Chapter 12 - Honesty

Jon heard the front door open and close, and he took a deep breath and pulled himself up enough to lie on the bed. With some effort, he pushed away the blanket and pulled the sheet over himself, then he settled on his stomach. The sheets felt nice and cool and clean; he'd just changed them the day before.

Footsteps headed down the hall toward him, and a knock came at his door. "Jon?"

Jon closed his eyes, forcing his muscles to relax, to make it look like he was asleep. Every little motion made his back cry out with pain, and it was all he could do not to cry out himself.

The door opened slowly. "Hey." General Lane's voice was soft, but Jon's eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at him. "You okay?"

"I don't feel good."

"Sick?" General Lane knelt by the bed and felt his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You're not too warm. What kind of sick?"

"Body aches? Everything hurts. And I'm really tired."

General Lane frowned. "Must have picked up something from the boys." He stood. "I'll grab some painkillers and let you sleep."

Jon hid his sigh of relief. He could rest for long enough for his back to heal. He was going to get away with this. "What about my schoolwork?"

"Don't even worry about that until you're well."

Jon mustered a slight smile through the pain. "Thank you, sir."

General Lane nodded. "Get some rest," he said, and he patted Jon's back.

And Jon screamed.

General Lane jerked his hand away and stood straight. His voice suddenly harsh, he barked, "Thought we'd gone over lying."

"I-I'm sorry, I-"

"Try again, boy. You've got one chance to tell me the whole truth, or there's gonna be serious consequences."

Jon swallowed hard and pulled himself up to sit, not quite suppressing his gasps. He didn't have time to come up with another lie, and General Lane seemed to be able to read his mind. "The guards said you'd taken the cameras down, and it would be my word against theirs, so you'd believe they had to do it."

"Do what? Did they hit you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where?"

"On my back, sir. With a belt."

"Tell me the truth, boy. Did you do anything to provoke them?"

Jon breathed in to say no, but instead he went with, "The crimes I was arrested for. Sir."

General Lane's eyes flashed, anger like Jon had never seen. It filled him with terror for the day that anger might be directed at him. "Those men will curse the day they thought they could pull one over on Sam Lane."

Something occurred to Jon. "Wait. You believe me?"

"Should I not?"

"It's just, they'll tell you a different story."

General Lane ignored that comment, like he didn't think it was worth addressing. "Take your shirt off."

Ice ran through Jon's veins. "It's not that bad, sir."

"I told you not to lie to me, boy."

Jon flinched, and his eyes filled with tears. "Please, please, don't-don't make me . . ." He blinked in vain; the first tears began to fall. "I-I'm not . . . not comfortable . . . please."

General Lane studied him for a long moment. "Would it help if I stepped out of the room while you take it off?"

Jon breathed in to continue begging, but all at once it occurred to him that General Lane was right. He was embarrassed to be seen exposed at all, but it was the act of removing clothing in front of someone else that really made his skin crawl. Enough that rolling up his sleeves or pant legs while someone was watching could raise his heart rate, even though he didn't mind wearing short sleeves or pants

"Okay." General Lane headed toward the door, calling back, "Give a shout when you're ready." Then he closed the door behind himself.

Jon let his breath out, and with it a few tears. The man was so kind to him. He'd never had anyone treat him with so much kindness.

He shuddered. He really didn't belong here. The sooner he could get out, the better.

It took a long time for him to peel away his shirt. It took bending in positions that stretched and pinched his damaged flesh. His skin had broken in places, so the fabric stuck to his skin. By the time he had it off, he was shaking violently, and tears streamed down his cheeks. He lay on his stomach on the bed, so at least half of him would be covered, and he wiped away his tears before calling, "Okay, sir!"

General Lane opened the door a moment later, carrying with him a first aid kit, a couple of towels, and a glass of water. He glanced down at Jon's back, but his only reaction was a frown and a whispered swear word.

The first thing he did was to pull the desk chair up to the bed, set the water down on Jon's nightstand, and take a sleeve of painkillers out of the kit, setting them beside the water. Then he took a couple of ice packs from the kit and wrapped them in the towels, placing them next to the painkillers.

"You can have these when we're done," he said, and he slid the chair closer.

Jon buried his face in the pillow, and he heard some light rustling, then felt something cool on his lower back.

"The open wounds aren't bad enough to need stitches, but this'll kill any chance of infection. Let me know if it stings, and we can take a break whenever you like."

"It doesn't sting," Jon said.

"Good." General Lane continued working, alternating between disinfecting and bandaging, his touch even gentler than it had been when Jon twisted his ankle.

The gentleness wasn't quite enough for a couple of deeper gashes in his ribs. Jon told himself not to react, but it might as well have been lava pressing into his skin. Jon pulled in a gasp, breathing hard and burying his face in the pillow.

"Okay, okay." General Lane stopped what he was doing, and a warm hand pressed into the back of Jon's neck a moment later, squeezing gently. "You're okay, Jon."

Jon forced his breathing to slow. The hand on the back of his neck helped him calm down, but the warm, gentle comfort also brought on a few more tears. He kept his face buried in the pillow so General Lane wouldn't see, but he wasn't sure if his sobs were visible in the shaking in his shoulders.

If they were, General Lane didn't remark on it. All he said was, "Just for this part, I'm going to put the disinfectant on the gauze instead of putting it on directly. That'll skip a step and let you get some ice on there right away."

He couldn't speak without letting on that he was crying, so he simply didn't protest.

"Hang in there, son," General Lane said, and he let go of Jon's neck.

A moment later, a slightly sticky cloth pressed into the same sensitive spot. Jon hissed, but the ice pack pressed into his side a moment later.

"There you go." General Lane ran a hand through Jon's hair. The familiar gesture had him fighting a new wave of tears, sobs he couldn't have quite kept silent, but before he could lose the battle, General Lane had gone back to patching up his broken skin.

He knew it was done when both of the ice packs were pressed against his back, although just the two of them weren't doing nearly enough. They stung at first and then numbed a couple of spots, but those little areas of relief only made him realize how bad the pain was everywhere else.

"Any better?"

"Yeah," Jon said, because he didn't dare say anything else. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's my fault this happened. I should be apologizing to you. I can only hope you can forgive me."

Jon shifted so his head turned, and he could see General Lane. "Forgive you?"

"I'm the one who called in those guards to watch you."

Jon winced. "I never told you they'd beat me before."

General Lane's eyes widened, and Jon immediately realized he should have kept that to himself.

"When?"

"Not since I've been here! Just . . . back in the cell."

"How many of the guards hurt you?"

"Uh . . ." Jon felt sick to his stomach. "Most of them."

"And you never told me?"

"I-I didn't . . . I wasn't . . ."

"When you're well enough to sit up, we're going through their photos, and you're going to tell me who did what."

"Please, I don't want . . . they were just . . ."

"Don't you dare defend them!"

"I . . ." Jon's voice caught. There was nothing he could say.

"I'm not calling in any DOD guards anymore. If I have to run errands, you can go with me."

"Really?"

"We'll just keep the ankle monitor on," General Lane said. "Now, tell me the truth. Are you still in pain?"

"Y-yes."

"Thank you. Where?"

"Everywhere the ice doesn't touch."

General Lane's face fell. "I am so, so sorry, boy . . ."

Jon had to quickly bury his face in the pillow.

That soft, warm hand came up to cradle the back of his head. "I'm going to grab some more ice packs, give you a minute to sit up and take those painkillers. You can put your shirt back on, too. Then I want you to rest."

"I'm . . . " He wanted to say he wasn't tired, but it wasn't quite true, and General Lane wouldn't believe it. "I'm not tired enough to sleep."

"Then grab the laptop and put on some music or a podcast or something. I'll unlock it for you. But you need to lie on your stomach for as much of the day as you can."

That was so much better than fair, so much better than he was expecting. "What about schoolwork?"

"Don't even think about it. You focus on resting and healing."

Jon swallowed. It wasn't even just kindness. General Lane truly cared.

He gave Jon's hair one last tousle before he straightened up. "Call me when you're ready," he said, and he left Jon alone, closing the door behind himself, leaving Jon in privacy to cry out the tears he'd been holding back.