Trey sat sideways on the greyish, flower-patterned couch, his knees against his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees and his gaze on the narrow strip of darkening sky he could see through the window and between the buildings. And if he tilted his head up a little, he could even see the orange and red shades in the sky that announced that the sun was slowly saying his goodbye.
A groan.
Trey turned toward the sound, toward the pull-out bed that took up a fourth of the room and for which he had to push the table, which was before the couch, out of the way.
"What time is it?" Steve's voice sounded sluggish.
"Nine in the evening." Trey leaned his cheek on his knees. He should already be gone by now. When he had knocked on the door, he had expected to waste only three hours; three hours was just enough to do what he had planned, but since the man who had opened the door wasn't the right Steve, his plan had collapsed like a house of cards.
Steve blinked a couple of times then rolled onto his left side; the handcuff that was clasped around his left wrist and around the bar at the head of the bed rattled. "What happened?"
"You passed out." Trey stretched his feet, shoved them into his sneakers, stood up and took the two steps that separated him from the bed. He sat on the bed and pulled the white sheet and the brown blanket that were covering Steve's body lower. His eyes examined the white gauze on Steve's right side of chest for any traces of blood. "And I gave you a little something, the Versed."
"A date rape drug? What did you do? Did you got bored with playing with my wound and rape me?"
"You are not the right Steve for me to do something like that to you." Trey frowned, he might do a lot of things to get the information he needed, but he wouldn't rape him for it, or even for kicks - that was reserved only for the real Steve Robinson. That was why as soon as this supposed-to-be-Steve had passed out, he'd stopped his lets-poke-the-wound, and then as soon as he finished his second throwing-up session, he'd taken care of Steve and his wound and cleaned up the mess he'd made. He'd even taken the time to drag Steve into the bed, which had been hidden in the closet before, so that he would be more comfortable - and that was quite a feat, considering that the man was heavier than him and that he had to be careful not to irritate his wound. He reached out and took a small towel that he had folded on the tray on the low table. He touched Steve's forehead, and as Steve flinched at his touch, his he furrowed his brow, but otherwise he ignored it and dabbed the sweat from Steve's face, neck and chest. "And I won't apologize for what I did to you."
"Even when it wasn't something you wanted to do? Even when your action made you vomit?" Steve was staring at Trey, his eyes not judging him, maybe just trying to understand.
"Apologizing to you would mean that what I'm doing and what I intend to do is wrong." Trey put the towel back on the tray, intending to wash it out later.
"It is wrong!"
Trey just hummed, kicked off his sneakers and put his feet on the bed and pulled his knees up to his chest. Steve didn't understand, but Trey hadn't really expected that he would.
"And why are you so calm? Before you looked like you had cramps." Steve turned on his back.
"I took a sedative." Trey leaned his chin on his knees, his eyes on Steve. He didn't see any reason why not tell the truth. "And why are you so frisky? You should be disoriented and sleepy."
"Pain can clear your mind pretty quick."
"Oh, do you want something for the pain?" Trey threw his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to go to the couch where his backpack and hoodie were.
"No!" The handcuffs rattled. "I prefer my head clear."
"Not like me, you mean. Do you think that just because I took a sedative, you will be able to beat me?" Trey resumed the former position with his knees against his chest and his chin leaned on his knees. "I took just a half, enough to calm my nerves," since his stomach's pills weren't working anymore and since he got feed up the throwing up, "but not enough to make me drowsy or dizzy."
"So, what's your next step?"
"Like I'm going to tell you that," Not that he really knew. Trey furrowed his brows together. "But I guess that additional bodily harm won't work on you?"
"No, not when you look like you are going to be sick while you do it." Steve gave him a ghost of smile.
He hadn't just looked like he was going to be sick, he had been sick. . Trey frowned. When he begun his plan to find Steve and avenge what he had done to to his sister and him, he had known that it would be harder than the humiliation of Ted, Patty's ex-fiancé, had been. For one thing, what he had planned to do to Steve were more vicious than the stuff he had done to Ted, and Steve himself was more dangerous than Ted would ever be. But he had never thought that he would find himself sitting on a bed in Steve's apartment, gazing down on a stranger who hadn't done anything to him and whom he had been torturing only hours ago, desperately trying to think of something that would open that stranger's stubbornly closed mouth. And the thing that surprised him the most was that Trey felt almost at ease in his company, like he was hanging out with a friend. "I can take another Valium, then I won't look like I'm going to be sick, but I might become careless. Might even damage one of your organs."
"You are joking, right?"
"No. I mean, yes." Trey shifted, he rubbed his stomach, moved his legs down and sat Indian style. "I don't know. I just know that I wasted too much time on you, and that I have done things to you that I wish I didn't have to. And I'm prepared to do more if necessary." He sighed. "I really wish you would start to cooperate and tell me where I could find Steve already."
"I'm Steve."
Why was he being so stubborn? "Could you stop playing with me?"
"I'm Steve, really.
Trey climbed out of the bed. He shook his head. Stubborn bastard. He frowned as he felt the first light flashes of pain in his stomach. The sedative was wearing off.
"What are you going to do now?"
Trey took a step toward the head of the bed and faced Steve. He grabbed the edge of his white and blood-stained T-shirt. He never showed his torso to anybody, the only people who had seen it were his parents, Patty and the doctors, but, he chewed on his lip, right now he wanted to show it to this man.
"You say you are Steve." Trey pulled his shirt up and exposed his torso. There was an old scar, a half-centimetre wide, with a knot pattern every seven centimetres. It started at his left shoulder, wound around his torso three times, across his chest, tore apart his right nipple, continued across his navel and his abdomen then disappeared at his right hip under the edge of his pants only to appear again at his left hip and run up toward his right armpit. He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it onto the bed. "Then tell me: How do you like the way your handiwork turned out?"
"How? Stev…I did that to you? "
Trey had to close his eyes for a moment. He hated the scar, hated the fact that every time he saw it in the mirror, he could feel the barbed wire around his torso that held him tied against the steel pipes, felt the pain as he struggled to get free, as the wire cut deeper and deeper into his flesh. But that didn't even compare to the pain of hearing Patty's screams coming from - Oh, god, he felt a need to cry. But he wouldn't, he wouldn't. He fisted his hands and smoothed his face into a blank expression. "Don't you remember?"
"I…" Steve wrinkled his forehead.
"You, what?"
"I'm sorry for what I did to you."
Trey put his knees on the bed, he towered above Steve, close but far enough away that he wasn't within the reach of Steve's right hand." Could you, please, cut the crap? I know that you are not Steve. I mean, do you really think that when somebody does a thing like this to you, you won't remember their face down to the smallest details?" He dug his fingers into the blanket. "Damn, I still remember the way his lips curls when he enjoys himself." He looked at Steve, hoping that there, in those nice blue and green eyes, was enough sympathy to give him what he needed. "So, please, could you just tell me where I can find Steve?"
"I can't."
"Please. I really don't want to hurt you more than I already did." This was so frustrating, why couldn't Steve just give in?
"I wish I could help you. But..." Steve lifted himself higher on the pillow. He grimaced and his hand flew to the white bandage.
"But?" Trey inched closer. Was Steve going to tell him something? God, he wished he would. He needed to get out of this apartment, away from those blue and green eyes, which were too understanding, too nice for his liking, for his peace of mind.
"There are things at stake here. More important things than your revenge." Steve burrowed his brows together. "It must be tough going through what you went through, and I am sorry. But I can't help you."
Trey's knees were touching Steve's body, and he leaned over Steve. "No, tell me -"
"And you have to stop, you have to let me go." Steve turned on his hip, reached out and wrapped his fingers around Trey's wrist, his eyes serious and intense. "There are people coming. And it will be bad if they find you here and me like this."
Trey tore his hand out of Steve's grasp. "You are lying. You just don't want to tell me –"
"I'm telling the truth!" Steve's hand was on Trey's wrist again, pulling him closer. "Listen. Something is going down the day after tomorrow and I don't have time for your games." His hand climbed higher on Trey's arm, his fingers making marks on the soft skin. "You better untie me, now, before it's too –"
With his free hand Trey hit the spot where Steve's wound was hiding under the white bandage, tore his arm from Steve's hold and jumped backwards. From the edge of the bed he watched Steve's grimacing face. "I was trying to be nice and you...."
"Nice? You used a knife on me!" The handcuffs rattled. "And you just poked my wound! That hurt."
Trey tilted his head, Steve was right, he was not being nice, far from it-- he had just tortured the man. Steve probably thought he was a nut case. But he had to be like that, he had to step out of the circle of guilt, to finally get rid of the burden of having been unable to fight back, to prevent what had happened to Patty. The feeling of helplessness had been his company for a such a long time, affecting his life, bringing him down, suffocating him. He had to do something.
Everything so was mixed up. And his stomach, his stomach started to hurt again. Trey moved on the couch, sat on the edge of it and curled into a ball. He wished that he was home in his big bed, that he could feel the comfortable weight of Patty's head on his chest, that he could wrap his arm around her fragile body and say to her that everything was going to be ok, or hear her say that. He took comfort in the fact that a lot of times they didn't even need to talk, didn't need to get what was bothering them out on the open, that lying quietly together was enough, because they knew that whatever happened, they still had each other. But that wasn't true anymore.
"Hey." Steve pushed himself as high on the pillow as his wound allowed him. "Are you ok?"
Trey discreetly rubbed his eyes to get rid of the wetness, and then tilted his head, his cheek pressed against his knees, his hands absently stroking his abdomen. "Shouldn't be I asking that?"
"I think, under the circumstances, neither of us should be asking that."
Trey managed to curve his lips for a brief second.
"Oh, you can smile." Steve smiled. "You look cute when you smile."
"You shouldn't say things like that. And stop being nice." Trey wrinkled his forehead. "You being nice makes everything even harder."
"I'm counting on it and I can't help it, really." A smile still lingered on Steve's face. "You look like a lost puppy. Well, when you are not playing with a knife."
"Weren't you just yelling at me a minute ago?" The redness on white drew Trey's gaze on the bandage.
"You would too, in my place. You made a hole in me." Steve slid his fingers over the gauze. "And then you hit me - it stings like a bitch now."
"Do you want a pill?" Trey put on his hoodie, then pulled his backpack closer and rummaged through it. It was funny, but taking care of Steve was what he needed right now; occupying himself with something was chasing away all those unpleasant memories. "And I should probably change your bandage."
"What do you have?"
Trey picked up his backpack and went toward the bed, where he sat down, out of Steve's reach. From his backpack he pulled out the vials and the boxes with pills and arranged them on the brown blanket so that Steve could see the names on them.
Steve chose the mildest painkiller. After making clear that he would not hesitate to hurt Steve more if he tried anything funny, Trey handed the pill over, along with a glass of water.
Trey himself took the other half of the sedative that was left from before and started to prepare the things he needed for the bandage's changing. He took the towel from the tray that was on the low table and carried it into the small and cramped bathroom. He rinsed the towel, wrung the water out and went back into the room where he put it on the tray. To that he added a bowl he found in the kitchen and filled with water, and the first aid kit he'd brought with him, then went around the bed and put the tray down on the floor beside the bed.
He carefully peeled off the white medical tape that held the gauze on Steve's chest, removed the gauze, folded it and put it on the floor. He dipped the towel in the water and then gently wiped over the cut.
"When did you stitch me up?"
"When you were unconscious." Trey said, his focus on the wound, which wasn't as bad as he had expected. The three stitches that he had made, the colour of the white thread now brown, still held tightly the cut together, and when he cleaned the skin of blood, he noticed that only small amount of blood oozed from the cut.
"Where did you get the thread and the needle?"
"Brought it with me." Trey turned toward the foot of the bed and reached out over Steve's legs for his backpack. He lifted it up and put it down beside him, then pulled out a tube of cream. He opened it up and applied the cream to Steve's wound.
"You carry a lot of stuff with you."
"Only what I think I'll need." Trey wiped his hands on the towel, closed the cap on the tube and threw it back into his backpack
"So, if you believed that I was the right Steve, you would take care of me, too?"
"Yes, I just want to hurt him, not kill him." He would probably leave the right Steve on the floor, but he would at least take care of him so the man wouldn't bleed out. Trey opened the first aid kit, pulled out the bag with gauze and cut a big chunk of it. He carefully folded it into a square and put it over the cut. He looked up for a moment, and there were Steve's eyes closely watching him. Why did this man's eyes seem to have almost relaxing influence on him? "What's your name?"
Steve rolled his eyes. "Not that again."
"No, not like that. It's just..." it felt wrong somehow to call him Steve, even if it was just in his mind. Trey took the tape and secured the gauze by its edges onto Steve's skin. " Let's say you are the real Steve and that you are just humouring me. You can give me any name you like, I don't care, just as long as it isn't Steve."
"Nash."
"Nash." Trey tasted the name on his tongue. "It suits you better than Steve."
"And you? What should I call you?"
"Ray," Trey choose the name that sounded the most similar to his. He piled everything onto the tray, stood up and carried the tray into the kitchen where he put the bowl and the towel into the sink. He put the tray into the cabinet to the left of the sink and the used gauze and the tape into the bin in the niche beside the refrigerator. After that he went back to the bed and started to clear the boxes and vials into the front pocket of his greyish backpack.
"Ray." Nash called him.
"Hmm?" Trey zipped the pocket.
Nash pulled himself up, grimacing as he sat sideways on the bed, and leaned with his left side on the pillow, "Before, when I told you that some people are coming, I wasn't lying."
Trey straightened. "I can't leave. Not until I find out where I can find Steve."
"I can't help you with that, not right now."
"What was that supposed to mean?" Trey stepped toward the head of the bed.
"That I can't help you right now."
"What are you trying to say to me? That after whatever is going to happen you would? What am I supposed to do, wait two days and then come back?"
"No, I'm trying to say…" Nash rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I'm just laying the facts on the table."
"Ok, when you are so willingly sharing facts with me? Tell me then, that you are not Steve."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because."
"But you already said between the lines that you aren't, why can't you say it straight out?"
"Because."
"This is hopeless." Trey sat on the edge of the bed.
"I know."
"But I can't leave, not without the information on Steve's whereabouts."
"I understand.
"Do you?"
"I think I do." Nash gave Trey a sour smile. "We all have our burdens and demons and we are trying to cope with them as best as we can. And sometimes it happens that we can't deal with them, or we try to face them the wrong way, like you."
"Rubbish." Trey wasn't about to accept that, he was trying to get rid of his guilt, not double it.
"You know I'm right, you are just not ready yet to admit it."
"Whatever." Trey rolled his eyes and stood up. It was already late and he wasn't in the mood for psychological chitchat, especially not with a stranger who knew nothing about him or his life; he had his psychiatrist for that. He would just take a sleeping pill and go to sleep, because he was tired and he couldn't really think and maybe, just maybe, morning would bring some bright idea on what he should do.