Room 242

Ryan woke up. He didn’t know what was happening at first. It was dark. Where was the moon? Then he saw it, saw it light onhis face. He turned his head away, unable to scream, unable to resist, unable to move anything but his face. Was there an ‘off’ button on himself that he had never found?

He didn’t even know there were tears on his face until the jeering voices. “Write a song about this, fag.”

He didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend the situation, wasn’t able to think. He gagged when he felt it in his throat, vomited, could feel it running down his chin. Felt the slap, heard the curse, couldn’t understand.

When he felt his face melting off he finally passed out again.

He woke up in a room. He thought it was a hotel room, but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything at that moment. He wasn’t even sure of his existence. But he was sure there was a phone next to his bed, he could see the numbers if he squinted. It took four minutes to press the buttons with shaking fingers. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .

“Hello?” asked Spencer’s drowsy voice. “Hello?” he asked again when he got no answer. Spencer did not like being woken up. “Listen, asshole, it’s three in the—“

“Spence?” Ryan asked quietly, trying not to cry again.

“Ry?” Spencer’s voice immediately turned to one of concern with the faintest sense of annoyance. “Ryan, it’s three in the morning. Where are you?”

“I . . . don’t know.” he whispered. “I think I . . . I don’t know.”

“How drunk are you?” Spencer asked, sighing.

“I’m not!” Ryan’s voice cracked and he started crying. “I . . . I need . . . help me, Spencer. Please. I . . . think I’m in a hotel room.”

“Our hotel?” Spencer asked softly.

“I don’t know.” Ryan said, his eyes stinging from the salt in his tears.

“Look at the phone, Ry. It’ll have the hotel name on it.” Spencer heard shuffling on the other end of the line. He heard a loud sound as the phone dropped once, heard Ryan pick it back up, breathing heavily.

“It’s our hotel.” he whispered.

“Now look at the room number on the phone.” Spencer said gently.

“2 . . . 242.” Ryan said, voice shaking.

“I’ll be right down to get you, Ry.” Spencer promised.

“Wait . . . I . . . Spencer, I need some . . . clothes.” Ryan’s voice was so quiet on the last word Spencer wasn’t sure if he had heard him correctly.

“Clothes?”

“Yes.” Ryan whispered.

“Okay, I’ll bring you some clothes.” Spencer said. “I’ll be right down.”

“Don’t hang up on me!” Ryan shrieked hysterically. “Don’t hang up. Don’t hang up.” He was rocking on the bed, blanket around him, knees pulled up to his chest, rocking, phone to his ear, tears on his cheeks.

“I won’t.” Spencer said, trying to keep his own voice from shaking. He didn’t know if Ryan was high or drunk or had woken up alone from a one-night stand, but he was obviously terrified. “I’m walking down the hall now.” he said, narrating the call, hoping it would calm his friend down. Ryan didn’t answer. “Now I’m on the stairs . . . almost to your door, Ryan. I need you to get up and open it for me, okay?” The line went dead as he heard footsteps.

Ryan opened the door, wrapped in a blanket. Spencer could see the outline of him, his messy hair, but nothing more in the dark. Ryan walked back to the bed as the door shut and Spencer turned on the light. When the younger boy turned around his eyes widened and he dropped the clothes he had been holding, a hand flying to his mouth. His eyes darted around the room: cigarettes, beer bottles, urine on one of the walls. “Ryan, you . . . you got raped.”

The amber eyes were wide in confusion, wondering where the mark of impurity on his face was, wondering how Spencer could have known that. “How . . .” His voice turned into a hiccup, a product of all the tears he had cried in the last few hours.

“Ryan . . . you’re covered in come.”

Ryan looked at his shoulders, at the dryness caked on them. Hands flew to his face, feeling the half dry liquid there. He could feel it matted in his hair. There was dried vomit on his neck and chin. A dry sob erupted from his throat as he buried his face in his hands, shaking.

He heard the tone from the first number Spencer pressed on his phone. Neither was sure how he managed to move so quickly, but within seconds Ryan had thrown Spencer’s phone against the wall. “No.” he said, eyes a dark abyss. “No.”

“Ryan, we need to—“

“No.”

“—call the police.”

“No!” Ryan shrieked, hitting at Spencer’s chest weakly before collapsing against him in tears. “No. No.” He whispered the word over and over, crying harder when he felt Spencer’s arms gently wrap around him.

“Ryan, I’m going to get a washcloth for your face, okay? Sit down on the bed.” Spencer disappeared into the bathroom, soaking a cloth in warm water and bringing out a towel as well. Ryan was sitting on the bed, nearly catatonic as Spencer started wiping at his face and his shoulders, trying to get some of the dried whiteness from his hair. “We’ll wash your hair when we get back to the room, Ry.” He dried gently at the places the washcloth had touched.

Ryan still didn’t move. His eyes just stared intently at Spencer’s face. Slowly, scared of Ryan’s reaction, Spencer began to dress Ryan. When he lifted Ryan’s to arm to put it into the shirt and then let go, it fell right back into Ryan’s lap. Ryan seemed to snap out of it after Spencer had both of his arms through the shirt. He pulled it over his head and then pulled on the pants Spencer had brought: his pajamas from the night before.

Spencer kept a firm grip on Ryan’s arm as they slowly made their way down the hallway toward the elevator, Ryan turning his head every so often to stare terrified at the room they had left. “Did you have your wallet or your phone?” Spencer asked, trying to calm Ryan down.

“I don’t think so.” Ryan said. “Maybe my phone. Probably my phone. I think I got a text message.”

“We’ll call them then, have them change the number and stuff.” They were on the elevator now, almost to their floor. When the doors opened, Spencer lead Ryan down the hallway, swiping their card key at the door. When they got in, Spencer had Ryan sit on the edge of the tub and gently washed his hair. The older boy was shivering when Spencer finished, his shirt soaked.

He changed into the fresh shirt Spencer handed him in the room, crawled onto the bed. Spencer moved to tuck him in, but Ryan grabbed his wrist. “Stay with me.” he said quietly, eyes wide. “Stay with me, Spence.”

“Okay. I will.” he promised. “I’m just going to get you a sleeping pill and turn out the light, okay?”

“No!” Ryan all but screamed, sitting up again. “Don’t turn off the light!”

Spencer stared at him, eyes wide. “O-Okay. I won’t. Don’t worry, Ry, I’ll leave it on.”

“And I don’t want the drugs either.” he said stubbornly.

“They’ll keep you from dreaming.”

“I’d rather have nightmares.” he said shortly. He must have been drugged. The half of a beer he drank must have been spiked. Why the hell else would he have left with a guy he didn’t even know? Or half a dozen guys. He didn’t remember.

Spencer nodded, feeling useless, stupid, and pathetic. They didn’t cover this part of rape in school. The how - to - help - your - best - friend - after - he’s - been - gang-raped - in - a - hotel - room part. He walked back to the bed, pulling the blanket up to Ryan’s chin and gently touching his cheek. Ryan held up the edge of the blanket, telling Spencer without words what he needed. The younger boy slipped under the comforter, turning to face Ryan who immediately buried his face in Spencer’s white shirt, two hands grabbing fistful of the fabric.

“They picked me.” he whispered. “They knew me. They hated me. How can a person hate that much, Spencer? Enough to . . . to . . .” He choked on his words, silent except for rushed breaths.

“I don’t know.” the other boy said quietly, honestly. He brought his arms up, wrapping them around Ryan.

“Don’t leave me.” Ryan whispered again.

“I won’t.” Spencer promised. “I won’t, Ryan.