.

I couldn’t be the reason, I just couldn’t. Something else had to have happened. Based on the warning given me in his laundry room, I had serious doubts this was the first time he had attempted suicide. This wasn’t just self-harm gone awry. I felt sure Justin had intended to die, and that was unbelievably disturbing.

His trembling altered to broken shivering.

“Let’s get you back inside,” I said, shifting him.
 

“Why’d you leave?” He lifted his head, his eyes were stormy and apprehensive as they rocked beneath thickened lids.

I heaved a hard breath, brushing my fingers along his temple. “I left because... to protect you from me. I thought I was the only fucked-up one.”

His pupils shrank just as his eyes darted away.

“Are you on medication?” I asked gently.

He didn’t seem able to stay focused on any one thing for more than seconds.

He nodded slightly; pulling on his lips with his fingers as his eyes swept somewhere down the drive.

“Come on, before you get a cold.” I slid him onto the deck, stood up, then reached down and pulled him to his feet.

Once inside, it was evident someone was staying here with him. A floral brocade suitcase sat open on the floor, while a tangle of bedding rested on the couch.

He headed for the kitchen, moving as if every step were agony. I entered a few steps behind and found him taking an ornate bottle of bright yellow liquid from the freezer. The cork had once been sealed by hand-dipping in red wax. Limoncello— the real stuff from
Italy, not what we could get here in the states. Some of these could be a hundred and eighty proof, and Justin was guzzling it.

I set my hand on the bottle, gently forcing it down. He wouldn’t let me take it from him. He did, however, set the bottle on the white Corian counter with a hollow
tunk
. He angled it back and stared at it.

“A gift from my grandparents. They have no idea their grandson had another breakdown.” He shook his head, and laughed sardonically. “Four bottles arrived the day I came home from
Fairfax,” he said, then added soberly, “This is the last bottle.” His fingers stroked the neck, and I assumed the affection was aimed at the giver not the gift.

“
Fairfax? What were you doing there?”

He gave me a wry look.

“How long?” I asked. 

He waved a hand dismissively, answering anyway. “Four days. They let me out on good behavior,” he joked, but
Fairfax wasn’t a joke.

It was a mental hospital in
Kirkland that I, myself, had spent some time at while waiting for a foster home to take me on.

“You shouldn’t have come back. You should leave.” I think he intended to smile, but he grimaced at me instead, as he raised his wrists up between us. “I’m unstable,” he said derisively.

I laughed, more of a cackle actually, like something that would come from the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Shit.” I shook my head, leaning a hip against the counter. My arms crossed my chest protectively as a sigh escaped my lips. He was offering
me
the easy out because
he
was unstable. It was sadly laughable. What a pair. I lifted my head and saw him as he stood now; broken, tired, hollow, and beautiful in a disastrous kind of way. Just like me. 

If I stayed we would have a lot to work out and might destroy each other in the end. If I walked away, could I do it and never look back? Would I ever find anyone who would take me over like he had? The answer to both questions was inconclusive. Because I honestly didn’t know.

As he stood trying to concentrate while the medicated stupor worked against him, all I knew right then, was that I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to be here for him when he broke down, and I wanted him to catch me when I slipped, and possibly fell. How idiotic was that? Way up there at the top of the scale I was sure. I could live with that though, and maybe... just maybe we would discover our own fucked up version of normal somewhere along the way.

I moved in close to him and took his face in my hands.

“Do you still want me?” I asked. 

His breath caught as his eyes crunched. He did, but he was as afraid as I was.

“I came back here to try. My therapist told me to try something terrifying. This will be the most terrifying thing I have ever done.” I stroked his cheek. “Justin, I can’t stop thinking about you, so why not be insane with you rather than without you.” I shrugged slightly. “I’m broken either way.”

“You have a therapist?” he asked, managing a small devilish grin.

“Yeah, I do.” I leaned my forehead against his, looking directly into his unfocused brilliant blue eyes. “Are you ready for this one?” I whispered. “He’s a sexual abuse therapist.” 

His eyes widened and something flashed through them that resembled remorse. It was so quick I couldn’t be sure. His hands had been gripping the edge of the counter behind him, and now he slid them on each side of my neck. He blinked lazily a few times before he managed to focus on me. His fingers tightened around the back of my neck as he grappled with himself, looking disconnected. Maybe the medication was mucking up his mind.

“If I stay, we have a lot to talk about, and even more to work through.” I closed my eyes. “Justin, I’ll need your help to make it, and I won’t sugar coat it. This, me, my breakdowns, will be very ugly at times. If you don’t think you can do it, tell me now and I’ll go.”

He surprised me by lifting my face so he could brush his lips across mine, oh so tenderly as if I might break right there. I almost did. No one had ever touched me with such care— it took my breath away and loosened all my moorings.

“Does that mean I can stay?” I murmured, rolling my forehead against his.

“It depends. How long will you stay this time?” His mind seemed to be working, even if his words were a bit slow.

“Sunday night.” I opened my eyes and stared into his miry gaze.

“Monday morning,” he countered, blinking wearily.
 

I grinned. “All right, Monday early morning.”

He smiled then it disappeared and was swiftly replaced with an expression of dread as his hands tightened against my jaw.

“Trey, you have to call me. I can’t... I can’t—”

I pressed my thumb to his lips. “I think I understand. You have insecurity issues.” It was only a guess. But one I was sure I had made correctly.

He looked down and nodded as if ashamed.

I tipped his chin up. “Don’t. You haven’t seen the darker side of Trey Grey yet.” I let go of him and stepped back. Justin staggered off balance, and I caught him around the waist. “What meds do they have you on?” 

He gripped my arm with one hand while he rubbed his face with the other.

“I took two Thorazine and a sleeping pill before you arrived so I could get some sleep,” he mumbled.

Jesus, I’d lose a whole day if I did that. I took a solid hold of him around his waist and started guiding him to his bedroom.

“What else did they give you?”

He yawned. “Um, nefazodone and buspirone.”

“They didn’t want you going anywhere for a while, did they?”

“I have a running script for BuSpar and Thorazine. Nefazone’s only two more weeks.”

“At least you have good drugs if I end up psychotic this weekend,” I said as I let him go next to his bed, guiding him down onto the edge.

“Is this demented?” He glanced up at me with an off-balance expression.

“Probably.”

He nodded, gripping the edge of the bed so he didn’t tip forward and hit the floor. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” he asked with a slight slur, while struggling with the covers.

“Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”

By the time I kicked off my shoes and removed my socks, his eyes were already drooping. However, he stubbornly refused to close them until I crawled in next to him. He nested into my shoulder, and I let my fingers run through his golden locks well past the time his breathing grew deep and regular. This was completely crazy. And yet this was the most peaceful I had felt in— since the last time I had lain in this very bed.

I’d just dozed off when the front door closed with a
bam
. A quick glance told me Justin was out for the count. I slid carefully out from under him, and headed towards the front room.

“Who are you and what are you doing in Justin’s room?” A female voice said edgily as I closed his bedroom door. I turned around, and groaned.

The girls eyes widened, “What are
you
doing here?  Get the fuck out before I call the cops.” Kelly said.

“Berate me in the kitchen. Justin’s sleeping.”

I blazed past, grabbing her arm before she could start yelling and wake him. She followed me hissing the whole way like a snake about to strike at its prey.