Chapter 3 #2
Luckily, I’m quickly distracted by the cold blast that hits us both as soon as he turns the faucet. We both yelp and flinch away from the offending water, but there isn’t really anywhere to go in this box we’ve found ourselves in. Luckily, it warms up after a few seconds, becoming almost pleasant.
“Here,” Rico says, rivulets running down his face as he hands me the bottle, cap screwed off.
I take it with a trembling hand, wrapping my lips around the neck and gratefully gulping down the room temperature water without swallowing much of the hot stuff raining down from above us.
He was right that I needed to spit out the first couple of mouthfuls to get rid of some of the residual vomit, but after that, it soothes my throat and gives my stomach something else to work on other than booze and pills.
A tiny part of my dumb, chemical-soaked brain wants to make a joke about wrapping my lips around something else. Unbelievably, for once my grown-up brain wins, recognizing that Rico is doing me a massive fucking favor right now and being way more kind than I deserve.
He’s doing it for Adam, not me, I know. But I’m still so thankful that another sob escapes my chest. Having someone else focusing on me…
really seeing me for a change…it’s overwhelming.
I couldn’t be rawer or more vulnerable if I tried.
I’m barely conscious and completely naked, yet Rico is only concerned with my wellbeing as he helps me hydrate and clean up.
While I slowly sip at the bottle, he lathers product into my hair, rinses it, and wipes my face, chest and underarms with a washcloth. His legs must be cramping crouched down in front of me like that, but he doesn’t complain once.
“You’re a firefighter,” I say suddenly, because apparently my brain-to-mouth filter is even more faulty than usual.
His eyebrows rise before he gives me a little smile. “Yes, I am a firefighter,” he says quietly but warmly. “So you do remember me.”
I snort. “Never forget you,” I slur, starting to lose the battle with my eyelids again. I’m far from being fine yet. But getting cleaned up and flushing out some of the narcotics is already helping my abused body. I’d love some Tylenol, but I can’t remember if I have any or not.
Sleep is the only thing I care about now.
I’d black out there on the bathroom floor, but of course Rico doesn’t let me.
The shower is turned off and the next thing I know, he’s manhandling me out of the cubicle then toweling me dry.
I’m vaguely aware that he pulls his underwear off and dries himself as well.
But then he’s back in the clothes he arrived in, fussing over me once more.
“Okay, stay there,” he says firmly as he sits me on the edge of my bed—the opposite side to where my puke is still lingering. Damn, no wonder he’s a firefighter. He’s so thoughtful.
I only sway a little as I drain the last of the water from the bottle while he rummages through my drawers. When he comes back with fresh briefs, socks, sweatpants, a tee and a hoodie, I almost start to cry again.
“Thank you,” I mumble blearily, trying to move my limbs helpfully as he dresses me. “Didn’t have to…still same Rico…I don’t…thank you…”
I can’t seem to stop the word salad until he gets me to stand so he can pull up the bottom half of my ensemble and finally allow me to be decent again. As I cling to his side, he uses his free hand to yank back the bed covers and then gently lowers me down before tucking me in.
I should feel embarrassed at being treated like a small child, but all I feel it warm and shaky, like a baby bird being rolled back into the safety of its nest.
“Sleep?” I ask hopefully.
“Yeah,” Rico says heavily. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”
Seeing as I’m basically unconscious already, I probably imagine what happens next. But as I slip back into the darkness, I swear he cradles the side of my face again like he did when he first arrived. Except now, I’m not covered in vomit. Go, me.
Drifting off this time is almost pleasant. At least I’m slightly less angry and alone compared to before. That’s something, I guess.
Who knows how long I’ve been out when I resurface again, groggy and needing to pee. At first, I’m completely disoriented. I know I’m at home, but whose voice is that?
Oh, yeah. Rico.
I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but I still screw them shut tighter in humiliation. All my most recent events come flooding back to me in a tsunami. Getting groped, fired, and beaten up all in the space of an hour. The pills and the vodka. Not wanting to wake up but doing it anyway.
Then Rico. My angel.
I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t want to impress him.
Even when I was living my best life out in Hollywood, whenever I came home, I always wanted to tell Adam all my best news and hoped that Rico might hear some of it as well.
I was desperate for him to think I was cool, because that might negate the five-year age gap between us which seemed monumental to me back then.
Maybe then I’d have a shot at kissing him.
He was out as gay by then, so my hopes seemed plausible.
Of course age isn’t going to be what stops him from kissing me now. It would literally be everything else about my fucked-up life. But who am I kidding? I bet he’s married to some amazing guy, and they live in a house with a back yard and a dog and maybe even kids.
He was always so perfect. As I could never, ever attain such perfection, I tried for extraordinary instead.
Now I’m nothing more than a failure in every regard. A loser. Nothing.
Tears leak from my closed eyes, but I try and keep myself quiet. It sounds like Rico’s several feet away in what passes as my living room. I can just about hear his lowered voice, but I don’t want him to know I’m awake yet, and I certainly don’t want him aware that I’m crying.
Again.
“No, I agree. I think that’s the best plan,” he’s saying as I manage to calm myself somewhat. No one replies, so I assume he’s on the phone. “Yeah, we’re good to go. He doesn’t have much stuff at all. Adam, it’s bad.”
I sniff and wipe my eyes, trying to concentrate. My head still hurts, but I feel slightly less nauseous. My thoughts are also less riotous, allowing me to attempt to decipher what Rico’s talking to my brother about.
I might not seem in danger of throwing my guts up again right now, but my insides still roll with shame, picturing this place and the state I was in through an outsider’s eyes.
For so long, I’ve been holding on by the skin of my teeth, barely scraping by from paycheck to paycheck, and numbing my misery with anything I could get my hands on.
Even now, before my hangover has properly settled in, I’m already wondering how I can get drunk or high next and how soon.
If I go back to Four By Four and beg, maybe I could get my job back and work a shift tonight.
Dom would serve me as soon as I arrived and TJ would probably take pity on me and my cracked ribs and spare me a line or two.
Then I remember Oakland’s look of disgust as he gave me that ultimatum. I doubt I’m getting back inside that club any time soon. But once my bruises fade, perhaps I can find somewhere else. Even if it’s not dancing, I could do bar work, I’m sure.
What am I going to eat in the meantime? Let alone drink.
Fresh tears roll down my cheeks, and I’m so caught up in my own personal circle of hell, I don’t realize I’m no longer alone until the bed dips.
I gasp and hastily scrub my face, hating the look of pity Rico gives me. The porcupine barbs fly up again, and I scramble to sit up with a scowl. “What are you doing?” I spit out, the pain in my side from my sudden movement making me even more irritable.
He just sighs and turns his gaze to where his fingers are interlocked between his knees. “I was only checking if you were awake and wanted anything, Jesse. More water? Some food?”
“No one calls me Jesse anymore,” I say rather than admitting I don’t have any real food in my apartment. “It’s Jay.”
He licks his lips and looks at me again. “Okay, Jay. No worries. How are you feeling?”
I chew my lip, torn between wanting him to leave so I can stop feeling like a pathetic specimen in a petri dish and wanting him to stay until I fall asleep again. How can he make me feel safe but also frantic at the same time?
“You broke my door down,” I segue instead of talking about my messy feelings.
“Sorry about that,” he says, sounding like he means it.
“I’ve fixed it as best I can for now and can pay for the actual repair.
But Jesse—sorry, Jay—I was worried. Really worried.
So was your brother. He still is. We don’t…
we’ve decided…” He puffs out his cheeks then fixes me with a stern look that makes me want to melt and shrivel at the same time.
“I don’t think you should stay here alone right now, and Adam agrees.
I want you to come back to my place until you’re feeling better. ”
“W-what?” I splutter with a hollow laugh. “You can’t be serious. I’m fine, dude. I don’t care if my brother sent you here. He needs to stop meddling in my life!”
Even as I’m speaking the words, I don’t mean them. But I’m panicking. Go? Go where? With Rico Flores? As if I haven’t humiliated myself enough in front of him already.
“You’re not fine, Jay,” Rico says, and I kind of hate him for respecting the stupid name I told my colleagues to call me years ago.
Like I could erase Jesse Silverman if I reduced him to just one syllable.
“I know you don’t want to go to the hospital, but I’m a trained EMT.
If you need a note to call in sick at work—”
I cut him off with a nasty, hollow laugh. “I got fired last night, so don’t worry about that.”