Sam Collins - Chapter 4

The night didn't seem to end.
Paul rinsed a few glasses and threw a glance at his watch. Only 9.30. Seven hours to go.
The couple he had watched make out at the counter had left half an hour ago. At least someone was having fun tonight.
He couldn't believe Soldier Boy had followed the gross hairy guy into the darkroom. He'd have thought a guy like him had standards. Paul suddenly felt old and dated. Maybe he shouldn't feel bitter and just take the next best guy to bed and finally allow himself some fun.

Speaking of fun, Gross Hairy Guy must have had plenty, judging from the smile on his face. Paul watched the man emerge from behind the veil to the dark rooms. He grabbed a jacket from his corner seat and left without so much as glance back at Paul.
The remaining glasses on the counter were the only task that distracted him from the veil, waiting for Handsome to emerge with a similar smirk on his face.
What was taking him so long? Cleaning up? God, Paul hoped not.

Still, after five minutes and no more dirty glasses in front of him, he frowned and ignored Kyle, the 60 year old alcoholic who was around almost every weekday, silently staring at the counter and only raising a finger every now and then to order the next drink. Paul had often wondered if the man was gay at all or if it was just the cheap booze that lured him in. Anyway, what was the young guy doing in there so long?
He dropped his towel and walked over to the curtain.

"You okay in there?" He felt the urge to knock, but the cloth hanging from the ceiling didn't seem to support that idea. No response.

Damn, the last thing he wanted was to walk in on some private moment, but something felt wrong.
Paul opened the veil and stepped inside, the darkness almost swallowing him until his eyes adjusted to the soft beam from the blackened neon light in the corner. He almost stumbled over the body lying on the floor. Shit.

"Hey! Son, what's wrong?" He crouched down and grabbed the guy's wrist. His pulse was slow.
Paul grabbed his cell in the back pocket of his pants and dialed 911. The line was out of service. A common occurrence these days.
He would have to take him to the hospital himself. Paul suddenly realized that the guy's pants were down. Oh God.

"Can you hear me? Say something, man!" He grabbed the guy's arms and noticed the man's feeble attempt to free himself from Paul's grip.

"Lemme go, please, lemme go...", he whispered.
Paul yanked his pants up and lifted him off the floor. He wasn't light, but Paul managed to carry him out of the darkroom and into the main bar area, seating him on a cushioned bench in the corner.
He took the guy's chin in his hands and stared into his eyes. The pupils were dilated. Paul knew the signs of a drugged person too well, unfortunately.

"What's your name?", he said softly.
Soldier Boy sure had beautiful eyes. The bewildered expression on his face made him look so much younger than before when he had scowled at Paul.

"Sam", he whispered, his eyes jumping back and forth between Paul and the floor.

"My name is Paul. I am going to take you to a hospital. You need to help me a bit. Is that okay?"
Sam seemed to understand what he said. He nodded slightly, while Paul held his hand flat against Sam's chest to keep him from toppling over. How was he supposed to get him to his car? The drive to the hospital wouldn't be difficult at all, but reaching the car seemed impossible to accomplish.

"Man, you gotta help me a bit." Paul supported his upper body with his hands and lifted him carefully to his feet. Sam weighed heavily in his arms. His feet were unable to support his body and Paul almost tripped over a chair trying to reach the door. An additional pair of hands suddenly appeared on Sam's other side and held him up. Paul stared into the sad eyes of their unexpected ally.  

"Thanks Kyle, I owe you one."

Together they managed to carry Sam to Paul's car. He jogged back for a moment to lock up the bar and thanked Kyle once more, who was already on his way to wherever he spent the night. 

The ride to the Baptist Medical Center only took a few minutes, thanks to the reduced traffic at this time of night. The nurse at the reception was a hard-boiled elderly lady who had clearly seen worse things than a half-naked drunk guy being carried in by a bar tender - of all people. Paul was aware that he was still wearing the muscle shirt with the ManHole's embarrassingly explicit logo. He didn't even want to contemplate what the nurse might think about that.

"Write down the name and insurance details and take a seat in the waiting area, a doctor will be with you as soon as possible." She seemed to be stifling a yawn.

Paul practically threw the papers back at her, Sam still weighing heavily on his side.

"I don't know his full name. I just found him unconscious. Someone needs to help him now!"

She scowled at him, but noticed the relentless expression on his face and finally gave in. She directed them to a room with an empty bed. An old man lay coughing in the other bed by the window and gave them a quick look over before he turned his head toward the window.

"A doctor will be here soon. Please don't disturb the other patients." The lady walked away and Paul did his best to lower his companion carefully on the white sheets  of the hospital bed. Sam groaned. His fingers found Paul's hand and rested there, holding him feebly.

Paul sat down on the foot of the bed and stared at the young man. He'd seen some shit in his time, but it sure hurt to see a young guy wasting himself away with alcohol and mindless sex in seedy darkrooms. It didn't take a rape to make this life a complete misery.

Sam must have fallen asleep. His breathing was slow and his eyes were closed. Paul slowly pulled on the metal chain around his neck and revealed the dog tag that had slipped underneath the shirt.

"Sam Collins", he read out to himself. A security number was on there as well. The lady at the front desk probably loved soldiers for this. But who knew if it was still valid? Sam didn't look like an active solider. But what did he know? He had just met the guy.

"Thanks for helping me out." The quiet voice startled Paul and he dropped the tag on Sam's chest. His eyes were open again, staring at Paul's hands.

"A doctor should be here soon. Shall I get you something?" Paul tried to sound comforting, but Sam grabbed his shirt fiercely. 

"Don't leave", he whispered, blue eyes big and pleading. 

Paul put his hands on Sam's fingers and released his grip.

"Relax. I'm staying. What about your family? Shall I call anyone?"

He shook his head slightly. A pained expression darkened his features. The dark stubble on Sam's face stood out on the pale skin.

A guy in a white robe walked in on them holding hands. The doctor frowned and glanced briefly at Sam.    

"This is a hospital. not a place to sleep off your hangover", he remarked coldly.

Paul held his stare.

"Doc, he's no alcoholic!" Paul hoped it was true. He didn't know the man at all. "He was drugged and..." Sam's hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. 

"Don't. I'm fine", he said stubbornly.

"No, you're not!" Paul knelt down next to Sam, so the doctor wouldn't hear him whisper. "You could have been exposed to all kinds of STDs. You need to take the meds just to be sure." The urgency in his voice surprised Paul. What was this guy to him?

"I couldn't afford it. I'm not insured." Damn, Paul hated to be right. "Paul, I want to go home."

His lip was trembling. It was obvious Sam wasn't used to being weak and vulnerable and it scared the hell out of him. 

Paul exchanged a glance with the annoyed doctor waiting for them to make up their minds. 

"If you don't need a medical opinion, feel free to check out again." He didn't even bother to nod at them, turned around and left.

"That was extremely unwise, Sam." Paul wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Where's home?"

Sam laughed, an act that caused him visible pain. 

"It was just a saying. I haven't found it since I left ten years ago", he replied.

"You're not from Arkadelphia then?"

"I am. But things changed since I left and I can't go back now." He cleared his throat and tried to get up, legs and arms shaking from the effort.

Paul thought of Jason and how tragically his life had been turned around the last time he helped a guy he was slowly falling for. Oh well.

"You're coming with me."