Page 44 of Fear
“Not okay for anyone.” Jake sounded now like he was talking to himself. Tobias couldn’t think, couldn’t think of anything he could do to prove to Jake that he was still undefiled for the taking.
Tobias had almost decided to go to his knees to try to show Jake something he was good for when Jake got to his feet. He still looked hollowed out, in pain, and he didn’t so much as glance at Tobias.
“All right, Tobias. Go to bed or something. Read, watch TV, I don’t . . .” He shook his head. “I’m going out. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He glanced back once, and then away. “You’ll be safe here, I promise.”
Jake picked up his jacket, wallet, and keys. Tobias had no idea what was going on. He would be safe? But where was Jake going? What? Why?
There had been orders, but Tobias couldn’t process them because Jake was pulling on his jacket and opening the door.
Tobias watched. He stared, even though that should have earned him a beating all by itself. This had to be a test, a joke, maybe even a punishment. Any of those things he would understand. But not Jake leaving.
Then Jake glanced back, but this time his eyes didn’t even make it to Tobias’s face.
“You’ll be safe,” he repeated, his voice harsher, not like Jake’s at all. Then, almost inaudibly: “Safe from everybody.”
The door slammed shut after him.
Chapter Nine
Tobias had only been sick two or three times in all the time he had been in Freak Camp, but he still recognized it when it came. First a cough that he couldn’t quite get out of his throat, no matter how hard he tried to control it—though he had managed never to cough when Jake was in the same room—then shivers down his arms and his back, nausea and tremors that he couldn’t stop. In the last few days, since he had remembered why Jake should despise him and never touch him, it had been harder and harder to hold down the rich, greasy foods that Jake shared with him.
He hated throwing up any food that Jake had bought for him—ungrateful, useless whore—and he didn’t think that he would survive if Jake caught him doing it. He wouldn’t have to wait for Freak Camp if he turned away from vomiting up the latest burger or bowl of chili and saw Jake’s horrified face looking down at him. So he managed to eat, to smile, even to look Jake in the eye while his stomach clenched and writhed, and then quietly excused himself to the bathroom where he emptied everything out again.
His stomach he could handle, but the cough was getting worse every day. Holding it in felt like he was choking himself. He was dimly, bitterly grateful that Jake had stopped touching him. How horrible would it be for Jake to touch not only a monster and a whore, but a diseased, pestilent one?
Friday night was when he first felt the chills and the world slid in and out of focus, sick dread filling him. Why the hell was he getting sick now of all times? He had been healthy for years and years in Freak Camp in infinitely worse conditions, and only now did it really matter.
By Sunday, he was done feeling sorry for himself and cursing the universe and the immune system that was stabbing him in the back. It hadn’t mattered that Jake didn’t hit, burn, or beat him, and he’d given Tobias the best food and conditions he could imagine. Tobias was a monster, and this was just what had to happen. Even if he hadn’t fucked up everything with his behavior (though he must be doing something wrong, or maybe Jake knew, why else would he hardly look at him anymore?), his body had done it for him.
Tobias sat on the soft bed in his generous room and let himself shake because he couldn’t help it. He didn’t have the strength to stop the tremors anymore. He felt so damn cold, but he knew that getting beneath the covers wouldn’t help. If he tried to take a hot shower—even assuming he could get as far as the bathroom without Jake seeing—it might help the horrible feeling that he was freezing to death in a warm room, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stay upright for long under the pounding water. Much safer to stay in his room where Jake wouldn’t see him, and let the shaking take him, let the sickness churn through him while he hoped it would leave him, that Jake would somehow forgive him.
He couldn’t believe a shred of the hope.
Few monsters got sick at Freak Camp. Most were immune to what could get passed around. If one did, no one would touch them or even look at them. No one wanted to risk catching one of the few diseases that could spread through all monster species. The guards wouldn’t touch a freak if they could tell that he had something. The only option was to lie on the hard, cold bunk and shake. Either you got up again in three days, or you went to Special Research, where no monster was ever seen again.
Tobias had no idea how it would work for him in Jake’s apartment. He knew that reals had hospitals and doctors, but he neither expected nor wanted to go somewhere with sick reals, who needed the least amount of natural and supernatural contamination. He was sure that whatever disease he had, it would be devastating for a real. Monsters were supposed to be stronger, harder to kill, and now he could barely draw breath.
He didn’t know what Jake would do when he found out. He hoped that Jake would just let him lie in sticky sweat and try to burn the illness out. He would get up or he would die. That would be nice, but he didn’t have much confidence it would be that simple. Why would Jake want him dying in this beautiful room, this comfortable bed? Monsters didn’t deserve this, least of all when they finally expired.
He had to clench his eyes shut and fist his hands to hold back the nausea when he realized the walls were thin enough that he would hear the phone call Jake made to the ASC for freak pick-up. Tobias couldn’t contaminate the Eldorado on the drive back to Nevada. Dirty black vans with chains on the walls waited for things like Tobias.
He thought he had time. This was the first day he hadn’t left the room. When he had stepped out yesterday—sat with Jake for three meals at the kitchen table, held his breath when he’d gone through Jake’s bedroom to shower in his bathroom, stared at a book while Jake flipped through channels on the TV, his movements jerky and unhappy—Jake hadn’t seemed to notice anything wrong. At least he hadn’t called him out on the unsatisfactory behavior, hadn’t given him an ultimatum. This was his first day down, and Tobias thought that he could get himself back up in a couple more, at least enough to maintain the illusion that he was reliable enough to keep around.
He thought he had fucking time.
But then he heard Jake at his door, his footsteps coming to a halt. “Hey, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’m thinking Chinese or pizza. Your call.”
Jake expected an answer. He would stay there until Tobias responded. Tobias opened his mouth to say “pizza” or “I’m not hungry” or something, but all that came out was a choked, croaking noise that he didn’t think reached the door.
Panic didn’t help him clear his throat. Worse, he couldn’t clear his throat without coughing, which would give away how sick and useless he was. He swallowed convulsively, his shoulders shaking as he tried to clear the phlegm and bile without making a sound that would give him away.
Jake knocked on the closed door again, harder. “Hey, Tobias, you’ve got to answer me, man. I haven’t seen you all day, the least you can do is tell me what you want to eat.”
JAKE FUCKING HATED this: standing in front of Tobias’s shut door, asking him what he wanted for dinner when he really wanted to ask him where the fuck Jake had gone so wrong as to make Tobias hide from him like this, like he was even more afraid. Ever since that stupid fucking goat coffee shop, Tobias had become miles more withdrawn, less willing to speak or even stay in the same room with Jake.
It hurt. It hurt more than Jake had expected, even compared to when he’d thought about how it would feel if Tobias didn’t need him anymore, if he had the strength to tell Jake he wanted to leave and never see him again. Tobias had hardly spoken on Saturday. He’d come out for meals, to pretend to read—Jake wasn’t fucking blind, even if Tobias remembered to turn the pages every once in a while—before disappearing into his room again. He looked pale and withdrawn, like he was being haunted.
But he wasn’t, because Jake had checked the wards four times over yesterday, even laying an extra line of salt out over the carpet, and nothing did the trick.
