by T. J. Hamel
“Shhh, sweetheart. You’re okay.” Nathan holds him tighter. “Just be a good boy for sir, okay? Be my good boy.”
“Yes, sir,” Carter whispers, sniffling. When the doc and Benny walk into the room, Carter cowers a little, pressing against Nathan as hard as he can. He’s terrified, yet he trusts Nathan. Even though Nathan is the one that keeps fucking hurting him, he trusts him. Nathan doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t deserve it.
The doc nods at Nathan in greeting before squatting down in front of Carter and giving him a comforting smile. “Hello, slave. How about we figure out what’s going on, hmmm? Make you feel better?”
Carter ducks his head against Nathan’s chest like a toddler hiding behind a parent, but he nods.
“Can you come a little forward for me, slave? Just a bit?”
Not saying anything, Carter hunches his shoulders and scoots forward a few inches. When the doctor reaches for him and announces he’s going to take Carter’s temperature, Carter flinches, but he doesn’t pull away or argue. He just stays quiet as silent tears trail down his cheeks. He doesn’t stop trembling the entire exam, even after his tears have dried up and his eyes have fallen closed.
Just as the doc finishes up, turning to Nathan to say something, Carter doubles over and chokes out bloody bile into the toilet. Once he starts, he can’t stop. He goes and goes, mostly just dry heaving, the only stuff coming up watery and red.
The doc frowns, looking very concerned.
Nathan snaps. “What?”
“I’d like to draw blood. Run a few tests. If that’s alright?”
Nathan says, “Absolutely,” at the same time Carter whimpers out, “I hate needles.”
The doctor looks at Nathan; It’s clearly his call. Nathan shakes his head. “Do whatever you need to. I’ll hold him down if that’s what it takes.”
He doesn’t have to look at Carter to know the boy is staring at him in betrayal. He can feel the look hot against his skin.
This was the worst decision of his life. Why the fuck is Nathan here? Why did Travis ever sign up for this shit?
He should have become an astronaut like he planned when he was 7. The foster home had a space-themed bedroom with a spaceship toy, a cheap telescope, and a stuffed moon he loved to cuddle. He was determined to be an astronaut when he grew up.
Astronauts don’t have to deal with this awful tangle of morals and emotions. Astronauts don’t have to hold people down for needles. Astronauts don’t have to rape the boy they love.
7-year-old Travis had the right idea.
Adult Travis was a fucking idiot.
Once Carter’s blood has been drawn, the doc asks Nathan to bring him to the bed. The poor boy begins trembling all over again, his pretty eyes wide open in fear. It isn’t until he whispers, “Please… it – it already hurt’so bad,” that Nathan realizes it’s not normal anxiety Carter is fighting. He thinks they’re going to rape him now.
Or punish him for being sick.
Or both.
Nathan’s chest caves in until he can barely breathe. He looks up at the doc, who is staring at him like he’s just waiting for Nathan to give him permission to - to what? Would the doc actually rape Carter right now? Would he stand by and let Nathan rape him? The boy is clearly fucking sick and hurting. Has Nathan really found himself in that dark of a world that even the doctors don’t see the slaves as human? Nathan doesn’t want to find out.
“No one is going to hurt you, sw-” Nathan pauses, stumbling over himself. Thankfully, he catches the slip before it gives him away. “-slave. You just need some rest, right doc?”
“Right.” The doc looks over at Nathan with a frown, though. “I’d like to give him a bag of IV fluids while I run the tests on his blood.”
“Of course. Whatever you think he needs.”
Carter still looks terrified, the boy sunk in on himself in the center of the large mattress. It’s heartbreaking to watch him try and keep his eyes on all the men in the room, needing to track where the threats are. He can’t see the doc and Benny at the same time because they’re on opposite sides of the room. It’s obvious the boy feels trapped.
Nathan decides to help him out by decreasing the number of threats.
“Benny?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Can you stay here with the slave and keep watch? I’d like to talk to the doc outside for a moment.”
Benny’s eyes narrow on him, but he doesn’t ask questions, just nods.
The doc finishes putting the IV in Carter’s arm, then nods at Nathan to show his acknowledgement of the plan. Nathan leads him out into the hallway and quietly shuts the door behind himself. He takes a few steps away to make sure they won’t be heard before asking, “How bad is this?”
“We need to wait for the tests, but can you answer a few more questions for me?”
“Of course.”
The doc pulls out a little notebook and pen, then asks, “When did this start?”
“About an hour ago, I think.” Nathan stares at the ground, unable to look at the doc even though the doc won’t judge. “But he had a particularly grueling night. He was entertainment at the Kensington party.”
“What form of entertainment?”
“He was put on a fucking machine and flogged. He… bled.”
The doc’s smile is one of amusement and envy, like he’s sad he didn’t get to attend this particular event. It makes Nathan want to pin him up against the wall and choke the life right out of him.
“Well then, he’s most definitely exhausted and also dehydrated. Rest and the IV will help with that. How much blood did he lose?"
"Not a lot. The injuries were minor."
"Good." He makes a note. "Now, has he undergone any blunt force trauma, specifically to his torso?”
“I - no?” Nathan closes his eyes, trying to think. Trying to remember. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Okay. I won’t bother lugging an ultrasound over here to check him out, then. I’m sure he’s fine.”
Nathan can’t stop the look of disgust that crosses his face. “No, you’re going to bring the fucking ultrasound and anything else that’s needed to make that boy better.”
The doc raises his eyebrows, lips twitching, and Nathan realizes that probably wasn’t good. He shouldn’t have said any of that.
Pasting a bored, annoyed expression on his face, Nathan says, “If this slave dies on your watch, you’re going to pay me back my 2 million dollars, do you understand me? That slut needs to stay alive until I can get my hands on Maison Beckett and make him watch as we tear his baby brother into pieces. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.” The doc nods frantically. “Then I’ll get the rest of my equipment while the tests run. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Great.” Nathan scratches the back of his neck. He should leave it there. He’s already shown enough concern. But this is Carter, and Nathan loves him. “He had some piss in his mouth the other night. He swallowed some. Could that be the cause?”
The doc shrugs. “Possibly, but not likely. We’ll be able to know more once the test results come in.”
“And that will be when?”
“A few hours. I’ll rush it. A buddy of mine will run the blood under the table.”
“If I offer you an extra 10 grand, will you make that one hour?”
The doc blinks slowly, then grins. “I can sure as hell try.”
Nathan nods once, as if to say that’s final. “Anything I can do while you’re gone?”
That was too suspicious. Far too suspicious. The doc looks at Nathan like he’s unrecognizable for a moment. He shakes his head in confusion, frowning down at his little notebook, before saying, “Well, I - just have him rest. Drink water. Keep the IV in.”
“I’m not good at this shit,” Nathan says as a non-apology, shrugging a shoulder as he tries to work himself out of this hole he’s dug himself. “I just don’t want him to die on my hands. Then I look l
ike a fucking idiot.”
The doc chuckles. “He’s not dying any time soon, sir. Don’t you worry. I’m sure you’ll be back to fucking him by tomorrow.”
Nathan curls his lips in a mischievous grin despite how badly they want to twist in disgust. “I guess I’ll survive until then. I’ll just have to find one of the other slaves to fuck. I’m too wound up after the party tonight.”
“Lucky bastard. I wish my house had sluts walking around all day.”
Christ, how the fuck is this man a doctor?
Nathan forces a laugh. When all this shit goes down, Nathan is making sure this fucker’s name is plastered on every headline in the country. He’ll testify on his behalf if he fucking has to. He’s officially found himself in Nathan’s top 10, right there with Todd Henley, the Kensingtons, and William Dugray.
He really needs to stop giving people the opportunity to hurt his boy. Pretty soon his top 10 is going to be a little more than 10.
◆◆◆
Carter tries to relax on the bed, picking imaginary fuzzies off his blanket. He makes sure to keep glancing over at the monster that still remains in the room. The man is quiet, almost too quiet, as he sits in the armchair in the corner and scowls at the bedroom door.
Carter risks another glance over at Benny, startling when he sees that Benny is staring right at him instead of at the door like before. Carter quickly ducks his head and looks at his hands.
“Do you need anything?” Benny asks in the same kind voice he had used earlier. Carter’s memory of the man taking care of him is foggy at best, but he does remember how gentle he had been. At least until the end. Carter thinks he annoyed him at the end. He doesn’t remember Benny even leaving, which is probably a bad thing.
He proceeds with caution.
“No thank you, sir.”
“You’re comfortable? Do you need more blankets? An extra pillow?”
Carter tries not to look at him incredulously. He might fail. It’s not very believable that this man cares about his comfort. If he did, he’d save Carter from getting raped and abused all the damn time. Same thing with Nathan. They can’t have things both ways. They can’t pretend to be kind whenever they feel like it.
Except they can, Carter - remember? You’re nothing but the toy they use for their own entertainment. You. Are. Nothing.
“I’m okay. Thank you, sir.”
Benny opens his mouth as if to speak but closes it and sits back when the door to the bedroom opens. The doctor is nowhere to be found, sir the only person to enter the room. He stuffs his hands into his pants pockets and jerks his head towards the door, which must be a signal because Benny pushes to his feet and heads towards the door. He glances at Carter before meeting sir’s eyes. “He should be on his front, if he can help it. Or his side, if it hurts his stomach too much.”
“Alright. Thanks, Ben.”
Sir closes the door behind his friend before coming to stand at the foot of the bed. He’s still in his clothes from the party, his hair a wreck, his bowtie undone but still hanging around his neck, the top few buttons of his shirt popped open, and his sleeves rolled up haphazardly.
He looks thoroughly mussed and sexy, and Carter would give anything to be worthy of being kissed by him.
Sir meets Carter’s eye and speaks in a low, clear voice. “You’ve been under a great amount of stress. You’re dehydrated, malnourished, and exhausted. Your body is having a hard time adjusting. The doc is running your blood for infections and other possible issues, and he’s going to bring an ultrasound to check you out, but he seems to be under the impression that this is just from the past week’s treatment of your body. Nothing serious.”
Carter bites the nail of his thumb, wanting to ask questions but unsure if he’s allowed to. His questions don’t matter. Carter doesn’t matter.
He’s entertainment. He’s a set of holes to fuck. He’s a punching bag for when sir is having a bad day. He’s a welcome gift to visitors. He’s a reward for sir’s men to earn.
He’s a commodity.
He’s not human.
He never will be again.
It’s starting to get easier to remember that.
He should be terrified, but he’s not. He’s relieved.
There’s a very long stretch of silence. Long enough for Carter to start considering dozing off. He was going to try and stay awake in case sir planned on fucking him again, but if sir wants to do that, he’s going to do it. So, Carter might as well get some rest until sir is ready to use him.
Just as Carter is squirming in the sheets, trying to find a happy medium between his injured backside and his upset stomach, sir clears his throat. “Look at me.”
Carter follows the order immediately. He starts to cry again when he meets sir’s eyes. He doesn’t even know why. It just happens. Sir tilts his head at him with a frown. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay.”
Guilt eats away at Carter. He hates the look on sir’s face. The concern in his voice. He shouldn’t be so upset. Carter is nothing to be upset about. “Don’t worry about me, sir. I’m nothing. I’m not important.”
Sir's expression twists at the same time Carter's stomach cramps. Carter hurries to sit up, feeling the urge to vomit coming on fast. With the IV in his arm and the bathroom so far away, he has no idea how he’ll get there, but he has to at least try because throwing up in the bed will definitely make sir mad.
He doesn’t want to bother sir by asking for help, though, so Carter slides to the edge of the bed and starts to pull at the tape on his hand to free himself from the IV.
“What are you doing?” sir asks, making Carter jump and then immediately cower.
“H-have’ta - gon’be sick.”
“Fuck. Okay.” Sir hurries over to his side, eyes scanning. He carefully pushes the blankets away to expose Carter’s IV line, his hands slow and gentle as he makes sure it’s all freed. Then he grabs the IV bag off the hook it’s hanging from and holds it up in the air by his head. “Just walk slowly, and be careful. You don’t want to rip that out. It’ll hurt like hell.”
It takes Carter three attempts to get on his feet, his muscles fighting against him. He shuffles towards the bathroom, now nearly positive that he’s going to spill his guts because the room is spinning and his head feels like a bowling ball on his neck. Sir starts to help him walk halfway there. Carter sags against him in relief, letting sir take over.
Sir deposits him on the floor in the same spot he was sitting earlier, lifting the toilet lid for him. Then sir kneels in front of Carter. It seems wrong. Strange. He wants to tell sir to please get up, but that’s not his place, so he just ducks his head and waits for the next round of vomit to come to him. It feels like it’s right there, burning like acid, but nothing comes.
Hesitantly, sir raises his hand and runs his fingers through Carter’s sweaty hair. It feels good. Really fucking good. Carter finds himself laying his cheek on the toilet seat, his eyes falling closed.
“You want me to sanitize that first or something?” sir asks in a soft, amused voice.
“No thanks, sir.”
“You sure?”
Carter blinks his eyes open, frowning. “I've dealt with much worse, sir. I’m really not bothered.”
He hadn’t meant to upset sir with the comment. In fact, he had wanted to comfort sir. It upsets him, though. His face crumples, his eyebrows pulling in. He quickly looks away from Carter. It hides his face, but Carter still sees the way that sir swallows hard, his throat bobbing.
“Sorry, sir,” Carter whispers. “I’m really sorry, sir...”
“What?” Sir whips his head back, looking at Carter incredulously. “Why are you sorry?”
Carter forces himself to raise his head so he can look at sir better. His eyes water again. He’s given up on figuring out why that keeps happening. “It - that - it sounded sassy ‘nd I didn’t mean it to. Jus’ didn’t want you to worry. ‘M sorry, sir.”
Sir roughly pushes his hand through his hair, yanki
ng at the ends of it. He adjusts so he can rest his elbow on his knee, keeping his fingers tangled in his dark blonde locks as he looks down at something on the floor between him and Carter. His voice is strangled as he asks, “Did I break you?”
“Sir?”
Sir looks Carter in the eyes, pain etched in his own. “What I did to you tonight… did I break you?”
“I – I don’t-” Carter looks down at the ground, confused. Panic begins to thump inside his chest.
“Was I bad, sir? I – I tried to be good. After my – my punishment, I’ve been trying to be good...”
“God, no. No, no, no, sweetheart. You were so good for me tonight. So good for me.”
“I wasn’t, though. I – I hugged C – Casey,” Carter whispers, tears falling down his face. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away. “I – you punished me because I was bad!”
“Car-” Sir cuts himself off, putting his face in his hands. His fingers are trembling. “Fuck.”
He’s upset. Clearly. Carter made him upset.
It’s not right.
Carter has to fix it.
It’s his job to make sir happy.
Carter inches closer to sir and lifts a hand. Then he remembers he can’t touch sir, dropping it at the last second before he can touch the man’s skin. Sir surprises him, though, grabbing Carter’s hand and putting it against his cheek. There’s already a bit of stubble growing in now that they’re creeping toward morning. Carter likes the way it feels against his fingers.
“Don’t be sad, sir,” Carter whispers, looking up at him through his lashes. Then he looks down at sir’s crotch and tentatively reaches for his belt with his free hand. “C-can I help make you feel better, sir?”
“No, sweetheart. No. Don’t help.” Sir puts his hand over Carter’s, squeezing it gently. “I just – you seem…”
When sir doesn’t finish, Carter hangs his head and whispers, “I just wanted to be good for you, sir. I’m just trying to be good…”
It takes sir a moment, but then he sits up and gives Carter one of his warm smiles that makes Carter feel like he’s on top of the world. Sir cups the side of Carter’s face and leans their foreheads together. Carter hurries to pull away, but sir chases him, holding him in place with a hand to the back of Carter’s head.
