Date: Mon, 6 May 2002 22:25:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: jfinn <writnword@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Human Condition, Chapter 7

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to real people, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.  This is also a story that contains sexual
situations between adult males.  If this offends you or you live in country
where it is illegal to view this, please leave now. And to everyone left, I
hope you enjoy the story.



The Human Condition


Chapter 7

 I went over to the triple-sized shower stall and turned on the dual
jets. Okay, I admit it--this was the real reason we'd bought this
house. The architect apparently had a water fetish.

Not only was the shower huge, it had a built-in bench and enough hoses and
gadgets to fulfill any fantasies our vivid imaginations could think up. And
the shower wasn't the only thing the designer had added. The master bath
also had a 6 by 6 foot Jacuzzi and a sauna. The first time Joe had seen
these toys, his eyes had lit up and I'd known that it didn't matter if the
kitchen tiles were turquoise and the taps gold. We had found our home.

I stepped into the shower for the second time that morning. The hot water
beat down on my shoulders and I sighed from the feeling as clouds of steam
rose up to envelop me in a blanket of warmth. I reached for the shampoo as
Joe stepped into the enclosure. He took the shampoo out of my hand and
poured a big dollop of it into his palm.

"I thought you were all done?" I said, eying him suspiciously.

He grinned. "Yeah, but you had to take two, so I thought fair was fair."

Joe pushed me gently until my head was under the jets. I waited while the
water did its job, then stepped back. He reached up and massaged the
shampoo into my scalp.

"Mmmm, that feels good," I murmured as his strong hands worked their magic.

If Joe had any kind of fetish, this was it: he loved to shampoo my
hair. Well... actually anybody's hair, if I was honest about it. But now, I
was the lucky one who reaped the benefits of his little hobby.

It was Betsy who'd turned him on to the pleasure. That long, curly hair of
hers had been gorgeous, but those tresses were a time-consuming, royal pain
in the ass. Joe'd told me that he'd spent so much time waiting for her to
get out of the bathroom, that he finally decided it was a "if you can't
beat 'em, join 'em" situation, and he'd started to help her with the
chore. It wasn't long before this shampoo ritual was one of the high points
of their relationship. After they broke up, he'd continued the tradition
with all his girlfriends... and eventually with me.

Joe had been nervous, almost embarrassed, when he'd first admitted this to
me, but I told him it didn't matter. It was the truth. I didn't mind that I
wasn't the first lover he'd played this game with--as long as I stayed
the last.

"Do you remember the first time I did this?" Joe could still read my mind.

"With Betsy?" I asked, my eyes still closed.

"No," he said, still gently massaging my scalp. "With you."

Okay, so he wasn't perfect at it. Still, it was close.

"Yeah," I chuckled softly. "I'll never forget it. Jesus, I was so scared."

"You were scared?" He massaged harder and I bit back a groan of
contentment. "Think of me! I didn't know what the fuck was happening."

I opened my eyes, then looked over my shoulder at him and raised my
eyebrows.

He grinned back sheepishly. "Okay, I knew, I just wasn't ready to admit
it." He kissed me lightly on the mouth, his hands still tangled in my soapy
hair. "But I'm real glad you..."

"...and Betsy." I couldn't help it; I had to add that.

"...and Betsy," Joe sighed and agreed, "pointed out the error of my ways."

So was I, I thought, though at the time, I wasn't sure at all...


* * *


February 15, 1989

I never heard the details about exactly what happened on that Saturday
morning. Lucy, Beau, Kevin and some of the others who were involved told me
bits and pieces, but the only one who knew the whole story was Joe, and to
this day, he refuses to talk about it. All he's ever said was that the
minute he walked into my apartment, he felt there was something terribly
wrong.

In the end, though, it was Kevin who finally put all the pieces together
and figured out where I was. Joe called him first, after he'd gotten to my
empty apartment around 2AM. He didn't know Cam's number and he was hoping
Kevin had it. Kevin, being no fool, could tell from the tone in Joe's voice
that it wouldn't be a good idea at all to let him talk to Cam. Even if I
was there and fine, Kevin had this feeling things could get ugly. Like I
said, Kevin was smart, and he'd already noticed things about Joe's behavior
that I'd completely missed. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Kevin told Joe that he'd call Cam and get back to him. He had a little bit
of trouble convincing him to go for this, but he finally managed by
suggesting that Joe check with Lucy and see if she knew anything. They
could kill two birds with one stone. Joe reluctantly agreed, and Kevin hung
up and called Cam.

He wasn't exactly worried at that point. Kevin figured I'd maybe overslept
or something. But when Cam answered and curtly told him he didn't know and
didn't care where I was, alarm bells went off.

He figured there was no way he should pass that message on to Joe. Cam
hadn't been exactly forthcoming on the phone, but Kevin thought he might be
able to do better if he saw him in person. Of all my friends, Kevin got
along with Cam best. Cam respected his work at the center, and had even
volunteered some time down there to help with the legal problems that
always follow runaways. Kevin was grateful to him and they'd struck up a
cordial, if not close, acquaintance. So if anybody was going to get Cam to
come clean about the last night's events, it was Kevin.

He showed up at Cam's door ten minutes later. Cam was a little belligerent,
but he didn't refuse to talk to Kevin. He did, however, make it clear that
he thought the whole thing was an utter waste of time.

So Cam told him what he knew, but that seemed to lead nowhere. When Kevin
insisted, Cam had dug around until he found Randall's phone number, who in
turn gave them Elliot's. But Elliot wasn't home when they tried him, and
the boy, Andrew, had vanished.

Apparently, Cam hadn't taken advantage of his part of the boyfriend
exchange. Once he'd gotten Andrew in the car, he'd told him it was nothing
personal, but he wasn't in the mood. He asked him if he wanted Cam to take
him home, but Andrew had said no and asked to be dropped off at a friend's.

Cam didn't know the friend's name, and the apartment complex he lived in
was huge. Cam wasn't sure which building Andrew had gone into, since they
all looked alike to him. Kevin tried to pin him down, but the only thing he
could remember was the building faced a clubhouse and one of the windows
had a block "M" blanket in it instead of a curtain. Not exactly a great
clue; half the students at the U of M used school memorabilia like that as
decorations.

Kevin thanked Cam anyway and asked to use his phone. He knew that Joe was
probably chomping at the bit by now and only hoped that Lucy had been able
to keep him from going completely crazy. The phone was picked up on the
first ring. Joe answered and Kevin explained briefly that Cam and I had
parted ways fairly early the night before. Then, he told him about Andrew
and Elliot, going into as little detail as possible.

Joe exploded. In between threats about what he was going to do to Cam if he
ever saw him again, he told Kevin he was going to go look for Andrew. Kev
tried to explain how impossible that would be, but Joe insisted. Kevin
agreed to meet Joe at the complex. He couldn't let him do it alone, no
matter how hopeless he personally thought it would be.

They started knocking on doors. Eventually, even Joe realized how long this
would take. It didn't mean he was ready to give up though. He called Beau
and Abdul and Kevin did the same with some other friends, and eventually
they collected a posse to help.

Now it was both Joe and Kevin who were being labeled as alarmists, but as
the hours evaporated and there was still no sign of me, everybody caught
the panic bug. Betsy had a friend at the hospital check admissions and
Kevin got a hold of a police detective he knew from his work at the kid's
center. The cop was sympathetic and said he'd put out some feelers, but
there was nothing he could do officially because I hadn't been missing long
enough for the police to become involved.

It was Beau who finally knocked on the right door in the apartment
complex. A young man named Charles opened it and reluctantly admitted that
Andrew had spent the night with him. Beau called down the hall to Abdul to
find Joe and then he stepped inside the apartment.

At first, Andrew didn't want to talk to him. As the room filled up with my
friends, he grew increasingly frightened and hostile. Kevin showed up and
ordered everybody else out. Then he took Andrew into the bedroom and
started to plead with him. Fifteen minutes later he walked out of the
apartment with a white face and a slip of paper with an address on it.

Joe would have gone himself by then, but Kevin convinced him to wait until
he could get his cop buddy to meet him. It was decided that Beau and Abdul
would also go along. Size and numbers might be necessary. The rest of the
group said they'd wait to hear from the other four. They said their
goodbyes, leaving Joe and the rest of the group to wait in the apartment
complex's parking lot for Kevin's pet detective, Bob Hoyle.

As I said though; I didn't know any of this at the time. To be truthful,
there wasn't much I was aware of by then, including what was being done to
my body. The pain had become too great to distinguish individual
sources. Elliot had been very efficient in dealing it out.  Even so, he
hadn't succeeded in breaking me.

Hey, don't get the idea I was Rambo. I cried, I screamed, and I tried to
reason with him. But I never pretended I liked it, never begged him for
more, nor would I admit that he had bested me, even though somewhere in my
head I knew that would've probably make it easier.

Because that was what he wanted. It wasn't enough for him to just do what
he did to me; he needed me to approve of it, too. And that I couldn't
do. I'm afraid this only made him more determined, and he used all his
resources to make me change my mind. Strangely, in the end, it wasn't me
who lost control, but Elliot.

Through swollen lids, I'd watched the man I'd labeled as mild, turn into a
monster. I'd unleashed his demons by my refusal to give in to him. Maybe if
I'd been smarter about it, I would have pretended for awhile, and maybe I'd
have been able to get away with a beating and a little rough sex. Now, I
had the feeling that we'd traveled too far down this road. He could never
release me. Not only was I an example of his failure, but I was
dangerous. I knew what he was capable of, and I couldn't be trusted to keep
my mouth shut.

He turned his back on me and I saw his shoulders were shaking. He was
grappling with a decision. I thought dully that I knew what it was going to
be. I was almost out of time. Elliot turned around again and I glimpsed
what was in his hands. It was blurry, but even through my dulled vision, I
could see a sharp metallic edge that glinted as it came towards me.

"Oh, Jesus, Joe," I thought or even may have said out loud, "you have to
come now."

He did. They all did. There was the splinter of wood and the crash of
breaking glass. Shouts sounded in the house and there was another bang as
the door of the dungeon imploded under Abdul's weight. I sagged against the
chains that held me and waited.

"Put it down!" a voice I didn't recognized ordered.

I opened my eyes just as Elliot backed into a corner and started to babble.

"Get out of here! This is private property! I'll call the police! I'll have
you arrested!" He screamed like a man possessed, waving his arms wildly.

"I am the police."

The voice again and now I saw it was connected to a curly-haired blonde who
looked more like a little kid than an avenging angel. Then I saw the
expression on his face and changed my mind.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ!"

Abdul who never swore, repeated over and over.

The room was crowded now. Abdul had been first, then the man who said he
was a cop. I saw Beau and Kevin frozen in shock as they took in the
contents of the room. But where was Joe?

I felt hands gently slide around my torso, lifting me up, taking away the
terrible strain on my shoulders. I groaned in relief and pain as cramps
seized my stretched muscles.

"Shh, Mike." Joe said softly. "It's okay, buddy, it's okay now. I'm
here. He won't hurt you anymore."

He barked at Kevin to find the keys, and together they got me down off of
the rack. I was naked and bloody and Joe held onto me like he would never
let go. When I was finally released, he half-carried/half-dragged me to the
bed where he sat and cradled me in his arms.

He never stopped talking to me, soothing me, telling me it was over. He
held my head to his chest and I could feel his heart. For the first time I
started to sob. My chest convulsed as my lungs, starved for hours by the
constricted position I'd been in, tried to take in too much air at once. I
could barely move my arms, but my fingers clutched at Joe, making sure he
was real and not some hallucination.

The rest of the room faded as I tried to concentrate on the man who was
holding me. Over and over he repeated his mantra: I was safe, he wouldn't
leave, I wasn't alone.

Neither of us saw the look that Kevin gave Beau or the nod that answered
him. Neither of us saw the way the other men in the room avoided looking at
us, giving us time together that they were sure we needed.

There was a scuffle in the corner of the room. Elliot, in a burst of
desperation, tried to use the knife he'd been holding when my friends had
entered the room. It gave Abdul the opportunity he'd wanted. His huge fist
shot out and in one blow he shattered Elliot's jaw. He would have finished
the job, but the cop put his hand on his arm.

"Thanks, but I think you got him."

"I don't know about that," Ab argued, "he still looks dangerous to me."

Both men looked down at Elliot who was cowering on the floor. The detective
looked sideways at Abdul who shrugged and reluctantly moved away, out of
range of temptation.

Beau took over as guard while Bob the cop went in search of a phone. A few
minutes later Bob was back. He said the police were on their way along with
an ambulance.

"I want to get Mike out of this room." Joe spoke to the others for the
first time since he'd seen me.

Abdul and Kevin came over to help him, but he shrugged them away. He held
me tightly in his arms, and carried me out of the room. Somewhere in my
scrambled brain, a memory stirred.

"I'm sorry," I croaked into his ear.

"This wasn't your fault," Joe responded fiercely.

"No, not about that." I started to laugh and then shuddered as the pain hit
me again. "You were right--I didn't think you could do it. Carry me,
that is."

Joe looked down at me, puzzled. Then his own memory kicked in, and he knew
I was talking about the first night we met. He smiled tightly and gripped
me harder.

He made it to the living room and sat down on the couch with me still
draped on his lap. There was an afghan and he put it around me. He pulled
me closer and I felt the heat from him start to seep into my
bones. Suddenly I felt exhausted, as if I'd been up for days.

"I knew you'd come," I whispered.

I felt him tense up. My hair, tangled and damp with sweat, had fallen over
my face. I felt Joe's hand reach up and smooth it behind my ear.

"When are you going to break down and cut this mess?" His voice was gruff,
but his hand continued to stroke my head that was resting on his shoulder.

Neither of us said anymore. I drifted in and out of consciousness. I heard
distant voices and sirens, and then someone was trying to separate me from
Joe. I resisted until he whispered it was okay, I was safe now, and that he
wouldn't leave me. It was only the last part that convinced me to finally
relax my grip.

I was loaded onto a gurney and taken out to the waiting ambulance. Joe
walked beside me, talking to me the whole time. When he jumped into the
back of the van with me, someone started to protest, but I heard Kevin's
voice and the objections ended. Joe sat beside me and told me to hold his
hand and squeeze tight when the bumps in the road got too much for me.

The ride seemed to take forever, and I drifted in and out of
consciousness. When we got to the hospital, Joe finally had to stay back. I
saw him looking after me as they whisked me into the emergency room. As I
watched, Betsy ran up to him and grabbed his arm. I tried to lift my hand,
but there was something wrong with my shoulders and I couldn't manage it.

In spite of my pain and exhaustion, I couldn't help but recognize the deja
vu quality of this whole scenario. It had been a little over three years
since Joe and I had acted this out before. Then, it had brought about the
beginning of our friendship; now, I had a feeling as I thought of him with
Betsy, it might well mark the end of it. Not good thoughts.

Funny, but the whole time I was in that room with Elliot, I'd seemed to
have forgotten Joe's telling me he'd be leaving. Now it came back to me
with a rush of pain that had nothing to do with what I'd just gone
through. Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes and the young intern
who was examining me misunderstood and ordered some pain medication. He
didn't realize where I hurt couldn't be numbed by a narcotic.

The next couple hours are something I'd rather forget, so I'm not going to
tell you the details of the further indignities that were inflicted on
me. It's enough to say that it hurt like hell and was incredibly
humiliating to boot. When they were finally done, poking, prodding,
x-raying and stitching me, they admitted me to a room.

It was a private, which sort of surprised me, but I was in no condition,
nor was I inclined, to question it. Although I was full of painkillers, I
hadn't slept since I'd been on that couch in Joe's arms. I was exhausted,
but I wasn't sure I wanted to chance sleep. The possibilities of what
awaited me in my dreams scared the Hell out of me.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I heard the door swing open, but I
didn't have the energy to look and see who it was. A hand reached down and
grabbed mine. I squeezed reflexively.

"Hey Mike," Kevin said, "how're you doing?"

I opened my eyes and saw him smiling down at me. Joe stood beside him. He
was trying to smile too, but he wasn't as successful as Kevin.

"I've been better," I croaked.

"I believe that," Kevin grimaced.

He looked around and found a chair and pulled it up next to me. Joe just
stood there. He was taking in the contraption they had me in and all the
tubes and bandages I was sporting. He swallowed hard like he was trying to
get enough saliva in his mouth to speak.

"Hi," was all he finally managed.

"Hi, yourself," I whispered.

"They, uh... have you in a Stryker," he continued.

"Is that what it's called?"

Joe nodded.

"That's what you're lying on anyway. The frame is a circle bed. They use
this a lot with patients with pressure spots--that's bed sores to
you--or for orthopedic cases. That's why there's a hole cut out in the
mattress and the circle can turn so they can flip you onto another one
without pulling on you."

The nurses had already explained all this to me and why I was in this
strange bed. Elliot's first slash on my ass had been a lulu: it had taken a
couple hundred stitches and had been a complicated closure because the cut
went all the way down to the bone . The wound would have been excruciating
to lie on, plus that could have hindered the healing process. But I
couldn't lie on my stomach, either, because one of Elliot's little toys, or
maybe his fists, had bruised the hell out of my testicles. This bed had
been their only option.

Still, I let Joe explain it all to me again. It seemed to put him at ease;
talking about the medical equipment was something he was familiar with
doing from his orderly days. He finally finished, looked around, found
another chair and pulled it up on the right, the opposite side from
Kevin. He sat back and relaxed, but stiffened at Kevin's next sentence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I twisted my head to look at Kevin. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his
head. I thought he was going to make a very good therapist.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Joe protested, and I could hear
the tension in his voice.

"What happened to Elliot?" I decided to take the middle road.

"After they wired his jaw, he was admitted into the forensic unit at
Ypsillanti." Kevin offered. "They'll arraign him this afternoon."

I barely took in what he was saying. I was too busy watching Joe as he
stood abruptly and went to the window and stared at the view of that
parking lot as if it had all the appeal of the Grand Canyon. It was obvious
he wanted to be anywhere but in this room, talking about this subject.

"Mike," Kevin squeezed my hand, bringing me back to the conversation,
"there's something you should know..."

"Oh, Jesus," Joe hissed, "do you think he has to know about this now?"

He didn't turn around, but I noticed his hands griping the window sash, the
knuckles white from the effort. I turned and looked at Kevin's face. He'd
stopped talking, but his eyes asked me if he should go on and I
nodded. However bad the news was, I had to know.

Kevin took a deep breath. "The police did a search of the cabin. They
found... well, some things. Apparently you weren't Elliot's first
victim. It looks like he had a habit of picking up guys and bringing them
back there. Then, he'd beat the shit out of them. A few times it was
consensual, but most of the time it looks as if the men had no idea what
they were getting into."

Joe made a choking noise at the window. Kevin looked up at him, his eyes
narrowing as he thought for a minute. It was as apparent to him as it was
to me that Joe was ready to explode. Kevin looked back down at me.

"Get him out of here," he mouthed silently.

He was right, Joe needed to leave, but it took my sluggish brain a little
time to process why Kevin didn't tell him to get out. Then it hit me--if
Kevin did that, Joe would just get pissed.

"Joe," I croaked, "I'm really dry. Could you go get me a Coke or
something?"

That should get him out of the room for a couple of minutes at least. He'd
have to find a nurse to get him a can.

"That sounds good," Kevin agreed. "Get me one too, okay?"

That was even better, since the sodas at the nurses stations were for
patients only. He'd would have to go to the visitor's center on the second
floor for Kevin's pop.

Joe turned and looked at us with raised eyebrows. It was obvious he figured
out our little ruse, but he didn't say anything, just shrugged and made his
way to the door. There he turned and looked back at us.

"I'm going to make some phone calls while I'm out. I'll be back in about
twenty minutes, okay?"

"Great," Kevin said.

He left and Kevin sat back in his chair with a sigh of relief. I didn't
realize until that moment how much tension Joe had brought into the room.

"Do you want the scoop, or are you just going to stare at that door until
Joe comes back?"

I jerked my eyes back in Kevin's direction. If he saw the red rushing to my
cheeks, he ignored it. I quickly realized that I was going to have to be
more careful in the future if I didn't want him, or any of my other
perceptive friends, to figure out how I really felt about Joe.

"So how are you really feeling?" he asked gently.

I winced. "Like I had a softball bat rammed up my ass."

"Pretty close to what happened," Kevin agreed.

"And then it feels like he took the damn thing and beat me with it."

"Yeah, well..." He smiled sympathetically.

"The doctors told me I was lucky." I tried, but I couldn't keep the irony
out of my voice. "My left shoulder is separated, and I have a couple
hundred stitches on the left side of my butt and a couple of small anal
tears, but other than that I'm okay."

"I know. The doctor came and talked with us."

Kevin leaned forward in his chair and grabbed my hand again. His face was
serious and I knew whatever he was going to say next was not going to be
pleasant.

"You are lucky, Mike. That's what I wanted to tell you. You're gonna find
out anyway. Elliot made some tapes. Some of the other guys, well... The
police don't think they were so lucky."

I thought about that for a minute. I had no problem believing him though;
I'd seen the look in Elliot's eyes when he'd been holding that knife.

I shook the memory away with a shudder. "He was going to kill me, Kevin. If
you guys had gotten there 5 minutes later, I'd be dead."

"He's a sick fuck."

"Yeah, I know that now. I just don't know why I didn't figure it out in the
first place," I said, shaking my head.

"Oh, do not go there!" Kevin tightened his grip on my hand, making me
wince. "You are not at fault! Elliot is. He's the asshole--remember
that. Nobody else."

"But if I hadn't gone with him," I argued, "If I hadn't been pissed off at
Cam and acted like a spoiled brat, none of this would've happened! You
weren't there. I didn't just lead Elliot on--I told him I'd fuck him!"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "That's irrelevant and you know it."

Most of me knew he was right. I had changed my mind about having sex with
Elliot. At worst, that should have earned me a couple of sarcastic remarks
and a long, cold night of hitchhiking. Instead, I'd been tied up, beaten
and--I forced myself to form the word in my mind--raped. There was no
way I'd deserved any of that, and I fought desperately to hold onto that
thought.

"Mike, you're going to have to deal with this, but I don't think now is the
time. You need to get some rest, bud. We can talk later. I'll stay until
Joe gets back, and then he'll be here until you wake up."

I nodded. My body was humming with exhaustion, and now that Kevin and Joe
were here, I wasn't as worried about facing my dreams. The resources I'd
called on to keep awake were all used up. I closed my eyes and started to
drift.

"I never told you thank you," I murmured, already half-asleep.

Kevin grinned. "Hey, you owe me ten bucks, I had to make sure you were
going to be around for me to collect."

"I knew you guys would come. I knew Joe would figure out something was
wrong." My words sounded distant and slightly slurred. I wasn't even sure
if I spoke or just thought the words until Kevin answered me.

"You know, I didn't believe Joe at first. Nobody did," he said. "He was
like this madman, insisting you were in trouble. I think that's why we all
helped at first, to appease him. I don't know what he'd have done if we
hadn't found you. I always wondered, but today was the first day I
realized..."

His voice faded as I slipped into sleep.


* * *


I was more or less unconscious for the next twenty-four hours. There were
times when I heard voices, others when I functioned in a semi-conscious
state, just long enough to drink some water or pee, but mainly I slept. It
was deep and dark and still, and whatever I dreamed, I'd forgotten it all
by the time I woke up.

And when that happened, Joe was there, as Kevin had promised. He was
sitting in a chair next to the bed and he was reading. He didn't notice I
was awake and I watched him. A small frown had settled around his mouth. It
was a look I was well-familiar with, and I knew it meant that he was
concentrating. I looked at the title of the book. It was Nabokov's Lolita.

"Pervert," my mouth was so dry the word sounded like rust.

"You're awake," he said, as he put the book down and smiled.

He walked over to the bed and took the cup on the stand and fit the straw
to my lips. I sipped and felt the cool water sinking into the dry tissue in
my mouth. After a couple small sips he moved it back.

"How're you feeling?"

I thought about that for a minute before answering. There was only one word
to describe it.

"Sore."

"Yeah. That's pretty much how you're going to feel, too, for the next
couple of days."

He put the straw to my mouth again, and this time I sucked on it
greedily. His hand had to hold it still, and in doing so it rested on my
chin.

"You could use a shave," he said, rubbing his fingers on my stubble.

"No doubt, but I don't think I'm up to it."

Which was true. Even though technically there wasn't much wrong with my
right shoulder, it still hurt too much for me to move my arm. The left was
completely out of commission, as it was strapped securely to my chest.

I grinned at Joe and waited for a smartass comeback. I waited for him to
take his hand from my face. But he was silent, and his hand stayed where it
was.

I know that most of you will think I'm an idiot when I tell you that it
still didn't dawn on me what was happening. I have a good excuse: for three
years I'd trained myself to think of Joe as completely off-limits. Hell, I
don't think I'd even taken a good look at the guy since we were sophomores.

Oh, I could describe every inch of him--the shape of his hands, his
ears, the curve of his collar bone and ass--but I'd learned these in
glimpses, my eyes sucking in the details, memorizing them in brief seconds
of study. That was all I'd allow myself. I justified it at the time as my
way of not making a straight boy feel uncomfortable around me. Later, I
knew that was a rationalization, just another way of convincing myself that
all I felt for Joe was friendship.

So when Joe continued to brush my chin with his thumb and when his fingers
uncurled to stroke my cheek, it never occurred to me to wonder why he was
doing that. Besides, I was too concerned about what his touch was doing to
me to take the next logical step and wonder why the hell he was doing it in
the first place. The minute I felt the warmth of his hand, I was acutely
aware of an answering warmth of my own. Neither drugs nor painful injuries
were enough to override the pleasure that shot through my system. I could
feel my cock throb and spring to life, and it was all I could do not to
look down to see if my arousal showed through the thin blue hospital
blanket.

Oh, Jesus, I thought. If this was how it was going to be, how I'd react
every time I was with him, then maybe it really was for the best that he
and Betsy would be leaving town after their marriage. I could feel my
cheeks flush and I was trying to look anywhere but at Joe, which wasn't
easy when you're flat on your back and strapped to a board.

"Mike." Joe's hand stilled, but he didn't remove it and it was all I could
do to keep myself from nuzzling it. "There's something..."

Suddenly, the door slammed open and one of the nurses, a black woman with
bright yellow hair, came stomping in. Joe jumped back like he'd been hit
with a cattle prod, spilling what was left of the water all down my chest.

That was enough for the nurse to order him out of the room. Joe didn't take
a lot of convincing, either. he was out of there before I'd had a chance to
say goodbye or wonder what it was he'd been about to say.

Whatever it was, I wasn't going to hear it anytime soon either. The next
couple of days were spent in non-stop rounds of annoying tests, painful
therapy, and exhausted sleep. In between, I was visited by a never-ending
stream of friends. It seemed my room was always full, and that meant that
Joe and I had no chance to be alone.

Which was just as well with me. I needed time to think about how I was
going to deal with him, now that I realized how I really felt. But that
meant being alone, and as I've already said, I wasn't getting much of that.

In fact, there were only a few times when I only had one guest. The first
time was Kevin, and it was pretty apparent that he was alone by design and
not chance. He was in full therapist mode, and I was shown just exactly how
good he was at his chosen profession.

He'd managed to get me to tell him most of what I remembered about my night
with Elliot. Then he sat there and held me as I cried after the words dried
up and choked me, making it difficult to breathe. When I was quiet again,
he pulled a card out of his pocket and gave it to me.

He told me it was the name of therapist; a woman, Alice Wanamaker, who had
worked with a number of rape victims, and that some of them were men. When
he saw my expression, he agreed that I was probably fine, but he hoped I'd
indulge him and call her. He was--and still is--a very good
therapist.

The second visitor that I managed to have a tete a tete with was Betsy, and
this happened more than once over the three additional days I spent in the
hospital. It wasn't really surprising, since she worked in the ER on a
rotating shift schedule. At that time she was on evenings, so she would
come up on her break after all the regular visitors had been sent home. As
I said before, I liked Betsy the more I got to know her, and she was always
welcome, though I must admit, I had a hard time looking at the ring on her
left hand; a new addition since I'd seen her before. The first time she
came in, she noticed my staring and she stretched out her arm so I could
get a better look.

"It's beautiful," I said sincerely, though the words didn't come easily to
me.

She smiled. "Thanks."

"So, have you two set a date?"

I'd tried to ask Joe this a few times already, but he always blew me off,
saying we'd talk about him after I was better. He didn't seem to realized
that I desperately wanted to know how long he was going to be around, and I
didn't have the courage to push it. I loved Joe. That knowledge was huge in
my mind. I was sure anything I said or did would make it obvious.

So in three years, our friendship had come full circle. I was once again
silent because I was afraid to let him know about an integral part of my
being. There was a difference though: this time, Joe was just as
silent. Stupidly, I was sure he was having trouble dealing with what had
happened to me.

"May 20th," Betsy's voice penetrated my thoughts.

"What?" I'd been drifting thinking of the ring and picturing Joe's lean,
long fingers slipping it on Betsy's.

"The wedding date. That's what you asked me."

"Oh, right. Sorry, it's the drugs." It was a convenient excuse. I was going
to miss it when it was no longer applicable.

"I would've waited," Betsy continued, "but Joe doesn't want to."

"I know, he told me. It makes sense when you consider the move and
all. It'll give you time to settle in."

Betsy looked at me with like she didn't know what I was talking about.

"Well sure, I guess," her tone told me she was humoring me, "but it's not
really that big a deal. I mean, it's not like we're making a big change. He
still has half his stuff at my place, even though he moved back to the
house."

Now it was my turn to look puzzled.

"You're keeping your place?" I said incredulously, as what she was saying
finally started to sink in.

"Well sure," she nodded, oblivious to what this news meant to me. "We both
like it well enough, and it's convenient for both of us."

"But what about California?" I had to make sure I was understanding her
correctly.

She looked at me curiously. "California?"

"I thought Joe said something about moving to California?"

"Yeah, I was thinking about moving back, but of course, that's changed
now. There's no way I could convince Joe into leaving Ann Arbor for medical
school. Maybe I can talk him into a residency out west. We'll see."

She left a few minutes later, so I don't think she noticed how much her
revelation had stunned me.

Joe wasn't leaving.

For some reason he'd decided against it, he hadn't even mentioned the
possibility to Betsy. Maybe, I thought, that's what he'd been going to tell
me when we'd been interrupted.

Intellectually, I knew this could make no difference to the hopelessness of
my feelings about him. But that didn't stop me from grinning like a fool,
every time I thought about it.

Betsy did one more late night visit before I went home. I was actually
dozing when she came in. She didn't try and wake me; instead, she sat down
quietly in the chair by my bed and closed her own eyes.

Gradually I gained consciousness and realized she was sitting there. I
looked at the glowing face of my watch. It was after 1 AM. I looked at
Betsy, surprised she was still at the hospital. Her shift ended at 11. She
looked tired. She had those dark blue circles under her eyes that a child
gets when they've stayed up too long past their bedtime. Her lovely hair
was matted from being jammed into a surgical cap, and she looked like she
lost some weight she didn't need to lose. She had told me several days
earlier that the ER was chronically understaffed, and I knew how hard she
and the other staff had to work to make up for that.

Betsy was an excellent nurse. Not that I was any judge, but I'd heard that
from enough people who were to know it was true. Even my own doctor had
said something about it when he'd come in once when she was visiting with
Joe. But the really important thing, as far as I was concerned, was that
she was even a better person.

She'd lost so much this last year; her whole family, in one way or
another. Most people would have whined over the injustice or become bitter,
but I knew when Betsy opened those big gray eyes she would smile, and
unless you knew her very well, you'd miss the pain that was hidden behind
their depths.

It suddenly occurred to me how courageous she was. No wonder Joe loved her
so much. I couldn't blame him. I was half in love with her myself, and I
did feel as close to her as I was to my own sister.

So, no matter what my own feelings were, I couldn't be jealous of Betsy for
what she had with Joe. And as lucky as she was to have him, I thought he
was even luckier to have found her.

"What are you grinning at?"

I hadn't realized she was awake and looking at me. There was the expected
smile, and the sight of it made me blurt out what I was thinking.

"I really love you--you know that, don't you?" I said, laughing.

"Now he tells me, after I'm already taken," she said to the ceiling.

We laughed together. "I was just thinking how great it was that my best
friend and my best girl were getting married," I said.

This wasn't lip service, I meant it, but Betsy didn't have the reaction to
my words that I expected. She dropped her eyes and looked down at her lap,
fascinated suddenly by her hands.

"Yeah, well..."

She jerked her head up and looked back at me. I was surprised at the
unhappiness I saw there.

"Mike, has Joe said anything to you? I mean, has he ever said why he wants
to get married right away?"

"He's in love and he wants to get married. Makes sense to me." I tried to
shrug, but it was a bad idea, and the pain that shot through my shoulders
made me wince.

"Look," said Betsy, noticing my discomfort, "this is the wrong time to be
bugging you. Forget I asked."

"No sweetie, it's okay--really." I thought for a minute about what I
wanted to tell her.

"Joe's always had this vision," I began. "He has this whole scenario
planned out in his head: the wife, the kids, the house in the suburbs. I
think he watched The Brady Bunch way too much when he was little."

Betsy didn't laugh.

"Anyway," I continued, "he talks about it a lot--always has, this year
especially. I think graduating has made it seem like he should be getting
on with it."

"So, you think him picking me was just a matter of being at the right place
at the right time."

The bitterness in Betsy's voice was unmistakable.

"No, of course not!" I protested. "Joe loves you.  You must know that."

"I'm not so sure..."

"Betsy..."

She raised her hand in protest. "Hear me out, Mike. Okay--I'll give you
that he loves me. I'm just not sure that he's in love with me. It's a big
difference."

On impulse I stretched out my hand, and she grabbed it, holding on, looking
down at it as if it were a lifeline.

"You want to know the really awful thing?" she whispered. "I'm not sure I'm
in love with Joe, either."

"Oh, Betsy..."

A thousand things went through my head that I could have said to reassure
her. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. Betsy
seemed oblivious and after a moment she went on.

"We get along so well, it's as if we've always known each other. We never
fight--did you know that? It's like we've already been married for
twenty years. So comfortable and safe. It's almost eerie. I mean, it would
be great if it had really had been that long, but shouldn't there be more?
Shouldn't that be the end of the journey and not the beginning?"

I squeezed her hand and she smiled. I noticed the tears in her eyes and she
laughed embarrassedly, then brushed them away with her free hand.

"Damn," she said, "what a bitch I am. Complaining about not having
fights--it's pathetic. Don't mind me."

"Hey, don't apologize," I said. "You know I'm here for you."

"Even when I don't make sense?"

"Especially then."

We both laughed and Betsy got up to leave. I made a protesting noise, but
she ignored it.

"Well, now that I've made a total fool of myself," she said as she walked
by my bed, "I need to get going. Joe's waiting at my place. We have to go
register at Hudson's tomorrow."

"God, he's waiting? He must be going nuts, it's almost 2 AM."

"I called him and told him I was working late and that I was going to stop
up here after and check up on you. He said he was just going to bed."

"Well," I smiled, "then I certainly don't want to keep you."

Betsy gave me a funny look I couldn't read.

"Trust me, I don't think he minds," she muttered.

Before I could think of a response, she leaned down and kissed me
goodbye. Then she gave me an extra hug.

"'Night, Mike," she turned on her heel and walked to the door and
turned. She was smiling again. "Did I ever tell you I think it's a damn
waste that you're gay?"

"That all depends on your point of view," I responded and listened to her
laugh all the way down the hall as the door closed behind her.

* * *

It's always hard to sleep in a hospital. That's probably why they wake you
up in the middle of the night to give you a sleeping pill. They've learned
from bitter experience that an unmedicated patient can't sleep through the
bells and the whispers and dull thuds that are a hospital's version of
crickets and nightingales.

This was my last night. I was to be discharged in the morning and I'd
refused the obligatory pill that had been offered soon after Betsy left. My
excuse had been that I wanted to be alert the next day. That wasn't the
real reason; I needed to think.

If Betsy was telling the truth, and I had no reason to believe otherwise,
then why had Joe proposed? It wasn't like him to settle for something less
than the best. For three years now, he'd been lecturing me against doing
that very thing. He was one of the last great romantics; why was he willing
to play it safe now?

I tried to concentrate, but, sleeping pill or not, I was starting to
drift. As I felt the darkness descend on my mind, a little thought burst
out of my subconscious and tried to worm its way to the front of my
brain. I opened my eyes wide as the idea grew. No. I shook my head. It was
too ridiculous. I was getting punchy. I closed my eyes again, but now, I
wasn't sleepy and it was hours before I lost consciousness.

The doctor didn't get around to discharging me until after 11. By that
time, I was fully dressed and gingerly sitting in a wheelchair with Lucy
and Betsy. Joe was waiting for us in the car, but I knew it was only a
matter of time before he gave up and came in to find out what the hold up
was. I was right: five minutes before I was released, he appeared. I found
myself suddenly shy, and I couldn't meet his eyes.

We finally got the go-ahead and left the room. Joe ran ahead to get the
car. Lucy hauled all the junk I'd accumulated in the last four days, and
Betsy wheeled me out to the elevator which we rode to the lobby. She'd just
cleared the wheels of the door when she stopped. I twisted around to look
at her and found she was staring at something to our right. I turned and
there stood Cam.

I hadn't heard from him since I'd been admitted. I wasn't sure how I felt
about that.

"Could--could I talk to you?" He said in that deep voice that used to
melt my bones. "Alone?"

My bones were pretty sturdy now. I nodded and Betsy and Lucy moved away
from me; far enough to give us some privacy, but close enough for
protection.

"I called every day," he said.

"How considerate," I was trying to be cool, but I felt anger welling up
inside of me.  If he had called, I'd never heard about it.

"I know you said you didn't want to see me, but when the nurses told me you
were being discharged today, I took a chance."

This confused me. I'd never said I didn't want to see Cam. I was about to
tell him that when he started to speak again.

"God, Mike," his voice choked. "I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

"It wasn't your fault," I said, though a part of me believed he was right.

"I should have never let you go. I should have made you leave with me."

I shook my head. "That's bullshit, Cam. I made my own choice."

"But I should have stopped you."

"And how were you going to do that?"

We stared at each other for a long minute and it was Cam who finally
dropped his eyes.

"I guess that was always been our problem wasn't it?"

He was right and in saying so he gave the eulogy to our relationship. For a
moment I almost wished we could try again. The moment passed.

"I've talked to the other partners," Cam changed the subject. "Take as much
time as you need; your job will be waiting for you."

"Thanks."

"And we agreed that if you want us to represent you in this, we'll be happy
to do anything we can--pro bono, of course. You don't," he cleared his
voice, "you don't have to worry. I won't be involved, you can pick any
lawyer you want."

"That's very generous, but I don't know if I'll need it. The police are
handling this as a criminal case. Ever since they found the bodies..."

We both had nothing to add to that one. Yesterday it had been all over the
news, the police had found at least two bodies buried in shallow graves
deep in the woods around Elliot's cottage. I had been very lucky indeed.

"I know, but in case it doesn't work out or you want to pursue it through a
tort.  Jesus, Mike, you must know that this could maybe get a small fortune
if you sued his ass for violating your civil rights."

"Cam, we both know that it'd take at least five years to get this into
court.  I don't think I can face that idea right now.  I'd just as soon put
this whole thing behind me."

"I understand and I'm not pushing you to make a decision now; I just want
you to think about it."

I nodded, but really, I wasn't interested. My only hope was that they'd
find a nice dark cell for Elliot and forget he was in there. Not an
impossibility in a state that commonly uses the "guilty but insane"
verdict, and likes to give 150-year sentences as a matter of course.

"What the hell is he doing here!"

Both Cam and I swiveled our heads to look at Joe. He was rigid with fury
and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

"It's okay," I said, and realized I meant it. I no longer cared enough
about Cam to have his presence upset me.

"No, it's not!  He's not even supposed to be here.  After what he's done,
he doesn't deserve to be around you." Joe started to walk towards Cam and
only Lucy's tiny hand on his arm stopped him. But she couldn't stop his
mouth.

"This is your goddamn fault, Montgomery! Mike may think differently, but
you and I know better."

By this time, Cam was just as rigid as Joe. Two spots of color showed on
his cheeks and his mouth had settled into a grim line. But he couldn't be
goaded and he remained silent as Joe continued to tell him exactly what he
thought of him. Several passers-by in the hallway eyed us curiously. I
finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Joe, shut up," I ordered. "Go out to the car, all of you. I'll be out in a
minute."

Lucy tugged on Joe's sleeve and managed to get him turned around and
heading for the door. Betsy stood there for a minute, then followed
reluctantly.

"I'm sorry about that," I said to Cam.

"I deserved it," he shrugged and then smiled sadly when he saw the look on
my face, "I know you don't think very much of me, Mike. I wish... Well, I
wish a lot of things, but you can't turn back the clock, can you?"

No, I thought wearily, you can't. I suddenly wanted this meeting to be
over. Cam was a part of my past. I didn't want to think about him anymore.

He wheeled me out to the waiting Bronco. Joe was out of the car like a
flash. Cam held his ground though and leaned down until we were at face
level.

"Whatever else you think, Mike, believe this: I hope that you'll be okay,
and that someday you find the happiness I know you deserve."

He leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek. Then he turned and he was
gone.

"The same to you, Cam," I called after him and I was surprised at how much
I meant it.

The trip home was made in stony silence. Joe was still steamed over Cam's
surprise visit. Lucy and Betsy didn't seem to be inclined to say anything
either. I thought I should ask Joe why he'd decided, on his own, to ban Cam
from any contact with me.  But the truth was, I didn't care. The lack of
sleep was catching up to me, and I was having a hard time staying awake.

It had been decided that I would spend the next few days with Lucy. I'd
made token protests at this arrangement, but really I was more than willing
to capitulate. I wasn't ready to be alone. There were still a few dark
shadows in my nights that I'd rather not face by myself. I just needed some
time, I told myself. What had happened had been a fluke, and I was
determined it wasn't going to effect my life.

We pulled into the driveway and Joe helped me into the house. I'd been
walking for a couple of days, but I was stiff and sore all over, and the
stitches in my ass pulled with every move I made. I was relieved when we
finally got upstairs to the bedroom Lucy had prepared. Joe unbuttoned my
shirt, but I insisted I could do the rest myself and he left me to it. I
was almost immediately sorry I'd been so independent. By the time I
finished getting out of my clothes I was soaked in sweat, and it was all I
could do to crawl into bed, where I fell asleep instantly.

It was late afternoon by the time I awoke. The sun was in my eyes and I
squinted and groaned.

"He lives!"

Lucy was sitting in a chair by the window, but now she got up and grabbed
some pills off the nightstand.

"What are they?" I asked warily, I didn't want another pain pill; it'd just
make me sleep more, and then I'd be up all night.

"Antibiotics," she said, thrusting them at me. "Swallow."

I obeyed and she continued to talk.

"Do you want to rest more or do you want to eat?"

I was famished. "Eat."

"Good," she sounded pleased, "I'll go fix you something. What would you
like?"

"Surprise me."

She zipped off and I dozed again while she was gone. I assume it was just a
few minutes later when she came back with a big bowl of cottage cheese,
another of apple sauce, two cups of steaming mushroom soup, and a large
glass of Vernor's Ginger Ale, a taste she knew I'd acquired since moving to
Michigan. The Vernor's was welcome but the rest looked bland and
uninteresting.  Then I remembered how even bland food hurt like hell when
it worked it's way out of my sore bum and I thought better of complaining.
Lucy helped herself to a mug of soup and sat at the foot of my bed.

"Soft foods for a week," she said shortly.

"Mmmm--looks great, but I can't eat all this," I said, then I dug in and
made a liar out of myself as gobbled it all down.

"You're a mess."

"Thank you," I responded ironically.

"You need a wash and a shave, and your hair is dirty."

I sighed sarcastically. "I'm afraid I'm not exactly in a position to take
care of that right now."

She nodded. "Joe's coming back. Maybe he can help."

"Couldn't this wait until tomorrow?" I was almost whining. I didn't feel up
to a beauty treatment. "I'm sure by then I'll feel better..."

"You'll feel better when you're clean."

I gave up. Occasionally Lucy would let me win one when we bickered, but I
didn't think this was going to be one of those times.

She took my silence for capitulation and gathered up the dishes and left. I
drifted again until I felt Joe gently shaking me.

"Wake up sleepyhead. Time to get gorgeous."

"Fuck off," I said, yawning.

"Is that anyway to talk to Mr. Joseph, your own personal guide to a better
you? Come on, get your ass out of bed."

I pissed and moaned for a while, but finally obeyed. Joe grabbed my
bathrobe which had somehow materialized and was laying at the foot of the
bed. Lucy must have raided my apartment for things she thought I'd need. He
wrapped the robe around me awkwardly, since my arm was still strapped to my
chest, then led my tottering body down the hall to the huge, old fashioned
bathroom.

It was the first time I'd ever been in Lucy's upstairs john, and I looked
around in awe. Old-fashioned it might be, but that didn't mean it didn't
have just about everything you could ever want in a bathroom.

The toilet was elevated like a throne, and directly beside it was a
bidet. The sink was a single, but the bowl was almost big enough to take a
bath in -- not that you'd ever need to. There was a huge marble tub
completely surrounded by mahogany paneling. The thing must have been 8 feet
long and at least 4 or 5 feet wide. There was no shower, but the tub did
have one of those old fashioned metal hose thingies with a brass nozzle
that looked like a phone.

Joe whistled softly as he looked around. Then he walked over to the tub and
turned on the water. It let loose with a roar. No water pressure problems
there.  He turned it on and off a few times just to make sure, then he shut
it off and turned to me with a big grin on his face.

"This is great! I could live in this room," he enthused, then he turned to
me. "Okay, dude--strip."

Uh-oh. For the first time it occurred to my sleep soaked brain, that Joe
was actually planning on washing me. All of me.

I shook my head. "Look, you don't have to help. I can do this myself."

"Yeah, right," he said, frowning. He wasn't buying it.

"No, really, it's okay." I smiled and swiveled my hips to show how limber I
was, then bit my lip to keep from groaning at the pain.

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe you."

I didn't care what he believed, I only knew there was no way I was going to
give him the opportunity to see how much I really liked him. Already my
treacherous cock was waking up to the possibilities. No way was I going to
stand nude in front of Joe with a hard-on. I looked up to see him staring
down at the bulge that was starting to form through the terrycloth
robe. Shit.

"Okay, listen," Joe was talking to the wall behind me, his face red, "why
don't you go ahead and do whatever you can and I'll come back in later when
you need me."

"Sounds good," I muttered and felt my cheeks flame, too.

I won't say he ran from the room, but it was close. The idea that had kept
me awake the night before tried to take over my mind again, but I beat it
back. I walked to the sink and picked up the clean washcloth that Lucy had
laid out for me .  I couldn't even cheat and soak the dirt off in the tub.
I couldn't get my stitches wet.  Oh well, might as well get it over with.
I wet the cloth and started to scrub.

It worked, sort of. At least the pain made my dick think twice about waking
up. I struggled to reach all my cracks and crevices; no easy task, but I
was determined. The more I washed, the less that was left for Joe. Finally,
though, I had to admit to one defeat: there was no way I could raise my
hand to wash my hair. Somehow, I got my robe back around me and stuck my
head out the door. Joe was sitting on the floor in the hall. He appeared
mesmerized by a spot on the far wall.

"Mr. Joseph," I said softly and watched as he jumped at the sound of my
voice.

"Whatcha need?"

"My hair washed."

He grinned. "Ah--the house specialty."

He got up and walked into the bathroom with me. It took a few minutes to
work up a strategy, but we finally settled on me on my knees leaning over
the tub, with Joe beside me. He reached over my tipped head and grabbed the
hose.

"We're going to have to do something about the robe," he said
softly. "It'll get wet otherwise."

"Uh, okay," I said. Actually, it wasn't okay at all, but I didn't see where
I had any choice.

I felt him pull the robe down and then helped him slip my good arm out of
the sleeve. He bunched the material at my waist. I almost sighed in
relief. My fantasies might have included a scene or two with me pointing my
bare ass in Joe's direction, but not like this.

"Here we go."

Joe gently pushed my head farther down and leaned over me to rinse my
hair. His body felt warm and hard, and I had to resist arching back into
it.

"Oh, shit!" he muttered.

"What?" I turned my head to look at him.

"I'm getting all wet," he answered, and I relaxed. "Here, just a minute."

Joe dropped the sprayer and sat back on his heels. I turned my head and
watched as he stripped off his sweatshirt and the shirt beneath it. My
heart did a little flip of glee as I saw his muscular torso come into
view. Joe spent a lot of time in the weight room, and it showed. He wasn't
ready for the Mr. Universe Pageant, but he definitely had a solid, defined
body. I'd seen it before, of course, but not since I'd faced my true
feelings about the guy.  It certainly put a different perspective on my
viewing.

"Lean over the tub," he said quietly.

He grabbed the nozzle again and started to wet my hair. At least I supposed
he did; I wasn't paying much attention. All I could think about was the hot
skin that was rubbing against my back. Joe had reached across me so that
his hands were straddling my head. In order to do that, he practically had
to lay across me. I could feel hard nipples rake my back and the pounding
of his heart as reached he for the shampoo. My cock stood at attention
under the folds of the robe, and I wondered if it was wishful thinking that
made me believe there was an answering bulge that occasionally seemed to
brush against my hip.

"Turn around," Joe's voice was husky and low.

I turned and sat back on my heels. He reached towards me and poured a big
slurp of shampoo on my head. We faced each other as he started to massage
the lather into my scalp. We were both breathing like we'd just been
through some huge physical ordeal--which, in a way, was true, if I was
honest about it.

Part of me still wanted to deny what was happening. It may not be a great
feeling to be involved in unrequited love, but at had the appeal of
familiarity. The possibility that Joe wasn't as immune to my charms as I'd
thought was mind-boggling. I had no idea what was going to happen next, and
I wasn't even sure what I was hoping for.

Joe's hands stilled and he drew away from me a little. I continued to look
down at the floor between us.

"Are you okay?" Joe broke the silence.

I looked at him. There was compassion in his gaze and caring. There might
have been more, but I dropped my eyes. Oh God, who'd have thought a shampoo
could be so dangerous to your health?

"I mean... with what happened?" he continued.

This wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting, but I was kind of glad for the
diversion. I nodded and then realized he expected a verbal response.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I barely think about it."

It was the truth, I was amazingly calm about my encounter with Elliot. It
was almost like it had happened to someone else, like it was a bad movie
I'd only seen and not actually starred in. The physical pain was my only
reminder, and I could brush that off for the most part. It wasn't, after
all, like I was going to have any permanent damage. All in all, I was
pretty pleased with myself.

Even the session with Kevin's therapist friend had gone pretty well. Oh,
she'd said we should probably meet again, but I didn't think I needed
it. If I was okay, then why did I need to keep raking it up? Besides, the
one sore point in the session had been her insistence that I tell my
family. No way--why upset them? There was nothing they could do, and I
was eager to just forget about the whole thing. So I wasn't anxious to go
back to Ms. Doctor Not if she was going to keep bringing this up.

"Are you sure?" Joe's question brought me back to the present.

I nodded. "Absolutely. I'm fine. Really."

"That's good, then. Real good."

He started to knead my scalp and I couldn't help but murmur in contentment
as my body swayed in time to his movements.

"Your hair is really thick. I didn't realize that."

"Mmmmm," I closed my eyes and wallowed.

"You know..." he cleared his throat. "You know, when I saw you that day,
hanging there, your hair covering your face. I... I thought you were dead."

"Oh Joe..."

"Let me finish. I need to say this. I thought I'd lost you." He hesitated,
then went on softly. "I wanted to kill Elliot."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was dead serious. There was no
mistaking the commitment on his face. It was there in the set of his jaw
and the pulse on the side of his neck.

"I would have, too," he said, confirming what I believed. "There would have
been no way anyone could have stopped me."

I started to speak, then thought better of it and let him continue.

"Even when you moved and I knew you were still alive, part of me wanted to
go over to him and make him hurt as bad as he'd done you."

"Abdul beat you to it," I whispered.

"No. I chose to go to you. Helping you was more important than hurting
him. You are more important than..."

He trailed off and we stared at one another. His hands were quiet again,
but they were warm on my head as they rested in the cool lather. My mouth
was dry and I licked my lips and I watched as Joe took in the movement with
hot eyes. When he started to speak again his voice was so low I could
barely hear him. But the words burned into my brain.

"I didn't say anything to Betsy about moving."

I nodded. "I figured that out when she told me you were planning on living
here."

"I couldn't go through with it. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

The time had come. For three years I had loved Joe with all my heart, and
now I needed to know how he felt about me. Maybe I was reading this all
wrong, maybe not, but I needed to know.

I looked him right in the eye. "Why?" I asked.

One word held our future. Joe looked at me and froze. I wondered if I
looked as scared as he did. There was no sound in the room except a steady
drip from the tap in the sink that I hadn't had the strength to close
tightly. I barely heard it over the pounding of my heart.

Joe finally moved his hand. Down it slid to my cheek leaving a trail of
suds that probably tickled as it slid down my neck. I didn't notice. He
cupped my jaw with his strong warm fingers. They were trembling. I twisted
my head until I could reach his palm with my lips. When I kissed him there,
he sighed.

"Oh God!"

Joe and I sprang apart, my sore muscles clamping down at the sudden
movement. Joe was staring behind me, his face looking wild and horrified. I
didn't have to turn to know who he was looking at, but I did anyway.

Betsy stood rigid in the doorway, her hands clenched into two tight
fists. Her eyes were on Joe, the shock in them easy to see. When she
realized I was looking at her, the expression changed to hatred.

"It all makes sense," she hissed. "Finally, it all makes sense."

"Betsy, it's not..." Joe started, but she wasn't about to let him finish.

"Oh, Jesus, Joe! Of course it is! Give me a little credit, for God's sake!"
She wasn't yelling, but the venom made her words distinct and
penetrating. "How long? How long have you two been playing at this little
game?"

"Please, Betsy, if you'll just listen..." I began, since it was my turn to
try and get her to stop.

"You shut up!" She pointed at me. "I thought you were my friend."

The words stung, and not just because her voice was icy. I had forgotten
about Betsy, forgotten that there was another person, another heart that
was on the line in this confusing dance that Joe and I had started. Now I
could add shame to the feelings I was having.

She was shaking now. "So how was this supposed to work, guys? Were you
going to keep this a secret forever, or maybe you had a plan. Was that it?
Were we all going to move in together? How were you planning on working
this out, Joe?  Were you going to fuck me on me on Tuesdays, and the rest
of the week was for Mike?  Once a week is all I get now, if I'm lucky, so I
can't see that changing.  Or maybe you thought we'd go for a three-way!
Yeah, that would be more efficient."

"Stop it." Joe's voice was deadly.

"Not a problem," Betsy pulled off her engagement ring and threw it at Joe,
hitting him on the chest. He didn't flinch. Betsy gave a short, hard sob
and turned on her heel. We could hear her running down the steps and few
moments later a distant door slammed.

I looked at Joe. He looked small. I raised my good arm and put it on his
shoulder. He flinched and shook it off.

"Don't! Just... don't!" He stood.

"Joe, I'm sorry," I said in a low voice.

He looked down at me and for a moment I thought I saw the same hatred I'd
seen in Betsy's face a minute before. Then it melted and all that was left
was despair.

"I can't do this," he whispered. "I'm not like you. I can't be! Oh Jesus
Christ, why is this happening to me?"

I watched as he stumbled out of the room. I didn't even have time to crawl
to the toilet. I leaned over the tub and vomited.

I don't know how long I sat there. The lather on my neck and shoulders had
dried into white itchy flakes by the time Lucy found me.

"Michael, what's wrong?" Lucy didn't panic very easily, but you could hear
it in her voice as she crossed the room to me.

I was beyond words. I sat there and shivered as she ran for a towel to
throw over my shoulders. She rubbed my skin until I was rosy and then she
rinsed out the tub. With as few directions as possible, Lucy ordered me to
lean over it again and she rinsed out what was left of the shampoo. More
scrubbing with a towel followed and then she dragged me to my feet. I was
surprised how strong she was, her tiny frame must have been made of
steel. It wasn't until she got me back in my room that she demanded to know
what had happened. With halting words, I told her.

If I expected her to be shocked, I was mistaken. Lucy nodded understandably
through the first part and only winced when I came to Betsy's surprise
visit.

"Poor girl," she murmured, and now it was my turn to grimace. "But it was
bound to happen sooner or later. At least they hadn't married yet."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you do--you just don't want to admit it," Lucy looked at me
with cool, but kind eyes. "Michael, I've always known about how you feel
about Joe. And more to the point, how he feels about you."

I was dumbstruck. "You never said anything."

"What was I supposed to say? And would you have listened if I did?"

She had me there. We sat quietly together as the late afternoon sun dimmed
and finally settled into darkness. Lucy left for a while and came back
carrying a tray with our dinners on it. Food was the last thing on my mind,
but she bullied me into it.

I didn't know what to do. I was in no shape to chase after either Betsy or
Joe, though I desperately wanted to talk to both of them. Just as well, I
supposed, I had no idea how I could ever make any of this right. Still, I
thought about phoning anyway. At least it would show I cared, if nothing
else.

My hand had stretched to the receiver when we heard the doorbell. I must
have jumped because Lucy covered my hand with hers and squeezed. Again, I
noticed her strength, but this time not the muscle and bone kind. She rose
and went downstairs. I could hear murmuring and then footsteps on the
steps. My heart twisted, I knew from their sound, that the feet were not
Joe's.

Beau knocked and then walked into the room. Lucy had not followed him. I
swallowed hard.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi, Mike."

The room was almost pitch-dark except for a glint of moonlight through the
window. I couldn't see his face clearly. I didn't need to. His posture told
me this wasn't a social call, and the news he brought wasn't good. He
walked towards me and his face came into focus. No, definitely not good.

He took a deep breath. "I saw Joe."

"Did he tell you what happened?"

"Some of it. Most of it I guessed." He saw my face and smiled
unhappily. "Shit, Mike. It weren't no secret--not to me anyways." As
always in times of great stress or charm, his down-home Southern accent
thickened. "Ya'll might've done a good job foolin' yourselves, but my momma
didn't raise no fools. I figured it was just a matter of time before ya'll
figured it out yourselves."

"I don't know what to say about that." I was suddenly embarrassed and
ashamed at the thought that all our friends had probably guessed my little
secret.

"Don't need to say nothin'. Don't matter to me one way or t'other, if you
want the truth. I just wish it had turned out a little easier."

I sat up. "How is he? Is he okay?"

Beau sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. He picked at the coverlet
for a minute before finally answering me.

"Mike... I'm sorry. He's gone."

My stomach churned and I wished I hadn't let Lucy talk me into eating. Joe
had left. He'd decided he couldn't face me again; not even to say goodbye.

"Here," Beau said, as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out an
envelope. "He asked me to give you this."

I took it like it was a letter bomb. There was nothing on the envelope
except my name. For such a potentially lethal weapon, it looked harmless
enough.

"Do ya'll want me to stay while you open it?"

I shook my head. I couldn't stop staring at the envelope. I felt like a
snake charmer holding a python.

"Okay. I'll run along then," Beau stood and then stopped and looked down at
me. "Listen, Mike, I'm really sorry it turned out like this."

He patted me on the shoulder awkwardly, then turned and left. I sat there
and tried to get up the courage to read Joe's words. Slowly I tapped the
end of it on my leg then raised it so I could tear it with my teeth. I
turned it over and shook it. At first the letter stuck, but then it started
to slide out in a soft, whispery whish. The white paper fell open to my
lap. The envelope fell out of my fingers as I stared at the letter.

It was long, a couple of pages. I could see that well enough, but the words
were small and blurred in the shadows of the room. I struggled to reach the
bedside light. I finally succeeded and it flicked on with a click.  The
room came into sharp focus, the letter along with it. I picked it up, took
a breath to steady myself and started to read.



Dear Mike,

By the time Beau gives you this, I'll be on my way to Italy. Remember, I
told you my brother Josh is studying there for the next six months. It'll
be good to see him, almost like old times.

I don't know what to say to you. I guess the first thing is not to blame
yourself for what happened between me and Betsy. Whatever she thinks, I
know it's my fault, not yours. Someday, maybe I'll be able to convince her
of that.

I'm not going to say I didn't know what was happening today between us. I
did, and I won't lie and deny that a part of me wanted it. But Mike, that
was only a part. There are a few places inside of me that hate how I feel
about you. The rest are just confused as hell.

It's the confused parts I have to deal with now. I need some time to think
about where I'm headed and what I really want out of life. Maybe I can find
some of those answers in Italy.

Oh God, I sound like such a selfish prick. Here you are just out of the
hospital and I dump all this shit on you and run away. Hell, for all I
know, you were appalled by what happened and are thrilled to see my sorry
ass gone.  But I don't think so.

I wish I had the courage to stay and see this through, but I
don't. Whatever else, I hope that someday you can forgive me and remember
again all the good times we had together. Oh shit, this sounds like
goodbye, but it isn't, I promise. Whatever I decide, I promise I'll let you
know. I'm not that big an asshole. At least I hope not.

I'm so sorry,

Joe


By the time I was done reading, tears ran down my face. They didn't stop
for a long, long time.


... to be continued.


authors note: Okay, I know, I said two weeks and this has been like five.
My only excuse is that my real life has a way of intruding in the best laid
plans of mice, men and me.  But I've learned my lesson, this time I'm not
putting a time limit on myself.  I'll get the next chapter done as soon as
I possibly can and I assure you that I will be finishing this series.

I would like to thank all of you who have written and encouraged me to keep
on with the story.  If I haven't written you already to thank you
personally I will soon.  A special thanks to John Francis, editor
extrodinaire for making this thing look so good and read even better.
You're the best.

jayne