It was a rather untypical Thursday night for Jamie Marshall, the self-proclaimed busiest veterinarian in the whole New York city. Or maybe it was the district. Or just the clinic he was employed at. Yeah whatever, the point was he was a busy person and he wouldn't normally be the one to interrupt his very hectic cycle of shift – rest – sleep – shift, and instead go waltzing into gay clubs looking for an exciting one-night stand, or maybe for prospects of a promising romance. He didn't even like to dance so much anymore. Hell, even talking to his friends wasn't that much fun anymore if he did it with a drink over a club counter instead of enjoying a cup of coffee by the table at someone's place. Could it be Jamie was getting old? And to think he used to think that thirty would only be a beginning.
But sometimes, about once a month or so, his friends – gay and hetero, singles and couples alike – would become just a little too much for him. All this texting, the phone calls, the e-mails. All the jabbing and nagging, all the soliciting, pleading and threatening.
"Come on Jamie, let's go out, let's have fun!"
"What do you mean you don't have the time? Like, no time to relax? Or no time to take care of your personal life?" (My personal life is perfectly fine, thank you.)
"Jamie, I'm so sorry to say this, but you've become such a no-life." (I'm kinda sure my cats and hamsters don't share your opinion.)
(About his cats having suddenly developed anxiety attacks when left alone all night.) "You're a terrible liar."
(About his cats trying to hunt his hamsters down due to the anxiety attacks they underwent when left alone all night.) "Can't you just lock the cats away from the bedroom?"
"Jamie, but seriously… Just one evening, just give it a try. If you don't like it, then that's okay, but what if you do? Why'd you miss out on your chances?"
"Come on, man, how long it's been? Five years?... Oh, three, sorry… Anyways, don't you think it's time to move on? No really, quit being a drama queen."
I hate it when they call me a drama queen, Jamie thought as he hung up the telephone. I'd rather be called… I don't know, what about the prince of rain?, he decided as the calm, wistful tunes of a Roxette song drifted from the radio straight to his ears.
There's a time for the good in life
A time to kill the pain in life
Dream about the sun, you queen of rain
Well, his friends were right about one thing. It always was some kind of fun, even though their idea of fun, judging from their reactions, might have been something slightly different from his. The routine would repeat itself on most occasions. A guy (admittedly quite good-looking one) would sit beside Jamie and offer him a drink. Jamie would accept it, but at the same time frankly warn him that he was there just to hang out with his friends, so please, dear tall dark and handsome stranger, don't take it the wrong way if I'm all nice and smiling and looking all endearing with my dark blue eyes screaming "I so need a man, please treat me right". Then the friends would cut in on Jamie, saying something along the lines of "no, don't listen to him, he's totally free and out for you to take him, he's just being shy". Jamie would then smile and say that no he's not, actually he's recovering from a relationship. The confused tall dark and handsome then stuttered some polite expression of sympathy and left without getting him that drink after all, while Jamie's friends would cover their faces with their hands, mumbling something about five years of recovery, or whatever.
So yes, after all it was a fun night, and the most fun part was Jamie proving his point that trying to set him up with any willing, decent-looking random guy from a nightclub was purely a waste of time and efforts.
Jamie was just about to leave the club, the first from the pack. It was half past ten, still rather early. He'd spent about two hours with his friends and actually he did enjoy it. If it hadn't been for that whole setting of "let's find Jamie a man and make him live his life like any healthy thirty-year-old should", it would have been much nicer, though. But then again, maybe not as funny.
As Jamie went past the dark rooms and along the corridor to reach the exit, something, or someone, bumped into him with almost enough impact to knock Jamie over. Trying his best to keep his balance, a slightly amused Jamie thought to himself that this guy truly was one extreme case of a post-blow job daze, falling to the floor like that so helplessly right after he'd left a dark room. Whoever he was there with, the other one must've been good.
The guy who ran into him, however, didn't seem to share Jamie's joyful attitude about the event. Or really his joyful mood at all. He fell to his knees, and stayed like that for a couple of moments before he finally got up, all in slow-motion, hands shaking and legs unstable, sputtering an awkward apology from under the hood which covered his face.
This didn't look amusing anymore.
"You all right?", Jamie inquired, putting his hand above the man's elbow to help him up. He discreetly sniffed the air around him, but all he could detect was the sour smell of sweat, and not a trace of alcohol. Instead of relief, Jamie felt a cold sting inside his head. If it wasn't the alcohol, then it could have been something much uglier. Drugs, possibly.
Careful not to frighten him, Jamie peered under the stranger's hood to check on his eyes. The pupils looked and acted normal, at least from what Jamie could tell in that dim red light of the corridor. The way they looked certainly did not explain why Jamie couldn't catch his eyes. They kept starring ahead like they couldn't see Jamie there, like they couldn't see anything there, for that matter. Like it was a kind of intoxication after all.
That was when the truth suddenly crawled into Jamie's vision. After all he was a vet, so his eyes were unusually alert and perceptive of any kind of physical damage, no matter the lighting or conditions.
The guy's face was bruised all over. Not only that, the skin was torn in one place on his cheek and another at his temple. It seemed like a serious battering. What could that be? A jealous lover? Or a gay-unfriendly neighborhood? Jamie could feel a whirlpool of worry filling up his stomach at the possibilities.
"Hey, you need somebody to see those." He tried his softest, calmest tone, like was talking to a hurt, scared animal. At least this was what Jamie had the confidence that he was remotely good at.
The man wasn't responsive, which didn't surprise Jamie anymore. He breathed slowly and heavily. Yes, even his breathing was in slow-motion.
"Gotta go", he muttered like he was in some kind of a trance. "I've gotta go", he repeated as he trudged into the street. Jamie scurried beside him, although he was cautious to keep his distance. And Jamie did not watch his distance simply because he wanted to; it was a lesson he learned from his patients. When you meet a distrustful creature, then if you're too persistent and everything's about your display of affection and good will, all you can do is more harm to that unfortunate soul.
"Look at you, you can't be going nowhere in this… condition". Trying not to seem like a road salesman, Jamie prayed that the man could hear him in spite of his dissociated appearances. "I really think you should sit down for a minute… why don't you tell me what happened?"
"Gotta go", was his only reply. And then, in spite of his words, he suddenly stopped in the middle of the pavement, gasping for air like he was suddenly wounded in the chest.
Jamie couldn't even see his face well, its expression or the exact way it looked. And the tone of his voice also revealed little more than his stupor. But it didn't matter. What Jamie was certain of was that this man was in such enormous pain, such silent, unstoppable torture that it broke Jamie's heart. And all that he knew was that he couldn't leave to his own devices this beaten, devastated man, possibly intoxicated and out of control, right in the middle of this cold, indifferent city.
It just didn't seem right.
Slowly but decisively, Jamie stepped up to stand in front of the stranger.
"Would you please look at me", he issued his straightforward request, consequently trying to make an eye contact with him. In the light shed by the street lamps, the stranger's eyes looked icily bright and distant. He seemed to look right through Jamie, like he wasn't even there, like there was just the thick nighttime darkness spreading before him.
The man then lowered his blank stare, directing it at his own hands. He was looking at them all confused, with some sort of disbelief and a tint of despair. It really was a lonely and disturbing sight.
That was when Jamie decided to move one step further, because the problem was too deep to keep holding back. By doing this, he risked going one step too far, but it still would be no worse than letting the man go just like that. Now at least Jamie would have tried.
What he ventured into was the physical contact.
"Listen." He took a light, concerned grip of the man's shoulder, leaning a little bit towards him. He still wanted to leave him some margin in case the man decided this was unbearable and fled, but he did realize that in order to elicit any reaction from him, he had to be more aggressive. "Is there somebody you'd like me to call? Like, someone close you'd feel comfortable around?"
This approach turned out quite effective. Apparently moved at the mentioning of someone close, the man quivered and looked up to meet Jamie's face for the first time. Right now he seemed much more present.
"No, don't call anyone. I'm good." You're certainly not, thought Jamie, but didn't let it escape his mouth, as he was too much in awe at this relatively long and coherent utterance from his newly acquainted friend.
"I see", that was Jamie's reply instead. "Look… oh, and by the way, I'm Jamie…" he suspended his voice, but as it was clear that the man had no intention to reveal his own name in return, Jamie carried on with his plan. "Why don't we sit down and talk? You could tell me what happened… You see, I do want to help you, but it will be all for nothing if you don't trust me."
The man winced uneasily, hesitating for a while. Jamie guessed that it might have been the foreign sound of the word trust that made him so apprehensive.
"Alright, but just a few seconds", he drawled unenthusiastically. But Jamie was perfectly okay with that. The guy said yes, so they were finally on the way to help him. Such a relief.
"Sure, whatever you need", he responded seriously and as respectfully as he could, trying to let the guy know how he appreciated that this decision to trust Jamie must have cost him quite a lot. "Do you want to go to a bar or somewhere? I know a few nice places around… Or… or would you rather go somewhere private? I live two subway stations away, if you don't like the audience."
"I don't like the audience", the man answered curtly. Jamie received this statement with plenty of understanding. Discussing painful private issues wasn't exactly suited for crowded, noisy places such as New York downtown bars in their evening rush hour.
But walking the stranger to the subway station, and thinking how unambiguously an offer of "going somewhere private" made by a stranger in a gay club must have sounded like, Jamie gave it his all to stop flushing like a madman.