just to his rectum. But he couldn’t make himself believe it. He knew he was torn up inside his entire body. He could feel it.
He vomited again. Then he didn’t stop vomiting until there was nothing left but dry heaves.
He hadn’t closed the door, but Victor didn’t stir while he was heaving into the sink. Derek closed it now and turned on the water to wash the basin. There were a couple of small spots of blood mixed with semen on the floor between his feet. The sight of them caused his vision to tunnel, and he nearly fell over. He held onto the edge of the sink and gripped the cold, wet porcelain with his fingers until the world stopped tilting. When he was able to move again, he ripped some toilet paper off the roll and frantically wiped the floor, tossing the soiled paper into the toilet. Then he sat down and forced himself to evacuate his bowels. It was excruciatingly painful, and he had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from screaming, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Victor’s semen inside his body one second longer. When he wiped himself, the toilet paper came away covered with blood, and Derek nearly passed out again at the sight of it. He sat on the toilet for several minutes, his head between his knees, taking deep breaths.
Then he flushed it all away.
He turned on the shower, waited for it to heat up, and stepped in. With the water as hot as he could stand it, he used one of the bleached white hotel washcloths loaded with soap to scrub the piss and blood and sweat and the putrid stench of Victor’s cologne off the outside of his body—scrubbing until every inch of his skin was raw and red and stinging under the scalding water. He scrubbed though he knew it would never come off him. Even if he removed all the layers of his skin, Derek knew he would always be filthy inside.
Always.
C HAPTER N INE
D EREK HAD nowhere to go. He was trapped—trapped with that… thing on the other side of the bathroom door. He needed to go home—needed it desperately. But to get home, he had to fly. And his seat would be right next to….
Could he cancel? No. No. He’d be trapped here. It could take days to get another flight. Victor would… God knew what Victor would do if Derek refused to go with him. And the company…. They’d want to know why. They might not pay for the flight or more nights in a hotel.
No, he had to go home. Even if it meant having to be with Victor. God! Why is this happening?
He thought about leaving the room, going to one of the hotel lounges or the restaurant. At least until the flight. But people would be there—people who would wonder what was wrong with him, sitting there staring blankly at the carpet. He’d have to face that in the airport, but… not yet.
Go to the police? The thought terrified him. The only thing that could be worse than what Victor had just done to him would be to tell everyone about it. No, what he needed was for it to go away. To get it out of his head, dump a bottle of bleach in one ear and slosh it around in his brain for a few hours.
One thing he knew for certain—he couldn’t go back to that bed. Even if he could find a patch that wasn’t soaked in piss to lie down on, he just… couldn’t. He stayed in the bathroom, seated on the closed lid of the toilet, until daylight seeped under the bottom of the door. When he finally ventured out, pale gray light filtered through the vertical slats covering the hotel room windows. Not yet dawn, but that cold, sickly light that preceded it.
Victor was still asleep in his bed, breathing quietly. The thought I could kill him now flashed through Derek’s mind. But no. That wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t know what would happen. He couldn’t think about the future. He couldn’t think about the past— God, not the past! And there was nothing in the present but cold emptiness. He couldn’t think clearly; he couldn’t think at all.
The sight of the man in the bed made him nauseous. Sick to
He vomited again. Then he didn’t stop vomiting until there was nothing left but dry heaves.
He hadn’t closed the door, but Victor didn’t stir while he was heaving into the sink. Derek closed it now and turned on the water to wash the basin. There were a couple of small spots of blood mixed with semen on the floor between his feet. The sight of them caused his vision to tunnel, and he nearly fell over. He held onto the edge of the sink and gripped the cold, wet porcelain with his fingers until the world stopped tilting. When he was able to move again, he ripped some toilet paper off the roll and frantically wiped the floor, tossing the soiled paper into the toilet. Then he sat down and forced himself to evacuate his bowels. It was excruciatingly painful, and he had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from screaming, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Victor’s semen inside his body one second longer. When he wiped himself, the toilet paper came away covered with blood, and Derek nearly passed out again at the sight of it. He sat on the toilet for several minutes, his head between his knees, taking deep breaths.
Then he flushed it all away.
He turned on the shower, waited for it to heat up, and stepped in. With the water as hot as he could stand it, he used one of the bleached white hotel washcloths loaded with soap to scrub the piss and blood and sweat and the putrid stench of Victor’s cologne off the outside of his body—scrubbing until every inch of his skin was raw and red and stinging under the scalding water. He scrubbed though he knew it would never come off him. Even if he removed all the layers of his skin, Derek knew he would always be filthy inside.
Always.
C HAPTER N INE
D EREK HAD nowhere to go. He was trapped—trapped with that… thing on the other side of the bathroom door. He needed to go home—needed it desperately. But to get home, he had to fly. And his seat would be right next to….
Could he cancel? No. No. He’d be trapped here. It could take days to get another flight. Victor would… God knew what Victor would do if Derek refused to go with him. And the company…. They’d want to know why. They might not pay for the flight or more nights in a hotel.
No, he had to go home. Even if it meant having to be with Victor. God! Why is this happening?
He thought about leaving the room, going to one of the hotel lounges or the restaurant. At least until the flight. But people would be there—people who would wonder what was wrong with him, sitting there staring blankly at the carpet. He’d have to face that in the airport, but… not yet.
Go to the police? The thought terrified him. The only thing that could be worse than what Victor had just done to him would be to tell everyone about it. No, what he needed was for it to go away. To get it out of his head, dump a bottle of bleach in one ear and slosh it around in his brain for a few hours.
One thing he knew for certain—he couldn’t go back to that bed. Even if he could find a patch that wasn’t soaked in piss to lie down on, he just… couldn’t. He stayed in the bathroom, seated on the closed lid of the toilet, until daylight seeped under the bottom of the door. When he finally ventured out, pale gray light filtered through the vertical slats covering the hotel room windows. Not yet dawn, but that cold, sickly light that preceded it.
Victor was still asleep in his bed, breathing quietly. The thought I could kill him now flashed through Derek’s mind. But no. That wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t know what would happen. He couldn’t think about the future. He couldn’t think about the past— God, not the past! And there was nothing in the present but cold emptiness. He couldn’t think clearly; he couldn’t think at all.
The sight of the man in the bed made him nauseous. Sick to
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