Page 107 of Seth
“A friend.” Gustavo blazed his most charming smile.
“Okay, friend—” Haas motioned for the driver to roll the gurney closer. “—there’s nothing I can do for him here. He needs surgery.”
They relocated the motionless body. When Haas fixed the gurney upright and rolled it toward the van, Ignaz surged after him. Grabbing the green fabric of Haas’ scrubs, he begged. “Can I go with him, please?”
“I’m sorry, Ignaz. When he’s conscious and wants to see you, I’ll call you. Please, stay with your friends or someone you trust, and keep your phone on.”
“I’ll wait in the hall or even outside? Please?” Ignaz’s chin trembled. “Please? I won’t cause trouble.”
“I’m sorry.” Haas shook his head and got into the car. “I don’t have time for this. Please, let go.”
The driver slammed the ambulance’s back doors on Haas and then got in front, and the vehicle rolled out of the parking lot.
Gustavo threw a glance at the now empty road, then at the crying Ignaz. For a split second, he considered taking the boy with him, but changed his mind, remembering all too well the puppy-like adoration in Seth’s eyes whenever the boy was around.
“Diego, stay with him until I call. Don’t leave his side for a second.”
With easy casualness, Diego wrapped his hands around the boy and tugged him into his embrace. “It’s okay. He will be fine. Why don’t we go inside? I could do with some food. Please?”
Gustavo got into the car. The engine roared when he sped after the ambulance.
* * *
The nightbehindthe window gave in to the bloody-red sunrise. Oblique hatches of feather-like clouds struck dark against the glowing horizon. The white-washed walls dressed in pink as the sun crept higher.
Gustavo sat next to the medical bed, staring at Seth’s pale face. It’d been an hour since he had been brought back from the surgery, but he hadn’t woken up or stirred once. White dressings hugged his stomach and hand, adhesive bandages decorated his face, and a tall IV stand dripped something into his arm as a monitor tracked signals coming from his finger.
The plastic chair beneath Gustavo’s ass felt like it was designed to cause as much discomfort as possible to its occupant and shorten the visits. His buttocks hurt as if bruised. After struggling for another minute, he rose to his feet and roamed around the room. White walls only accentuated the minimalistic design of the small room. Even the faint smell of antiseptic fitted here, as everything looked squeaky-clean and oh so boring.
When the hell will he wake up?He checked his watch again as something buzzed. He turned to the nightstand, glanced at the black smartwatch lying on it. Curiosity sparking, he grabbed the thin device. Somehow, he half-expected to feel body heat lingering on the metal sensors on the inner side of the cuff, but the device was cold. Humming, he twirled it around his fingers, and his eyes fixed on the notification “bathroom”. He blinked, snorted.
Does he use the bathroom according to a schedule?A smile tickled his lips but died the next instant. He opened the list of alarms, read through. A very detailed, precise schedule that regulated bodily functions sprawled on the small screen. Food, water, bathroom, sleep, workout, vitamins, massage, and physical therapy—the schedule resembled a memory table of a nurse caring for an immobile patient. And even the activity tracker was set to go off every fifteen minutes. Seth had never struck Gustavo as a sick person.
Why such a detailed schedule?Gustavo scrolled through it again but didn’t find a single meeting or even a subtle mention of work. His attention jumped to the pale face and slight stubble covering Seth’s cheeks and chin.
On impulse, he brushed the back of his index finger over the side of Seth’s neck and chest. Tepid and smooth, the skin was pristine and begged to be worshiped. Gustavo swallowed as heat scalded his face and hit his groin. His finger drifted over the bandage and hooked the blue bedsheet covering Seth’s hips.
Gustavo had never seen Seth naked. Even on the CCTV, whenever he’d disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared again, he’d always worn at least something. In the basement, the camera angle and the poor quality of the footage didn’t let him enjoy the view.
Carefully, trying not to wake Seth, he lifted the bedsheet. A tiny spot beneath his tongue chilled. He frowned, staring at the catheter connecting Seth’s cock to a bag attached to the side of the bed. A bag he’d never noticed before. But his attention had already traveled to the marble-like scars from old, severe burns that swirled around Seth’s legs and groin like a snake and overlapped the base of his cock. Pink stripes and blue veins like marble streaks ran beneath the thinned-out, stretched skin.
“My fucking god…” Gustavo muttered, unable to stop staring. He lowered the cloth to Seth’s knees and pressed his palm to the rippled skin above. He expected the touch to disturb or repulse him with bumpy, rough texture, but the burnt skin felt gentle, fragile, like a spider web. As if it could tear any moment.
Emotions, clashing, made him toss the sheet over Seth’s hips. A brutal image of the murder and torture in the silo surfaced in his memory.How can someone like him be so frail?
He shook his head again, trying to mentally distance himself from Seth. He wasn’t sure why he was still in the hospital. By this time, he should have been in his warm bed, chasing pleasure in Hans’ perfect body, not staying all night by the bed of a murderer. Yet, he couldn’t leave. He circled the bed once more, wondering what else he’d missed. A plastic holder at the foot of the bed caught his interest, a black clipboard stuck inside. Before Gustavo knew it, he held it in his hands.
He skimmed over the generic information, basic bloodwork, and allergy reactions until he stumbled over the graph stating hereditary diseases.
“What the fuck is Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy Type IV?” he asked himself, looking at Seth. Yellow light filtering through the horizontal blinds cast gray stripes over the pale chest and face.
Gustavo reached to touch him again when the door creaked open. Haas entered the room. He looked tired, as if the night had added a few wrinkles and gray hairs. “You aren’t supposed to be here or reading this.”
“What’s Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy Type IV?”
Haas sighed but replied, “It’s a congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis.”
“A what?”
