Microsoft Word - Talkers_Redemption_Lane.docx

anything about that, would you, Mr. Walker?”
    “No.” Not until Jed had told him in the car, on the way over.
    “Are you sure?” Blond cop again. He was the only one Tate
    would look at. “Because if this is a revenge beating, you need to
    know it’s not going to stop. Your boyfriend will get back at him, and
    Mr. Gaines will get back at Mr. Cooper—these things tend to go on
    until someone’s dead, and your boy isn’t looking too good.”
    Tate moaned. “It wasn’t his fault,” he whispered. The blackness
    was all around him, swallowing him whole. He could see the cop’s
    face, and feel Lyndie’s hand, but there was a whole ocean of
    darkness between him and any human being who could pull him
    out.

    “IT WASN’T your fault,” Brian said softly. He’d given up on just
    holding Tate’s hand. He’d moved his shoulders behind Tate and was
    holding Tate’s upper arms and talking softly, like he was willing
    Talker to calm down with his body alone.
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    “Sure it was,” Talker said bitterly. “I went into the house, I was
    planning to get laid. Totally my fault.”
    “What happened next?” Dr. Sutherland prompted gently.
    “What do you think happened next?” Talker snarled. “My pants
    were around my ankles, my ass was in the air, and Trev, fuck him,
    had the upper hand! There’s only one place this is going, Doc. Do
    you really need a visual?”
    “What did you tell Mr. Gaines at this point?” Fuck him. Fuck
    him, fuck them both, and fuck this. Was this really fucking
    necessary? Did they really need to hear it? God-fucking-damn-
    them-all-to-hell!!!
    Jeremy spoke in… spoke in….

    “IT WASN’T Brian’s fault,” he said now, stronger, some resentment
    building in his voice.
    “Was this some sort of jealousy thing?” the dark-haired guy
    asked, and Tate squinted and tried to focus.
    “Who are you?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound stoned.
    “What is your name?”
    “I’m Detective Henries, why, you want my badge number?”
    Sneer. Scowl. Disdain.
    Tate shook his head, letting the rest of it roll off his back, like
    Trev’s sweat that night. “I just want you to believe me that it wasn’t
    jealousy.”
    Henries snorted. “Yeah? You people get pretty fucking jealous
    sometimes, you know?”
    “Aww, Jesus, Henries!” the blond guy admonished, and
    Henries shrugged.
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    “You say what you want, but I’m telling you, this is a cat fight
    over this tattooed freak right here!” he snapped, and the idea that
    Brian and Trevor were actually fighting for him was so horribly,
    ghoulishly funny… almost as ghoulishly funny as asking your rapist
    for lube, right?

    “I TOLD him to use lube,” Talker snapped, and his head felt swollen
    and explodeable. “And then I asked for a condom. Anything.
    Cause… cause Trev’s really big, right? We’d kissed before, and I felt
    him up against my leg, and all I could think about was, ‘Oh, Christ,
    some fucking lube, Trev?’ but he laughed and held my head down to
    the couch.”
    “Oh God….” Brian’s voice was tortured next to him, and Tate
    turned to him, an unfair anger at his lover blurting out of his mouth.
    “Oh God what, Brian? Cause I can tell you that if there was a
    God in that room I didn’t feel him!”
    But Brian was solid, through and through. He didn’t flinch from
    Talker’s hard look, or let go of his hand. “Oh God, I can’t believe you
    ever thought you asked for this!” Brian gave back, his own face
    hard, his own anger on the surface. “How could you think you
    deserved to be….”
    Talker shivered and shrugged. “I mean, really, Brian. I asked for
    a condom and lube… how bad could it have been?”
    … class today. Jeremy spoke in… class today….

    HENRIES was looking at him like he was insane, and that was
    always bad. “What’s so fucking funny, freak!”
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    “You call him that again, I’m gonna fucking sue you, asshole!”
    Tate looked twice at Brian’s Aunt Lyndie. He didn’t think he’d ever
    heard the woman swear, much less rumble into a fight like a pit bull
    on meth.
    “Lady, we’re just trying to get a straight answer from this kid!
    Because I’m telling you right now it looks like your nephew got beat
    up for a freaking cat fight, and quite frankly, that’s not worth our
    time!”
    “If that’s all you see here, you don’t deserve to know the
    fucking