fingers in the ice cold water.
“I need your help. I’m not strong enough to lift you in the tub.”
He gives me another soft unrecognizable groan. But when I try and nudge him toward the bathtub he won’t budge. I get as far as propping him up against the tub before I give up. I grab a towel and dip the whole thing into the water, gently draping the soaking cloth over his chest first. He jerks from the cold temperature. This isn’t about comforting him. I have to save his damn life. I try and peel his eyes back and find they’re not in the back of his head. They’re worse. At least before I couldn’t see the nothingness in his gaze. This way it’s like staring into an empty vessel. He’s nothing like the sexy, confident man I met the day I came looking for a room for rent. This man is naked, covered in puke, and so completely out of if I start to cry again. I can’t help it.
No one should ever look that empty.
Whatever Kent ran from this is where he was running to. Alcohol and drugs with an endless void stretched out before him that would inevitably leave him empty.
I dunk the towel back into the water, repeating this process for hours. I run the towel over his face, his back, and his legs. When I get to his penis I bite my lip and carefully take off the condom that’s still attached to him, dropping it in the trash before continuing to cool him down. I refill the bath twice, making sure it’s as cold as possible, and I drench his entire body from it until his skin feels like its normal temperature.
Still, my adrenaline pumps. I lean against his side and rest my head on his chest and shoulder, breathing in the smell of nothing on his skin. “Kent?”
He’s as silent as the inside of the apartment. I peel his eyes back and meet the black nothingness. He’s still in there. He just has to wake up. I need him to wake up. To make sure his temperature doesn’t get a chance to elevate again, I repeat the process once more, drenching him.
As I’m near his thighs he starts to stir. I drop the towel and crawl back to his face. “Kent? Answer me!”
“Mmm,” he groans.
And then he opens his eyes.
I fall forward and press my face to his chest in relief. But my relief is short lived when I feel warm, foul-smelling liquid hit the back of my skull. I rise slowly. I don’t bother looking at him. I know he’s out once more. I peel my clothes off, unworried about being naked in front of him in his comatose state, and stand with my feet in the ice cold water as the warm water of the shower washes away the puke dripping down my neck and back. My senses are returning.
And my anxiety is making me ill.
Once I’m puke free I run to my bedroom naked, put on some clothes, and then risk leaving Kent for a few minutes to go into James’s bedroom. He’s fast asleep, twisted in his sheets and snoring. I walk over and nudge him. I don’t mean to do it roughly, but I fear his unresponsive reaction as much as I fear Kent’s.
He stares up at me in confusion.
“Get up. I need help with Kent. He won’t wake up.”
He isn’t reading my lips. He can’t hear me and due to his confusion he can only stare. Frustrated, I grab his hand and pull him out of bed, dragging him into the bathroom where Kent is slumped over against the tub.
James sighs.
I concur.
I stand in front of James and completely break down. “Don’t cry,” he begs. His arms pull me to his chest and I cry against him. The nothingness in Kent’s eyes haunts me.
I lean away after I’m done crying and find him watching my mouth intently, waiting for me to speak. “Help me get him to my bedroom? I know he won’t want me in his. I refuse to leave him alone right now.”
“He won’t,” he agrees. “Not even now. Grab his feet. I’ll get his shoulders.”
I reach down and grab Kent’s ankles, trying and failing not to stare at his penis. I feel bad for him. So incredibly bad. Fresh tears moisten my eyes. James and I struggle to carry him into my bedroom. We gently set him on my bed and then James