Fiew, these seem to be getting increasingly heavier. It's a kind of release for me to write something dramatic with a gay theme, I've been busy working on some pilots that I'm submitting to networks right now, but none that really have the themes that this one does, so I get them all out here! I promise there will be more sex in the next story, haha! Please comment, I love them.
Chapter 15: House of Cards
The week was a blur for everyone at the Apollo. It was grad week, and so the bar was sure to be packed almost every night with different theme parties for each. Mark and Liam avoided each other at work, although both could try and sneak a glance at the other, and attempt a weak smile for forgiveness when the other wasn’t looking. Both were desperate to get back together, but desperate to stick to their convictions, aware that they fought for a reason. Their faith had always been a sour point in discussion, but they’d managed to avoid it up until a week ago.
For Donovan, the week was even blurrier. He’d missed work twice this week, and come in late every other time, and Penny took notice. She’d placed him on probation, cutting down his shifts by half, and already had given him two strikes. If he came to work high, or didn’t come to work at all, that would be it. Her only interest in keeping him was this fan-base that he seemed to bring in to the Apollo. She valued their business almost as much as they valued Donovan’s. He was sinking, fast, and all Margot could do was watch. What tormented her was the fact that she knew she could help him, but was so hurt by what he was doing to himself that she couldn’t. He was a different person, his eyes red and fragmented, his gaze always shifting away from her when she tried to get his attention. She was no longer the highest priority in his life.
At the end of the night on Saturday, her cowboy costume in hand, Margot went out the back of the kitchen towards her car, only to stumble on Donovan, sitting, having a cigarette, his eyes transfixed on the curb where he sat. She hesitated at the door, then let it close behind her and took a seat a few feet down from him, his eyes never turning away.
-How was your shift? She spoke gently.
-Fine. It was fine.
A long silence between them. The vacancy in his voice was unnerving, and Margot knew that he had either just shot up, or was waiting for a hit, distracted by her presence. She gave up, and started towards her car.
-Please don’t leave.
She turned back to him slowly, his eyes still not looking at her, his head still hanging low.
-What?
-Please stay with me. For awhile. I think something’s wrong. Please.
A few steps towards him.
-Wrong?
-I can’t…my head, something is…
-Donovan?
With that, he lurched forward and vomited between his legs, Margot rushing to his side, a cautious hand on his back. He began to weep audibly, and Margot stared at him, more intensely sympathetic than she thought she could be at this moment. His voice was shaky and childlike—
-I’m sorry.
-Withdrawal?
-I tried to stop…made it 24 hours. I can’t feel my left arm. I can’t see straight. My stomach is in knots. I don’t know what to do.
-Let’s get you home.
-I have nowhere to go. Landlord.
-You gave up your home for this Donovan? Jesus. No…it’s fine. Come to my place. You need water, and rest. We’ll ride this out together.
-Together?
Margot helped him up by his shoulders and slung his good arm around her as they hobbled towards her car. He slept all the way home, and fell right back into it when he got into her bed. She stood over him for a moment, sprawled, lifeless, and healing. And she could already see a warmth in his face, the gentleness that drew him to her in the first place, finally returning. Part of her hesitated in letting him back so soon, but part of her knew that he’d given up for her. She slept on the sofa in the living room.
Curtis was the last one out of the Apollo that Saturday, since his table up top was always the last ones to leave. He didn’t mind, as their tip was usually at least half of their bill. In the past few weeks, Curtis had made well over ten thousand dollars in tips, so much that he wasn’t even quite sure what to do with the money. When he returned to the empty table to clear up the glasses, he wasn’t sure exactly what to think. There, wadded up on a coaster, was five thousand dollars, wrapped in an elastic band. He held it for a moment, took a look around him. Five thousand dollars. This felt like stealing, taking this much money from someone he didn’t know. This was more than he made in a month. He slipped it into his apron, and walked briskly back to the kitchen with the last few shot glasses.
Curtis usually walked to work, since his apartment was only a few minutes from the Apollo parking lot up the hill. The air was strangely hot and humid for being past midnight when he walked around the corner to cross the bridge. At the end of the bridge, he saw two figures standing, large and imposing. Two turned into three, which turned into five as he approached.
-Hello?
He continued walking, an attempt at confidence at these strange people waiting to get in.
-I’m sorry, we’re closed.
-Are you now.
One of the thick voices stood out from the crowd. They began to walk towards him. The same man spoke.
-You’re Beaumont, right? Jackie says that you’ve been taking money from the thirties, this right?
-Some…just tips.
Curtis stopped walking as they approached him in the dark. He could see that the man talking was wearing black.
-Tips!
He gave a laugh.
-That money is ours, son. Stolen. Your boy Reddy’s been dipping into the Young Blood pot, Mr. Beaumont. That money is ours.
Curtis turned back to the Apollo, sure that he could outrun these men and find a way to lock himself back inside. Behind him, at the other end of the bridge, was another hoard of them, all in black jackets. A planned attack.
-I don’t have it anymore.
-None?
-Here, he gave me this tonight. I had no idea.
Curtis tossed him the money, that landed a meter shy of where the man stood, stopped in his tracks. He bent slowly down to pick it up, examined it.
-Five? Come on.
-I don’t…I don’t have the rest.
-Well then give Reddy this message for me.
The man took a step towards Curtis, and punched him hard in the gut, sending him toppling over himself. He had the wind knocked out of him, and as he struggled for air, someone from behind grabbed him by the neck and held him upright, a knife to his throat.
-Tell him next time he wants to mess with us, don’t send a fucking messenger. Because know what happens to the messenger?
-No, Curtis struggled.
-Well, you’ll just have to see, won’t you.
And with that, the attack began.
Meanwhile, under cover of night, Silas entered the back door of the Hennington Metro Clinic. The inside smelled like formaldehyde, which he always thought was strange given that they weren’t really preserving anything here. It made him uneasy. That coupled with the fact that there would be blood drawn. He couldn’t stand the sight of needles.
The doctor sat him down, and asked him a series of questions while he filled out a long form attached to a clipboard on his desk.
Born after 1980.
Some drug use as a teen, stopped two years ago.
Has never traveled outside of the country in the past three years.
Relations with men and women, mostly men.
Worked at the country club over the summer.
Knew of a man named Byron Swittik who frequented the club.
Had relations with Byron Swittik in July.
Unprotected.
Silas’ heart sank when the name was brought up. And his face tingled with the first stages of grieving when the doctor told him he was HIV positive—then sent him on his way. He would see a doctor the next day, and might have to be sent to a neighboring city for a doctor who specializes. But for now, he was on his way. As he walked through the hallway that seemed to go on forever, he pondered how they could give someone this news, and then let them go. Wasn’t he a suicide threat? Wasn’t there something they could do right now? Wasn’t there a way out of this?
As he lifelessly dragged himself through the hallway, wondering how he could ever sleep again, how he could tell his parents, how he could survive this, he passed an open room with someone inside on a stretcher, two doctors on one side, a nurse on the other, frantically mulling over him. He was bleeding badly, so he didn’t recognize the face. A small boy, he looked like, maybe only seventeen. His body frail. Silas stopped for a moment at the door and pictured himself in that bed over the next few months. Pictured what lay ahead. And began to remember all of the mistakes that he’d made in his life. Like someone made a blooper reel, and that was all he could see now. No way to turn back time now. His face winced as he broke down into tears, collapsing on the ground in front of the room.
When he looked up to see Mark and Margot rushing down the hallway towards him, it didn’t cross his mind why they were there so late, but rather reminded him of what came next. He remembered seeing a movie where the positive guy needed to call up all his ex-lovers, warm them, make them get tested. He couldn’t imagine the shame. Then it hit him…that now, he could include Mark on that list. A very possible list. Mark called to him across the hallway.
-Silas! When did you find out?
-Find out…find out about what?
-Curtis.
-Oh…
His eyes drifted back to the room, and he got back onto his feet. Margot entered the room, and Mark continued with Silas.
-They called Margot because she was listed as his main contact on his health form. Something with the Young Blood gang, we came as soon as we found out.
-Horrible…I think—he’s sleeping, I think.
-When did you get here?
Silas was in a terrible daze.
-Two hours ago.
-I don’t…I’m not sure he was even here by then.
-Mark…
-Yeah?
Their eyes finally met for the first time in what seemed like forever. A cold shiver ran down Mark’s spine as he saw Silas with tears in his eyes.
-We need to talk.
