Chapter Fifteen #3
The next time Eli needed to pee, Samuel was the one to ease him up. Eli pushed weakly at his chest, but he said, “No, Eli,” and pressed his face into the man’s neck to give him a little privacy while Leslie held the basin for him.
Eli tried to say things to him sometimes, things like “eat something” or “call Jenny” but he wasn’t going to leave the man’s side again.
Some things he couldn’t ignore, like drinking.
Eli kept pushing him to drink. So he did, taking sips to stop the worrying, but it did nothing for the burning in his throat, in his chest, in his eyes.
And Eli knew it, because he patted at his arm or his head, whatever he could reach, and would say, “couple of days, puppy,” or, “Be better soon.” Samuel tried to believe him, but Eli only seemed to grow weaker and weaker.
He was forced to give him another bed bath by dinner time because he’d soaked the bed again, and the sweat made him shiver more than anything else.
“Almost finished,” Samuel promised when Eli clung to him, his whole body shuddering, and tried to keep his voice steady even when his hands weren’t.
The second night was the worst of it. Tears ran freely down Eli’s face as he dreamed (or maybe hallucinated) and his voice was cracked as he called for Nathaniel, and even once for Marie, and Samuel couldn’t give them to him, though he would have if he could.
He would have given anything to Eli if he thought it had a chance of helping.
But there was nothing he could think of to do, except to rub at Eli’s back and say, “I’m here.
I’m here.” Which was probably just reminding Eli of the nightmare he was in, but he couldn’t stop because the only other words in his head were “I love you,” and Eli probably wanted to hear that even less.
But by the next morning things had changed. Eli’s weakness was still debilitating, and his pain hadn’t gone anywhere, but his mind was back. He knew it as soon as Eli woke from his fitful sleep and said, “So puppy, changed your mind yet about wanting to fuck me?”
The man’s features were arranged in a weak smile, and Samuel was so relieved he fell on Eli before he could think to stop himself.
“Should I take that as a no ?”
He would have burst into tears again if he weren’t so distracted with everything he needed to do. Nathaniel needed to be called, and a bath needed to be arranged, and he needed to find the letter Hailey had sent, and—
Eli tugged at his arm. “You need to eat something. When’s the last time you ate something? ”
As if he could eat anything while Eli was like this. “It doesn’t matter. Listen. We found a big tub down in the laundry room, it was full of plaster, but we scrubbed it down, and I think—”
“You need to eat. What do you want to eat, Samuel?”
Eli’s voice sounded different. Like someone had taken a match to it and burned away all the edges.
He wished the man would stop talking. “I’ll eat later,” he said vaguely, which wasn’t technically a lie.
He’d eat when Eli could. “I got Cruces to pick up some Epsom salts yesterday and they can boil up water in the kitchen so that—”
“Not later. Now.”
He gaped, horrified, as Eli tried to shoulder himself up onto his elbows. He grabbed hold of him to stop him, but Eli froze him with a look. “Eat.”
“I can’t!” He gave Eli a tug, but the man had a grip on the bed frame. “Eli, stop it, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Because Eli had just spent the night crying out in pain.
Because the man he loved most in the world looked like the smallest wind could knock him down.
Because just the thought of trying to eat had him imagining Eli choking in the bathroom, vomiting and retching long after there was anything left to bring up.
“Because I can’t. Please, Eli. Lie down. ”
He didn’t try to hide the pleading in his voice or the tears that were still threatening to spill over.
“Then drink something,” Eli said, his voice cold with authority. “Something with calories or you’re going to fall over the next time you stand up. Arty, get this idiot boy of mine some juice. Or better yet, milk. The kitchen usually has milk, right?”
“I don’t need it,” he tried to say, but Arty was already halfway to the door and didn’t look back.
He’d wanted the man’s help to fetch the tub.
Beside him, Eli had eased himself back down and closed his eyes, exhausted by his small efforts.
“Need to call Than,” he said, and Samuel was pretty sure he was talking to himself.
“Stop the panic. Poor baby. My poor baby.”
“Jenny’s with him,” he answered. It was the first thing he’d made sure of.
“Jenny,” Eli said, as if he’d forgotten she existed. Then he said her name again, with more enthusiasm, “Bless that girl. She’s even pushier than I am. She’ll make him eat, right? And sleep?”
He nodded. Eli sighed and closed his eyes again. “Too bad she can’t be here doing the same with you. Ah, well, you’ll be a good puppy for me, won’t you?”
Samuel pressed a hand over his eyes, but that could only hide the tears, not the rest of it and the words came out before he could stop them. "It’s my fault.”
Eli’s hand was already there, pulling at his shirt. “You were the one who warned me not to push him, remember?”
“What?”
But he didn’t need to be told. He already knew exactly what Eli was implying. In his mind, he saw him again, that shadow falling over the pullup bars, athreat like a miasma over the whole yard.
He stood up. Like Eli had warned, his fasting made the room tilt, but he didn’t fall. “I’ll kill him.”
At the beginning, what now felt like a lifetime ago, his younger self had considered starting something with Big Tom.
He hadn’t known anything about prison back then except for the lies in movies, lies like ‘find the biggest guy and beat the shit out of them.’ And Tom had certainly been big enough.
Too big. And Hard. Much harder than Samuel who, recent murder aside, hadn’t so much as gotten into a schoolyard brawl before.
He’d known nothing about fighting. Nothing at all about strength and power.
But even clueless as he was, he’d known better than to really go for Big Tom.
But now? Now he was just as big and just as hard—harder even.
He would look the man right in the eyes as he watched the life in them drain away.
Eli saw it and lunged. He was too sick to move that fast, and he would pay for it later, but right then his grip was strong. “I won’t forgive you. Not if you go after him.”
“He’s dead. I have to—”
“I won’t ever talk to you again. Do you hear me? You don’t put yourself in danger. Not for this.”
Samuel pulled air into his chest. He kept pulling and pulling because he couldn’t find words to push out. And then he was choking on it, all that air, or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was anger. It felt a lot like anger. “That’s not fair. If he did that to me. If he did it to Nathaniel—”
“I don’t care if it’s fair. You swear it right now or so help me Samuel, I will make you regret it.” And the man was serious too. There was no bluff. No twinkle in his eye. Nothing but resolve.
He tasted blood. He couldn’t say which were clenched tighter, his teeth, or the white knuckled grip he had on the bed frame.
All he knew was that he refused to make that promise.
He wanted to shut his eyes against it, but he couldn’t do that either.
He was frozen, eyes locked with Eli’s, unable to do anything but seethe.
Eli didn’t let his grip slacken. He knew what would happen if he did. But his other hand was free. He lifted it. “Take it back, then.”
Samuel had no idea what he was talking about until the hand was pushed into his face. “If revenge matters more than we do, then take it back. I don’t want it.”
It was the ring. Well, the vestiges of it. What little of it remained was hanging onto the inner metal thread. The twist tie had never really been a ring. It was supposed to be a joke. Eli had laughed when he’d offered it, hadn’t he? So why was he still wearing it?
He half-expected his touch to go right through it, like a mirage, but the ring was as real as Eli’s fingers, warm from his overheated skin. Eli pushed again. “Take it.”
“No.”
Instead, he pressed his mouth to the thing, or rather, to Eli. It was the first time he’d kissed a man in prison, and it shouldn’t have happened. Nat . The name was always there in his head, comfort and guilt. He pulled away. “What if he hurts you again?”
“He won’t.”
That wasn’t good enough. Eli had to know that wasn’t good enough. But those eyes were already closing. Samuel hadn’t voiced the promise out loud, but Eli had read it in his eyes anyway.
“Drink your milk,” Eli said as he was eased back down to his pillow.