All too soon the movie was finished, and Ben realized it was actually the twenty-sixth now, Zach's last day of being seventeen. He turned his face to cuddle against him, loving the simple affection this hug was giving him. He knew he shouldn't notice but Zach smelled like Christmas, a warm mix of the different aftershaves and colognes that he had received as presents. Ben sighed as he turned off the TV, sliding even farther down and back, pulling Zach with him until they lay side by side on the sofa, no mean feat given Zach topped six foot and Ben wasn't far behind. It was really only possible because they clung tightly to each other. They just lay there talking about the film, about college, about things Zach had only ever dreamed about before.
Zach smiled. That innocent smile married with the puppy dog eyes, so intriguing, so damn sexy. "Why do you make it so that everything I want in this world seems possible?" Zach asked softly, pressing his head against one of Ben's hands, half closing his eyes.
"Because when you turn eighteen, anything is possible, Zach, if you want it enough."
The twenty-sixth passed in a slow, caramel soft, warm lazy river kind of way. Ben didn't have to go on duty until six a.m. the next day and so, in best middle child tradition, was simply hanging around his momma's house with the intent to relax and enjoy his family.
Mark and Melanie came over just after lunch, the kids running off for Christmas cookies in the kitchen. The two of them sat with Ben and Zach in the front room. Mark had smirked when he saw Zach in this year's fugly sweater, and Melanie had poked him hard enough for him to whine. Zach was a little worried by the banter, but still smiled when Melanie mentioned Mark was lucky to have gotten away with not receiving the brilliantly green sweater for Christmas himself. After a while Mark left the room, Ben following, muttering something about beer. Zach wasn't really listening but was suddenly aware he was on his own in the front room with this woman who looked at him as if he were a bug under a microscope.
"So," she began carefully, "I don't know if Ben mentioned it, but I'm a doctor."
"No, he didn't mention it. Only that your husband was a lawyer and was way tall."
She continued carefully, "You know, as a doctor, I can be here if you need anything."
"Anything?" Zach was doubtful that she could supply anything.
"Anything medical."
"Oh," he responded, and then subsided into silence. Apparently there was no way Melanie was going to let it rest.
"Ben said he found you asleep on the church bench, in the snow. How are you feeling after that?"
Zach blinked. "Fine. Warm. I feel warm now, and I don't have like a cold or anything…"
"Is there anything you want to talk to me about? Whatever you told me, you know it wouldn't go any further than us."
"About what exactly? I told you I feel fine."
"Ben said you have wounds on your back. Could I just check them out?"
Zach sat openmouthed. He had shown those to Ben in confidence, and for his new friend to betray that confidence made him want to curl in a corner and hide.
"No!" he spat out quickly, shuffling away.
"Zach, no, listen to me. Ben is an officer of the law, and at the end of the day, he has a duty of care… and I am the doctor assigned to your case."
"I have a case?"
"Underage runaway living on the street? Yes, you are a case, at least until tomorrow, and I just say again, if some of the wounds on your back are not healing properly, possibly a course of antibiotics would help. Or it may be that you will need to go to hospital, have them opened up and drained, possibly debrided."
Zach just stared. The pain in his back had been getting worse, not better, he admitted to himself. And she was a doctor, and she seemed nice, and her husband did give over his fugly sweaters. Despite years of family secrecy ingrained at the end of a belt, maybe today would be a good day to accept some help? He could always run if she tried to make him do something he didn't want to, or if Ben tried to make him stay when he didn't want to. Running was easy.
"They may come back in," he finally said, looking to the door nervously.
"They won't; not until I tell them it's okay." She crossed to the drapes at the window, ready to pull them if he said yes.
"All right," he finally said, standing and slipping off the sweater, listening to her pull the curtains, giving him privacy, and then unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his arms through the sleeves until he stood in the front room in just a Cowboys T-shirt and his jeans. Turning away from her, he took a deep breath and began to lift the tee, waiting for her to say something. She said nothing, only tracing some of the healing scars and examining some that hadn't healed yet. He knew that one particularly bad one trailed from the middle of his spine and down past the waistband of his jeans, and she asked carefully if he could drop his jeans off his hips, which he did with some hesitation. One of the open weeping wounds went across one cheek and finished in the center, angry, raw, raised, the skin pink and pinched around the edges. He had seen it in the mirror and felt it when it wept. It made his jeans and shirts pull and stick.
"Zach, one of the wounds here, it's not nice, so I need to treat that and then dose you with antibiotics. I think you will be okay with that. The skin has semi-closed, but it has trapped infection."
"Uh huh." His voice was quiet, distressed. "There may be…" How was he going to explain?
"May be what?"
"Splinters. There may be splinters from the stick…" He shrugged. He wasn't an expert; he didn't know. Melanie didn't say a thing, in fact she was very quiet, and then he sensed her crossing to her bag, which he now realized was a medical bag. When she turned back to him, he could see tears in her eyes, and it made him sad.
"It's okay," he said softly, reaching out to touch her arm. "It's happened before. I always get better eventually." He was startled as she raised her hand to touch his cheek, and he flinched away before he could catch himself. "Sorry," he said quickly, trying to make himself stand still as she traced the bruises and marks around his face.
"How long has it been, Zach?"
"Two weeks," he answered immediately.
"No, I meant since the last time you were beaten, on your face?"
Despair built in the pit of his stomach. How could he even start to explain that one? That it was daily, that it was more than he could take sometimes? That sometimes he cried, and that when he did cry, he just made it worse for himself? "A week, nearly two," he finally answered. "The day I left."
"Can I take some photos?" she asked cautiously.
"Why?"
"For evidence, Zach. Evidence against whoever did this to you."
"No." Zach was adamant. He just wanted to forget it all. It was only him it happened to. His dad didn't hit Rebecca, and there was no point to it…
"Zach, as your doctor, I must point out that days, weeks, maybe even months ahead, when the physical wounds have healed, you will want to face what happened to you. Having photos will help. As someone who wants to be your friend, please let me do this."
Zach was suspicious, his thoughts tangled up in never and maybe, and he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in concentration.
"He won't do this to anyone else. He never hit Rebecca, my little sister, not ever." His words were defined and clear. It was what he believed, and he wouldn't be moved on it.
"Okay."
"She wasn't a disappointment to him." Wasn't a faggot like her brother, weak, useless, unnatural.
"What if that changed? What if she grows up and finds a boy from the wrong side of town? Or a girl, even? What if she becomes something your dad doesn't want in the family?"
Shit, he couldn't even contemplate that. She was much smaller than Zach, so tiny, and so very much younger, and innocent. She wouldn't last as long as Zach did, not physically or mentally. He wriggled uncomfortably, a sudden need to be with her knifing at him, immediately dismissed by the memories of the fear he had brought to his house just by being gay. As long as he stayed away, she would be fine; he was convinced of that. He had to be.
Now, to open himself up to the hurt of accusing his father, what was that going to solve? He didn't know what to decide, standing, waiting, thinking.
"Okay," he finally said, turning his back to her. Then making the decision that it was all or nothing, he dropped his jeans past his hip bones and to mid-thigh, so she could get photos of all the scars. Marks that crossed and lined from neck to thigh and from throat to stomach, some faded to almost nothing, some raised and raw, all of them vicious-looking.
"Most of these will disappear with the right treatment," she murmured, taking the digital photos as quickly as she could. He saw her wince, felt sorry for her, thinking that it must be awful having to deal with the pain of other people and yet have to remain detached.
"Zach, could you lie down so I can dress your wounds?" Zach did as he was told, laying himself carefully on the sofa, as much as his long frame would allow, and bit his lip in concentration as her firm and knowing hands began to gently explore the pain in his lower back. "I'm going to numb the area, have a look for debris. I'm going to have to open it up and drain it, remove the infected flesh and splinters. I would rather be doing this in hospital."
"No hospital," Zach responded instantly.
"Are you sure?"
"Don't worry, I'll be fine."
She used Donna's magnifying glass to check closely. "I should really be doing this at the clinic," she muttered, and Zach winced again as the needle scratched his skin.
"Can you tell me?" Tell me what you are doing.
"I'm cutting open the wound and draining any fluid there, and then I will be using thin tweezers to pull out any slivers in your back," she offered carefully.
"Is there much?" He heard the camera click as she was obviously cataloguing each stage.
"Not enough to worry, Zach. I'm just going to apply some antibiotic and bandage the area."
She finished and helped him stand and then waited as he pulled up jeans.
"Thank you," he said, unable to put into words all his gratitude for the care she had given him.
She nodded a you're welcome. "You're going be sore a bit later when the local wears off. If you need it, take some acetaminophen. Are you allergic to anything? No? These antibiotics are sample packs, but they'll do the trick. Five hundred milligrams, four times a day." She handed him five cardboard sample packs and stood back. "I'll file the photos with the police department as a closed record, Zach. That doesn't mean the police won't see them, if there is a need." By police, Zach assumed she meant Ben, and he shuddered inwardly. Great.
"I understand. Thank you, Doctor."
"Melanie is fine. Now, let's clear this up and get the rest in here. It's Christmas, and since I can't drink when I am on duty, I am in serious need of thrashing you and the boys at Trivial Pursuit."