Devolution TOC

Chapter Forty-Three

7:20 PM

Lucky walked toward the back elevator next to the GH cafeteria entrance. He decided to make a quick pitstop at the restroom before driving home. His sinuses still felt clogged up after his blubbering session on Nikolas' shoulder, and a wave of uneasiness rolled through his stomach as he thought of how revealing their conversation was. He still didn't feel entirely comfortable around Nikolas and wasn't sure what his brother's reactions would be to comments or events, but Lucky was glad that things were out in the open now.

The hallway was dimly lit and deserted at this hour, something a woman might notice, but not a young man who was not brought up in an overly protective environment. Lucky pulled on the door handle and stepped inside the restroom. He immediately went over to the stalls and stepped inside the one on the far left. Lucky never used the urinals in public restrooms anymore, not since his return from Faison's compound. He was uneasy around strange men and needed the psychological protection offered by the steel-framed stalls. While Lucky was relieving himself, he heard the outer door to the restroom open, and the loud bang of a stall door slamming shut beside him. Lucky finished and quickly zipped up. He unrolled some toilet paper, blew his nose and threw it in the toilet. As he flushed the toilet, a slip of paper flew into his stall and landed near his right foot. Lucky frowned and instinctively bent to pick up the small sheet of paper from the white tile floor. There was a handwritten note on it. Scrawled in pen were these words: I was watching you. Ready for some hot action?

Lucky's chest constricted, and he felt like he was having a heart attack. His back banged into the stall door as he inadvertently backed up as if to immediately escape the situation. Lucky's head hurt, and his vision wavered as he fought off a panic attack. He had to run out of there - now! Lucky flung open the stall door, but the man was already waiting for him in front of the sinks, casually leaning against the countertop with an appraising look and a smile that made Lucky's knees grow weak. Lucky would have to pass by the man to exit the restroom and mentally he gauged where he should move. He decided that ignoring this person was the best course of action, and he strode by the man without looking at him. Lucky felt a firm hand on his shoulder that spun him around. Lucky was now face to face with the middle-aged pervert, and his wide blue eyes met the beady brown eyes of a man with a mission.

The man reached out and grabbed Lucky's ponytailed hair, stroking it and letting it go. "What's a pretty boy like you doing here all alone?" his oily voice asked. "I've been told I give real good head. Want to find out?" Lucky was starting to sweat and reacted like a rabbit caught by a hunter. He froze. The man moved in closer to Lucky and ran his hand over Lucky's crotch, stroking him up and down. Lucky's mind went numb, and he blanked out the reality of his surroundings. It was like he was watching himself from afar, moving further and further away into a dense fog; the man took Lucky's blank expression as a sign of his pleasure. He maneuvered Lucky into a corner, and Lucky's back solidly met the hard tiled surface of the GH restroom. Although his mind was numb and distant, Lucky's body reacted to the stimulation by producing an erection that strained against his pants. Lucky wasn't anywhere, just drifting through time and space to a place where there was no sound, sight or feeling. The man freed Lucky from his pants and began stroking him earnestly and expertly. In the man's excitement, he used his other hand to pull Lucky's head forward into a deep kiss. The shock of the new sensation broke Lucky's reverie. Gasping, Lucky looked down and saw the man's thick hand gripped on his firm, jutting penis.

Lucky jumped, screamed at the top of his lungs and frantically connected his fist to the man's jaw. The man shouted in surprise and reacted by pushing Lucky into the countertop. Lucky growled and wildly swung his fists again and again, punching the man on the arm, chest and stomach. Enraged, the larger, heavier man grabbed a tight handful of Lucky's hair and smashed his face into the metal paper towel dispenser. Blood trickled from Lucky's bruised nose and mouth, and the smell and taste of iron filled his senses. Another punch to his face sent Lucky down to the hard tiled floor in a dazed, sloppy spill. Lucky hurriedly arranged and zipped his pants and started to rise. The man brutally kicked him in the side, and Lucky fell back down with a strangled cry of pain as his breath left him with a harsh whooshing sound. With a look of disgust, the man reached into his pocket, tore off several bills and threw them on top of Lucky's prone body. "You're not worth it, sweetie," he sneered as he exited the restroom. Lucky lay heavily on the hard tiled floor and watched in detachment as the green bills floated through the air and onto his ravaged body. His mind flew further away, and he remained silent and still on the floor for over twenty minutes. Suddenly, his mind cleared, and he jerked into a sitting position, wondering what he was doing on the restroom floor with a bunch of money scattered around and pain filling his face and body.

~*~*~*~

Lucky drove his car up the gravel drive and parked in his usual spot. He stiffly shifted his body weight and eased out of the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. His keys ready in his gloved hand, Lucky stamped off the brown snow that had accumulated in his hiking boots onto a fuzzy green welcome mat. He unlocked the front door and entered the dark living room. Tony was usually home by now, and Lucky turned on some lights while walking over to the phone to see if there were any messages. The red light flashed two times to signal two messages.

Lucky pressed his index finger on the large gray button and listened.

Lucky, it's Tony. Bobbie and I are going out to eat tonight. There are some leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry. Bye.

The machine clicked and whirred several times as it wound the message tape to the next message.

Lucky, it's Tony again. It's getting late, so we decided I'd stay the night at Bobbie's. You have the number if you need anything. It's number two on the speed dial. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Take your medications. Good night.

Lucky snickered at Tony's medication reminder. He walked to the kitchen and opened his daily dispenser, wondering if the pills were really doing him any good. He was so moody lately. Down and depressed one minute, and hopeful and happy the next minute. Lately, the downs were getting more frequent, lengthier, and worrisome. It was like being rolled into a huge black velvet curtain that constricted and bound with seemingly no way out. Lucky obediently swallowed his pills with a glass of water and walked down the hallway to the bathroom. He turned on the light and looked into the mirror, wincing at the reflection of his swollen, cut lip and bruised nose. "Unlucky," he said out loud to himself. While he was looking in the mirror, his nose started bleeding again, and an insidious slow trickle of blood wormed its way out of his nose and traveled across his lip. Lucky grabbed a piece of toilet paper to wipe his nose and staunch the flow of blood. When he threw the wadded toilet paper into the bowl, he frowned, his mental focus dipping and floating away from him. He stood mesmerized for several minutes before breaking his trance and focusing his attention back on his hurting body.

Lucky's side hurt sharply with every breath he took, and he untucked his shirt to lift it and take a better look. He ran his fingers down his side and hissed in pain as they contacted a sore area over his ribs. The area was red and beginning to show purple bruises over a six-inch long stretch of skin. There was a hard knot there surrounded by the sponginess of the bruising. I must have hit my side awfully hard when I fell on the floor, he thought. But, I don't remember falling. A panicky feeling surfaced in Lucky's mind, but he pushed it away with irritation. I've got to stop being such a wuss all the time, he told himself. The panicky feeling was soon replaced by a nearly overwhelming sense of arousal.

Lucky rapidly removed his pants and shirt and moved over to the toilet, reaching into his underwear and releasing his already hard penis, stroking it with an unusually frantic movement of his hand. His usual thoughts during this activity centered on Emily and all of the body parts that he hadn't yet explored. Tonight, he imagined kissing her and running his warm hands up and down her soft back, reaching down further to slide them over her soft buttocks, squeezing and kneading them repeatedly. As his mind relaxed, Lucky's thoughts switched to his time at Faison's compound and the memories of laying back on his bed with one of the guards relieving him of his pants, squeezing and pulling on him before bending over and taking him in his mouth. Lucky's hand picked up speed, and he felt an enormous physical release. After cleaning himself off, Lucky felt relieved, dirty and violated all at the same time. A familiar sense of dread and heaviness flooded him again, and his eyes filled with tears.

Lucky walked down the hall in his underwear and sat in the darkened living room with his feet up on a chair, acutely aware of his loneliness. He hugged his legs with his arms and placed his forehead on his knees, rocking back and forth in a slow rhythm. He didn't realize how used to his uncle's presence he'd become and how comforting it was to live with another human being. Lucky's unwelcome thoughts and feelings seemed to echo throughout the nearly empty house and beat against him repeatedly and insistently.

Lucky released his legs, and they slid down to the carpeted floor. He rose creakily from the chair and headed back to the kitchen. He opened a utensil drawer and selected a small, sharp paring knife. He knew how sharp it was because he remembered slicing his thumb once when he tried to wash it in hot, soapy dishwater.

Lucky tested the blade, pricking his finger and drawing a fat drop of bright red blood. He sucked on his thumb, drawing the salty fluid away from his skin, and wiped it on his bare leg. Lucky turned over his left wrist, examining with his middle finger the tendons and small surface veins that formed a jointed Y at the beginning of his palm. He counted the ringed lines that ran horizontally, stacked from his wrist up to his palm, marking the years of use and movement. Four. There were four lines. Lucky's finger rested lightly against his wrist pulse, and he noted the way it raced. He held the handle of the knife in his hand with the strong index finger pressing down on top of the blade. Tentatively, he scrawled a thin, four-inch line parallel to his tendons. The tearing skin stung, and he whipped the knife away from his wrist. "Aaahh!" he cried out loud. You idiot, why didn't you press harder, he thought with irritation. You're such a wimp! Without thought, Lucky angrily ran the blade across the length of his stomach. The blood oozed from the cut, leaving a thin red line with small drips forming every half centimeter or so. Startled by his violent, unplanned actions, Lucky jumped back and dropped the knife, which clattered with a tinkling sound to the cream vinyl floor. The cut, which was moderately deep in the skin, sang out with sizzling pain. Lucky's brain flooded with endorphins in automatic response to the pain, and he soon felt a slight mellow feeling taking over. Lucky kicked the knife into a corner and smeared the blood on his stomach over his midriff and up his chest. He looked down and rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to focus his attention and comprehend what just happened. Not bothering to clean himself off, Lucky flipped off the switch to the overhead kitchen light and walked with leaden steps to his bedroom.

Lucky jumped into bed, not noticing the trail of blood that leaked from his stomach down the length of his thighs. He immediately curled into a fetal position with his hands tucked under his chin and his inflamed wounds sealing and searing in the same moment in time. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

~*~*~*~

11:45 AM

Tony pulled up in the driveway beside Lucky's car. He turned off the engine, humming to himself. He usually sang or hummed when he was in a good mood, and he smiled as he walked up to the door. He inserted his key into the door, but the handle turned easily, and Tony pushed open the unlocked door. That's funny, he noted. Lucky is usually good about keeping the door locked.

Tony ran a hand through his mussed hair and walked over to the kitchen, intent on finding something to eat for an early lunch. As he opened the refrigerator, something caught the corner of his eye. It was a small paring knife, lying close to the corner near the counter. Tony bent down to pick it up and stared at it in shock. It was coated with what appeared to be dried blood. How in the world did this get here? he thought. Surely that can't be blood.

Suddenly, a sharp sense of worry attacked Tony's guts and he called out for Lucky. As he neared the kitchen doorway, Tony saw a smear of blood on the light switch. "Lucky!" he shouted. "Where are you? Lucky!"

Tony ran down the hallway to Lucky's bedroom door and flung it open, not bothering to knock. Lucky was in bed, curled in a ball on his side. Tony frowned. "Lucky," he said, approaching the bed. "Why are you still in bed at this hour?" Tony poked Lucky in the back, but Lucky remained still. He roughly shook Lucky's shoulder, and Lucky grunted something unintelligible and squirmed down into the sheets. Tony frowned, concerned that this was unusual behavior for his nephew. He pulled the covers off of Lucky and recoiled at the sight of blood smearing the length of Lucky's body and the white sheets.

Lucky moaned and tried to grab back the covers to pull over himself. "Go away. I wanna sleep," he said heavily. Tony persisted. "What is going on here, Lucky? Where did all this blood come from?" Lucky turned over on his back and squinted at Tony, his left hand resting on his forehead. "What are you talking about?" he asked. Tony's heart sank when saw the angry gashes across Lucky's stomach and left wrist. Tony sat on the bed beside Lucky. "What did you do to yourself last night?" he asked gently. "Did you try to hurt yourself?"

"Huh?" asked Lucky groggily. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and yelped as he accidentally brushed his injured side on the bed. Tony started getting really concerned and he went off to get his medical bag, quickly returning to the room. "Roll over on your right side," he stated firmly, and he examined the massive bruise and what appeared to be a knot forming on a broken rib. Tony began cleaning the knife wounds and noted that Lucky was beaten about the face. "Were you in a fight last night?" he asked curiously. "No," said Lucky. "I had dinner with Nikolas at the GH cafeteria, drove home and went to bed." Tony questioned Lucky further. "Then why is there a bloody knife in the kitchen and gashes on your body?"

"I don't know," replied Lucky honestly. "Lucky, it's almost noon," said Tony. "Get up and take a shower. Be sure to clean those gashes well, and I'll bandage them when you're done." Lucky got up and off the bed with some difficulty and walked slowly toward the door. "Okay," he said petulantly. "Anything to get you off my back."

Tony sat on the bed for several minutes stunned and not sure what to do. He scratched his head, and then reached for the phone beside the bed, leaving a message with Kevin's answering service.

~*~*~*~

"I don't want to go to the mental health outpatient clinic," Lucky protested with folded arms in the front seat beside Tony. Tony took his eyes off the road for a minute to look at Lucky and replied, "Kevin is meeting us there. We want to make sure that you're okay."

Lucky said nothing but sulked all the way to the clinic.

~*~*~*~

Kevin entered the waiting area and motioned to Tony. "Let's go to the conference room where we can talk," he suggested. Tony followed Kevin into a quiet room that was separate from the rest of the clinic.

Kevin sat down in a blue chair with high armrests, and Tony took a seat in a matching chair next to Kevin. "You were right to call and bring Lucky in," stated Kevin as he creased his brow with a look of concern. "I'll give you a snapshot of the situation we're dealing with. First, I had the on-call physician examine Lucky and determine the severity and cause of his physical wounds. As you suspected, he appears to have been beaten, and he does have a broken rib that needs to be bound. The knife wounds on his wrist and stomach are likely self-inflicted." Tony paled and looked a bit sick. Kevin reached out his hand and laid it on Tony's arm. "Tony, are you all right to hear this? Do you want me to skip over some of the details?" Tony shook his head resolutely. "I need to know. Please continue."

"The physician and I believe that Lucky was sexually assaulted in some way." Tony tried to maintain his composure as the muscles in his face twitched, and he looked down at his feet. "Because of Lucky's PTSD, he is very susceptible to dissociation. Are you familiar with the term?" Tony nodded. "Lucky doesn't remember any details of an attack and thinks he just fell on the floor in a GH restroom," stated Kevin. "His cuts, I believe, are not an actual suicide attempt, and he denies memory of how he received them. I do believe he is showing signs of depression again and may exhibit some suicidal ideation, but the cuts are more a result of his previous and current sexual abuse and the intrusive thoughts that the abuse produces."

"How bad is this?" questioned Tony. "Does he need to be hospitalized?"

Kevin shook his head. "Not at this time. But, I won't lie to you, Tony. I'm very concerned about this young man. He makes great improvements in some areas, but then regresses quickly in others. Unfortunately, it is a pattern that he'll repeat as he progresses through therapy. We can look for behaviors and try to head off his symptoms, but there's a lot we can't predict. Each human being is unique in how they process trauma. Did you notice anything unusual about his behavior this morning?"

"He was slow to respond to questions, and a bit surly. He's usually pretty good-natured," said Tony.

Kevin nodded. "I noticed definite depressive symptoms when I interviewed him. He was lethargic, agitated, confused and unwilling to talk much. I am very concerned that he may experience a breakdown in the future if this continues. We need to aggressively treat this depression to prevent that from occurring."

"What do we do?" Tony asked in a small, choked voice.

"We continue with his regular therapy schedule where I'll focus more on his sexual trauma. I'm adjusting his medications for depression, and I want you to watch him closely for signs that it may be worsening. You're familiar with those signs?" Tony nodded. "Okay. Over the holidays, make sure that he is not alone for any length of time. You don't have to baby-sit him, but if you can't be in the home with him, have someone else on the premises. The holidays can be a hard time for people who are mentally stressed, so I want to take that precaution. If possible, try to keep the demands and expectations of the holidays to a minimum and avoid obvious stress. That's it."

Tony rose from his chair and shook Kevin's hand. "Thank you," he said quietly. Kevin clapped Tony on the back. "He'll be all right," Kevin reassured. "We'll make sure of it. Let's walk over to the pharmacy to pick up his new meds."

Next...