Tristan stared at the ceiling in his room, throwing together some lyrics that had been floating around in his brain. He wasn’t musical by any means, but he had a lot of time on his hands, and there was always a lot of free-falling emotions in his brain.
There is no reason to drown out this pain, there is no reason to let it slip away…
The words in his mind were making a melody on their own, and he realized that he was humming when his roommate stirred in the bed next to him. “Can’t sleep either?” Tristan heard across the room.
“Sorry, man, didn’t mean to wake you.”
Tristan could hear rustling and then the lamp on the other side of the bed flipped on. “Nah, I wasn’t sleeping. Can’t fucking sleep anymore. Seems like the only thing that I wanna in here is sleep. Keeps me from having to go to their little group meetings, sing Kumbaya and hold hands.”
They both laughed softly for a moment and then Tristan went back to staring at the ceiling. It felt as if a door had been opened between the two, and he didn’t have anything better to do. He only had one week left in here, and this guy was going to be committed for quite a while. At least that was what he overheard the nurses saying one day when he was on his way to the community shower. Tristan’s outlook on life was a little bit better than it was last week when his roommate first got here. Maybe it would do them both some good to talk.
“The name’s Tristan. You’re Joe, right?”
“Yeah, Joe Vierra. I’d say it’s good to meet ya, but these are some pretty shitty circumstances to be in, for both of us.”
“Yeah, very true. You from Colorado Springs?”
“No, I live a few towns over in Dexter. My wife asked the police to bring me here, rather than our local hospital because she said I’d get better care here. I’m not so sure that was her real motive, though, but, hey, can’t say that I blame her.”
The two men had shared a room for over a week, but Tristan had no idea that the guy was married. No one came to visit him during the two-hour visiting time each day, just like no one came to see Tristan, either. But, Tristan wasn’t surprised about his lack of guests, but if Joe was married, where the fuck was his wife?
“Is she coming to see you soon? Your wife, I mean.”
“Doubt it. I don’t remember a whole lot of what happened, but I do remember the look on her face when I was hauled away. I’m pretty sure at this point, she’s embarrassed of me.”
Tristan had no clue what the circumstances were surrounding Joe’s arrival, other than what little bits and pieces he picked up when the staff was in the room with him. He knew that his roommate was schizophrenic, and that he believed the government was poisoning him, but that was about it. Well, he knew that he tried to set himself on fire, but didn’t succeed since there wasn’t a burn on him anywhere and was brought here by the police.
Still, if you sign on to marry someone, Tristan knew that it was supposed to be forever. Not just for the good parts, but the bad parts, too. Otherwise, why bother? Everyone had their demons to share, and if the person you love couldn’t handle yours, then they didn’t need to be in your life.
“So, that’s it? Did she walk away then?”
Joe sat up on his bed, resting his back against the headboard. “I don’t know. I haven’t even tried calling her. We have two little kids at home, and she has enough to handle without dealing with my shit right now, too. Frankly, I don’t blame her for being embarrassed by me, anyway. It’s gotta be hard having a husband that was arrested for being a kook.”
“You have two kids? Damn it, man. There’s the perfect reason to get your shit together. If not for your wife, then do it for your kids.”
Joe just nodded his head, and answered, “Yeah, that’s the plan. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I know that I plan on getting better…for them. You got a family, Tristan?”
“Nope. No one gives a fuck about me. But, hey, I’m good with it. Other people just have the opportunity to hurt you. I don’t give them that chance.”
Joe laughed and reached over to flip off the light again. It was nearing dawn anyway, and there was light filtering in through the vertical blinds. “Yeah, man, but without them, I wouldn’t have a reason to get better.”
Without knowing it, Joe had just said what Tristan had been thinking for the last three weeks of his life. There was no reason to get better, other than to get his ass out of here. Once he left these four walls, there was nothing left for him.
Chapter Six
Tristan woke to the screaming vibration of a vacuum cleaner outside the door. The whine of the machine was enough to make him grit his teeth together, which only exacerbated the pounding in his head.
“Shut that fucking thing off!” Tristan half groaned and half screamed to the door. When the noise didn’t stop, he fumbled over the side of the bed for the nearest thing that he could pick up to throw at the wall. There was no way that his weakened muscles could launch anything heavy enough to be heard by whoever was out there. The last few months were spent mostly “sleeping,” or what he called “drugged out” because of his meds and his muscle tone was suffering.
It would be extremely odd for one of the skank whores his uncle “dated” to still be around mid-day during the week, but he also knew better than to think that his uncle would be cleaning up after him. The man didn’t even own a vacuum of his own; why would he be over here cleaning up the tiny apartment that Tristan lived in? But that was the only logical explanation, and he didn’t have the motivation to think beyond his uncle having a lobotomy.
Tristan rolled over in bed, groaning as his face landed directly in the rays of sunshine that were pouring through the bedroom window in the space he occupied above his uncle’s garage. Flinching almost as if the sunlight burned his skin, he turned himself so that he was lying on his stomach and pulled both of the pillows over his head to drown out the vacuum. Why his uncle hadn’t stopped yet was proof enough for him that Morgan really was a narcissistic fuck that got off on making other people’s lives miserable. Either that, or the stupid bastard was just trying to kick him while he was down.
Tristan was just contemplating getting out of bed and slamming Morgan’s head against the wall, and throwing him out, when the apartment was eerily silent again. Relaxing back under the covers, he let the last of his anger flow out his fingertips as he released the tight grip on his bed sheets and slipped back into his unconscious prison.
The whip severed the air, making everything crystal clear for Tristan. There was no way that he could fail at this. There was no way that he would let this beautiful girl who had completely given herself over, leave this playroom without having been to the moon and back with Tristan controlling her. Better than that pansy ass fucker, Dominic who was standing off to the side, watching his every move. Bastard was just watching to get some pointers from Tristan. That’s all it was.
The strikes barely licked the bronzed skin of Valerie’s back in perfect vertical bands. The next flick of his wrist had felt off, but the stripe was just a bit darker, leaving Valerie moaning in pleasure. Tristan could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins when he felt the all-consuming power…the drive to be able to give to another human being the kind of pain/pleasure that she needed; just enough to make her reach nirvana.
But then Valerie said the three words from hell, and disobeyed him. The need to bring her ultimate pleasure was destroyed…all that was left behind was an all-consuming anger.
Tristan took a step closer to Valerie, wanting to punish her. In his nightmare, the speed of the whip slicing through the delicate skin on his submissive’s back happened at a snail’s pace, like a zipper splitting apart the skin on her back. Blood oozed down her flesh, mingling with the bright colors on the tribal tattoo that covered her lower back. Tristan’s heart started to pound as the small gash poured blood like a cascading waterfall.
The blood ran down her back, pooling on the floor and he realized what he’d just done.
“Help me
!” Tristan yelled, as he tried to reach Valerie to get her down from her restraints. His body was frozen, unable to move even the slightest bit, to reach her before it was too late.
“Help me!!” Tristan screamed again. This time, someone was holding on to his arm as he tried to pull away. He had to get to Valerie…had to get her down. She was going to bleed to death and it was all his fault. He furtively tried moving his numb legs again, but he was rewarded this time with a soft voice, “Tristan, it’s all right. You’re having a nightmare.”
Soft hands rested against his forehead, and pushed the damp hair out of his eyes. Still in the clutches of the nightmare, he knew his mind would have brought the image of Valerie’s bloodied body to his bedroom. It wasn’t unusual for his nightmares to follow through into the real world, if only momentarily. If he opened his eyes, he would see the beautiful girl’s mangled flesh instead of his empty bedroom.
Again the voice said, “Tristan, you need to take your medicine. Please wake up.”
His brain then conjured up the face of one of the nurses at the psychiatric stress unit, waking him to take his medicine. That meant he was lying in that bed again, devoid of all his liberties, back at square one. He tried to focus on the voice, but had no idea who it belonged to. Plus, if he was back in the stress unit, then something serious must have gone down. Because right now, he had no fucking clue what was going on. The thought of being imprisoned again was enough to pull Tristan out of his haze, and he eased into reality and back into his own bed in his apartment.
Tristan could feel the ever-present ache in his bones, but his body was slow to respond. With a deliberate motion, he sat up in his bed, but his forehead slammed into something hard. He fell back against the pillows with the plop.
“Owww,” a voice whined.
Tristan sometimes felt like his mind was locked in a prison, and there was no way out. But now he had to add imaginary people and obnoxious vacuum cleaners to his list of woes. He felt like his head could explode any second from the pressure building inside it. Not every day was like this anymore, but today just happened to be another craptastic day. He audibly groaned as his foggy brain inventoried his problems in life, and he added a goose egg on his head to the list.
“Yeah, oww,” Tristan mimicked as he rubbed his aching forehead, keeping his eyes closed tight. He sat for a minute, wondering if whoever was there was going to keep on talking, or if they would just disappear.
“Sorry about that. I was trying to wake you up, but I didn’t think that you would sit up and clobber me in the head,” the voice teased, and chuckled.
Preparing himself for who he assumed would be Nurse Ratched in his room, he cracked his eyes open just enough to peek out. There, sitting on the edge of his bed, with the light from the window glowing behind her, wasn’t Satan’s lap dog, but an angel of mercy. Dark hair framed a soft face with great big green eyes, and she was smiling a lazy smile as she rubbed her own forehead again and laughed.
Tristan used his elbows to prop himself back up on the bed, and realized too late he’d fallen asleep completely naked and was only covered with just a simple sheet. He scrambled to pull the thin covering over himself, and held his hands over his dick.
“Yeah, sorry about smacking you in the head. Who are you, sweetie?”
“My name is Peyton. Peyton Bauer. I was hired by Chris Lake to be your nurse’s aide for a few hours every day. He didn’t tell you?”
Tristan remembered getting a text message from Chris a few days ago, right after he tried to come and visit him. There was no way that Tristan wanted to deal with the I told you so’s that would come from a visit from the uber Dom right now, so he never even answered the door. He was sure that Chris just wanted to lay into him about his behavior at Club Red, or worst case scenario, look at him with pity in his eyes and ask him if he needed help with something.
“No, but not because he didn’t try, I’m sure. I haven’t been answering his phone calls or the door lately. How did you get in, anyway?”
“The guy that owns the house let me in. Morgan, I think his name was? Creepy dude, whoever he was. Kept licking his lips while he looked at me. Eww.”
Peyton bent down and picked up the discarded comforter off the floor and tossed it over him. She then sat even closer to the head of the bed, and handed him a glass of water from the nightstand along with his medication. Tristan scrubbed his hands through his hair a few times before he reluctantly took the medication from her hand, and swallowed it down with the glass of water.
“Yeah, that’s Uncle Morgan, for ya,” Tristan grimaced and then continued, “Thanks for that, but you can go. I don’t need any help. I got this.”
Peyton stood from the bed, and walked about his room, picking up the stray clothes that were lying on the floor. “Yeah, I can see that,” she said as she mockingly looked around the only bedroom in the apartment that had just a bed on the floor, and a few boxes sitting around.
“Chris said he didn’t know you real well, but he needed to do this…said he would talk with you when you’re ready. I don’t completely understand the motivation behind all this, but the bit Chris did explain, he knew for certain that you would be too stubborn to accept help. I agreed, and added that I thought it would be best to just give it a shot and see if you wouldn’t be amenable.”
Peyton turned around, with a sweet smile on her face, and arms laden with his dirty clothes. She finished, “So he made my next two car payments without me knowing it. That way I’m obligated by my honor to do my damndest to help you, and you will take pity on me and just shut up and let me.”
Tristan was sitting there, mouth gaping open at her, completely at a loss for words. Peyton gave him another breathtaking smile that made it damn near impossible for him to think. She batted her eyelashes a few times, and spotted something on the other side of the room.
“Oh hell, you have dirty clothes laying everywhere,” she said as she made her way back around the bed to the last of his clothes that were left here from the last time he’d lived with his uncle. Peyton already had an armful and when she knelt down, her black yoga pants stretched over her ass, showing off its full, curvy shape.
After what had happened at Club Red, Tristan wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to look at women the same again. Especially after the terrible way he’d abused Valerie and treated her like an object.
Before his fateful time at the club, Tristan had never taken time for more than just a quick fuck, and at the time, had no desire to change. He was focused on his job at J-View Plastics, and honestly had no time or energy to devote to more than just bedding a woman.
There had been a few of his residual fuck friends that had stopped by over the last month and taken care of his primal needs, but they knew the score, and didn’t stay long enough to ask any questions or to see how he was doing. Which was just fine with him.
This woman however wasn’t here to be objectified, or treated callously. He was in unfamiliar territory with Peyton here. It was a bit scary for him, but yet she was so casual about everything, and he actually didn’t mind her being here. It was actually kind of nice to have someone around, and hell, if she wanted to clean up his rat’s nest, then so be it. That seemed like a win-win right now.
She rose up with all his clothes in her arms, and thankfully couldn’t see in front of her very well. Oblivious to his growing problem, she meandered out the door. “I’m going to take these to the Laundromat down the street. I should be back in a couple of hours. That gives you enough time to take a shower, get dressed, and take care of your little problem, there.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond, and was closing the door before he could. Tristan wasn’t one hundred percent positive, but he thought he could hear Peyton laughing on her way down the steps outside.
Chapter Seven
Tristan stumbled into the kitchen/living area of his apartment after another hour of lounging in his bed and then a quick shower and was shocked at what he found. The kitchen was n
ot only cleaned, and all the stray take-out containers were gone, but the few pieces of furniture that were here were arranged in the small open area to form a haphazard living room.
The apartment in his uncle’s garage was a rat hole, but it was still livable. The carpet was beat to hell by the last guy that lived here years ago, and there were burn holes all over the place. The walls were defaced as well, so his uncle had torn them down. Tristan had worked to put them back up when he lived here the first time, but they were still unfinished.
There was a small bathroom next to the bedroom with a corner shower, a small vanity unit, and potty, but that was it. There wasn’t any room for anything else in the small square footage, but it was a perfect fit for what he needed right now. A place to hide from the outside world; at least until he was ready to face it again.
Peyton startled him when she threw open the front door without knocking and sauntered into the kitchen. “Here is a pizza for your supper. I’ll have to get you some groceries tomorrow. I won’t have any more time to do it tonight. I gotta get to work.”
Peyton set a cardboard box on the kitchen counter from Bill’s Pizza Shop down the street and set the basket of clean clothes that she was resting on her hip to the floor. She started to speak again, and Tristan stopped her with his own question, “Where do you work? I mean besides…here.”
“I’m a nursing assistant at a handicapped facility here in town. I work nights from seven to seven.”
Hazel St. James - Fighting For You (Redemption#1)[ Page 4
