“W…what’s going on?” I manage to croak, keeping my focus directly on Garrett as something is peeled back from my stomach. He links his fingers in mine, gripping my hand tightly every time I hiss or wince from whatever the fucks being done to me. His eyesight doesn’t flicker from mine the entire time, his undivided attention pulling me through. The sharp scratch of a needle is pushed into the crook of my free arm, a rush of cool liquid filling my veins which has my muscles tensing. Almost immediately, I can feel the pull of drowsiness starting to drag me under, away from him. Droplets pool in the shell of my ear as tears stream down my face, my vision blurring in my desperation to stay in his warmth. “N-no, please don’t make me go back Gar- “
∞∞∞
“-an abundance of krill attracts other visitors to the Peninsula in the summer. Antarctic Minke Whales. They use their pointed heads and short dorsal fins to give them endurance- “
“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” I grumble, my head already starting to pound before I’ve even opened my eyes. Garrett’s voice has filtered through the depths of my slumber several times before, but this is the first time I’ve been able to rouse enough to ask him why he’s telling me that frogs can’t vomit or kangaroos can’t fart. His chest rumbles as he chuckles, my hand clutched in his over his heart. Breathing causes enough discomfort that I don’t bother trying to move my limbs, each inhale burning the back of my throat.
“Well good morning to you too, Sleeping Beauty. How are you feeling?” His hand cups my cheek, a huge dimple-framed smile waiting for me when I manage to open my eyes. The room is a thousand times too bright, the permanent grogginess embedded into my skull magnifying tenfold.
“Like a sack of shit.” I grumble. “Tell me I’m hallucinating and I’m not where I think I am.” Garrett’s smile drops, his brows pinching as if he was expecting me to say something else. Instead of answering me, he releases my hand and shifts to slowly lift me up by the shoulders. After stuffing his pillow behind my back, I sink back in my new elevated position and look around the room from my childhood. Yep, I’m really here. The midnight blue painted walls and solar system project I made in fifth grade hanging by astronaut-themed drawn curtains. Not that they are doing anything to block out the sun’s powerful rays which leave me squinting.
“There was nothing I could do,” Garrett says under his breath and flicks off a huge TV he must have carried in whilst I was asleep. Snuggling up to my side, black lounge pants cover his long legs and I unashamedly run my finger over his bare abs. It’s so easy to get caught up in moments like this, Garrett’s body warmth seeping into me and his eyes completely focused on mine.
My pain ebbs away with the rest of the world, a fantasy of him being solely mine teasing me with its impossibility. Garrett will never tie himself to one person when there’s so many others falling at his feet, and who can blame them? To anyone else, he’s a handsome college kid with honey streaks in his hair to match his light eyes, a natural on the basketball court, always has an easy smile and joke dancing around his full lips, cash to burn on whatever he desires.
But none of that is what I see. I see the barely contained monster living beneath his flesh, the one that craves affection but strives to push it away. The one that refuses to believe he deserves more than rough sex and empty promises.
His eyes drop to my lips briefly which I lick on cue, making him swallow hard and turn away. “Anyway,” he continues, “Sharon’s barely even here half the time. She’s married some rich dude and is playing secretary at his firm. Besides, I won’t be leaving your side, not even when you need a piss.” As if on cue, all the fluid in my body floods south and I groan in discomfort. Nudging Garrett to prove that statement, I start to push myself up despite the anguish it causes me.
“Hey, relax - you have a catheter. You can just go whenever you feel like it.” Garrett tries to gently push me back down, but I refuse, nausea rolling through me. I don’t want to picture my junk all rigged up but now it’s all I can think of and I throw up in my mouth a little at the thought.
“Well get it the shit out. I’m not using that.” I scoff, slowly swinging my legs off the side of the bed as Garrett runs from the room and returns a moment later with a bearded man I vaguely remember, his black bag in hand again. Only the stethoscope around his neck tells me he’s a doctor of sorts, his black t-shirt and jeans nerving me. Who is this guy peeling off the duvet to inspect my dick and is he even qualified to do it? This could be some random that bought a prop and-
“Holy fucking dicksickles!” I roar as he starts to pull the tube out with excruciating slowness, falling back into Garrett’s lap on the mattress. Tears leak from my clenched eyes, my hands ripping holes in the bedsheet and chest heaving in the aftermath of the worst pain I’ve ever felt. A soft snigger reaches
