Survivor Stories

by J P Barnaby

  “Hey….”

  He ignored the voice. They just wanted to torment him more. If he didn’t answer, maybe they’d leave him alone.

  “Aaron. Aaron, it’s okay.” Jordan’s voice sounded scared but resigned. He didn’t touch Aaron, but stood next to him at the sink and waited. Aaron took a deep breath and then another, reciting in his head all the things in the room. He wasn’t exactly grounding himself but distracting his brain from the images assaulting it.

  “I’m… I’m okay, I just….”

  “I know, I see it too, sometimes. It’s just a different picture.”

  “What does your picture look like?”

  Jordan went quiet for a long moment and ran a hand through his hair, pulling his bangs back and revealing sad eyes.

  “I see the front of Dylan’s football jersey explode when the bullet hits him. I see the look on Riley Patterson’s face as he turns and his eyes land on me. He raises the gun, but I run. I feel the ding of the bullet as it slams into the wall by my head. I remember how my shoes slid as I rounded the corner, and how I thought my heart would explode before I got to the bathroom door. There was a collective gasp from the girls hiding in the back, and I remember thanking God they hadn’t thought to lock the door. But I did, because he could have been right behind me. Meredith Leigh freaked out and tried to run, but Jenny Sanders held her and kept her still so he wouldn’t find us.” Jordan slid down the front of the refrigerator to sit on the floor, his knees pulled up tight against his chest.

  “I used to see Juliette’s face as they cut her throat or the men’s faces as they tortured us. I watched the blood pour out of my body onto the concrete. Now I see their faces sneering at me in the courtroom. I watch my father’s disgust and my mother’s pity as I describe what they did to me. Worst of all is Spencer’s face….” Aaron slid down to sit on the floor next to Jordan, their dishes and even the movie forgotten in the face of their shared horror.

  “Spencer is your boyfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t have to testify. Riley Patterson killed himself before the police could take him down. I can’t imagine what it would be like to describe something so awful while the people who did it watched you. I just… I can’t. Can’t you tell them that you don’t want to testify?”

  “And let them get away with murdering Juliette?”

  “What if you can’t?” Jordan brushed his hair to the side out of his eyes and focused a very intent gaze on Aaron.

  “I’ve been working with my shrink, the one who led me to the PTSD group where we met. He’s trying to desensitize me to the words so I can say them. I don’t know what will happen. I may shut down all together and never come back out of my head.” Aaron voiced his deepest concern for the first time. It was something he hadn’t even told Spencer.

  “That won’t happen.”

  “It could.”

  “It won’t.”

  The sound of the front door opening forestalled any further argument. They didn’t move off the floor but looked up at Anthony as he came into the kitchen. His black hair hung in an overgrown shag into his vacant eyes and to his shoulders, another sign their mother had been preoccupied lately. His jeans were artfully ripped, but at least the T-shirt was clean. Anthony looked at them for a long moment, his face confused.

  “Why are you on the floor?”

  “Why are you standing up?” Jordan asked with an innocent glance up at Anthony.

  “Whatever. I don’t care. I just want a Coke. Could you be weird over there?” Anthony asked and waited for Jordan to move so he could open the refrigerator door. He stumbled a little when he leaned over to grab a can from the bottom but didn’t say anything else as he shuffled to the stairs and down to his room.

  “Who was that?” Jordan asked, watching Anthony until he went out of view.

  “My little brother, Anthony,” Aaron said as he started to pick himself up off the floor.

  “His pupils were blown wide. Any idea what he’s on?”

  “On?” Aaron stared after Anthony, an odd pain in his chest.

  “Yeah, that kid is on something.”

  “He went to a party at a friend’s house. They’re fourteen. What could they possibly have gotten? I’m twenty-one, and I don’t even know where to get illegal drugs.”

  “They don’t need to be illegal. He probably went to a pharm party.”

  “What’s a pharm party?”

  “It’s where a bunch of kids raid their parents’ or grandparents’ medicine cabinet and bring prescription drugs to a party. They put them in a bowl like Halloween candy, grab a couple, and take them.”

  “Anthony wouldn’t do that. He’s a smart kid. He’s seen what the drugs do to me. Why would he want to take them?” Aaron stared at Jordan and tried not to think about the missing antianxiety pills he thought his mother had hidden.

  “Because sometimes the drugs are easier than the pain. Well, until you watch one of your friends OD on the floor in front of you. Then it’s not so fun.” The pain on Jordan’s face spoke of something very non-hypothetical, but Aaron had had all the truth he could stand for one night.

  “Come on. Let’s go finish watching the movie.” His gaze remained on the closed basement door as he tried to figure out what to do with what Jordan told him. Before going back into the family room, he shot Allen a text.

  One more complication he didn’t need.

  Twelve

  “HAVEN’T YOU ever been to a club before?” Clare asked as she checked her makeup in a pocket mirror for the tenth time since they left dinner. Spencer didn’t understand the obsession. She looked cute with her long brown curls swept up off her face, but you’d have thought she was on her way to get married. The train lurched out of the Fullerton station, and Spencer grabbed one of the overhead straps where he stood next to Clare, who seemed unfazed in her little plastic seat.

  “No., I. Never. Had. Anyone. To. Go. With….”

  The little girl who sat across from Clare stared at him from another little plastic seat. Eric and Paul hung precariously from their own overhead straps, and Paul held on to one of the poles as well, just for good measure. They were talking, but Spencer didn’t really pay attention to what they said. Instead he wondered about the lack of texts from Aaron the last few days. He’d considered e-mailing Aaron’s mother to check but knew if something had gone really wrong either she or Spencer’s father would have let him know. So that meant Aaron didn’t want to talk to him, and that made his heart hurt.

  “Well, dinner was fabulous, and now we’re gonna go out and cut loose a little. The project is on schedule, and we deserve the downtime.” Clare slipped her mirror back into a little black purse, which she tucked under her arm as she stood. Eric touched his arm. Spencer turned to look.

  “Belmont is next,” he said and grabbed the pole as he moved closer to the door. Spencer stood back and let Clare and Paul follow first and then he brought up the rear. They stepped off the train and onto the platform, where the flow of bodies led them down the stairs, through the turnstile, and out onto street level. Spencer made sure to stay right behind Clare because he wouldn’t be able to hear them calling him if they got separated.

  They walked a few blocks to Halsted, the epicenter of gay culture in Chicago, and Spencer gazed around in awe. Pillars rose at intervals along the block, with rainbow-colored lights marking the area as Boystown, where their LGBT family could shine. They were just around the corner from his apartment as they passed Spin and headed up Halsted toward Hydrate. He’d seen the clubs during the day as he walked past on his way to the train, but he’d never actually had the nerve to wander down for the nightlife.

  He put a hand on Clare’s arm, and she turned.

  “Thank. You….”

  “Everyone deserves a life, Spencer,” she said as she gave him a quick hug, and then they jogged a few steps to catch up with Eric and Paul in the lead. They showed their IDs to the bouncer, Spencer’s proving that he was barely old enough to w
alk through the door. A few guys sat at the big bar in the middle of the room. Empty chairs sat in clusters next to the counters that ran along every available wall space, even up on the raised area to their left. The bouncer made change and stamped their hands, allowing them to step inside. The floor vibrated under Spencer’s feet.

  Clare poked Eric and pointed to a door near the back of the room, and they followed. After a very short hall, the room opened up into a much larger dance area. A DJ booth sat in the back corner just down from another, smaller bar. As Spencer let his gaze move through the room, he saw shirtless and sometimes pantsless guys dancing on raised platforms. A cute little gaysian twink danced in a jock on one in the corner, looking a little bored while a guy stuffed money into places dead presidents had no reason to be. In the middle of the room, in front of a huge mirror, a tall blond in light blue briefs made the tattoo down his spine ripple with lithe movements for a few interested patrons.

  A hand on Spencer’s shoulder caught his attention.

  “What do you want to drink?” Paul asked and waved to get the attention of a tall, hot bartender wearing jeans, a smile, and little else. He watched as Paul ordered a margarita for Clare and beers for himself and Eric.

  “Beer… What. Ever. You. Are. Having.,” Spencer yelled, hoping it was loud enough over whatever music played. The thumping still jarred his feet, and Clare moved to the rhythm next to him. Eric shoved a couple of bills across the bar and handed a yellowish drink to Clare before handing two bottles of Corona to Paul and Spencer. The guy had shoved a lime wedge into the neck of the bottle, and he followed Paul’s example of pushing it down into the beer. Paul took a long drink and then pointed toward the floor with his bottle.

  Clare slid her hand into his and pulled him through the growing throng of people past the mirror and to the back part of the room that hadn’t been visible from the bar. They passed a cage which contained two guys half dancing and half making out. As Spencer watched, the guy in front, a short, sweet little Hispanic, held on to the bars while the muscled bombshell behind him pushed the boy against the metal, humping him, kissing his neck. Spencer followed the show just long enough for his cock to stiffen in his jeans and then took a drink of his beer and followed Clare to a space along the back wall where they put their drinks on a ledge and watched the crowd.

  Spencer took another drink of his beer, and as the bottle came back down, his attention focused on a kid standing just outside the DJ booth. His cropped dark hair, almost military in precision, didn’t distract from pretty eyes and sensual mouth. Already shirtless, though the heat in the room didn’t warrant it, he watched the crowd with a practiced casualness. Spencer had seen that same look in the guys at school when girls passed, only to watch their puffed-out chests fall as soon as the girls rounded a corner. Guys gearing up for the prowl, didn’t matter if they were gay or straight. With another glance, the guy turned to show off a tat as he picked up a drink from the ledge but didn’t bring it to his lips. Without the distraction of the music and conversation, Spencer’s senses were probably sharper than anyone’s in the room, and he smirked behind his bottle.

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Spencer turned to see Clare smiling at him.

  “Dance with me,” she said. He couldn’t tell if she yelled it or not, but her cheeks flushed with excitement, and her body swayed with the pulsing beat that he’d probably never get out of his shoes. He hesitated and glanced at all the people around him. Two guys a few feet away were moving in perfect unison, grinding, punctuating the thumps with a few of their own. Spencer didn’t want to feel like an idiot on the very first time out. Clare put a hand on his cheek and turned his face to her.

  “I’ll help you. Come on.” She took his hand, and he barely had time to put his beer on the ledge next to Eric, who gave him a thumbs-up, before they were on the floor. Awkward didn’t really cover how Spencer felt as he stood perfectly still in a sea of writhing bodies. Clare’s hand on his hip startled him, and he jerked his head sharply to look at her. Then they were moving. He watched the guys around him. He watched Clare. He counted out the rhythm in his head.

  One-Two-Three-Four

  One-Two-Three-Four

  Nell tried to teach him to dance once when he was a child, but he didn’t see the point. Why try to celebrate music he couldn’t hear with a dance he couldn’t do? But as his body moved in time with the thumping, as he saw the grin on Clare’s face, he understood. Nell tried to teach him because it was fun; only as a kid he’d been too self-conscious to figure that out. Clare winked at him when he gave himself over to the feeling of freedom in his heart. She threw her arms around his neck and moved in a way that, had he been straight, might have made him blush. He laughed and joined her.

  His head whipped around when he felt someone rub against his back. Military cut danced behind him, his carefully cultivated smile still in place. Spencer looked down at Clare, startled. She grinned at him, grabbed his hips, and turned him before disappearing back toward Paul and Eric.

  Oh shit.

  “Come on, straight boy, dance with me,” the boy said, putting a hand on Spencer’s ass and grinding against him. He’d lost his count in the surprise but found his timing again and moved. They were matched pretty well in height, so hips rubbed against hips, and chests rubbed against chests. The beer gave Spencer a bit of courage, and his hands slid around the guy’s waist and rested against bare skin. He kept his eyes on the pretty face as the pressure grew in his jeans. A niggling guilt grew in the back of his mind, that Aaron wouldn’t appreciate him grinding his cock against another guy, but they were in public. Nothing would happen.

  “Oh, not so straight, are you, straight boy?”

  “Why. Do. You. Keep. Saying. That.?”

  The grin on the boy’s face grew, and he rubbed his own firm cock against Spencer’s through their jeans. They were in a gay club. He had no idea why the guy would think he was straight.

  “You were dancing with your girlfriend, and you dance like a straight guy,” he said, and then his expression changed to a condescending little pout. “No rhythm.”

  Spencer sighed, only the sound didn’t make it past his lips. Instead he put his lips close to the guy’s ear.

  “It. Is. Hard. To. Dance. To. Music. You. Can. Not. Hear… I. Am. Deaf., Dickhead….” The typical changing expressions crossed the guy’s face: surprise, comprehension, shame. Spencer didn’t care. He pushed away and went back to his friends with a weight in his chest. He hated that feeling of not fitting in, of being other. Spencer had forgotten it some when his coworkers were so accepting, but it came back with full force around those normal people. Being with Aaron for so long, he’d forgotten what normal was.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, hoping with everything in him to see Aaron’s name.

  [Clare] What happened?

  Spencer looked over at Clare and shrugged. He didn’t want to harsh the mellow, so he took his bottle and went over to the bar. It was easy enough to order a drink when you held up an empty bottle. The bartender held up five fingers, not because he had any idea Spencer was deaf, but because no one could hear. Spencer gave him a ten and waved off the change.

  Picking up the beer, he turned and almost walked into the guy standing next to him. He looked at Spencer, not in an unfriendly way, and smiled. Brilliant blue eyes twinkled even in the dim light of the club, and Spencer didn’t need to look up far to see them. Maybe just in the neighborhood of six feet tall, with a hard body under that T-shirt and jeans and closely cut brown hair with a five o’clock shadow that had turned into something more like eight or nine o’clock. Sexy, but not in a pretty boy sort of way, he definitely got Spencer’s attention.

  “I said, you’re hot,” he said.

  “Thank. You….” Spencer lifted his hand to his chin before his brain registered it, because he always signed and spoke when he talked with Aaron, with his dad, anyone. His whole life, it had been habit, especially a quick thank-you.

 
“Deaf?” the guy asked and signed at the same time.

  Spencer nodded and pointed at the guy.

  “My sister, I learned for her.” He spelled out the name R-Y-A-N and pointed to himself.

  Spencer did the same and spelled out his own name.

  “Want to dance?” Ryan asked, and Spencer pointed toward the dance floor with his bottle. Ryan’s hand slid into his, and he took another long swallow of beer, emptying half the bottle before following. They mingled with the other dancers, following the line of bodies jostling for position. When they passed a low table, Spencer drained another quarter of the bottle and left the last bit in the bottom, forgotten in a sea of other discarded bottles and plastic cups. Ryan pulled him over near the cage and turned to face him. Spencer’s heart pounded with the intensity in his gaze.

  The song changed, and the thumping turned a bit slower. He almost didn’t register the difference until Ryan put a hand on his hip to guide them both in a slow, steady pulse. Their eyes met, and Spencer had a hard time looking away. He liked the hunger he saw in their crystalline depths. No one had looked at him like that in a long time, years, in fact. His dick reminded him of that as it began to press against his fly. They were barely touching, but Spencer felt Ryan’s presence like a tingle on his skin. Ryan winked and turned, pressing his ass against Spencer’s stiffening crotch. The thumping got harder, faster, and Spencer felt it in his thighs and his balls, his cock throbbing in time. Ryan’s sweet little ass stroked him through his jeans.

  It had been so long.

  So fucking long.

  The second beer made him bold, and Spencer ran a hand along Ryan’s abs. He couldn’t hear Ryan moan, but he felt it in the way his body arched. Ryan’s hand snaked up into the back of Spencer’s hair. He buried his face in the hollow between Ryan’s shoulder and neck, not kissing, but nuzzling as he pulled back on Ryan’s middle and dry-humped him on the dance floor. Spencer closed his eyes, and nothing else existed except the hands on him, the body in front of him, and the buzzed euphoria in his head. Ryan’s hand landed on his, and he pushed it down to his own dick, God, he was hard—hard for Spencer.