Chapter Three Nix
Nix
The apartment is silent when he unlocks the door. The sound of the lock disengaging triggers a Pavlovian fear response, just as it does every time. He’d never thought he could be lucky enough to get back to the apartment and into bed before Dawson returns from his nightly visit with his fuck buddy. But the apartment is still empty. Dawson must have fallen asleep wherever he spent his evening.
On the rare moments like these, when things go his way, Nix always stops to be grateful. Tonight, Nix shows gratitude for the quiet apartment and a single visit with Dr. Finn Merritt. He lets himself pretend that maybe in another life, he could have had someone like that: so handsome with his black hair, sexy glasses, and the most beautiful smile.
The young doctor hadn’t looked much older than himself, but where Nix was frail, gaunt, and unhealthy, Finn was tall, with broad shoulders, long legs and a surprisingly nice butt. It had been years since Nix felt anything remotely like sexual attraction for anyone, but Finn made his belly warm and tingly.
Gingerly undressing, Nix takes an extra minute to fold the beautiful sweater as carefully as possible. He shouldn’t have taken it even if Finn had seemed so happy to see him wearing it. But perhaps one day, when it has stopped smelling so good, he will drop it off at the front desk with a note of gratitude.
The shower is scalding when he climbs in, grateful again because the minor discomfort is better than the fiercely empty, aching place in his chest that had only gotten worse after he’d left the doctor at the hospital. Every step he’d taken away from him was an exercise in discomfort. Nix puts that down to the caring physical contact Finn had shown him. The touching Nix experiences these days cannot be considered caring .
He’d caught the first red-line bus headed back the way he’d come, and it wasn’t long before he was back at the apartment. Careful of his aching head, he scrubs the shampoo in with his one mostly good hand, washes his body with the same cheap soap, and tries not to see the scars Dawson has left on every part of him.
Briefly stopping to think what Finn might have thought if he’d seen the burn marks or deep bite marks Dawson had left all over his back, chest, and arms. He was a Frankenstein monster mapped out in marks of hatred and rage. He was ruined and finds himself grateful again that he’d kept his t-shirt on the entire time.
Even with the risk of Dawson’s wrath, Nix could promise that he would endure it all over again just to feel that soft finger on his cheek or to see Finn looking like he wanted nothing but Nix in his mouth while he was on his knees. Those minutes will keep him warm for a long time, he thinks.
He especially wished he’d had a minute to take something small from the doctor to add to the other secret hidden lining of his wallet instead of the bulky sweater that would be harder to hide. A token, like a paper clip or a piece of paper with his writing on it, to keep the memory fresh when Nix thinks he can’t endure one more day.
The thought of the secret treasure in his wallet has a sudden spike of adrenaline coursing through him. Drying off as fast as he can, he pulls Finn’s blue sweater on again over his freshly washed skin and his sleep shorts from a hook on the back of the bathroom door. He would be sure to hide the sweater before falling asleep, making sure Dawson would never get his dirty hands on it.
His wallet is on the counter, and taking a quick look at the mess still on the kitchen floor, he thinks he’ll just take a minute and then clean it up. Drawing his legs up onto the couch, the wet bandages on his knees pull a bit. But he’s not thinking about them as he gently pries open the lining and slips a small rectangle photo out. Flipping it over, he reads the words written on the back in red marker: “ Nix he only knows he has to go or he’ll die.
The bus stop is right there, and then he can rest. The pain in his face makes him realize he can only see from one eye and the world tilts, the resulting motion makes him sick. Nausea swirling, he vomits blood again just as a loud rush of air throws him backward.
Nix can’t tell, but he thinks it’s the same bus driver who picks him up gently and places him in the seat next to him, just like last night. The voice is gone now. Closing his eyes, he lets the driver’s reassuring words wash over him. The darkness welcomes him back, and his last thoughts are that he still has his treasure in his hand.