Surprised to hear any voice booming out from the darkened bedroom, Marcellis
answers the demand with one of his own. "What the FUCK? And, who the hell
are you to tell me what the fuck I can do in ma own damn house? ! "
Still aiming directly at them, Omar steps out of the shadows and is bathed in
moonlight that has seeped through one of the boarded windows.
"Shit! Marcellis, it's Omar! ", Vincent slowly rises off Brandon
and stands up with his hands raised in surrender. "It's OMAR LITTLE,
man."
"So the fuck what - it's OMAR . . .", as he says the intruder's
fist name, Marcellis remembers Brandon's earlier slip of the tongue when
he blurted out 'Omar' as being the one he had been with the other
night. So with a more insulting tone in his voice, he adds, "Ohhhhhh! So
this is 'thee Omar' dhat this lil'shit said he's been fuckin'!"
Marcellis deliberately eyes Omar from the top of his head to the tips of his feet, "Well don't dhat take all? "
"Cool-it Marcel! I heard about Omar at Jessup. And, I think ya betta do
whatever the fuck he asks ya to do . . .NOW! " LeBec pleads and nudges
Marcellis to get up.
"I don't care who the fuck HE is or where y'all may have met
. . . Shit, no one talks to me like this in ma own damn place! ! !" Marcellis
quips back.
"Ya know ya got a filthy mouth!" Omar interjects. "And, ya fo
damn sure don't listen worth shit . . ." Omar adds offhand and fires
the glock. "I said get off of him, Yo! "
The sound resonates and the smell of gun-smoke shrouds the moonlit silence of
Brandon's room. The loud noise slightly rouses him out of his unconscious
sleep. "Unnnnnnnn!" Brandon groans.
Marcellis slowly rises off of the bed and standing next to Vincent, he places
his hand to the left side of his face and feels something warm and wet trickling
down to his chin. Marcellis staggers. The shot has grazed him.
With raised hands, Vincent silently mouths "Oooooh, shit!" After seeing
the graze, Vincent tries to negotiate. "Ahhh come on NA, Omar can't we
do somethin to calm things down a bit . . ."
"Nawgh! I don't think that can be done." Omar turns on the overhead
light. He peeks over at Brandon. "By the looks of it, that's been passed
long ago. So, NA that I have ya full attention, get down on da floor with ya
hands behind ya heads, " Omar orders.
Without hesitation, Marcellis is the first to oblige. Vincent follows.
"Anythang ya say, just don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill us, "
Marcellis begs in a shrill voice. Whining, his voice cracks more than once.
"I'll do anythin ya want, just don't kill me, pleeeeease! Don't kill me!
Why should ya, I haven't done nothin to ya," Marcellis continues to beg.
"And, if it's about Brandon, . . . that was Vincent's doin, I ain't touched
him tonight. . . that was all LeBec. So, why did ya shoot me; ya shoulda shot
him! I ain't neva hurt anyone especially my own son Brandon." The lies
are so thick that Marcellis stops himself from continuing. Vincent angrily eyes
Marcellis.
"Listen and listen carefully, I am only goin TA say this once. One at a
time, slowly pull ya belt off and make a loop startin from the notch. Marcellis,
you first. And NA with your hands behind ya, slip them into the loop."
Omar directs.
After both comply, Omars pulls hard on the tip end of the belts and securely
ties up Marcellis first and then Vincent. The buckle-end digs into the flesh
of their wrists and almost stops blood circulation to their hands, it's
so tight.
Surveying the room, Omar adds, "Get up and get in that closet over there.
Now! ! ! !"
"Hey, it ain't enough room in there fo dhe both of us," Vincent
protects.
Omar slyly smiles, "I can see that yo. LeBec lay down. Marcellis, lay on
top of him . . . head to toe!"
"Waaaait one fuckin minute. I don't want him anywhere near me . . .train
TA place all the blame on me . . . what DA fuck, mutta fucka! Hell, I would
have shot ya . . . " Vincent protects again.
"Hey I don't give a fuck. Settle dhat in dhere, dawg!" Omar interrupts
and uses the glock to point in the direction of the closet. Once inside, Omar
slams the door and places a metal folding chair under the knob of the door.
With them locked inside, Omar holsters the glock and gingerly walks over to
the bed, to Brandon.
"Hey Brandon," Omar calls to him. Bending down, Omar softly strokes
his left cheek with his right hand; he calls to Brandon once again, almost at
a whisper. "Heeeey Brandon . . . Brandon, you gotta get up. We can't
stay here much longer." Omar insistently pleads. "Can, can ya sit
up? Brandon, can ya sit up fo me?"
". . . Omar? " Brandon lazily opens his eyes and sees such a stern
and concerned face leaning over him, he laughs.
"So . . . what's so funny?" Omar asks.
" . . . That!" Brandon takes his hand and flippantly taps his face,
" . . . That expression on your face . . . ya should see it . . . it's
funny . . .Funny!" Brandon dreamily tails off as he slowly closes his eyes
again.
Omar scans the entire length of Brandon's body and is close to tears. Seeing
the bruises, welt, bite marks, and scratches all over his body, he cannot believe
that Brandon can still laugh. After being tortured, molested, and God only knows
what else was to come, his 'B' still has the sweetest angelic look on his face.
Omar silently searches within himself, "What was it that Ma'Dear use to
call it: 'A forgiving nature, blessed of God'". Yeah, that describes Brandon.
Angelface! Still, Omar is at a loss. He can't offer a response to Brandon, so
he, in turn, smiles, too.
And within that moment, Brandon reopens his eyes and sees that smile of Omar's.
Brandon's heart melts with love, he wasn't dreaming; he hadn't
imagined it. Omar is here . . . in his room . . . here! His angel is right here
after all. How did that happen ? He doesn't know where I live. I didn't
tell him. How did he . . . find me? None of those questions mattered now. Omar
is here now. With great effort, Brandon slightly raises himself up and softly
kisses that smile.
Omar is devastated; tears roll down his cheeks. He struggles to regain control,
"Hey 'B', you betta stop befo . . . I get carried away. And,
we betta get goin before them in dhere decide dhat dhey want out!" Omar
points to the closet and continues his smile; the image of Marcellis and Vincent
hog-tied in the closet on top of each other, struggling to get out, is too crazy
not to chuckle about. He continues to softly caress Brandon's face.
" . . .Aight fo real, I'm callin an end to dhis NA . . . befo . . ."
Omar shivers and looks deep into Brandon's eyes for the truth, "Are ya
alright? Can ya get up? Really, get up?" He asks, deep concern etched in
his voice.
Understanding the reason for the question and the concern behind it, Brandon
offers a response, "I, uhh. . . .Well, help get me TA ma feet and I'll
run!" Brandon weakly smiles and extends his left frail arm to Omar. Omar
grabs him by the forearm and pulls. Brandon easily rises off the bed to a full
standing position. He sways. Omar bites his lower lip to keep from letting Brandon
know how much he actually came close to and still wanted to kill Marcellis Wright
for what he has done to him. But he remembered that this man was Brandon's father.
Father or not, Wright is the only one Brandon knows of and has. He wasn't going
to take that away from him. To kill Marcellis . . . well, that's not how the
game is played, is it?
"Hey, hey wait . . ." Omar steadies Brandon. He suggestively gazes
at Brandon. "Aren't cha fogettin somethin? "
"Shit where are my clothes? I need some clothes!" Brandon remembers
LeBec's knife. He shyly tries to cover himself with stained sheets. "Can
ya hand me that duffle ova there, please?" He struggles with the sheet
that pulls and tugs on its own and appears heavier than he does at this moment.
Omar playfully keeps the duffle out of reach, away from Brandon. "Coverin
up, huhhh? I like, no I love what I see. " Omar leers and devilishly smiles
at him. "Maybe I shouldn't give ya nothin. Let ya walk out of here
just like that!" Omar teases. "Let everyone see what I have and what
they're missin." Omar gently wraps Brandon in his arms and passionately
kisses him. He feels warm. Omar's hands playfully roam over Brandon's
shoulders, his upper back, waist, and then, lower. Pulling Brandon closer into
him, Omar's hands roam even lower and softly caress his firm butt-cheeks.
This time Brandon begs off. "Mmmmm. But if ya don't give me that duffle,
we may neva get outta here, 'O'! ! !" Brandon playfully licks
Omar' scar.
And then, whines from the closet become louder. "Sssssssssssssssshit. Damn
you! If ya don't take ya foot outta my faced mean it, Marcel. Do it again and
I'll bite the damn thing off!" Vincent's voice grumbles through the door.
Brandon's playfulness immediately wanes. The all too familiar distant blank
stare evades his face and brings a new urgency for their need to leave. Brandon
trembles and becomes ashen. Everything he has been through tonight flashes back
before him when he hears this voice. In a manner of seconds, every pain and
torment that he has suffered through, perpetrated by Marcellis and LeBec, Brandon
relives. To see the sudden change in expression on his face temporarily paralyzes
Omar.
More commotions rumble from the closet.
Omar snaps and furiously yells, "Ay yo! Keep it up, so that I can cap the
fuck outta both of ya! " He quickly unholsters the glock, aiming as he
quickly walks toward the closet door.
Instantly, Brandon hoarsely shouts, "No Omar . . . DON"T! Omar don't!
" And, in a lower softer intimate tone, Brandon pleads. "Omar . .
. don't . . . please don't! " His large glassy brown eyes search
Omar's for understanding. "Let it . . . go, Omar!" Brandon adds,
as he quickly pulls on denim stone washed jeans. Brandon painfully struggles
to put on a black ribbed pullover sweater. Although LeBec's gnawed bite
marks on his left breast had stopped bleeding, the other multiple bruises on
Brandon's battered body were starting to distinctly show. From his chest,
to his waist, both right and left sides of his back, Brandon's skin was
turning an angry dark purple-red. The large .38 gun butt wound on the left side
of his temple had reopened and red trickles are gradually trailing down his
face. And as he bends down to lace his Tims, Brandon slumps over and tumbles
onto the floor in front of the bed.
"Brandon! " Omar rushes to his side. He cradles him in his
arms. "Bran . . . don."
Brandon's eyes feel so very heavy: the room darkens; his mouth is just
as sluggish: his tongue is thick. He can't respond, at first. Yet, his
hearing though not keen is in tack. He hears Omar voice but it's as if
it is garbled. Brandon hears Omar's voice break into bits and pieces. He
struggles to understand what's being asked of him. Barely audible, Brandon
slurs, "Wh'uuut . . ."
Relieved to hear the slightest something from Brandon, Omar hugs him closer
to him. Pulling back, he notices bloodstains on his hand. Omar traces its cause
to Brandon's left temple and cries.
" . . . DA . . mn th . . . em . . ." is the last sounds Brandon hears.
He passes completely out in Omar's arms.The next conscious thought that he has
is that he imagines that Bailey is leaning over him. 'What is Bailey doing here?'
Brandon opens his eyes wide in order to try to confirm what he has imagined.
Brandon awkwardly notices that he is laying down in his bed and every horror
of the night floods back. In his confusion, he questions what's going on and
thinks, "How does Bailey know 'him'? ?God, I always knew something bothered
me about that fuckin' dope fiend! " Brandon struggles violently to get
out of bed. "Shit! I gotta get up outta here! " Breathing heavily,
he abruptly sits up.
"Hey . . . looks like he's awake yo." Bailey nudges Omar.
After hearing his voice, Brandon knows that he has not imagined it: Bailey's
here! He squints to make sure. With his head pounding, Brandon strains harder
to make out to whom Bailey is talking to; but before he can actually see who
it is, his light headedness returns with a vengeance.
" . . . Well, I thought he was. He's out again." Bailey adds. "Man,
Omar ya ought to leave those 'tweens alone. 'Member the last one ended with
a caged charge. They ain't nothin but trouble yo. And, by the looks of this
and that in there ya gotta whole hell ofva lotta that NA! Trouble!"
"Yo that then was nothin butta time of mad confusion. Now . . . This is
different.
It's messy aight. But if ya help get Brandon out and into the van, I'm about
TA clean the rest of that in there up right NA, ya heard. Wait for me, I'll
be down." Omar leans down and kisses Brandon's forehead. His damp skin
is so hot it nearly burned his lips. Omar's resolve to what to do is confirmed
by the kiss. He walks towards the closet, pauses and looks back toward the bed
at Brandon. Omar signals with the glock to Bailey to move quickly.
Bailey effortlessly pulls Brandon off the bed. He grabs his duffle and fireman-carries
him out of the room. He is only half way down the stairs before he hears the
desperate pleas from whoever it is in the closet that Omar had pointed out earlier,
when he first arrived. To hear 'them' begging, Bailey thinks: "What
are ya doin Omar? What ya messin with ain't worth it and neither is he!
I'm surprised that ya can't see that yo." Bailey continues down
the stairs and leaves promptly out of the front door without glancing back.
At the van, he carefully places Brandon in the passenger's front. He throws
his duffle into the back, climbs over into the driver's side, and waits
. . . " . . . Can ya just shut the fuck up fo once, Marcel. Shhhhhhh! It
sounds like they gone."
Vincent strains to hear. Both had managed to raise themselves to a kneeling
position. And, with contortioned maneuvering, Vincent had untied his hands.
Marcellis' complaint: his wasn't. Both, with ears pressed against
the door, strained to know what was going on in the outer room.
Adeptly, Omar yanks open the closet door. Both Marcellis and Vincent spill out
of the closet onto the floor. Omar steadily holds the glock on the two and remains
silent for several minutes. With clinched teeth, Omar stares down Marcellis
and Vincent. And, with one motion of glock, Omar demands that both stand.
"Shit! Okay, okay if ya goin to do us, do it! I'm tried of all of
this shit anyway. Bring it!" Vincent can't bare the silence. He is
unnerved by Omar's silent composure and uses false bravado in order to
cover his fright.
"What the fuck? What the hell are ya sayin? I don't want TA die! Shit,
you maybe ready, but I ain't. Shit Vincent! What the hell's wrong wit 'chu?
" Marcellis hurriedly adds with disgust. His tirade ends as soon as his
focus returns to Omar incensed facial expression.
To break the silence, Marcellis and Vincent start blaming each other for how
the outcome of this evening has dramatically turned from their favor.
" . . . Shit! If you had gotten hear earlier, this shit wouldn't be
happenin. " Under his breath, Marcellis spits his accusations at Vincent.
LeBec banters back. "What the fuck are ya sayin? What ya been doin ta him
has been goin on fo years! How is that my fuckin fault? Shit! I was guess nigga
. . . just repondin ta an invitation! I know fo damn sure that if I hadda known
that 'he was his' you were messin with . . . I won't have come!
! ! I would've left that alone . . . Damn you, Marcellis!" Vincent's
harsh whispers impale Marcellis. His years of mental and physical abuse and
shameless sadist acts lay bare with each hissed word from Vincent.
Omar cringes more: the anger within him gnaws at his heart. No matter how hard
he tries to maintain control, hot anger continues to boil within him. Furrows
form on his forehead and his eyebrows scrunched-up together as his rage increases.
His nostrils flare. Fear immediately encompasses the Wright and LeBec as Omar
pulls back on the trigger of the glock. All blaming chatter stops. The total
silence of the room becomes deafening. Omar aims . . .
However, in his hot anger, Omar hears Brandon's voice, " . . . Omar
don't . . . don't . . . please don't! " Beads of sweat trickle
down his temple as Omar struggles with what to do. Again he hears, ". .
. Don't! . . . Let it . . . go, Omar!" Omar finally breaks the silence,
"Ohhhh baby, I tryin to . . . but . . . I . . . just . . . can't .
. . let it go! " He fires.
In self-defense, Vincent tries to throw his blade at Omar. But, the second shot
prevents any thought of a follow through. Ironically, the knife falls and embeds
itself deep in the top part of Vincent's right foot.
Vincent howls like a banshee. His knife has nailed his foot to the floor, as
the second glock shot penetrates his right hand. And, for the first shot . .
. well . . . Marcellis rocks back and forth on the floor in excruciating pain.
Both of his hands grip his blood soaked groin area. The pain is so intense that
no sounds can be heard from him. Vincent leans down and with his left hand pulls
his knife free. Blood gushes out of the wound. "Shit shit shit shit! "
He pants. He glances at Marcellis.
"Damn Marcellis. Oooooo shit! It looks as if he shot ya thang off! Did
he . . . did he, man? " LeBec demands a response from Marcellis.
Marcellis gurgles an answer, " . . . Nawhhhhhh . . . But, Fuuccckkkkk .
. . Heeeeeee . . .!"
With an wicked smile Omar snarls and completes his sentence: " . . . CAME
CLOSE! Real close. Yo untie him and help him with this." Omar orders LeBec
and hurls several of the bedding sheets at them. "So that that shit won't
bleed to death . . . thanks to Brandon yo."
"How can I man . . . I'm crippled?" Vincent murmurs and whines.
'Yo, ya betta do somethin! I'm about up outta here, " Omar angrily
insists. "Ya betta be beggin God 'Thank yous' I didn't kill
ya asses! ! ! If it hadn't been for Brandon's plea fo ya'll .
. . well just say, I wouldn't have been able to contain ma self yo!"
Vincent sheepishly does what he is told. With his left hand and foot, he tears
a sheet. He wraps his right foot and hand and then attends to Marcellis. "Shit
Omar don't leave us like this . . . how can we . . . how will we be able
to . . ."
Angrily Omar cuts him off and retorts, " . . . Afta what ya've done
to Brandon, ya askin me fo more . . . mercy? !" Omar snarls, cocks the
trigger again, and aims. "Ya worthless fucks you! . . . I outta end . .
." Both Marcellis and Vincent recoil into fetal positions. "God .
. .", Omar catches himself and reigns in his building rage. "'Bec
. . . ya betta make do with what ya have."
Vincent ties off Wright's right thigh in order to stop the bleeding with
the remaining tatters. Making a secure knot, Marcellis howls and involuntarily
kicks LeBec. Both groan in agony.
"'Aight, then . . . I'm up outta here. But remember this . .
. if any of ya eva come near ta . . . NO, send a thought Brandon's
way, I'll definitely finish all of dhis. End it fo ya. Ya heard! "
With the glock still cocked, Omar walks backwards and exits through the bedroom
door. A barrage of "Awww Shit! Come on na . . ." follows him down
the stairs.
As soon as he appears at the front door, Bailey starts up the van. Omar eases
open the front passenger door and slides in next to Brandon.
"Shit, what took you so long? I heard the shots and thought ya may need
help, dawg: what up? How did go? " Bailey questions as he places the van
in drive.
"I kept my cool . . . well a little. Afta ya drop us off at Memorial, double
back and make sure the EMTs are here. I called from the house." Omar fist
fives Bailey.
"Yo I knew 'the Terror' was up ta somethin! ! !" Bailey
grins as he nearly runs a light.
"Hey . . . I promised Brandon I wouldn't . . . but I came close .
. . so close..." Omar softly runs his fingers through redbrick locks. Brandon's
head lobs over onto Omar's shoulder. "Hey 'Bails' nothing
but mad 'Thanks'. It can't be said enuf - ya always come through,
yo! " Omar reaches across Brandon; he touches and massages Bailey's
shoulder. Bailey awkwardly pulls away from his touch.
With eyes focused straight ahead, Bailey modestly adds . . . "Ahhhh shit,
it ain't nothin but a thang. What ya brotha did fo me, this can't
even compare yo. Whenever ya need, I'm there." Bailey allows himself
to glance at Omar. Once taken, he quickly looks away and concentrates on driving.
Bailey silently questions, " How can Omar be a . . . like that? !"
He shakes his head. Brandon groans and says something garbled. He whispers Omar's
name.
"He has been talkin on and off out of his head like that ever since I got
him into the van." Bailey breaks his silence.
Omar continues to stroke Brandon's hair. His fingers run down to his pencil
sides. Omar weakly smiles: 'baby hair'. He feels the .38 butt wound.
Concern again rises. He asks, "Did ya have any trouble gettin Brandon out
ta the van? Did he try fightin ya on the way out?"
"Nawh. He groaned a coupla times when I was carryin him. But since then,
nothin. Oh yeah, he called ya name a coupla of times just like na as I was placin
him in here, that's all. 'No fuss no muss', ya know what I'm
sayin. Why ya ask? Is there somethin wrong na?" Bailey feigns concern.
"Hope not. He been through too much already. It's just he feels real
warm; and, this here don't look too good." Omar tilts his head slightly
towards Bailey in order for him to take a glance. "And, he hasn't
opened his eyes yet since earlier."
" . . . Well . . . what do ya wanta do? Go to County General instead?"
Bailey anticipates Omar's next request.
"Yeah. What do ya think: concussion or some kinda of hairline fracture?"
Omar astutely diagnoses. He didn't wait for a conformation. "Yeah
we betta and as quick as possible. Brandon . . . hang in there. Hold on! Please
don't slip too deep . . . please! " As the doctor examines Brandon,
she asks again, "And, how did you say this has happened to him?" Brandon
looked worse on the gurney. His breathing seemed shallow. His color was, if
possible, more ashen. He didn't look well at all. No wonder the doctor
kept asking the same questions over and over again instead of helping him. Omar
nervously stares.
"I'm sorry . . . you said something earlier about a 'bashing'
occurring?" The doctor signals ER nurses and assistant physicians to roll
Brandon further down the hall. She busily signs forms. "A 'bashing',
is that right, uhhhh what did you say your name is?" Dr. Miriam Genet,
Chief Resident at County General, studies Omar's every movement. Her suspicions
are keen and point in this man's direction. Omar did not mistake her accusatory
tone and sarcasm.
"I didn't 'say'. And what does ma name have ta do with treatin
him anyway?" Omar starts to get anxious . . . for Brandon: what's
goin on down there where 'dhey' took him? He looks through the double
doors straining to get a view.
"Forgive me Sir, but when a malnourished underage adolescent comes into
this Emergency Room with multiple contusions and lacerations, several broken
ribs, human bite marks, a cracked left temple fossae, and judging by the large
massive abrasions on his back, possibly one or both severely bruised kidneys
. . . I TAKE interest! Now, if you don't pardon my over taxed state and
abrupt 'bedside manners', are YOU a relative?"
"No . . . I'm not . . ." This 5'8" inch dreadlocked
fireball barely allows Omar to respond.
"Then you are a witness reporting this incident . . . Do you know his parents
or his legal guardian because all signs indicate abuse and not bashing. Sir.
And, 'they', probably being actions of the father, will be held culpable.
There are bruise marks on this young man's body that date beyond six months
or more. And, I am sure that x-rays will show evidence of older healed breaks.
I don't believe 'bashings' come in month or year intervals. So
since you are not a relative, allow me to do my job, call DCFS and attend to
my patient. You WILL excuse me." Dr. Genet tactlessly dismisses Omar.
Stunned, Omar watches as she walks down the hall. "Hey! . . ." Omar
yells down the hall after her. Realizing the 'Quiet' policy, he sprints
to catch up with her. "Na YOU will excuse ME. I am more concerned about
Brandon than DCFS, his parent or whatever, or YOU can ever be. He is my life.
And . . . what I want ta know of all the things ya said and from what I can
see, the most serious is the temple fossae gash, isn't it?"
Hearing 'life', Genet's approach softens. "Well . . . maybe.
I'm most concerned about the etiology of his elevated temperature. It may
be cranial or renal related. But . . . until further tests can be run, I can
only guess. Hopefully for his condition, the worst possible infectious part
may have passed already. There is a need for vigilance. Elevated temperatures
along with a head injury have proven to be fatal." Seeing the solemn expression
on his face as she gives her early diagnosis, Dr. Genet feels for the man. The
news wasn't good but it is better than most. And, it's something about
him: the seriousness in his eyes and the compassion in his tone of voice that
allow her to know that this man is indeed concerned. He does care very much
. . . a lot. How did he put it, " . . . his life . . ." Interesting.
"Sir, since you are not related, this is all I can legally divulge about
. . ."
All Omar hears is 'fatal'. He's devastated: instantly, the only
thoughts that run through his mind are 'life without Brandon'. Staring
through the doctor, he sways and quietly interrupts. "Nawh . . . this ain't
happenin . . . Brandon!"
Genet extends her hand to steady Omar. The love that she sees in his eyes that
he has for this minor takes her breath away. It makes her think and self reflect:
'What if a doctor was giving me this type of news about . . . Oh, God!'
Her heart sinks and her hard professional façade fades. "Look .
. . allow me to get back with you once I have made a more thorough examination
of Brandon." Genet knows that she is breaking all the rules in making a
promise like this. But his expression says it all . . . this has to be done.
Pacing anxiously, Omar insists, "I gotta see him! I gotta be with him .
. ." He heads directly towards the double doors.
"Sir . . .Sir! I understand how you feel . . . I do understand." This
is the closest that Genet has ever come to being exposed. She searches Omar's
eyes unsure that he does understand. Genet adds, "Please allow me to continue
my examination. I will . . . get back with you, Sir."
" . . . It's Omar . . . And, please do all ya can! " By relenting,
Omar acknowledges all that Genet has said and is trying to say. "Please
help him." With those three words, Genet knows she has gotten through to
his determination. She hurries through the double doors to the CAT/MRI area.
Emotionally fatigued Omar collapses in the nearest chair. With his head in his
hands and staring blankly at the floor, he silently prays. Omar has stared for
so long that he doesn't realize that he is'seeing shoes . . . Tims!
Excitedly he looks up . . . It's Bailey.
"Yo I saw afta that other." Bailey grabs a seat directly across from
Omar.
Omar, slightly confused at first over this announcement, listens attentively
for Bailey to continue.
"Yeah. When I got back around, EMTs with a 'roller' were there.
They were bringin 'em outta Brandon's and pilin 'em in the wagon.
Man, talk about loud whinin bitches. Both of 'em complainin up a storm.
Talkin about how someone tried to rob 'em. How they had to defend themselves
and all. They were nothin but mouth, punk ass muttha fuckkas." Bailey snickers.
Omar shakes his head and looks down the hall toward the CAT/MRI area. He stands
and paces.
"So . . . how is Brandon yo? When can we leave, man?" Bailey rises
too
.
" . . . I'on know. This doctor came by earlier sayin all type of messed
up shit is wrong with him . . . and . . . and he . . . may die. I'on understand
none of this. I'm about ta go down there and find out though." Omar
single-mindedly charges down the hallway.
Bailey, immediately behind him, pulls hard on his arm and spins Omar back around
to face him. "Yo, do ya think that's wise bargin in while they tryin
all they can to do somethin fo Brandon?" Bailey searches Omar's eyes
for clearer reasoning.
With his anger smoldering, Omar yanks his arm free from Bailey's grip.
"Yeah . . . I want them to do all they can . . . but I wanta know too.
Because if it's true . . . and he dies . . . I'm goin ta hunt the
hell outta of Marcellis and LeBec. There won't be a hole they can't
hide in I won't find. In fact . . . Damn! I knew I shoulda takin care of
all of that . . . ahhhhhh man if . . . if Brandon dies..." Omar abruptly
stops pacing. The thought is unfathomable. He stares blankly at Bailey. "
. . . I'd be . . . I'd be . . . lost . . . lost without him."
Bailey wordlessly studies Omar. Damn, how is it that this man who is so fierce,
can loose it so quick? Crumble! Crumble . . . over some dude? Can it be true
that Little does care about this guy? And cares . . . a lot . . . to the point
that he becomes this blitherin idiot. Shit, love . . . or to be in it, what
a crock of shit! Especially when it comes to love of some guy . . . I
can understand if it's some double fine, 'pow-dow' babe . . .
woman. But . . . to lose it ova . . . ova Brandon? That shit is just messed-up!
Uhhh, that means that he's nothin but a fuckin fag . . . what'ta hell?
Still eying Omar's every move, Bailey silently disapproves. He remembers
all of the havoc . . . sheer terror that Omar has caused over the years. The
jobs they had pulled together . . . the 'almost getting caught' shit
. . . 'stealin and dealin'. No one would ever dream of doing anything
close to what he has done . . . or will do! Bailey is incredulous. He continues
to wordlessly reason: Nawh, it can't be. Omar and 'fag' just
don't connect togetha. . . It don't sit right . . . not the 'Terror'
. . . not Omar! Shit . . .
"What's . . . what's takin so long? " Omar invades Bailey's
reverie.
"Hey they just tryin to be thorough, that's all." John tries
to reassure him. And in so doing, he finally concludes that Omar's actions
are just simple concerns . . . concerns for his crew . . . concern for Brandon.
Yeah . . . that's all it is!
Omar starts pacing again. He starts to light a cigarette . . . but thinks better
for it for being in a hospital. He crumbles the stick and tosses the pieces
in the trash. Omar slumps back into the chair and anxiously waits.
Five and one-half hours later, Dr. Genet enters the Waiting Area with news.
Upon seeing her come in, Omar immediately stands.
"First . . . Apologies. The radiologist, Dr. Rashanati, had to be paged
seven times before I could get him back to the ER in order to read and confirm
my diagnosis on the multiple cranial scans that I've requested to be run
on Brandon. The PET/MRI and CATs are conclusive." Dr. Genet greets the
other man standing with Omar with a nod. She focuses all of her attention on
Omar.
Omar breathes in deep and awaits the news.
Dr. Genet continues, " . . .The results of the scans are far better than
first anticipated. There does not appear to be any measurable fractures to either
the temple or occipital region of his brain."
Omar interrupts with a deep sigh of relief and gives thanks to God, silently.
" . . . However, that does not rule out the possibility of a hairline fracture.
Brandon will have to be carefully watched for the next couple of days to see
if he shows signs of further trauma. Especially since additional GI-tests have
shown a slight renal infection. This is the origin of his elevated temperature
that initially concerned me. From my examination, it's possibly brought
on by . . . malnutrition." Genet reads thoroughly Brandon's lab results.
" . . . Christ! It looks like . . . with all the abuse Brandon's body
has taken over the years, it's surprising that his kidneys or any organs
are still functioning." Genet leafs through the remaining pages of data.
" . . . This is absolutely criminal . . ." She adds off-handedly and
continues to examine the results. " . . . It's shameful. A red flag
should've gone up to DCFS years ago. Jesus! " Dr. Genet roughly closes
the report.
"So . . . all this means . . . what?" Omar hesitantly asks.
"Brandon can be released as soon as his temperature stabilizes. To ensure
that occurs, I plan to keep him here overnight for more observations. But based
on the medication that has been prescribed for the nephritic infection, his
release will be imminent after tomorrow. However, upon release and as I have
said earlier, careful close monitoring of Brandon's condition must be done.
With all the sophisticated technologies of MRI/CAT, fine hairline fractures
are not measurable on these types of instrumentation. So caution must prevail."
Dr. Genet searched Omar's eyes to ensure that he understands the gravity
of Brandon's situation.
Nodding attentively, Omar responds to all of Genet's concern with only
three words, "I understand completely."
And then the smile that Omar gives to Genet is breathtaking. Genet wonders .
. . "Oh my God! Did you see that? ! Oh God to be that much in love with
this guy must be something else. Goodness . . . it's written all over his
face! You would have to be an idiot not to see it! Just at the very mention
of 'Brandon', it's as if he lights up. Glows! I was so wrong
to at first think he was responsible for being the abuser. How clearly he cares.
I am way wrong. . . I wonder does Kaykie look like that when I'm mentioned?"
Genet is lost in her own personal thoughts.
Omar impatiently waits for Dr. Genet to acknowledge his understanding. He had
more questions to ask. And, he didn't need another lecture on care taking
or what to do for potential blunt head trauma victims. Hadn't his brother
had his share of those? In cases of trauma, Omar knew exactly what needed to
be done. He would do all he can and some more. And the some Omar had
in mind; Brandon couldn't get it there in the hospital.
" . . . Dr. Ge'net . . . Doctor . . ." Bailey breaks her reverie
for Omar by reading her hospital nametag.
" . . . Uhhh. Yes . . . yes." Genet eyes Omar. " . . . I'm
sorry. And and, you were saying . . ."
"I was sayin that I understood. Me and Bailey had to sit-up with my brotha
Anthony a many a day because of his uhhhh . . . well, shall we say 'run-ins'.
We use ta watch him to see if he had any side-effects from possible concussions
or head fractures, too. We're careful. I know what to look fo, believe
me. And for 'ma Boi', I'll take extra care." Omar smiles.
Genet catches her breath, there is that smile again. " . . . I am sure
you will, Mr. Omar." For the second time today, her heart is tugged. Genet
struggles to suppress an urgent need to call Kaykie. She continues, "Please
give us a minute to get Brandon settled into a ward. You will be able to see
him then . . ."
Bailey interrupts, " . . . Can he have his own room? I want him to have
his own room."
Dr. Genet squints. She contemplates how to politely ask if a single room can
be afforded.
Omar anticipating her pause and states, "A single won't be a problem;
Brandon would prefer that." Bailey nods in agreement.
"Fine. I will make arrangements. And again, wait a few minutes before you
come down." Genet submits to their request. "In fact, I will send
a nurse back to you to let you know when he is settled." Genet adds, "Are
there any questions that you may have at this time?"
Omar grins at her attempt to cover her embarrassment. "Nawh, not at this
time. Brandon and I thank you for all that you have done, Doctor. It's
appreciated," Omar beams.
Genet is nearly blinded by this smile. For the third time, her hearts sinks.
She thinks, "I've got to call her! And, what I have to say I can't
use a public phone either . . . now where did I place that . . . cell phone?
Awwwwww Kaykie. Sweetie!. . . you won't believe the day I have had . .
." Dr. Genet heads back to ensure her patient has gotten settled into his
private room. Her other ulterior motive to getting back is of course to . .
. find that damn cell phone and . . .
As Omar watches Dr. Genet leave, his focus returns to Bailey. "Hey man
thanks fo a lot of thangs: fo helpin me get Brandon out, fo sittin with me through
all of this, and fo just bein here. I don't know what I would have done
if the earlier diagnosis would have been true! ! ! Ahhhhhhh 'Bails'
if that had . . ." Omar presses his fists to his eyes.
"It's aight yo. Don't mention it." Bailey shyly replies.
Omar sits directly next to John.
With his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, Omar again silently
thanks God for everything. Deep in thought, his right knee sways and touches
John's. Trying to be respectful, Bailey waits for Omar to finish. Yet the
implications of having a guy's knee pressing his in public are too much
for Bailey. He quickly stands.
Distracted, Omar looks up. ". . . Ya goin? Ya not goin to stay and see
Brandon?"
"Nawh. Nawh . . . I gotta check on somethangs and go see ma Moms. I just
wanta to stay long enough ta see that everythangs aight. Give Brandon ma best.
I'll see y'all tomarr' at the apartment." Omar stands, places
his hand on the left side of Bailey's arm and rubs gently. Bailey tries
hard not to grimace and slowly pulls away from Omar's reach. " . .
. Yeah . . . I bests be goin."
"Keep it close yo!" Omar raises his voice as Bailey skimmers down
the hall. Bailey looks back and nods.
Omar slumps back down into his seat. He can't stand the excitement. Biting
his knuckles, he stands. The anticipation in soon seeing Brandon makes Omar
smile. He laughs off his nervousness and sits back down. Omar slowly shakes
his head from side to side as he slowly closes his eyes. "Awwwww Brandon.
You're even here! When I close ma eyes, there's nothin but YOU. We
have gotta do somethin about this! " Omar did not realize that the last
of his thoughts were spoken out loud. Someone was shaking him.
"Sir, 'do something about what?': are you alright, sir?"
Nurse Bianca Brice eagerly asks the only person in the room. "To whom were
you referring?" She was jittery. Her forty-two hours rotation-shift on
the 'Psych Ward' had just ended; right before being pressed into finding
'some Mr. Omar' for Dr. M. J. Genet. She wondered if this man can
be a misplaced patient. She was positive that before leaving the ward, all patients
were accounted for . . . well, almost positive. Brice questioningly stares.
Omar is startled to hear his thoughts repeated. He immediately stands and eyes
his inquisitor. "I, I was . . . was just talkin ta ma'self."
"Do you do that often . . . talk to yourself?" Tired, Brice goes through
the 'psychotic procedures' for commitment.
Puzzled over the question, Omar stands and paces again.
"So . . . do you know why are you here?" Brice continues her questioning.
Still confused, Omar answer: "Yeah! I'm just waitin fo news on a room."
Brice reasons to herself: "So he might not be one of ours. I better continue
to probe." She studies his movements. No form of aggression can be seen
or heard in his tone.
" . . . Awaiting a room . . . for yourself?" Brice inquiries.
Pacing anxiously, Omar's patience wanes. "Nawh! Not exactly."
Brice gets offensive, "Alright sir, there is no need to get agitated. I
am sure that a room can be found for you. But aren't you on the wrong floor?
Shouldn't you be on the seventh floor?" Brice always wondered why
Psych Wards at any hospital were always located on the highest top floor. Wouldn't
that be too tempting for extreme cases to jump?
If it had not have been for her uniform, Omar thought seriously that this woman
may have been a 'loon escapee'. He changes his tone. "Nawh. I
am waitin news on a friend; if his room is ready, that's all." Omar's
too keyed up to go further into details.
"So . . . this friend was admitted this evening?" Brice marveled over
how easily private information could be readily obtained from simple questions.
She believed that she was 'getting somewhere' with this patient, a
possible breakthrough.
Omar shakes his head, "Yeah. He finished some tests and has been assigned
a room. I'm just waitin to see him. Dr. Genet says . . ."
Bianca interrupts, "Did you say 'Genet' . . . Dr. Miriam Genet?"
"I guess it's Miriam. Her i.d. badge said 'M.J.' She never
gave her first name . . . but she said that she would send word when Brandon
got settled into his room so that I can come see him." Omar still puzzled
by the nurse's questions continues to be polite in answering.
"Ohhhhh, Mr. Omar! There has been a terrible mistake . . ." Brice,
embarrassed, tries to explain her error.
This time Omar interrupts. With sudden dread in his eyes, Omar asks, "Is it Brandon . . . is somethin wrong? " Omar's entire demeanor changes, concern and anxiety deeply etch his face. There are no more polite smiles.
Fatigued, Nurse Briceanswers him. "No, listen. I'm sorry Mr. Omar.
It's just that I been over taxed all day today. I've worked on the
Psych floor since the other day and . . ." Seeing that his expression has
not changed, Brice speeds along her story. " . . . Well . . . I mistook
you for one of its patients. Please accept my apologies."
Omar, unconcerned for her mistake and apology, asks, ". . .When can I see
him?"
Lost in her own ineptness, Brice slowly responses, ". . . See who?"
She instantly catches herself. Fear of a lawsuit flashes within her mind. "
. . . Dr. Genet says to tell you that his room number is 216A . . . it's
right this way."
Omar allows the door to slowly close behind him. He can't believe how starched white everything is: the door, the room, its walls, the bed, and contrasted to it . . . brick red. Omar no longer waits. He barges into the remainder of the room and immediately goes to Brandon's bedside. Tears well in Omar's eyes. Joy and sorrow mix together as he looks down on Brandon. To Omar's mind, Brandon looks . . . young . . . and . . . fragile. He bites down on his lower lip: trying to think how to . . . without . . . disturbing . . . 'fuck it'. Omar places his arms around Brandon and slightly pulls him up out of bed. He kisses him full on the lips and hugs him gently. Still in his arms, Omar softly rocks him back and forth.
"Uh-hum . . . Mr. Omar . . . if the patient is in need of anything, a nurse
is on call down the hall at all hours for assistance." Brice knowingly
interrupts and speaks clearly. She tries to 'break that up'. How could
he, and in a hospital . . . isn't there a law against this sort of thing
. . . and with a minor. Brice repeats herself even louder.
Omar does not mistake the tone: it's brash, disapproving, insulting, and
abrasive. Omar continues to hug Brandon closer and rocks. Without looking up,
without taking his eyes off Brandon, he responds. "No. There's nothin
that Brandon nor I need na. All we need is r-i-g-h-t here! " Omar looks
at Brandon's closed eyes and tenderly kisses each one.
"Well I NEVER! " Brice can't believe the gall of this man: to
do this in front of her. It's not like he doesn't know that I am in
the room! Bianca silently complains.
Omar quickly replies, " . . . And you probably WON'T either! ! !"
Disgusted Brice leaves and slams the door behind her. Omar places one hand behind
Brandon's head for support and slowly eases him back onto the bed. Brandon
stirs at the sound of the door slamming. Omar arranges him on the bed as comfortably
as possible. He grabs a chair and sits next to him. Omar angrily stares at the
still vibrating door. He shakes his head. "How can she or anyone try to
stop me from expressin how I feel and how much I love and care fo Brandon? Especially,
after all that we both have been through? How dare she think that I would STOP
just because she's here in the room? Shit . . . she betta be glad that
I didn't do more than that! Brandon's everthin ta me. GOD . . . I'm
crazy about him. I am so in love with Brandon. I don't know how it happened!
I don't care when it happened. All I know is that I am! And, fo anyone
who thinks that they can take that love away from me! Shit . . . TRY ME!"
Omar cups his hand in Brandon's and interlaces his fingers with his. He
squeezes softly, massaging Brandon's hand. With his right hand, Omar gently
runs his fingers through his hair.
Hours pass, Omar still holding hands with Brandon dozes with his head resting
on his thigh. Dr. Genet gently nudges Omar's shoulder. He jolts from sleep.
"Mr. Omar, I thought that you might want to know the other preliminary
test results are back. If you will give me a few minute, I will examine Brandon
and give you an update on his condition." The doctor speaks as low as possible.
Even though Brandon is still unconscious, Genet knows that 'hearing'
is always the last sense to go. And in hearing every word that she spoke, Omar
refuses to leave Brandon. He does not leave his room. He stands back in the
far corner of the room while Genet re-examines Brandon. Omar frowns as he sees
Brandon wince during her exam.
"What's wrong? " Omar is anxious and doesn't care if the
doctor knows it or not.
"Mr. Omar. Please . . . please if I may finish. Thank you." Genet
continues her exam. Omar stands helplessly in the back while she completes her
examination. He reaches for a cigarette. "Mr. Omar, please! " Genet
sees the cigarette. "If you must smoke, please do it outside . . . outside
of the hospital." She reaches across Brandon and buzzes for a nurse.
"I wasn't goin ta . . . are ya kickin me out? ! ?" Omar notices
that Genet has paged for a nurse. The nurse enters; it isn't Brice. She
goes directly to the I.V. drip taped to Brandon's arm. Genet softly speaks
to the nurse. Omar cannot make out any of what is being said. He doesn't
dare go over to Genet for fear of being barred from the room. Anxiety rises
as Genet approaches.
"Brandon is a very lucky young man. As initially anticipated, the second
set of x-rays show that he does have six broken ribs and one severely bruised
left kidney. Although these results are quite serious, none are life threatening.
Being young and resilient, there is no doubt for a rapid full recovery. Again
as we spoke earlier, there is concern for the hairline fracture. But this too
will heal; yet possibly not as rapidly as the other injuries, bruises and lacerations.
So, caution must be taken. However, I do feel that he can be released tomorrow
as first anticipated." Genet looks back toward Brandon.
"Tomorrow? . . . But he hasn't woken up yet. Will that be too soon?"
Omar questions.
Genet marvels at Omar's concern and love for Brandon. She reassures him.
"Mr. Omar did you notice Brandon grimace while I was examining him?"
Knowing that his eyes haven't left Brandon's since she has been in
the room, Genet continues. "Those grimaces are a very good sign that indicates
that Brandon is coming out of this unconscious state. I believe it won't
be long before he is awake. This is why I project a 'tomorrow' release
date."
Omar closes his eyes, shakes his head gently, and smiles. Genet again is taken
back. The smile is devastating; every sensual emotion is seen in that smile.
She stares with envy. Her 'Kaykie' has a smile like that; Genet is
lost in comparisons.
After making adjustments to the I.V. as suggested by Genet, the nurse steps
between the two and leaves. Genet's concentration is instantly broken when
the nurse leaves. She peeps at her watch; it's 11:30 p.m.; she has been on call
since 4:00 a.m. Genet glances back up at Omar and thinks of 'Kaykie'.
'A warm and fuzzy' feeling over comes her. She remembers her 'shitty
day' cell phone conversation that she has had with her. 'Kaykie'
had promised to meet her after her shift ended. Genet's 'Smiles'
said that she had something that would help her 'forget her day'.
In seeing Omar's smile, she wondered what that 'something' could
be?
"Mr. Omar, I am going off duty. I have instructed the nurse to check-in
periodically on Brandon during the night and keep me informed of any slightest
changes. I don't anticipate any will occur. So you needn't stay. Please
go home and get some rest. By morning, he will be himself again." Genet
sees the fatigue in Omar's eyes.
"I'm not leavin him . . . ever." Omar is definite. Seeing such
strong conviction imprinted by his words and within his eyes, Genet responds
the only way she knows how . . . "Good night then. I will check in with
you two tomorrow morning." And for the first time in a very long while,
Genet ventures a smile. She winks 'Good Night' and leaves.
Alone again with Brandon, Omar takes his vacated seat. He can't resists
touching Brandon; softly he strokes the un-bandaged side of his face. Brandon's
eyelashes flutter.
As promised, hourly, during the night, the duty-nurse checked Brandon's
I.V., his temperature, and blood pressure. And late in the night, Omar felt
someone place a blanket around his shoulders. A soft voice said, "I thought
you might need this." The nurse adds, "Are you sure that you don't
want to lie down for a while in the lounge?" Omar sleepily shakes his head:
"No." He reaches for Brandon's hand. The nurse further responds,
"Okay, okay. There will be a shift change in a few minutes, do you need
anything now?" Omar shakes his head again. Hating to leave him there by
himself, the nurse adds, "It's 2:30 a.m., sir. Nurse Brice will be
on at 3:00 a.m., she will do as I have done. If you do need anything, please
ask." And, with that she leaves.
At the start of the shift, Brice huffs into the room and routinely sees to her
tasks. She does not speak a word to Omar. Placing the blood pressure cup back
into its holder, Bianca grunts pass Omar and slams the door, a second time.
Omar stands and stretches. He walks over to the window and stares out. The city
seems so at peace at this hour; only flaring red lights of ambulances give its
secrets away. Omar wonders about 'the calm'.
"So . . . who's your friend that likes slamming doors? ?" Startled,
Omar careens back to Brandon's bedside. The voice is unmistakable.
" . . . Brandon? " Omar's voice is low and soft. "Brandon
. . . Baby! " Delighted to hear any words from him, Omar clinches Brandon's
hand in both of his and smiles. Brandon is bathed in a blinding bright chopper
smile. The warmth of that smile stirs his soul. He can't resist: "'Baby'
is it? Who's the friend?"
Omar leans closer and stares into wide beautiful glassy brown eyes. He plays
along: "Uhhhhh . . . someone ya don't want ta know. You jealous, 'Angeleyes'?"
Omar cannot stop smiling. Tears well in his eyes, 'B' is back!
"Ahhh, no. I just wanta know who ta cat afta when I get up outta here."
There are smiles all around, on both sides. Brandon tries to get up. But, Omar
immediately stops him from doing so with a passionate kiss. They both groan,
deliriously. The kiss could have gone on and on, except they both needed to
breathe. Omar is the first to relent and back off. Breathless, he pants, "
. . . Damn . . . damn . . ." he pants again and looks deeper into Brandon's
eyes. " . . . Shit . . . shit! That was 'Mmmm Mmmm Good' . .
. Ahhhh 'B', . . . I . . . I can't take anotha one like that!"
"Oh no . . ." Brandon puts his arm around Omar's neck and pulls
him closer. "Show me that ya can't . . ." Brandon slowly runs
his warm wet tongue along Omar's quivering lips.
Omar carefully lays full length on top of Brandon. " . . . Lil'boi!
Lil'Boi, ya betta quit! " He heavily breathes into Brandon's
ear. He trails his tongue down his neck to the cuff of his collarbone. Brandon
shivers. Omar ventures another luscious kiss.
The door slams a third time. Nurse Brice refuses to enter the room; appalled
by what she sees, she does not come back. Brandon and Omar laugh until tears
run down their cheeks. Slowly recovering from their 'laugh', they
both again look longingly into each other's eyes. Each wordless stare touches
both of their souls and entwines them so tightly together that both feel the
knotted tug. Past laughing now, Brandon's tears have yet to stop falling.
Omar looks in awe at each drop. Each tear drop pools at the base of his neck.
Omar feverishly licks the pool dry. Brandon deliriously groans. Encouraged by
this response, Omar doesn't stop; he can feel Brandon's hard need.
So he continues to slowly and softly lick his way back up to the tears'
source. He retraces the salty direction in which each one fell. Excited, Brandon
futilely tries to push Omar away. He is on the verge of cumming. "Oh God,
no, no . . . 'O' don't . . . Omar stop . . . please stop! No
. . . not without you!"
"Ahhh. It's okay. Don't worry. It's okay Baby." Omar
speaks to the left side of Brandon's neck. He continues to make love to
Brandon with his hot tongue by licking and sucking harder and harder on each
side of his neck. Omar definitely leaves his mark on him. " . . . I . .
. I want you to . . ." He too is very excited; excited that Brandon is
so excited, so turned on. Omar feels that he will shoot off any second, too.
They must be meant for each other; imagine something as simple as sucking and
licking a neck can bring them both so close to the edge . . . so close to ecstasy!
Omar smiles with determination.
Brandon groans, uncontrollably. His head gently rocks back and forth on the
pillow. He places his hands on the nape of Omar's neck and inches them
down into his shirt. The warmth of his hands makes Omar shiver. Omar gently
rolls them both over. With Brandon's exposed butt in the air and his hands
and forearms trapped behind Omar, Omar suggestively rubs Brandon's gowned
body into his. Through layers of clothes, both of their engorged members touch
and strain against each other as Omar continues his sensuous massage. Brandon
twists and bucks toward a potential blinding orgasm. To prevent this from happening
prematurely, Omar slows his pace and wraps his legs around Brandon's in
order to hold him more securely to him. Anchored, Brandon cannot squirm to release
himself. His movements are no longer his own.
With his hands on Brandon's butt, Omar pulls him in closer and grins harder
and harder. Brandon can feel Omar's hard abrasive cock clawing against
his own, straining to penetrate through coveralls and his hospital gown. Omar
moans. "Awwww Brandon! I want you . . . I want you so much! " He passionately
whispers into Brandon's ear. He hugs him closer. His hips gyrate harder
into Brandon's. The force in struggling to be one slightly lifts both of
them up from the bed. Brandon yells and digs his fingers into Omar's back
in an effort to hold on tight.
" . . . 'O'! . . . Ohhhhh . . . 'O'! " Brandon cries. Hot tears drip
down onto Omar's face. He looks into his eyes and sees his soul. Omar lifts
his head and spears Brandon's lip. He reels their heads back down onto the pillow.
His tongue explores Brandon's thirsty mouth. Crazed with desire, Brandon sucks
hard on Omar's tongue as if his life depends on it. As a counter reaction, Omar
squeezes Brandon's butt-cheeks and quickens his grinning. Both of their cocks
ache for release and relief. Brandon's delirious groans are muffled by Omar's
luscious mouth. The kisses are deep; the grinding fast and hard. Suddenly Omar
stops, high on the brink of orgasm. He wants to hold this moment as long as
possible. "Ohhhh, BabyBoy what ya do ta me. The way ya make me feel, Omar
murmurs.
No longer able to contain his desire, Omar pushes himself hard into Brandon,
again and again. Each thrust lifts them both off the bed a little higher and
higher each time. Brandon tries again to beg him to stop but his voice betrays
him. Instead, he moans and groans in ecstasy. On the fifth jab, Brandon's
body violently jerks as he cums, hard. One last thrust pushes Omar over the
edge. He explodes, cumming in hot jolts that seem to shake the whole room. "Shit!"
He couldn't believe how good it felt. It was better than anything. Spent,
Brandon collapses on his chest, trembling. Both are out of breath, covered with
sweat, exhausted, and happy. Omar lets out a deliberately melodramatic joyful
yowl of satisfaction. He reaches over and pulls a bed sheet over Brandon. Omar
slowly turns him onto his side. Sleepily, Brandon tries to protest the move;
he liked Omar being his second mattress. Omar softly kisses Brandon 'Good
Night' and scoots out of bed so that he could rest. With a smile on his
face, Brandon's heavy eyelids slowly close shut. Serene, Omar sits back
in his chair and watches Brandon sleep. It's 7:58 a.m.; Genet is expected
at nine. Omar leans over and kisses him again. Brandon's smile widens.
Omar's heart burns seeing that beautiful angelic smile. He softly, softly
mutters, " . . . Ahhhhhhh! Angelface, ya think this was somethin. Just
wait till I get ya home!"
Omar rears back in his chair, lecherously watches Brandon, and plots.
