Everyone's Man – 10

Colin opened his eyes, trying to dispel the dream. And then, he realized it hadn't been a dream at all.

 

"Where—?" His voice croaked and he tried to swallow.

 

The man, a doctor he supposed, since he was wearing scrubs, picked up a glass of water, and bent the straw so that he could drink. As he did so he said, "You're at Winterfield General."

 

Colin nodded. "I feel like death. Am I sick?" Then fear flooded his countenance. "I can't be here."

 

"Why not, Mr. Wilcox?" the doctor asked gently.

 

"I can't, I just can't." Colin tried to sit up, biting down hard on his lip to stop the cry of pain. Shit, it felt like his back was being torn to pieces. Sinking down again, he looked at the man. "I know you," he said hesitantly. "You're the doc who stitched me up."

 

"That's me, Dr. Marc Rivers. Well, resident, actually, but what's in a word?"

 

"You did a good job." Colin closed his eyes then they snapped open again. "Why am I here and how soon can I get out?"

 

"What do you remember?" Marc wasn't certain he should be asking that. He was far from a trained psychologist, but as far as he knew, no one else had questioned him, yet. Hell, no one had even come to visit Colin or called to find out if he was here and what was wrong.

 

"What should I be remembering? I guess something must have happened from the way I feel but I for damned sure… I don't…" Colin's eyes emptied of any emotion for a moment and then the fear was back, followed by terror, and remembrance. "I…they…" He began to shake violently.

 

Marc was beside him instantly, pressing his hands down on his shoulders first to try to still him. Then he stroked his tangled hair with one hand, murmuring calming words as he kept his other hand on Colin's shoulder. Tears flooded Colin's eyes and he sobbed. Without thinking, Marc gathered him into his arms, holding him until the crying had abated some.

 

Easing the young man back down onto the bed again, Marc pulled a couple of tissues from the box on the bedside table and wiped Colin's tear-stained face. "I'm sorry," he said with sincerity. "I shouldn't have asked."

 

Colin looked at Marc, nodding. "You're a nice guy, Doc, so yeah you shouldn't have asked because you wouldn't like the answer." He chewed hard on his lip. "Hell, I don't like the answer." He tried to smile, to make a joke of it. But it wasn't a joking matter: his whole body was telling him that. He lifted one arm to look at his bandaged wrist. "The cuffs were a bit tight," he muttered. Glancing up at Marc again he asked, "How doped up am I, cause I don't hurt as bad as I should."

 

Marc smiled slightly. "You're pretty well medicated at the moment."

 

"Figures, I get dope and I'm not even high."

 

With a frown Marc asked, "Do you do drugs? Nothing showed up in your blood work."

 

"Actually no, I never touch them. In my line of work losing control isn't a good idea."

 

"Can I ask what you do?"

 

"Yeah, you can ask and I'll even answer. I'm a whore, a pretty good one too. Or I was, until this happened. From what little I can feel, and what I remember, I probably won't have too many buyers for my services now. Men like pretty boys, not scarred ones. At least that's what…what he…" Colin's expression closed down again.