Chapter Text
With a long-suffering sigh, the man named Doc shut the door and locked it with a key attached to a chain on his belt. Wrapping a strong arm around Frank's shoulders, he helped him across a well-lit cluttered room to a small medical bed complete with side rails and white sheets. "Okay, up we go," he muttered, guiding the teenager onto the mattress with a gentle hand against his back. Frank didn't struggle or question what was happening, just curled up on the bed hoping to pass out into blessed oblivion. Whatever happened next it couldn’t be worse than that basement hell he had just left and he didn't have the strength to fight. The Tylenol was starting to kick in too, finally deadening his pain enough to make sleep possible, and sleep was an escape he desperately needed...
“Hey hey, wake up kid. You've gotta stay conscious for me okay?” Doc instructed, “I need to take a look at you.”
Frank slowly rolled onto his back, forcing his eyes open, and the water bottle slipped from his grasp and thudded onto the floor. Doc quickly retrieved it and opened the cap, holding it to the teenager’s lips. “Drink up. You need it." Without lifting his head from the pillow, Frank slurped a few more sips and then pushed it away, aching for rest. Doc put the bottle aside and pulled a large leather doctor's bag out from under the bed, opening it to remove a pair of clean latex gloves which he snapped calmly onto his hands. Frank's pulse quickened with fear at the sight as his lifelong phobia of hospitals chilled his blood.
Leaning over the bed, Doc shone a small flashlight into Frank's eyes and mouth and the teenager let out a scared whimper before he could stop himself. Doc tutted reassuringly and adjusted the glasses on his nose, “Relax hermano, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm here to heal not to hurt, that's why they call me Doc. You speak English? Español? I hope you're not another Russian kid cuz I don't speak Russian. What’s your name?”
Frank scowled defiantly and pressed his scabby lips together, shaking his head. Fuck all these guys, he didn't want his name in their mouths. “Okay don’t tell me,” Doc shrugged, adjusting the bed with a remote control which raised the pillow end until it was elevated enough that Frank was sitting upright, “But the people who run this place will find out who you are. They have ways, trust me."
Sniffing miserably, Frank rubbed at his dirty face to try and hide his gathering tears, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets so hard he saw fireworks. He wanted to act tough and like he didn't care about any of this but he was completely shattered inside and too exhausted to pull himself together. His chest hurt from the weight of the sobs he was holding back and he felt sick with despair. Why hadn't he just gone home after Newark? Why was everything he did so goddamn reckless? His own naivety and bad choices had put him here in this fucked up torture brothel or whatever the hell it was, and he was probably less than forty miles from home but it may as well be forty thousand. These psychopaths were most likely going to ship him off to some gross pimp in Siberia and he'd never see Gerard or his mom or anyone he cared about ever again!
Gloved fingers gently pulled his hands aside and he looked up, panting with terror, into Doc's calm face. "It's okay to be scared, little bird, but whatever they did to you today it's over now, I promise. You're safe with me in this room. My only job is to keep you healthy." Lowering his voice to a whisper he added, "Are you a minor? Tell me now and I might be able to protect you for a while. But you've gotta tell the truth because I can't back up a lie with no evidence and anyone can see you've got tattoos and stuff. Are you under eighteen?"
Doomed by the truth, Frank shook his head and wanted to scream when Doc's face creased in sympathy, confirming his worst fears. The monsters in charge of this place would brutalize and abuse him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was trapped here like a caged animal. He'd never felt more powerless.
"Ok, so let's get you fixed up," Doc said, quickly changing the subject, "First I gotta evaluate your concussion. The light I was using was to make sure your pupils were equal and reactive and they are. You have any dizziness, nausea or blurred vision?" Frank nodded twice, chewing anxiously on his blood-encrusted fingernails. "All three? No? Just first two? Okay some of that might be dehydration but let me know if it gets worse. How long did that hijo de puta keep you in The Oven downstairs? Since yesterday?...No. Two days?...Fuck. Ok now question time and I need you to actually talk now, hermano. Can you tell me who’s President and what year this is?”
Scarcely able to breathe through the fear rampaging through his brain, Frank tried to collect his unravelling thoughts. When he finally managed to blurt out the President’s name and the date Doc smiled encouragingly, “Ay, so you do speak! Now can you touch the end of your nose with your left index finger, and then with the right." With quivering hands, Frank did as he was told, self-pity clogging his throat as he choked back tears. Why was Doc being nice to him when everyone else here was so awful? “Bueno,” Doc said softly, patting his shoulder, “Tak some deep breaths now, okay? Slow deep breaths...as deep as you can...You're ok right now. One more thing you can try for me: lift your arms out straight and level in front of you, uh huh like that. Now hold them there...keep them still... ok bueno, you can put them down now."
Stepping away from the bed, the medic wheeled over a small steel cart laid out with bottles of distilled water, iodine, and a large first aid box. “I need to clean you up a little so I can treat your wounds, is that okay?”
Gulping slower gasps of air through gritted teeth, Frank forced himself to nod, wishing he had something to cling to - a blanket, Chilli, anything! - for a shred of childish comfort.
With saline solution and antiseptic Doc gently cleaned his patient's dirty face, scrubbing carefully around Frank's eyes and bruised mouth, and rinsed some of the blood out of his bangs with a wet cloth. “They sure did a number on you,” he muttered sadly, gently checking the bruises on the teenager's forehead and the gash in his scalp. “I think you’re gonna be alright though. No stitches required, just a little glue."
Moving further down the bed, he cleaned and rinsed Frank’s bloody wrists with the same calm professional care and wrapped some stinging iodine-soaked gauze around the oozing wounds from the handcuffs. Whipping off his dirty gloves, he tossed them in a trash can and washed his hands at a small sink before wandering into the kitchenette of what Frank realized, looking around, was actually a large studio apartment. Besides the bed he was sitting on, the place was crammed with other furniture: a plasma TV and stereo balanced on a bookcase full of medical textbooks; a cheap wardrobe and a small leather armchair standing beside a long wooden desk and two other small beds besides his own – one obviously slept in, creased and unmade, and one covered in fresh folded linens. The walls were lined with mismatched shelves loaded with medical supplies, stacks of magazines, cups of instant noodles and boxes of Trail Mix and Twinkies; and the desk was covered in scientific equipment. He could see electronic microscopes, test tube racks and two metal machines with digital displays that winked and shone in the dimness. Frank had no idea what they were but they looked fucking scary. Away in the furthest corner was an open door into what looked like a bathroom. The only window in the whole place was half blocked by an air-con unit and the remainder had iron bars nailed across it.
Doc took a medicinal-looking packet out of a cupboard and tore it open, pouring the powdery contents into a clean glass and filling it with tap water. While Frank watched nervously, he stirred the concoction with a spoon until the powder dissolved and turned the drink purple before offering it to the teenager. "Drink this. It's just electrolytes and stuff to help you rehydrate." Hesitantly taking the glass, Frank slowly swallowed the bitter tasting drink praying that it wasn't somehow drugged or poisoned. The medic nodded in approval and put on fresh gloves, unwrapping a sterile needle kit from the trolley, “Now I'm real sorry about this next part but I need to take a few blood and swab samples to make sure you’re clean.”
Freezing with the rim of the glass in his mouth, Frank stared at him in wide-eyed horror. “You don’t like tests, huh? Sorry mijo. I’ll make it quick.”
Once his blood was drawn and his genitals and mouth subjected to various unpleasant cotton swabs, Frank scrunched up against his pillows doing everything he could not to cry. He had never been so homesick and scared in his life and even though he was unbearably tired and running on empty, he was too frightened now to close his eyes. “I can get most of your test results now,” Doc said, taking the sample vials over to the mini laboratory on his desk. As he passed the TV he turned it on to a random baseball game, “Do you wanna take a shower? Then you can get some sleep.” Nodding miserably, Frank gnawed at his bruised lip out of habit and a sting of loss pricked his heart when he realized that his lipring was gone. His sore mouth had torn on his teeth when the park mugger smashed him in the face and the tiny piece of metal must have come loose somewhere, probably in that fucking basement. Gerard had loved that stupid ring. He used say it was hot and made kisses and blowjobs even better... Blinking through a mist of grief he couldn't hold back anymore, Frank wiped his eyes and climbed off the bed, very aware of how dirty and smelly he was. As he stood up a scarlet headrush swamped his vision and he groaned quietly, covering his mouth. Doc looked up from his microscopes and pointed to the bathroom with a gloved finger, “There’s towels and clean clothes in the hamper by the sink. I keep different sizes for the different boys here so something in there should fit you. Anything else you need please take. The door doesn’t lock but I won’t peek. You are WAY too young for me, mijo.”
Shuddering uneasily, Frank crept into the tiny bathroom and shut the door behind him, sinking weakly against it. The shower looked new and was spotlessly clean and when he turned it on it made a reassuring hum. He switched the temperature to hot and gingerly stripped off his filthy clothes to step under the gushing torrent. The water around his feet turned a grim brownish red as he rinsed out his hair and washed the grime from his skin and it felt so good to be clean but so fucking terrible to be imprisoned and hurt and miles from home that the fragile floodgates inside him finally broke. With his head in his dripping hands he burst into tears, trying to smother the noise with his fingers as the sound of Doc’s TV babbled through the wall, but he couldn't stop the terrified sobs practically shaking his body apart. He was scared beyond all reason and so exhausted that even the effort of standing up was making him lightheaded. Sitting down with a splash on the wet tiles, he let the pouring water hammer down on his head and shoulders, stinging his cuts and bruises with a pain that he probably deserved. If he hadn't left home none of this shit would've happened. He's so fucking STUPID! His falling tears mixed with the soapy water gurgling down the drain and he felt so small and so alone. He was just a kid. He overreacted to stressful situations without thinking and always ended up in trouble and now he might never get the chance to mature into anything better.
It took a lot of effort but somehow he managed to reign in his surging emotions with the faint promise of sleep and the crippling sobs faded to shivering breaths and gulps as he slowly struggled back onto his feet. Turning off the water, he dried himself with a clean towel and dressed in shorts, socks, sweatpants and two layers of long sleeved jerseys from the stash in the hamper. All of the clothes smelled brand new and all were plain black or gray in colour. It was like putting on a prison uniform. Rifling miserably through a box of hygiene products by the sink, he found an unopened toothbrush and tiredly brushed his teeth, gargling mouthwash until his tongue was raw to obliterate the lingering taste of blood and cum. All that crying had made his eyes look puffy and red in the steamy mirror so he splashed cold water on them and smoothed his messy hair forwards until his bangs covered the worst of it. No need to look even more pathetic than he already did.
When he finally emerged back into the main room holding his old clothes in a smelly bundle against his chest, the TV was on mute and Doc was in the armchair reading. The air smelled like antiseptic and cotton and everything seemed slightly out of focus, glowing in the warm lamplight. “You can put those in the trash can over there,” Doc said, looking up from his novel, “I left another drink and some aspirin by your bed so if you wanna take a seat I'll glue that cut on your head and you can get some sleep.”
Desperate for unconsciousness, Frank dumped his old clothes in the garbage and climbed back onto the bed, swallowing the waiting aspirin with another glassful of purple water. Doc brought over the first aid kit and glued Frank's scalp wound closed before dressing his wrists in thick layers of clean white gauze. “If you wanna know, you tested negative for HIV, Hepatitis and a bunch of other stuff,” he told Frank while he worked, “I’m gonna need you to take a urine test in the morning when your fluid levels normalize but until then it's all good. Try to sleep. I'll be around if you need anything. Dulces sueños.”
Unfolding a large wheeled privacy screen around the bed, the medic dimmed the lights and disappeared back to his book, leaving Frank to curl up nervously under the thin covers, dreading what the morning would bring. Thankfully the weariness crushing his mind and body and the sedative Doc had slipped into his drink knocked him out two minutes after his head hit the pillow.
Beyond the barred window, a thin gray moon was rising over the city, washed out by thousands of glaring streetlights.
In the morning Frank awoke feeling groggy and sore to the sound of voices raised in argument.
"He's still sleeping, pendejo. Come back later.”
“He can sleep when he's dead. Get outta my way.”
“No, you stay here. I'll wake him. We’ll be quick, five minutes.”
“That's five minutes too long, bitch. I'll get him...”
Footsteps thundered across the floor and Frank rubbed his sandy eyes wondering what was happening. A dull ache throbbed in his forehead and his pillow was damp with tears he must have cried in his sleep. With a sharp hiss and a flood of daylight, the screen around his bed was suddenly whipped aside and the rapey black-eyed punk from yesterday appeared, looming over him and ripping the covers from his body. Frank didn’t even have time to react before he was seized by his bandaged wrists and dragged cruelly to his feet. “Hey!” Doc snapped angrily, shoving the other man away and stepping protectively in front of Frank who cowered back in terror as flashbacks to his time in the basement crashed his brain. Doc stared the intruder down, “This is MY room, pendejo, and you know the rules. Wait in the hall and I’ll bring him in five fucking minutes!”
Scowling dangerously, the punk threw a malicious wink at Frank and then stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Doc sighed, his shoulders slumping, and turned back to Frank with a weary smile. He wasn't wearing his glasses and was bare-chested and wearing pyjama pants. A fuzz of black stubble covered his jaw, contrasting sharply with his bleached locks. “It’s ok mijo, you don’t have to be scared of Babe. He's just another cog in the machine here. No real power.”
“He...His name is Babe?” Frank stuttered in disbelief.
“For now,” Doc said, going to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, “You’re not the only one who wants to be anonymous, little bird. Here, drink this and get up. Babe's taking you to see Lou, the boss.”
Struggling to stay calm, Frank grabbed the water and chugged a few mouthfuls before standing up. He still felt dizzy and achy and three days without a cigarette had him itching with nicotine cravings. A decent cup of coffee wouldn't go amiss either.
Doc gave him a Twinkie to get his energy levels up and then handed him a small plastic cup. “Go pee in that and leave it by the bathroom sink. Then you’ve got like sixty seconds to wash up cuz I told Babe we’d be out in five and you can bet he’s timing us.”
Alone in the bathroom again Frank cleaned his teeth as a creeping sweat of fear soaked his armpits and the back of his neck, gripping the toothbrush so tight it left marks in his palm. Doc was the only person he’d met in days who didn’t scare the shit out of him and he didn't want to leave the relative safety of the medic’s room and be at the mercy of the other freaks who lived here. What if they locked him in the basement again? Or beat him? Or something worse?! Panting fearfully around the bristles in his mouth, he nearly choked on the foamy mass of toothpaste and spit it out into the sink. Violent red streaks stained the white bubbles. He was brushing so hard his gums were bleeding.
Stepping back into the apartment he was ashamed to feel his legs go weak with a cold piercing dread that he couldn’t force down or push aside. Doc handed him his sneakers and ushered him towards the door. “Put them on and go. Lou just wants to meet you today, that's all. It'll be ok.”
Out in the corridor Babe was pacing slowly around smoking a brown paper joint. Frank’s stomach was already doing anxious acrobatics and the stink of weed almost made him hurl. “Bout fuckin time,” Babe grumbled, “Let’s go, newbie.”
“Bring him back when you’re done,” Doc said half-heartedly as if he knew it might not happen, “He still needs recovery time before you put him to work. He’s not ready.”
“Is he clean?” Babe asked, ignoring the medic’s request.
“Yeah but_”
“Alright then,” Babe sniffed, stubbing out his doobie on the wall, “He sounds fuckin ready to me.”
Grabbing the terrified teen by the back of the neck, Babe pushed Frank down the hall and into the dingy stairwell, shoving him onto some steps leading up to the building’s higher levels. Frank hissed with pain as his knees smashed into the concrete and Babe kicked him in the back until he started climbing, barking at him all the way, “Up! Get up!” The topmost floor was huge, dark and dank and it reeked of cigar smoke and tequila. Babe grabbed Frank by the wrist and pulled him towards a large steel door with a nameplate fixed at eye-level beside a large peephole. The engraved letters on the plate simply read ‘The Loft’.
Knocking on the door three times, Babe held Frank still and when the door swung open, shoved him onto his knees on a wide red doormat inside. "Motherfucker," Frank spat angrily, looking up and gasping at the expansive room spread out before them. It looked like an underground nightclub: windowless and dimly lit with a black tiled floor, black ceiling and black walls stretching way beyond the scarlet entryway. There were three small podium stages scattered around the empty space, each supporting a human-sized metal cage decked out in spotlights, and a long drinks bar along one wall glinted coldly. All of it was intimidating and radiated a sense of doom and evil but what really made Frank shudder was the racks of whips, ropes, chains, collars and dildos stacked up behind the bar alongside the liquor and beer.
“Welcome to The Loft,” a deep voice boomed somewhere beside him and he spun around to see a fat shaven-headed man well over six feet tall emerging from the shadows by the door. “I’m Lou,” the big man rumbled, grinning with a mouthful of silver grilled teeth, “Come here, new meat.”
***
With a cry of terror, Frank lurches awake gasping and dripping with fever sweat as his heart pounds so hard it feels like it's breaking his chest.
“Frank, hey it's ok, you're safe. You're safe now.”
Gee?
Sitting up in fearful confusion on Ray's bathroom floor, Frank grabs at Gerard with quivering hands and a strangled sob and Gerard cuddles as much of the beautiful broken person in his arms as he can, rubbing soothing circles on his shuddering back. "It's ok Frankie, you're ok. It's alright."
"I'm so s-sorry," Frank sobs into his boyfriend's chest, "I'm sorry I fucked everything up, I'm so fucking s-stupid!"
"You didn't fuck anything up," Gerard says in surprise, "Do you even know how happy I am that you're back, Frankie? How happy we all are? I love you and I think I can safely say that you are not stupid. We've all done some dumb stuff and made mistakes but you're not stupid, baby, you're smart and you're brave and you're caring and you don't fuck things up. You didn't fuck me up, you saved my life!"
"No!" Pulling away, Frank stares wide-eyed at him through a mask of tears, his voice shaking. "I'm not brave, I'm not any of those things!"
Crawling out of Gerard's reach, he climbs unsteadily to his feet and coughs, his lungs wheezing. "I'm fucking garbage," he spits, tears leaking from his eyes and cutting tracks down his hollow cheeks, "I'm stupid fucking GARBAGE and if I tell you where I've been and w-what I've done, then you'll see it's true!"