Chapter 18
For the next two days, Huggy and Hutch took it in turns to watch over Starsky as he shuddered and shivered his way back towards some semblance of full consciousness. During that time, he remained on the big soft bed, covered only by a sheet and the soft towels. Anything else was too heavy or harsh to rest against his abraded hyper sensitive skin. The brunet remained closed off in his own pain filled and dark world, his restless sleep interspersed with periods of intense stomach pains and dry heaves. During those times he looked around him for someone who would give in to his wishes and give him his next shot of heroin, to take the pains away and to take him to his happy place for a while. On a fundamental level he understood that he was out of the crypt and that other people than Crazy George were looking after him, but Hutch had a nasty shock on the first night they'd got him home.
The big blond had managed to settle his partner somewhat, although Starsky wasn't exactly resting so much as not moaning and heaving quite so much. Huggy had poked his head around the bedroom door and whispered that he'd rustled up some food and Hutch had quietly got up from the side of the bed. The brunet moaned at the movement, but didn't open his eyes and the tall cop tiptoed to the window and closed the drapes. As he walked out of the room, he closed the door behind him, shutting out the light from the cabin's living room, but no sooner had the door closed than Starsky started to scream at the top of his voice. The words were unintelligible, but Hutch rushed back into the bedroom and to the bed.
'Starsky, talk to me. What is it buddy? What's hurting?' he asked anxiously, rubbing soothing circles on his friends back.
Starsky curled himself around Hutch's knee, his sweating body pressed against the big blond as he trembled and groaned. His hands balled into Hutch's jeans and the brunet buried his head in the soft material of his partner's shirt.
'Don't go…..don't leave' he mumbled indistinctly.
'Hey…. not goin' anywhere buddy. Ssh…s'ok. I'm right here, right here. Starsk, are you hurtin'? Tell me what's the matter'.
'S'dark….don't like the d dark. Dark hurts….everything hurts….don't leave me in the d dark'. The smaller man panted and raised his head to turn pleading eyes on his friend.
And suddenly Hutch realised. Starsky had spent 7 days in the pitch black of the crypt, on his own with only a few minutes company each day, when Prudholm came to give him his shot. His partner associated the dark with pain, and as the cabin was in the middle of the woods, at night it too was pitch black.
Gently he pulled Starsky's hands away from his jeans and pushed him back onto the bed. 'S'ok buddy. I'm sorry. Here'. He clicked on the bedside lamp and covered it with a cloth so that it gave a soft, defused light. 'is that better Starsk?'
The brunet's face relaxed a little and the shadow of a grin crossed his face. 'Guess I'm a wash-up huh?' he asked before closing his eyes and stating to rock again.
'Nah…just rest easy babe. We'll get through this. Me 'n' Thee, like always huh?' His hand rested on his partner's shoulder until Starsky's body relaxed into sleep and then he got up again, eased the tension from his shoulders and back and went to get his cold supper.
Between them over the next hours, Hutch and Huggy forced liquids of any description down Starsky's throat, Hutch remembered how when he'd been coming down from his own demons he'd craved anything sweet and in an attempt to satisfy that craving in his partner, he had Huggy drive back into town and stock up on fruit juice and fizzy drinks. Although the blond detested the root beer and Coca Cola, he knew Starsky enjoyed their tooth rotting sweetness and some of the time, the brunet seemed to enjoy the drinks. But other times, the coffee and Cola made impromptu reappearances and either Huggy or the blond spent a lot of time mopping up, washing the brunet down when he was too feverish, and fighting with him to drink more. And throughout it all, there were only a few moments when Starsky's mind allowed him to understand that his two friends were with him.
On the evening of the second full day at the cabin, the brunet's recovery seemed to take a turn for the better. He'd woken from a sound sleep as Hutch was watching over him and the blond was happy to see that for the first time since they'd got there, Starsky's first reaction was not to clutch at his stomach. Instead, the deep indigo blue eyes opened slowly and regarded his partner with some clarity.
'Utch?'
'Hey buddy. How're ya doin'?'
Starsky closed his eyes and thought. He remembered being in the crypt and he remembered some of the time he'd been at the cabin. The transition from crypt to new accommodation was a complete blank as was some of the time he'd been here. He sighed.
'Maybe you should tell me'. His voice was raw and husky, but there was a light behind the eyes now. Starsky was once more "at home" and Hutch welcomed having his partner back with him.
He smiled. 'Do you want a drink?'
'Oh shit no. No more coffee, please. M'hungry'.
'Yeah? What can I get ya?' Hutch stood up and held out a helping hand as Starsky sat up and tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The curly head hung down and he took a deep breath as the room swum around him.
'Something to keep the bed still' he mumbled and swallowed hard as another wave a nausea struck. 'Shit this sucks'.
Hutch nodded. 'I know buddy, but believe it or not, I think you might be getting better'.
The brunet snorted. 'Ya think? My back aches, my heads poundin', I'm shiverin' and hot an' I can hardly move my arms. An' this is better?'
The flaxen haired man sat on the bed behind his partner and started to massage the knots in Starsky's shoulders. Charm had explained that as Starsky had been bound in one position for so long, the muscles would be sensitive and stiff for a while and Hutch could feel that they were swollen still. The brunet yelped as he gently massaged the hard lumps from his shoulders, then relaxed a little and submitted to the ministrations, rolling his head around to get the full benefit from Hutch's strong fingers.
'Feels good' he said softly.
'Uh huh. Now. What d'ya want to eat?'
'I guess a beef burrito with everything is too much to ask for?' Starsky asked hopefully.
'And you think you could keep it down?'
'No, probably not. What about a beer?'
'What about some soup and a glass of milk?'
'What about another shot?'
Hutch's face hardened. 'Starsk, don't even joke about that'.
Pain laden eyes turned full force on him. 'Who says I was jokin'? It hurts Hutch. God it hurts. I don't know if I can do this, it hurts so much. I feel like I have fire ants crawling through my veins. I want to yell 'n' scream an' get outa here. But mostly I just want more shit. An' it scares me'.
The blond pulled the smaller man to him. 'I know' he said softly into the chocolate curls. 'But you've gotta hang in there buddy. Just hang in there an' we'll ride it out huh?'
'We? We'll ride it out? I don't see you rollin' around on the ground with a fire in your guts. I don't see you burnin' up with fever. Don't give me that fuckin' "we'll do this together" crap, coz it's me that's goin' through this an' you don't know jack shit. If you were my friend you'd help me. If you were really my partner you'd go out an' get me some more stuff. Just one more shot an' I'll be fine. Just one more an' the pains'll stop Hutch' he grabbed hold of Hutch's arm and pulled it to him. 'Please…..just one more shot huh?'
'I can't Starsk…..an' you know it' Hutch said, his voice breaking with emotion.
The brunet pushed him away angrily. 'You have no fuckin' idea what this is doing t'me. You don't know squat' he yelled, his eyes angry pools boring into Hutch's soul.
Hutch got up from the bed, unable to be in the same room and keep his emotions under control. 'I know fine well what you're going through buddy. An' I still won't get you more stuff'. He walked stiff backed to the door and out into the living room, closing the connecting door behind him as he heard something bang against the wood. Starsky had obviously thrown something at the door and Hutch almost wished it could have hit him instead of the dumb wood. Any physical pain now would be preferable to the mental anguish he felt as he turned down his partner's pleas.
He went to sit on the sofa. Huggy had taken the opportunity to go back to the Pits to catch up on his business and now the cabin felt lonely and cold. He shivered and despite the warm night, he put another log on the fire and sat back, resting his head against the sofa. Slowly he closed his eyes, the weariness of the past few days washing over him and within minutes he'd drifted off into a deep sleep.
In the bedroom, Starsky felt like a complete bastard. He knew Hutch was helping him and he knew that the blond knew all about the withdrawal pains. He had no idea what had made him say the terrible things he had to his best friend and most of all he despised himself for begging for more of the drug. God, he'd seen enough junkies on the streets to know what withdrawal was all about. He'd read enough psychologists reports about the effects of withdrawal; the chemical imbalance on the brain; the pains and the fevers. But it was one thing to read about them and another to experience them first hand. This sucked, big time and while the conscious part of Starsky's brain told him that logically he'd get over it and he just needed to ride it out, the unconscious part of him, the part which controlled his physical reactions told him that his body needed more heroin.
He clutched his hands around his stomach as some of the pains returned and he bent over, groaning as the fire curled around his guts once more. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he felt the all too familiar cold streak running down his spine. His body shuddered involuntarily, making the pains all the worse and he cursed softly, looking at the door. Should he try to get to the door and apologise to Hutch? Or should he try to get out and get a drink of coffee. Or another root beer. Maybe a candy bar?
He stood uncertainly, his legs wobbly and weak. It had been over a week since he'd stood unaided and he closed his eyes against the overpowering feeling of vertigo. Looking down at his bare legs he smiled wryly, a phrase coming back to him from his past.
'Where's my pants? Find my pants'
'Erm….I got your watch'.
Ok find your pants Davey. He looked around, but there was no sign of any clothes and then he caught sight of the centre of his body, his thighs, and, oh my God, even his dick was bright red, the skin cracked and blistered. Well now he knew that at least some of his pains weren't from the withdrawal!. Grimly, he reached for the towel and wrapped it around his hips before staggering to the bedroom door. He opened it and saw immediately that Hutch was asleep. He fought the urge to run his fingers through the mussed golden hair and shuddered at the familiar sensation in the centre of his body. Much as he loved Hutch like a brother, he'd never got a hard on from looking at him before. Deep down, he knew it was a side effect of the heroin, but Jeez!
As quietly as he could, he made his way to the fridge and took out a root beer with a trembling hand, then made his way back to the bedroom. He unscrewed the bottle and took a deep chug of the sweet drink, and then another before putting the bottle down.
Still the pains took him and he rocked himself back and forth on the edge of the bed, trying to ease them. He tried to take his mind off them, reciting poems he knew as a child, thinking of ball games he'd seen with his partner. But the pains hammered away at his consciousness so that eventually they encompassed his whole world. Why wouldn't they go away? Why wouldn't they stop? Why wouldn't Hutch make it better? Why wouldn't Hutch get him more stuff? He only needed one more shot. Just one more to get his through and things would be fine. Just one more shot to take the pain away and then no more. Promise.
Starsky stopped rocking and got up. Unsteadily he managed to reach the wardrobe in the bedroom and he looked in. There was a pair of jeans belonging to Hutch and in the bottom of the closet, his old Adidas.
Quickly, he took off the towel and pulled on the jeans, hissing in pain as the stiff material grazed his sore skin. He pulled on his sneakers with uncoordinated hands and then crept from the bedroom. Hutch was still asleep and as carefully as he could, Starsky crept past him and opened the door to the cabin.
It was dark. Very dark, and he hated the dark. It reminded him too much of that freakin' crypt, but he had a choice. Go back inside and continue to hurt. Or face the dark and get back to town to get himself another hit. No choice really. The craving overtook everything and with a backwards look at his partner. Starsky set off into the night.
