Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
If Scott hadn’t known Tim was tied up and gagged in the back of his van, he would’ve assumed he was having a good time with the way the vehicle rocked and swayed.
Thomas hadn’t let go of him the entire time, including on the difficult spiral staircase.
He tightened his hand on Scott’s waist, tucking him close to his side.
When they first stepped outside into the sunshine, Scott had screwed up his face as a kaleidoscope of colours had assaulted him all at once.
His stomach had gurgled, and the telltale cramps in his sides warned of his body’s need to vomit.
Thomas had held him upright when all Scott wanted to do was bend at the waist and lose his insides on the path. He panted with the effort not to throw up while Thomas’s voice warped, pitching with concern.
“Thought I was going to be sick,” he murmured.
Thomas peered into his eyes, and from the way his brow jumped up his head, whatever he saw hadn’t been good.
“Tim,” Scott said, watching the van through a squint.
“We’re coming, Tim,” Thomas yelled. “Calm down.”
Tim stilled for a few seconds, then the van started shaking again.
“I need to get him out,” Thomas said.
Scott nodded numbly and unwrapped his arm from around Thomas’s shoulders.
Thomas’s fingers twitched against Scott, then he sighed and let Scott stand by himself. His gaze roamed Scott, who was favouring one leg and pinning his cut hand to his side with his bicep.
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit,” Thomas muttered, before moving to the back of the van. “I’ll be quick.”
Out of Thomas’s sight, Scott slumped and found himself magnetised to the ground.
He didn’t collapse, more a controlled fall where he made sure to be as quiet as possible not to alert Thomas helping Tim.
Scott sat on the ground, glancing over his shoulder and wishing he was nearer the giant flowerpot to rest his back.
He didn’t have the energy to move and instead pulled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and thumped down his forehead.
He listened to Thomas and Tim murmuring, then the scuffle of feet.
“Oh fuck,” Tim blurted.
Scott knew that was in response to seeing him, but he didn’t have the energy to lift his head and say something back.
“Scott!” Thomas was beside him in a heartbeat, touching his shoulders.
“I’m okay,” he said to his knees.
“Let’s get you up,” Thomas said hooking Scott beneath his armpits. “I need to get you both to the hospital.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Scott said at the same time as Tim.
“Yes, you do,” Thomas hissed in his ear.
Scott didn’t have the energy to fight him. He had his eyes closed because the world was spinning far too fast for him in that moment, but Thomas’s voice was constantly coming from one area.
“And your wrists are bleeding,” Thomas said, presumably to Tim. “Not to mention the amount of cracking I heard from your joints when I untied you.”
Scott’s head whipped up, and he forced his eyes to open. Tim stood a metre from him, rubbing his bloodied wrists. He gasped when Scott looked at him, then nudged Thomas with urgency. “We need to get going.”
Scott frowned. “Your wrists –”
“Are nothing compared to you. I’ll drive –”
Thomas shook his head. “But –”
“He needs you right now.”
Scott closed his eyes again. He heard the crunch of keys leaving Thomas’s hand and being caught by Tim.
“Come on,” Thomas murmured, picking up Scott’s arm and wrapping it round his shoulders. He heaved Scott to his feet. Scott’s knees buckled, but Thomas kept him up.
“Take this,” Tim said, and Scott found himself clutching what felt like a bucket to his chest. “It’s a flowerpot. Don’t worry, I didn’t pick one with holes in.”
Scott was about to ask why he needed a flowerpot, but then his insides contracted, and he gasped. The next few minutes were a blur of getting into the car, the click of seat belts, the banging of doors and the roar of the engine, and the whole time Scott tried his hardest not to be sick.
“Just give into it,” Thomas whispered.
Scott had glued himself to Thomas’s side. They must’ve been in the back, but Scott didn’t know how he’d got there. His world narrowed down to three things, the flowerpot, his desire not to be sick and Thomas’s soothing voice.
“You’ll feel better if you do.”
And part of Scott knew it too. He’d find relief if he gave in to what his body was trying to make him do, but the other part of him didn’t want to throw up in the back of Thomas’s car.
“Do you remember in prison when you were really sick when we were in lockdown? You were hovering over the toilet for hours. You were pale, sweaty and shaking.”
“You were banging on the door because you were scared you were going to get it,” Scott murmured into the flowerpot. “You wanted me sent to the hospital wing.”
Thomas snorted. “That’s what I told you afterwards, weeks after…but I was worried. Really worried. And the guards were ignoring me, and I didn’t know what to do.”
He put his hand on the back of Scott’s neck, rubbing the skin with his thumb. “I put you in my bed, wetted a towel and started pressing it to your skin.”
“I remember,” Scott whispered. “It felt nice.”
“You looked utterly bewildered that I was helping you, like you couldn’t believe that I’d look after you, and it hurt, you thinking that I didn’t care, being surprised that I wanted to help.”
“No one’s ever looked after me. No one.”
“I have,” Thomas said firmly. “I am and I will. Stop fighting it, Scott, and vomit into this flowerpot because you will feel better afterwards. I don’t care about sick, I care about you, and you’re making yourself feel worse.”
“But –”
“Just do it.”
Scott didn’t fight the next wave of cramps, he opened his mouth and vomited what little leftover lunch was in his stomach. It burned his throat, and the foul taste made him grimace, but he slumped afterwards, able to breathe properly again.
Tim sniffled from the driver’s seat. “That was so romantic. I mean, it was gross, but there’s not much in life that says love like encouraging someone to be sick so they’ll feel better.”
“I should’ve kept that gag in your mouth,” Thomas murmured, rubbing Scott’s neck. “Can you slow down so I can empty it?”
“No way, I know what Carly and Jay feed you, that’ll be grade A fertiliser. Put it in the back, I’ll get it later.”
“Wait,” Scott blurted, clutching the flowerpot. “I need it.”
He vomited again.
“Check for blood,” Tim said.
Thomas cupped Scott’s forehead and leaned him back to look. Scott scrunched up his face, pressing into Thomas’s cool palm. “Don’t look –”
“No blood… There is a rather pissed-off-looking frog, though…”
“What?” Scott widened his eyes.
“I was joking,” Thomas murmured, but he definitely scooped something out of the bucket and let it go on the floor. “How are you feeling?”
“Less sick, more tired,” Scott replied, forgoing the bucket so he could lean against Thomas’s shoulder.
“Did he hit his head at all?” Tim asked.
“I don’t know,” Thomas replied.
Scott hummed and touched his tender forehead. “Warren smacked me against the tanks.” He squinted to look at Thomas. “Sorry about the glass.”
“Do you really think I’m worried about the glass right now?”
“I don’t know –”
“Well, I’m not,” Thomas snapped. “Idiot.
“Grumpy bastard.” Scott sighed, closing his eyes.
“We’re almost there,” Thomas murmured. “Don’t do something stupid like fall into a coma.”
Scott cracked a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it…”
The concussion was by far Scott’s worst injury.
It wasn’t life threatening, nor was it accompanied by internal bleeding, but it came with a headache that painkillers barely touched, and he sat up in bed, clutching the sheet beneath with both hands, his eyes tightly shut.
Thomas had pulled the curtain around Scott’s bed, to give him a semblance of privacy and block out the harsh lighting from the corridor, but the hospital ward was full, and loud.
Scott’s lip had butterfly stitches, along with a few cuts to his scalp, but his jaw, heel, and hand had all required invasive stitches and plenty of bandages.
He had been wrapped up like a mummy and had been as polite and charming as he could be under the circumstances, but his veneer had started to crack, especially when faced with the expression of pity on the nurses’ faces.
He knew he looked bad because he was stealing Thomas’s limelight. The shock of his fully tattooed appearance quickly vanished in favour of tutting in sympathy and looking over Scott’s chopped and sliced head.
He enjoyed people looking at him, but not like this, when at any moment the curtain shifted, it revealed a doctor or nurse wincing in sympathy.
Not looking in a mirror became a necessity, and Scott went one step further, not looking at any reflective surface in case he caught a glimpse of himself, even looking into the doctors’ and nurses’ eyes was off-limits for his own sanity.
It was only hair and a few cuts and bruises, but his hair had been hacked from his head, and the most serious cuts were in areas where he felt them at the slightest flinch or jerk. Every time he swallowed the stitches beneath his jaw tugged.
“Lie down,” Thomas murmured, plumping up the pillow behind Scott’s head.
Scott refused. He didn’t want to tell Thomas that he couldn’t stand the feel of the cold pillow against his now bare skin.
It wasn’t vanity. It was knowing Warren had done that to him, and he’d been utterly helpless.
He’d taken part of Scott away, and even knowing his hair would grow back didn’t make him feel better.
The nurse came back, making her presence known with a soft sigh.
“The headache still bothering you?”
Scott hummed.
“The painkillers should kick in soon.”
They’d been telling Scott that for the last hour, and he suspected he’d been given a dodgy batch.
“It’ll help if you lie back, try to relax.”
She tried to ease him down, but Scott refused.
“I keep telling him,” Thomas said.