4. Three

“Fuck!” I flailed one handed at the spout of oil draining from the Ford Focus in the bay above me, trying to keep more from splattering in my face.

The constant clang of metal on metal rang through the shop all around me against a backdrop of whirring machinery. Motor oil, sweat, and old rubber scents hung heavy in the air while The Black Keys played on the shop radio. I didn’t mind the noise or the smell of the shop. I didn’t even mind working on cars. It was calming, in its own way. At least it was when the damn things cooperated. This Ford Focus was putting me in a shit mood though. The constant throbbing in my face and the stiffness in my fingers didn’t help either.

Happy’s bald head appeared in the narrow crack between the undercarriage and the pit I stood in. “You good, down there?”

I shook more oil from my fingers and grunted in response before flipping him off. He didn’t care about me. He just wanted to make sure I hadn’t fucked up the customer’s car. The stupid Focus was going to be just fine when I was done with her, at least for a few months.

“Keep it up, jackass,” Happy shot back. “It’s my turn to make dinner tonight, and I’m making curry. I’ll be sure to make yours extra hot.”

I groaned and finished cleaning myself up. The only thing worse than Happy’s casseroles were his curries. Not that I’d do any better. I couldn’t cook grilled cheese without setting the kitchen on fire. I’d already done that—twice—before Boone banned me from the kitchen.

The shop phone rang and Happy walked away, complaining about it in both Yiddish and English. Happy was a Brooklyn native, the son of a very anxious Orthodox Jewish mother who called the shop every day at precisely twelve-fifteen to talk to him.

The ringing stopped abruptly as he yanked the phone off the counter. “Ma, I told you to call my cell. If I don’t answer, it’s ‘cause I’m busy. Of course I’ll call you back! What are you talking about? I always call you back!”

Another door banged open and Church shouted down from on high, “No personal calls on company time!”

“Ah, shove it up your— No, Ma! Not you! Look, I’ll call you back. I gotta call you back! Yes, Ma. Okay. Love you too.”

A wolf whistle cut through the shop followed by Bowie’s sing-song teasing, “Happy loves his mommy!”

“Hey, you can tell a lot about a guy by how he treats his mother. So yeah, I’m a mamma’s boy. A mamma’s boy who can kick your ass.”

“Aw, I love your mommy too.” Bowie made a bunch of loud, exaggerated kissing sounds.

“I’m gonna hit you so hard, you’ll shit out your own spine, Bowie,” Happy growled.

“Don’t promise me a good time if you can’t deliver, Daddy.” Bowie dropped into the pit just in time to avoid the wrench Happy threw at his head. He chuckled and gave me a cockeyed grin. “How’s it goin’, Donnie Darko? Heard you had an adventure last night.”

I shrugged and went back to work on the car.

“Word of advice?” Bowie gripped my shoulder. “Next time, run faster.”

I glared at him before shrugging his hand off. “Have you seen Boone?”

Boone had been gone when I woke up that morning. When I asked Church about it, he said it was none of my business and told Happy to put me to work.

Bowie shrugged. “Haven’t seen him, but you know how he is. Probably working on something. I wouldn’t try to run if I were you, though. Boone might let you get off with a warning. Church will clock your ass and knock you out cold on principle.”

He was right about that. Church despised me. I wasn’t planning on making a break for it anytime soon. The junkyard was surrounded with high walls topped in razor wire, so going over the walls was impossible, and I was always being watched. There were cameras everywhere, and someone was always watching the exit. The only way out of the yard was to dig a tunnel under the wall, and by now they would’ve filled in the one I’d used last night. It’d take me days to dig another.

I finished up the oil change on the Focus and climbed out of the pit. Happy was at the desk, one of his car magazines open in front of him and a pencil behind his ear.

I leaned on the counter near him. “Any more oil changes today?”

“Nope.” He grabbed a paper from under the desk and slid it to me without ever looking up from the magazine. “Boone said don’t forget you’re supposed to meet with Shepherd at five-thirty.”

I rolled my eyes and snatched the list of parts Happy wanted me to pull from the junkyard. He might’ve been my adoptive brother, but I fucking hated Doctor Shepherd Laskin. Well, maybe not him. We’d never been super close, so I guess I didn’t know a lot about him. He’d been nearly grown by the time the Laskins adopted me, Xander, and Xavier. Still, I hated that every time he showed up, it meant new pills to try to quiet the voices in my head.

I was so fucking tired of pills that never worked.

The parts list for the day was relatively short, which meant if I hurried, there’d be enough daylight left for me to work on my special project, a rusty blue ’69 Camaro I’d slowly been restoring.

I rushed through pulling the wiper blades, tires, and radiator that Happy wanted, tossing the parts in the back of the golf cart before driving it over to the far eastern side of the yard. There, the Camaro sat in the middle of a semicircle of broken appliances and household junk. I hopped out of the golf cart, retrieving my tools from the back before lovingly running my hands over the fender, admiring the shape of it. It still needed to be replaced, but I was saving that for an afternoon when I had more time.

I’d never put as much work into anything as I had that old junk car. I’d ripped out his guts, fixed the rust, and spent evening after evening making lists of all the different parts I needed to find. There was something almost therapeutic about it, like putting together the most complicated, dangerous puzzle I’d ever worked on.

It was chance that I looked up and saw it: the end of an ancient-looking storage trunk sticking out of a pile of junk just behind the Camaro. I don’t know how I’d missed it before. Maybe I hadn’t. Piles of broken and discarded things were always migrating around the dump, being moved from one place to another to make room. This trunk, however, didn’t look broken except for the handle. It was beige and brown, covered in well-worn leather.

At first, I thought it might be an old record player, because it seemed strangely heavy when I hauled it out of the pile. Then I heard something rustling around inside. I dragged the trunk out of the tall grass and plopped it down on an overturned railroad tie, avoiding the nails sticking out of it. There was a lock on the chest, but it was rusted and easy enough to get off with a few strikes of my hammer.

I pried the broken lock off and tossed it aside before undoing the clasps and opening the lid. I paused when I saw what was inside. The trunk was full of vintage magazines I’d never heard of, each one bearing the grainy image of a mostly undressed man. They looked like they were from the sixties or seventies, judging by the hairstyles. There wasn’t much else to go on. I glanced up to make sure no one was around before reaching to grab one.

The title read BOUND in bold, yellow letters, and while the man on the cover wasn’t naked, he wasn’t wearing normal clothes either. Instead, he had on a black studded leather vest and frayed leather pants. What really caught my eye, however, was the spiked collar around his neck and the matching cuffs on his wrists. There was a shiny silver chain leash hooked to his collar that looped somewhere out of sight.

I stared at the man, his collar, the cuffs, my heart racing. My mouth was dry too. I licked my lips to wet them against the dusty environment, but it didn’t help.

This is stupid. I’m not into that bondage shit. Why would I be? I’d spent enough time being chemically and physically restrained that I hated the very idea. But the guy on the cover wasn’t tied up or being hit. He was just… wearing the stuff. He looked so calm, so serene. I couldn’t imagine feeling that way, but I wanted to.

I closed a hand around my throat, trying to imagine a snug collar there. He looked… powerful. Like an attack dog that’d been subdued. Whoever was holding his leash must’ve cared a lot about him, enough that they understood how dangerous he was. Enough to put their own safety at risk to help him control himself. To train him to be a good boy.

I’d never thought about it like that. Never thought I’d ever want to. In fact, I didn’t think that much about sex at all. Between the shit that’d happened in my past and the meds, my interest in sex was… sporadic at best. I had better things to do, more important shit to focus on, like ignoring the voices in my head and separating reality from fiction.

And killing the bastards who’d abused me.

Somehow, all the meds they had me on hadn’t completely killed my sex drive, even if I was sure they’d given me pills to suppress it. My sexual fantasies weren’t all that exciting, if I was being honest, and didn’t generally involve real people because that was uncomfortable to think about. Seeing the man in the collar made something stir inside me.

I ran my fingers over the collar in the picture and licked my lips. The only collars like that I’d ever seen were dog collars. People put them on their pets to claim them. It was a mark of ownership. This man belonged to somebody, to whoever was holding his chain. He looked so grateful, so happy. I wanted that. Would’ve sold my soul to feel whatever he was feeling the moment that picture was snapped.

“Xion!”

My head jerked up at the sound of Church’s voice, heart pounding in a panic. Shit, if he found me looking at that stuff, I’d never hear the end of it. I kicked the trunk closed and pushed it off into the grass only to realize I was still holding onto the magazine I’d taken out.

Footsteps closed on where I was sitting at the back of the Camaro. “You over there?”

Shit, shit, shit! I didn’t have enough time to put the magazine back, so I did the only thing I could think of. I rolled it up and tucked it in the back of my jeans. I was just pulling my shirt down over it when Church came around the side of the car.

“There you are,” he said, sounding relieved.

“What?” I growled. “Did Happy send you out to check on me? You can tell him I’m getting his fucking wipers.”

He frowned, looking down his nose at me. “Forget the wipers. Your shrink called. He’s on his way here.”

I scowled. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Boone said you’d say that.”

My heart lurched at the mere mention of Boone’s name. “Is he back?” Dammit, why did I even ask? Not like I cared where he went.

“Not yet,” Church said with a shrug. “He also said you have to go to your appointment. I’m supposed to carry you if you won’t go willingly.”

I rolled my eyes and gave up trying to get the wipers off. “Fine, I’ll go, but not because Boone said so. I just don’t want you to manhandle me.”

“He said you’d say that too,” Church called after me as I trudged back toward the trailer to meet with Shepherd.

“How’s your sleep?” Shepherd asked, putting the point of his pen to the notepad in his lap. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, his expensive suit at odds with the worn and broken surroundings of Boone’s trailer.

I wondered if he resented meeting me there instead of in his fancy office. Doctor Laskin didn’t make house calls for all his patients. I was a special case, and not just because we were adopted brothers.

Arms crossed, I shrugged one shoulder and glanced up at the clock. “Fine, I guess.”

“How many hours a night?” he pressed.

“I don’t know. Like… five?” I watched the red second hand go around and around. Slowly.

His pen scrawled noisily over the paper, adding to his endless page of notes. “It’s important that you get at least eight hours of sleep every night, Xion. Good physical and mental health begins with a good sleep regimen. I’ll speak to Boone.”

“Why don’t you just give me another fucking pill?” I scoffed.

His pen froze. Dark eyes looked up from the page, heavy on my face. I shifted in my seat, wishing I’d learn to keep my fucking mouth shut. The rolled-up magazine that was still in my back pocket bit into my hip. Dammit, I’d forgotten to shove it under my mattress when I had the chance.

“Pills can’t solve everything,” Shepherd said for the millionth time. “I believe your functionality will improve with fewer medications, not more. When I pulled you out of that facility, they had you on medications to control the side effects of your medications. You started out on two different antipsychotics and we’ve weaned you down to one. I believe we’ve almost found the right combination for you.”

“Well, it’s not fucking helping.” I lifted my fingers to chew on my nails, refusing to look at him.

He was quiet for a moment. “The voices?”

I lowered my hand, staring at my fingers. Even though I was fully clothed, I suddenly felt naked.

“Can you hear them right now?”

I shook my head and curled my fingers into fists. “It’s not just the voices. It’s never been just voices.”

“Have you received more messages from the newspaper?” he asked, making a note in his notepad.

“I know that shit’s not real,” I grumbled. “Doesn’t make the feeling any less real.”

“You don’t feel safe here?”

I shrugged. “I feel safer here than in the hospital. At least no one’s fucking with me here.”

“Xion,” Shepherd said with a familiar sigh. “I know you want to go after the people who hurt you, and you will when the time is right.”

“Why can’t the time be right now?” I growled glaring hard at him. “If you’re waiting for me to be saner, you can quit holding your breath. This is as good as I’m going to get, Doc.”

Shepherd sighed again. “We can increase the risperidone, but—”

“Am I on sexual suppressants?” I asked and finally looked at him.

Shepherd’s only reaction was a slow blink. “Risperidone and other antipsychotics like it can have a negative effect on the sex drive. Is that something you’re concerned about?”

“I want a different antipsychotic. One that doesn’t have that as a side effect.” I tried to sound confident, but I wasn’t. Why was I even asking for that? It wasn’t like I cared about sex. It was the furthest thing from my mind most days.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, flipping the notebook closed. “I’m reluctant to switch your medications so dramatically outside a clinical setting, but we could try doing half and half for a while, wean you off the risperidone for something else. I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask why you’re suddenly so interested in the sexual side effects of your medication. Are you thinking of having sexual intercourse?”

“Fuck you.” I flipped him off. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Everything you do is my business,” he said in a warning tone before his face changed. Dark eyes flicked over me briefly. “None of Boone’s men have made any advances toward you?”

I folded my arms and looked away, face burning. “They wouldn’t still be breathing if they had. I’m not such an easy target when I’m not tripping on mega doses of Haldol.”

That was how fuckers like Harold liked it. They’d find a reason to dope me up and take me to blind spots from the cameras. It wasn’t just Harold either. My memories of those times were always fuzzy thanks to the drugs, but I still knew it was happening.

At first, I fought, but it was pointless. The meds made my limbs weak and floppy enough that I could barely flail at Harold when he was holding me down. Just thinking about it made me feel sick.

“Xion, what happened to you was not your fault,” Shepherd said without an ounce of real sympathy.

“I fucking know that. I also fucking know that it’s bullshit the way you want to treat me with kid gloves. Just because I got raped doesn’t mean I’m some broken piece of shit who doesn’t want a sex drive, okay? Fuck, Shepherd. I’m pent up as shit. I just want to be able to jerk off in the shower occasionally, okay? Or do I have to run that by you too?”

Shepherd sighed again and flipped his notebook open to make more notes. “I would prefer it if you waited until you were more stable to engage in sexual activity. You’re still demonstrating poor impulse control and showing symptoms of psychosis, Xion.”

I’ll show you poor impulse control, I thought and gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“But,” he continued, “there is a new drug on the market if you’re willing to try a once monthly injection.”

I frowned and uncrossed my arms. “What? Are you serious?”

“It’s cutting-edge and expensive medicine, but it’s out of clinical trials and shown some documented success among males in your age group, so if you want to try it, I don’t see why not.”

“How expensive?” I asked.

“That’s not something you need to worry about. Your costs are being taken care of.”

By whom?It wasn’t the first time that’d come up. I knew he wasn’t working for free, and that all my treatments added up to a shit ton of money. Boone wasn’t paying him either, so where was all the cash for this coming from? I wasn’t an idiot. I knew psych meds were expensive, and if this stuff was cutting edge, it had to be running in the thousands per injection. Who was covering that? Where was all the money coming from, and why was he wasting his time with me when the state had already declared me too fucked to fix?

Hands in my pockets, I walked Shepherd to the front door of the trailer when the appointment was over. I half expected to find Boone waiting there at the little glass table where he liked to smoke in the evenings, but there was only Church. Shepherd spoke to him briefly and promised to have Boone call him before they walked off together.

No news on where Boone was or when he’d be back. I glanced up at the clock, ignoring the voices as they told me Shepherd and Church were planning to kill me and that I should get them first. It was almost four o’clock, dangerously close to dinnertime. I’d never been left to fend for myself at dinnertime before.

He’s never coming back.

You’re so worthless. Go kill yourself.

They’re coming to get you. They know where you are.

Morticia whined and shoved her head under my hand. I looked down at her as her tongue lolled out, doggie drool going everywhere, and I smiled. “Want to go for a walk?”

Those were the magic words. Trixie came racing down the hall, headed straight for the front door with Morticia trotting along right behind her. I grabbed their leashes from the wall and paused, the photo from the magazine again flashing through my mind. The back of my neck heated with embarrassment. I never should’ve said that to Shepherd. Fuck, I never should’ve taken that magazine to begin with. What was wrong with me?

I ran back to my room to tuck the magazine under the bed before going out to walk the dogs. I told myself I was only keeping it so I could get rid of it properly later.

Even then, I knew it was a lie.