Page 12 of Spread Your Wings
“My room,” Sammy said. He headed for the elevator. Vasily and Mustafa talked in Bosnian the entire elevator ride, and the walk down the hallway. They got on Sammy’s last nerve, but he said nothing. Vasily’s stance and bearing reminded Sammy of a soldier, or an assassin. The man seemed dangerous.
Once inside, Vasily took the comfortable chair. Sammy sat in the desk chair in front of the window. That left the bed for Mustafa. He gathered two of the freshly stacked pillows and angled against the headboard. His long, jean-clad legs hungover the side, so his boots were suspended in midair. Damn, he looked good enough to fuck. Sammy hoped that was still a possibility in his future.
Sammy slid the envelope postmarked from London under the desk blotter. Vasily handed him the other, more important, envelope. Sammy guessed the name and address in the left corner matched the clinic next to the bathhouse, but he couldn’t be sure. It was written in Cyrillic script.
He opened the envelope, dread pooling in his gut. What if the results were also in Bosnian? He didn’t want Mustafa or Vasily to read it to him. It was hard enough trying to act like an adult when his life hung in the balance.
The doctor would be here if it were bad,he reminded himself. It didn’t make his palms stop sweating or calm his pulse.
Fortunately, the report was in English. They’d tested him for everything from Herpes to Syphilis.
Sammy scanned to H:
Hepatitis A, B, and C: Negative
HIV: Negative
A quick review showed the rest were also negative.
He stood up. He may have jumped twice, waving the piece of paper in the air. “Woohoo! Thank God.”
Mustafa laughed. “You okay?”
“Stop laughing. You did the same thing when you were tested,” Vasily said.
Mustafa covered his face with his hands. “Be quiet.”
“Glad you are well,” Vasily said to Sammy. “My young friend thinks you are, how do you say, hot stuff.”
“He does not know how to use English sayings,” Mustafa said, standing. “Come on, Uncle Vasily, before you embarrass me more.”
“Nice to meet you,” Vasily said, before Mustafa pushed him out the door and closed it behind them. Sammy heard enough to know they were again talking in their native tongue.
He folded the paper, then tucked it back into the envelope and switched it with the one from London. Though nothing had changed, not really, he felt better about opening it now. More deserving.
The two tickets were embossed with the Queen crest, and the ink used to print the dates was thick and black, not faded. He eased them into his carry-on backpack next to his plane tickets to London.
He wasn’t expecting the soft knock at the door. He grinned as he opened it. Mustafa charged in, his cheeks still pink from Vasily’s parting words.
“You’ve been tested, too?” Sammy asked. He darted to the window and settled into the office chair to keep some distance between them.
“Yes. After my friend died from the overdose. I didn’t know he was using.”
Sammy nodded. “So, you and your friend were more than friends?”
Mustafa shook his head as he returned to the bed. “He and Vasily.”
“Oh.” Sammy frowned. Their chiding banter had seemed more brotherly than romantic. “You and Vasily?”
“It’s not what you think,” Mustafa said, sinking back against the headboard. “It’s just sex. I don’t love him. He doesn’t love anyone. Incapable. Too broken.”
Sammy nodded. He’d seen it often enough in older men. It was one reason he avoided them. They’d seen too many friends die or lost too many lovers to the horrible disease afflicting their community. If they weren’t too scared to fuck, they fuckedeveryone without thought or feeling. They dared death to take them, too.
“What about you?” Sammy asked. “Are you like him? Broken?”
“I want more out of life,” Mustafa said. “I waited to go to university, and now I don’t think I will. I know enough English to get by at the hotel, but I want to go to America.”
“And do what?”
