Gabriel sat up and managed not to close his eyes as the room oscillated yet again. Mustering up some false dignity, he squinted into Ken’s scornful stare.
“How long have I been out?”
“Well, officially, you were out cold for a couple of minutes, but you haven’t been coherent for a few hours since you hit your head.”
Gabriel noisily sighed and gestured for him to continue with his uninjured hand. Ken rolled his eyes.
“You’re a lucky bastard. Joe happened to be outside of the door when you collapsed. He heard the noise, so he tried the door, but it was locked. He managed to break into the room after a couple of minutes and wake you up, but you weren’t making any sense. He called your personal doctor—”
“Told I’d need a private physician in Michigan—”
“—then he called me. I pried myself out of my Bahamian lover’s arms to come check on you. The doctor cleared you after a couple of hours, though he almost sent you to the ER.”
Ken paused for a moment, the chords in his neck standing out in an effort to keep his worry and anger restrained.
Gabriel looked away. “What did—”
“Be quiet, I’m not done.” The daggers in his friend’s eyes silenced Gabriel on the spot. “I told Joe I’d help take care of you for a couple of days to ease his burden. Of course, the rest of your staff offered to help, but I convinced them not to worry about it. After all, it’s your own stupid fault. I’m not going to let you ruin anyone else’s day. Your people work hard to please you.”
Gabriel felt a surge of annoyance. “Is this the part where I beg for forgiveness and shower you with praise for your selfless sacrifice on my behalf?”
“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice. Now shut up and let me finish.” Refusing to let Gabriel’s hostility disrupt him, Ken laid down the facts. “You’re suffering from a Grade-3 concussion. The disorientation you feel will probably last for at least two weeks, maybe more. Your knuckles are practically stripped of skin. You fractured your left index finger in two different places. It’ll take six weeks or so to heal. Your fans wouldn’t want you to mess it up permanently, so let it be.”
Gabriel winced. The sarcasm in Ken’s voice was jarring, like an off-key note.
“The medicine the doctor prescribed is on your nightstand,” Ken continued. “There’s one for dizziness and nausea, two for pain, and a sleeping aid. The dosage instructions are on the bottles.” His voice softened. “Also, Joe wrote down everything the doctor said about your diagnosis, word for word. He’s a better note-taker than your P.A.”
“I . . . ”
Ken hushed him with a light touch. “Just promise me you won’t do anything like this again, okay? I thought you were past all this self-mutilation shit. You really had me fooled. And Joe . . . he hardly knew what to do when he found you like that.”
Gabriel fought the unwanted lump developing in his throat. “Good thing you came back to help him out.”
He met Ken’s concerned gaze as unexpressed words of honest gratitude hovered on his tongue.
“So…” Ken drawled. “I guess this wouldn’t be the best time to ask you how it went with Raiden the other night?”
Gabriel flopped onto the pillows, waves of dizziness engulfing him. He covered his face as he remembered his drunkenness (and Raiden’s dismissiveness).
Ken smacked his arm. “I expect a juicy story, Gabe!”
“Shut up, Ken!”
“I can wait forever, if that’s what it takes.”
“People who believe patience is a virtue need to be crucified.”
Ken raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
Easily, he surrendered to Ken’s curiosity, feeling an urgent need to confess his sins to the one person who always granted him absolution.
“Okay, okay, okay. So, I acted like a total idiot . . . ”
* * *
Later, after Ken had retired to his side of the house, Gabriel gave Joe a couple of sleeping pills to ease his exhaustion. His bodyguard expressed appreciation, and yet another suspicious lump threatened to obstruct Gabriel’s throat, but he concealed his emotions, and locked himself in the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror, he grimaced. The bags under his eyes were puffier than anticipated. He pulled on the delicate skin. Gravity is ugly, he thought. His flesh looked jaundiced, and his teeth imbued a dull sheen. Disgusting. He sneered at his reflection and wondered how anyone could find him attractive. Self-confidence obliterated, he sat on the closed toilet seat in defeat.
Despite his ordeal, Gabriel still felt the need to punish himself. Spreading his legs as far as they could go, he put his right index and middle fingers in his mouth, sucking them until they dripped saliva. He removed the wet digits. Without hesitation, he fervently plunged his fingers inside his anus. He screamed without opening his mouth, veins standing out, straining with the effort. He tore off the splint protecting his broken finger with his teeth.
Enjoying the agony, Gabriel awkwardly jerked himself off with his left hand, pain spiraling out from his body in different directions. He could not decide which part ached more. He poured his exertion into fucking himself with warped fingers, glinting nails, and pliant palms. The sensation was exquisite. Suppressing regret, but feeling undeniable relief, he came hard all over his stomach. He slumped, completely spent. Satisfied with his self-castigation, he sat still for a few minutes longer before attempting to redo the splint on his broken finger.
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