Voiceless

(Sunday Morning, September 1st)

When Blake enters the hospital room, he sees a woman with brown, wavy hair hovering over Ben, inching closer. "Queen Belle?"

She abruptly strengthens and turns towards him, a frightened smile spread across her face. "Sorry. Who are you?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Ben's manservant… What were you doing?"

"Nothing." She folds her hands in front of her and walks towards the door. "I should be getting back to the library." He makes room to let her through before reaching for his phone.

After she walks down the hallway, he enters the room and dials the number. "Blake. Is something wrong?"

"I'm visiting King Ben." He glances at the door. "His mother was here… I think she was trying to kiss him."

"Kiss him?" his voice raises.

"That's what it looked like," Blake explains. "She said she wasn't doing anything."

King Charming sighs. "Thank you, Blake. I appreciate the information."

"No problem."

"I'm going to talk to her," he plans. "Have a good day."

"You too." The call ends, and Blake looks at Ben. He's pale. Frail. He sits in the chair next to him and then glances at the health monitor. A nurse comes in, and he watches as she takes Ben's temperature. "Excuse me." She looks at him. "Can you tell me, does he know I'm here right now?"

"He should be able to hear you," she confirms. Would he recognize his voice, though? "Studies have shown that people are more likely to wake from a coma when they hear familiar voices. It's good he's had so many visitors."

"Can he smell me?" Blake asks.

"What?"

"He said I smell like oranges," Blake explains. "Would he be able to smell me now?"

"I suppose," she slowly says, "if someone's brain is able to process sound, they would theoretically be able to notice smells too."

"Good." Blake folds his arms. "If he wants to eat me, he's going to have to wake up."

Once Charming enters the library, he confronts Belle at the front desk. "Is it true you tried to kiss Ben last night?"

"Would you keep your voice down?" she furiously whispers.

He stills. "I take that as a yes."

"I had to do something," she whispers. "He loves me. I had to at least try."

"But you don't feel the same way."

Belle rubs her arm. "I thought, maybe, a mother's love might be just as powerful."

"So, you were going to kiss his forehead," he assumes. Her eyes lower, and Charming comments, "True love needs to be mutual, and this isn't a spell. A kiss can't fix this." She starts to cry, and he steps forward. "Belle?"

"I'm so afraid of losing him." She shakily breathes. "I've lost everything else."

He places a hand over hers. "You just need faith. He will be okay."

Her glossy, brown eyes widen at him. "I had faith that Adam would change. That turned out to plan."

"The doctors say the antiparasitic is working," Charming continues. "He can't refuse nutrients when he's unconscious. Things are looking good. He's going to be fine."

She takes a deep breath. "I hope you're right."

Chad finishes the almond butter celery, and the nurse gives him his pill. "Thank you."

"For what?"

He takes the medication with his water, and she answers, "For not making things complicated. It's scary when you can't help people just because your hands are tied."

Chad frowns. "I don't know. Hawthorne doesn't seem to have a problem with it." He meets her gaze, her eyes burning a question into him. He fails to hold her stare and then walks out of the office. That look. Her eyes. She knows something. He can't risk her finding out. He picks up his pace and jogs up the stairs to his dorm. Hayden unpacks the suitcase, and Chad moves to his bed to lay down.

"Bed already?" he comments. "I thought you would be out longer."

"I have no one to be out with." He rolls onto his back. "Everything I do is pointless. It doesn't matter how many sandwiches I pass out to the homeless or reps I do in the gym." He sighs. "It won't make a difference."

"What about your friends?"

He pauses. "They don't understand what I'm going through right now."

"Then tell me."

Chad huffs. "Yeah. Right. I'd tell you what happened and then you'd go off and tell everyone else, just to see what happens."

"What if I promise not to tell anyone?" he negotiates.

Chad glares at him. "How am I supposed to trust you."

"Trust that I want to watch you suffer." He takes a break from unpacking his things. "That's what you said last year, so trust I'm not going to tell your friends so that they can come comfort you. You can lay there and drown in your sorrows all you want. All I want is to know what you're thinking when you do it."

Chad glances at Hayden's nightstand. "What? Ran out of books?"

He rolls his eyes. "They're all mimicking each other. I want something new."

Chad takes a moment. Hayden's only going to be a threat if he gets bored. The words linger on his tongue, as they sit heavy on the ledge. "I was molested by a teacher." Hayden stares, and he continues. "Professor Hawthorne. I was paralyzed in the hospital. I suppose he wanted to reassure me that even without my legs, I would still have sexual function. I was ready to die if I couldn't play sports again."

"So, what happened, exactly?"

Chad eyes over him. "I could demonstrate it for you."

"Like jerk yourself off in front of me?" he unsurely asks.

"No." Chad's frown deepens. "I can't relive it as me. I'd have to relive it as him."

Hayden replies, "I'm not down for that." Chad silences. "Can't you just tell me?"

"No," he says again. "My mind runs wild every time I think about it. My heart races." His eyes lower. "I can't speak."

"So, you haven't told anyone about it?"

"No. I tried to." His eyes shift. "When it first happened, I tried to complain about it… but people on the team were saying I was lucky that I had so many people who cared. It was a good thing that Hawthorne visited me. I should be grateful."

After a long silence, Hayden prompts, "And now?"

He faces him. "I tried to tell my parents, and they went to Fairy Godmother. She was like ten times more willing to believe me than my parents were, but I had to say I lied about it."

"Why?"

Chad shrugs. "Because I'm gay. Because I'm a drug addict. Because Hawthorne has a Nobel Prize pin to prove he's the greatest person on the planet." He takes a deep breath, his voice raising, "Because my drugs are the only thing that's going to help numb this pain, and he's the only source I have to get them now."

Chad stares at the professor as Hawthorne paces the front of the classroom. "Chad." His expression drops. "What are the most serious withdrawal symptoms of opioids?"

"Seizers and low plasma levels," he answers.

"Correct." Hawthorne writes them on the board. "While seizures are a rarer symptom, it's also the deadliest. "He turns to the class. A seizure is violent, uncontrollable convulsions of the body. If someone is experiencing a seizer, do not move them unless they are in immediate danger. If they are standing, try to keep them from falling. If they are on the ground, turn them onto their side, remove any glasses they might be wearing, and loosen any clothes that may restrict their breathing. Most seizers only last a few minutes, and it is common for someone to lose control of their bowels at this time. As scary as it is, know it is not a sign of the person's death." He pauses. "It is a common misconception that you must put something in the person's mouth to keep them from swallowing their tongue; however, doing so can and will cause them to break their teeth or choke on the material." His folds his hands behind his back. "There are also sensory seizures. Physical symptoms of this type are a lot more subtle. You may notice pupil dilation and sweating. Someone who suffers from a sensory seizure may feel dizzy or blankly stare in front of them." His gaze meets Chad. "They might also feel unwarranted anger or fear and see or hear things that aren't there." His eyes shift away from him. "Your assignment is to write an essay on how to approach someone suffering from opioid withdrawals and convince them to seek help." The bell rings, and he shouts, "Feel free to get creative."

The class dissipates, and Chad takes his time to collect his things before approaching the teacher's desk. "I wasn't hallucinating when you visited me in the hospital last year."

"Chad," he innocently answers, "I never said you did."

Chad takes a breath, unable to meet the professor's dark eyes. "My father took that book you gave me. Is it possible to get another copy?"

"Let me take a look around," the professor requests. "Tomorrow I'll let you know where you can find it."

Chad nods, barely managing, "Have a good day."

"You seem distracted," the counselor comments. "Did your first day not go so well?"

Chad complains, "Does it have to?"

"I suppose, not," the balding man says, but Chad fails to change subject. "Did something happen that you'd like to talk about?"

"I told you." Chad frowns. "I'm no good at expressing myself."

"You don't have to express your feelings," he reassures. "Just say what happened."

Chad takes a moment. "It was a long day. I didn't think it would ever end." He folds his arms. "I couldn't focus on anything the teachers said. It just all seemed so pointless."

"You've been through a lot," the man says. "It's understandable."

"I just ask myself why," Chad solemnly complains. "Everyone else is making the best of things, but I… I just can't."

"You feel stuck," the councilor infers.

"Yeah, actually," Chad confirms. "I do."

He nods. "These are physical signs of depression. It's hard to say whether it's from your recovery or from recent events, but it will go away. Eventually."

"You seem so sure."

"If it's because of King Ben's hospitalization, it will lessen once he wakes up," he reasons. "If it's from your recovery, your brain should normalize in time."

Chad slouches in his seat. "Before Ben… went to sleep, he said he loved me. Of course, I had to say it back." He meets his black eyes. "And then Carlos broke up with me and left for the Isle. He didn't think we had a chance, but now my father's legalizing homosexual activity and there's no guarantee Ben will survive the coma."

"You wish he would have stayed," he guesses.

"I had something important I wanted to tell him," Chad divulges. "I was waiting until he got better, but now no one's going to help me."

"Chad." The counselor says, "Believe it or not, your parents, Fairy Godmother, and I want nothing more than to help you. Ask for our help, and you will receive it."

"You wouldn't help me," Chad dismisses. "You would force me to do stuff, change something, talk about it. But why do I need to talk about it? Why do I need to change, now?"

"It takes a long time to readjust to life after a trauma," he informs. "The sooner someone is helped out, the easier it is for them to return to their day-to-day life."

"Carlos wouldn't have made me do anything," Chad counters. "He would let me talk, he would be there, and he would just be there," Chad's voice raises, as he starts to cry. "Why can't anyone just be there for me? Why does everyone have to be a fucking problem solver?"

He claims, "Chad. If you don't want me to help, all you have to do is say so. If that's the case, I promise not to take action."

"Liar," Chad disputes. "It's in your job code. You have to intervene."

"I have to intervene in a student is planning on hurting themselves or someone else," he corrects. "If you tell me something that happened in the past, I would require your written permission to say anything to anyone about it."

Chad sniffles. "How am I supposed to believe you?"

"Because." He answers, "Students are less likely to commit suicide when they have someone that they can go to without needing to fear judgement. And, as a therapist, I'm obligated to keep an objective mind about any and all matters."

"So." Chad gulps before taking a composing breath. "If a teacher wanted a therapy session with you, told you they're attracted to one of their students, you wouldn't be able to judge or anything?"

His expression evens. "I don't treat faculty members." Chad wipes his cheeks, and the counselor asks, "Is there a teacher you'd like to talk about?"

"That depends." Chad questions, "What counts as hurting yourself?"

He frowns. "Putting yourself in a risky situation, one where you know you will get hurt. That would count."

Chad forces a smile. "Looks like I have nothing to say, then."

When Chad finds the room number, he knocks. Instantly, his nerves let him know he shouldn't have, but he pushes it away. There's nothing Hawthorne can do to hurt him more than he already has. The door opens, and the professor steps aside. "Chad. Come in."

He walks past, and his heart thuds when the door closes. What's wrong with him? He knew what he was doing when he walked here. "Where is it?"

Hawthorne moves over to the bedside table and takes out a small bag of pills. "This should last you about two weeks." Chad outstretches his hand. "With a middle name like Charming, I would think you'd be more sociable."

"I didn't come here to chat," Chad irritably says.

"Neither did I." He sits on the bed. "First things first, get on your knees."

"What?" Chad disbelieves.

"You heard me." He instructs, "Kneel, please."

He shakes his head. "Why should I?"

"I'm manufacturing drugs for you," he sneers. "The least you can do is thank me." Chad eyes over him, and he takes a breath. "Unless, of course, you believe someone else can help you. Just don't ask for mine again." Chad's heart beats faster, but he manages to step forward. "See. You're a smart lad. I knew you'd make the right decision."

Chad falls to his knees and stares at the buckle. At least he'd be getting something out of it this time. He watches as his hands undo the leather, then the button. He closes his eyes and moves forward. He can barely breathe, but he restricts his airway anyhow. Carlos. Ben. Anyone but him, but he's never taken this position. He hasn't the experience. The fingers clutch his hair and the remnants of his breath release in an incoherent scream, before he's pushed down, his airway fully closes off, and he chokes.

Chad scratches the brush throughout his mouth, determined to get rid of the taste. "Hey." Hayden walks up to him. "I think five minutes is enough."

"Shut the fuck up," Chad hoarsely says, before he scratches the bristles over his tongue.

"What happened to you voice?"

Chad spits into the sink and washes the brush out. "Want a demonstration?"

Hayden stares into his eyes. "No. Thank you." Chad brushes past him, and Hayden turns around. "To be clear." Chad faces him. "If you try to fuck me in my sleep, I will tell everyone about you and the professor." Chad turns away and saunters to his bed, before he opens his bedside table and takes a pill from the baggie. "You got those from him, didn't you?" Chad downs it with the water, and Hayden asks, "Why don't you just blackmail him?"

Chad blankly stares. "What?"

"Blackmail him," Hayden recommends. "Then he'll have to give you the drugs, and you won't have to do anything for them."

Chad lays down. "Can't. He blackmailed me first."

Hayden takes a moment. "Seriously. What happened to your voice?"

Chad stares at the ceiling. "I was throwing up."

- Posted: 04/15/2021