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Dustin’s eyes creaked open, eyelids weighted with pure exhaustion. His senses came back to him one by one: first sight, but what he saw through the crack of his eyelids was too confusing, his room seemed to have gotten taller; then he noticed the hard surface beneath him, not at all like his bed; the taste and then the smell of blood in his mouth and dripping from his nose; and finally, he heard the front door slam shut and a car engine start outside.
That doesn’t sound like Mom, he thought deliriously. His mom would never leave without making sure he was up for school and had at least three bites of breakfast. It used to be he’d have to leave before she did to go to work, but since Steve had been picking him up she’d often leave before him.
Steve!
Glancing up at his alarm clock, Dustin realized Steve would be here any minute, and he was still lying on the floor with a bloodied face. He wriggled his arms underneath himself and heaved, barely managing to get his chest off the ground. It took a couple painful tries to get up, what with his ribs -- obviously bruised, at the very least -- taking the fall each failed attempt. Eventually, he stood, swaying dangerously, and used the wall to hobble over to his floor-length mirror, peering at his reflection.
When the fuzziness in his vision subsided enough, he studied his body for the various other injuries he could feel he had. He confirmed that yes, his ribs were very bruised; the discolouration couldn’t mean anything else. The already bluish-purple mark spilled onto his back and up his neck, and he shivered as the memory of being slammed into a wall passed through his mind. His nose neither looked nor felt broken, but definitely sore, and no more teeth were missing than usual. The blood in his mouth must have been from his nosebleed. Looking down, there luckily didn’t seem to be much else wrong other than countless scrapes and shallow scratches littering his legs…
“ Shit. ”
…until his eyes found his left ankle a bloody mess.
Once again leaning against the wall for support, Dustin now limped his way to the bathroom. His leg ached with every step. He climbed into the shower, thinking it’d be the fastest way to get cleaned up and see what happened to his ankle.
The cool water felt good on his back and ribs, but Dustin couldn’t spare a moment to bask in the pleasant sensation. He swiftly finished up and stepped out, running a towel as gently but quickly as possible over his body and avoiding the now-uncovered gash in his lower calf, which still bled sluggishly. The other cuts were shallow enough that they had closed up overnight, and only looked as bad as they did due to the dry blood that had crusted around them.
Dustin tossed the towel in the wash, hoping no blood had gotten on it but not having the time to check. He managed to dig out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a cotton ball from the bathroom cabinets, deciding the smaller cuts would just have to fend for themselves as he dabbed the gash. Considering nobody else was in the house (where was his mom, anyway?), he let himself hiss and yelp as loudly as he needed.
A quick search revealed there were no proper bandages left in the house, so Dustin slapped on some Band-Aids and prayed the blood wouldn’t soak through before he could come home and change them.
He got dressed, pulling his socks up over the wound and tugging his jean pant down to cover the slight bulge, feeling sure nobody would notice. Though he was probably the best liar in the party, there was always the chance one of them wouldn’t believe him.
Miraculously, the universe took pity on him, and Steve chose that day to also be several minutes late picking him up. Dustin had just finished wrangling his hair down to cover the bruise on his neck when Steve’s car rolled in the driveway, a short beep of the horn sounding just to let Dustin know he’d arrived.
He threw his shoes on and grabbed his bag as he raced out the door, ankle and ribs protesting every rough stride. Steve rolled his eyes as Dustin buckled up.
“What’s got you in such a hurry? I’m only five minutes late,” he said, putting his car in reverse and backing out.
“Slept in,” Dustin said as casually as he could. It was true, after all. Steve accepted it with a quiet hum, focused on shifting gears and heading to the middle school.
The ride was fine, Dustin finally able to keep weight off his leg. It was one of those days where neither of them really said much of anything, just comfortably riding in silence. However, it allowed Dustin’s mind to wander, specifically to the night prior.
His father had showed up unexpectedly at their door, begging his mom to stay for just a couple nights. She had been reluctant due to their messy divorce, but eventually allowed him in to crash on the couch. “One night,” she’d told him. “One.”
She’d also told him not to dare bother Dustin, as it was a school night and by then already pretty late, but after she’d gone to bed Dustin heard footsteps approach his room at the end of the hall. His door had creaked open, and in stepped his father, the man he hadn’t seen since he was a toddler.
“Just wanted to see my son,” he’d whispered. His fingers caressed Dustin’s cheek, and that had been the last gentle touch Dustin had felt all night. His father had pressed the hand to his mouth and pulled him out of bed by his hair, muttering how long he’d waited to get his hands on the boy since he ruined their marriage. Dustin was dragged downstairs where his mother wouldn’t hear, and his father had kicked and kicked and kicked until Dustin thought he couldn’t take another boot to the ribs. Then it was back upstairs, again by the hair, and he was told firmly that if his mother ever knew about it, she’d get worse. The idea of his mother ever getting hurt like he had would keep his mouth shut ‘til his grave. The origin of the cut in his leg, as hard as Dustin tried to remember, was still a mystery, but he assumed it had occurred during one of the two times his father had dragged him along the floor.
Belatedly, Dustin remembered the slam of the front door he’d woken up to, and how his mom was bizarrely absent. She never left while he was still in bed -- or, while she thought he was still in bed.
She hadn’t…seen him, had she? Dustin was a fairly heavy sleeper even without the added exhaustion the injuries gave him, and she was surprisingly sneaky when she wanted to be. If she had gone into his room that morning to wake him, and saw him lying there bloodied and bruised…
“How much for your thoughts?”
“Huh?” Dustin startled slightly, looking over to Steve with a quizzical expression.
Steve glanced at him, frowning. “Like, how many pennies do you want, or whatever.”
Dustin’s brows furrowed as he frantically tried to figure what on earth Steve was talking about. “Are you trying to say ‘penny for your thoughts’?”
“Yeah, obviously,” Steve said, as if Dustin was the one flubbing common phrases.
“ ‘Obviously,’ ” Dustin mocked under his breath, earning a gentle slap to his (thankfully unbruised) arm. Unfortunately, his ribs were not so lucky, and the chuckle that escaped him ended up a little too wheezy for his liking.
Steve didn’t seem to notice Dustin’s unusual breathlessness. “Seriously, dude, you had this, I don’t know, weird look on your face. Something wrong?”
“I was just thinking about where my mom could’ve gone,” Dustin admitted, trying not to sound too worried. “She usually doesn’t leave before she knows I’m up.”
“Well, if she leaves to go to work, maybe work called her in early?”
Dustin considered the possibility. That’s feasible, but why wouldn’t she wake me, or at least leave a note? And why slam the door? “Yeah,” he said instead of voicing his doubts, “yeah, that’s probably it.”
***
The school day dragged on for what felt like weeks, Dustin’s leg still throbbing with every heartbeat and his ribs flaring at every laugh or deep breath he took. His sock began to rub wetly against his skin, and slowly (slowly, for his mind had grinded to a speed similar to the school’s internet connection) the realization came to him that his make-shift bandages had bled through. Distantly, he knew he had to get his hands on some of the nurse’s Band-Aids and switch them out before anyone noticed. The dark fabric wouldn’t betray the wetness on it’s own, but he couldn’t get away with leaving a trail of red splotches on the floor wherever he went.
Luckily, he stumbled upon an opportunity in History class. At this point, his eyes had begun to droop, threatening to shut entirely. Dustin knew if he let them close, he may never get them to open again. If that happened, the jig would be up for sure; the Party was already growing suspicious of how pale and shaky he was.
His head weighed a million pounds, and it was all Dustin could do to focus on keeping it upright. He hardly even noticed the sharp sting to his finger when he turned a page in his textbook until Mike, who had been working on their project surprisingly quietly (probably due to the fact that Dustin could barely keep up a conversation), spoke up.
“Dude, you’re bleeding.”
A shock of ice ran down Dustin’s back as soon as his mind caught up with the words -- shit, he’d been found out.
“What?” he blurted, not so much deciding to play dumb as actually feeling dumb.
Mike pointed, confusingly at his hand rather than his foot. “Your finger? Go ask Mr. Fowler if you can get a Band-Aid from the nurse’s office.”
Dustin held his hand up, belatedly registering the drop of blood running down his index finger. Oh. A paper-cut, not the ruining of his image to one of his only friends.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered, trying not to get blood on his papers while also using the desk as a steadying prop while the world stopped spinning. He made his way over to their teacher, holding up his wounded finger and mumbling something he hoped was comprehensible. Mr. Fowler seemed to understand, to Dustin’s relief, and sent him on his way.
The walk to the nurse’s office was one long blur, and Dustin finally found himself facing the heavy door that led to his only hope at keeping this secret. He swayed for a minute, gathering all his strength and concentrating all of it on pulling the door open without falling over.
“Can I help you?” the nurse, a kind enough woman from what Dustin had experienced, said.
Similarly to earlier with Mr. Fowler, Dustin lifted his hand to show her the problem. “Band-Aid,” he uttered. She reached over to hand him one, and Dustin went to grab it with his injured hand before switching last-minute. “Thanks.”
Nodding, she glanced over him with a look that seemed a bit too scrutinizing for Dustin’s liking. Dustin realized how foolish it had been to place himself within the view of a trained medical practitioner, and hurriedly made his way back to the door. He’d barely managed to push it open a few inches before remembering what hid under his drenched sock, and turned back to the nurse.
“Actually, uh, could I get a few more? Just, um, just in case I…cut myself…again,” he stammered out. The nurse nodded again, thankfully not saying a word about how suspicious that sounded, and gave him a small handful with a smile.
Of all the bad lies he’d gotten away with in the past few years, that one took the cake, he thought as he heaved the door open and staggered to the nearest bathroom. He checked the stalls for any other students before locking the door behind him to ensure privacy. He’d need access to the sink and paper towels to clean the wound before putting new bandages on.
First, Dustin wrapped one around the cut on his finger, because it was still bleeding and really did hurt. Next, he rolled down his sock, wincing at the ache than ran through his leg at the motion. Yep, the Band-Aids he’d applied that morning were completely soaked through. Dustin peeled them off, wrapped them in some toilet paper, and tossed them in the trash can by the entrance. Hopefully the general stench of a pubic middle school bathroom would hide the scent of blood from the custodians. Dustin then ran a paper towel under the sink and began gingerly cleaning the wound to the best of his abilities without proper medicinal supplies. The thought of just how many germs and bacteria could be worming their way into his body from the air made him shiver, and he hastily swiped another, dry paper towel around the gash so the new Band-Aids would stick, and finally applied said dressings.
That should do it for now, he thought, hoping his teacher hadn’t noticed his extended absence. Satisfied with his (albeit primitive) work, Dustin stuffed more toilet paper between the now-dry area of his ankle and his sock to avoid more drenched Band-Aids and rolled the sock back up. He could only hope nobody would see how his left sock was a deeper shade than his right.
Ready to return to class, Dustin unlocked the door and started to make his way back. Now that he was upright and attempting to walk again, the wooziness returned, and he tried his best not to lean on the wall too much as he stumbled down the hall. Never had the trip back from the bathroom seemed so difficult. The world spun dangerously, and Dustin could have cried with relief when he finally spotted his classroom.
Gingerly sitting next to Mike, Dustin missed the worried look the other boy sent his way. He ducked his head to hide how disoriented he felt as he got his bearings back, and it was only when he lifted it again that he caught Mike’s stare.
“Uh, nobody tell you it’s rude to stare?” Dustin said, putting a considerable effort into not slurring his words. He wasn’t sure how successful he was, however, when it did nothing to ease the crease in Mike’s forehead and instead seemed to worsen it.
“You look like actual shit.” Mike’s voice sounded a million miles away.
Head feeling lighter and lighter, Dustin tried to retort, but couldn’t figure out if words were coming out of his mouth. He guessed not, because suddenly Mike was yelling, and there were loud noises surrounding him, and hands on his body, and his vision blacked out and --
-- he woke up in the nurse’s office.
If Dustin had a nickel for everytime he woke up confused as hell that day, he’d have two nickels. Which wasn’t a lot, but it was weird it happened twice.
“What the hell, man?” came a voice from beside him. Dustin turned his head as much as he could laying in the narrow cot, and Steve’s wide-eyed face came into view. “I knew something was up this morning! Why didn’t you say anything? I’m responsible for you, dipshit!”
Someone -- the nurse from earlier, Dustin realized -- approached Steve with her hands up, putting herself between the two. She spoke lowly, obviously trying to ease the situation.
“St’ve,” Dustin muttered, just loud enough for the two to hear. Steve gave the nurse a pointed look, and she backed off, continuing to check over Dustin.
“Seriously, dude, not cool.” Steve leaned on the wall at the foot of the cot, crossing his arms and looking every part worried mother hen.
Dustin cleared his throat before speaking, managing to speak clearer than before. “Sorry. I mean it,” he added when Steve gave him a doubtful look. “You of all people should know how hard it is to admit when you’re injured from…something embarrassing. ”
Steve’s eyebrows shot straight up, as if wanting to hide in his hairline. He shifted to lean over Dustin, to allow the two of them to speak quietly. “If that means what I think it means, Henderson, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Dustin stared into Steve’s eyes, willing him to understand that there was a time and place for this conversation, and it was not here and not now. After an intense moment, Steve sighed, and his expression softened. The sorrow in his eyes suddenly became more potent than before, and his hand came up to smooth over Dustin’s hair.
“He’s lucky I left my nail bat at home.”
***
As Steve helped Dustin limp his way into his house, Dustin’s mom came rushing out to greet her son.
“Dusty-buns, I’m so glad you’re okay! I only just got the message the school left, and I got so worried since I didn’t see you this morning, Charles said he took you and I just believed him! Oh, Dusty, I thought he’d kidnapped you or something -- what happened?” As she ranted, she took Dustin’s other arm (the one not draped around Steve’s shoulders) and gently led him inside.
Dustin and Steve shared a look, and the latter quickly flicked his eyes to the ground. Dustin sighed.
“Mom, there’s something I gotta tell you…”