Inter-spem et Metum 28
~*~ The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author's imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, Oz. For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.
~*~ Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author's creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.
~*~ Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.
~*~ Address any type of question and/or feedback to jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.
The air inside Em City felt cleansed after the shakedown had occurred yesterday. Many of the inmates were going through withdrawals and a number of fights had broken out over the sudden lack of Destiny within the prison system. O'Reily now saw firsthand how wide Torquemada's reach in the prison truly extended, and it made him sick. Everything had calmed down, but the hospital was bombarded with inmates suffering from classic withdrawal symptoms. He had been so busy on his shift yesterday.
The Irishman knew he had taken a big risk by creating and executing the plan by himself. A part of him was desperate---desperate to keep them as far away from one another as possible. He knew that Alvarez did not fare well in small, enclosed spaces by himself---being like that overwhelmed his mind and body. He could only imagine what was going on inside his mind as he was banished to the hole. O'Reily felt shreds of guilt and remorse as the days passed---and, more than that, he missed the loco Latino.
Another key point to the plan, aside from separating him from Torquemada, was to get Alvarez sober and away from his dangerous dependency on D-tabs. The trip to the hole served as a makeshift detox session to get him clean and far away from Destiny. O'Reily was not going to watch his partner fall further into the clutches of that power-hungry queen. D-tabs were the key. Torquemada used his drugs to exert some kind of control over Alvarez. That was why he had to get sober, and the hole was the perfect place to do it.
Now, he needed to come up with a plan to permanently get rid of Torquemada---especially now since D-tab movement had been halted since its creator was also spending some time alone and naked. He had to figure out an angle that would work to bring the queen down. O'Reily felt weird---he had for the past few days. He had been mainly avoiding Alvarez but now, he wanted him back in Em City---wanted him close again. His mind was so distracted and consumed with thoughts of how the man was faring in the cold and lonely hole.
"Em City feels different since that fag got tossed in the hole---don't you think?" Meaney said to the preoccupied man. "Ryan? Yo, Ryan?"
"What?" he answered and looked around to see that they were in his pod.
"You all right? You look like you're distracted or something."
"I'm good."
"What's the next move?"
"Haven't figured it out yet," O'Reily said and dispelled his mind of thoughts of the Latino.
"You probably got twenty days to a month before Torquemada gets out. I heard the hacks talking about how the warden wants to make an example of him."
"Good."
"Man, I can't believe Alvarez got caught, too. The spic's a fucking moron."
He thought he was going to get upset but instead said, "Yeah. Yeah, he is."
"What's wrong, Ryan? Why are you looking like that?"
"Stop fucking asking me that! You see anything wrong with me?"
"Geez, man---calm down," the grunt said with a sliver of fear in his eyes. "I was just asking."
"Well don't. I don't need questions from you."
"You see who else got sent to the hole?" Meaney immediately said to change topics.
"Poet, Beecher, and one of the bikers. They'll be out sooner than Alvarez or Torquemada though," O'Reily said in a maintained voice and looked out to the quad.
"What about El Cartel? What are you going to do about him?"
"I'm not worried about him. If my instincts are right, I've just created an opportunity for him. He'll be part of a plan he knows nothing about."
"Which is?"
"Wait and see, Liam," the Irishman simply said. "Just wait and see."
If El Cartel was the smart warlord he had heard about from the other inmates, then he would recognize the opportunity O'Reily had generously presented him with and take full advantage of it. O'Reily had to slow down the distribution of Destiny within Oz and weaken Torquemada's stronghold and influence over so many of the inmates. Now all he had to do was wait for Calderón to use his opportunity wisely and make his move.
He gathered up all the dirty clothes from around the pod and walked over to the laundry room to wash them before he had lunch and then work in the afternoon. A new Latino inmate was in the laundry room when he got there but neither said anything to the other. The man managed to get his mind back on Alvarez, though. The Irishman stuffed clothes into the washing machine as his brain spun webs to connect ideas and thoughts together to form a new plan. The suctioning of air pulled the door open.
"Hey, Burr," he greeted the man.
"Get lost, runt," Redding said to the Latino inmate and he quickly left without another word.
"I guess you want to talk."
"Your father's going to fry for Neema's death?"
"The trial's still going on," O'Reily said. "Got a new lawyer so let's see."
"It couldn't be any worse than what happened the last time."
"You came to talk about my dear old dad?"
"Smart boy."
"Didn't think so. What do you want?"
"I need your help," Redding said in that deep, raspy voice of his.
"Help costs," he said and sat on the vibrating washing machine his clothes were inside. "You're on the righteous path now, aren't you, Burr?"
"I am! My boys look to be on a different path, though."
"Can't blame them. Telemarketing don't pay the bills."
"It's an honest life---a worthwhile life. Poet slinging on the side defeats the purpose of his telemarketing job."
"Skip the preaching. What do you want me to do about it?" O'Reily asked in a somewhat sarcastic way. "He's not the only one of your boys pushing D-tabs behind your back."
"I know. You see any of them slinging again, take them out---permanently," the man said with a hint of malevolence. "You'll get no retaliation from me."
"Now now, Burr---plotting murders isn't exactly for one who's on the virtuous path, is it?"
"I've given them enough chances to be on the good path---to stay on the good path. If they cannot stick to that, then their usefulness to me has run out."
"And you prefer to have their blood on my hands rather than yours? No deal. Haven't you heard---I work in the hospital now. I heal people," the Irishman said and smiled at the false irony.
"As well as an angel of death would I imagine."
The man left after that and walked his way back through the quad. Being on the good path he was on had made him less of a threat in here. The homeboys were disobeying him and he was losing his influence over them. Redding seemed determined to get all the niggers away from slinging drugs---to airhole the ones who were dealing was extreme, though. Maybe he was not on such a righteous path as he believed he was. Taking out a few of the stragglers could be his way of wrangling the homeboys back under his control, though.
O'Reily knew all too well the position the man was in. After Cyril had died, he had promised himself and Dr. Nathan that he would devote his energy to helping other inmates survive the harsh world they were all forced to live in. That did not mean he was going to become a saint however, and anyone who thought that needed to have their head examined. Working in the hospital was better than the kitchen. It gave him a small sense of purpose to fill the void left by his brother's death.
That did not mean that the Irishman was no longer a force to be reckoned with, however. He played the part of hospital aide well, but he also continued to keep his wits about him and about how things worked inside Oz. He was never going to give that up. With Keller dead, the only other person who could have come close to his mind-fucking capabilities was gone and that was a triumph. O'Reily was never going to go back or lose his influence as Redding did. Oz was a part of him, and he was a part of the wasteland prison.
A reason for why the partnership with Alvarez remained so vital and important to him---to them both. He was not going to go soft like Dr. Nathan had probably expected him to when he had told her about wanting to work in the hospital. Every day was a fight for survival in this cumhole and if he were to let his guard down, he would be seeing Cyril in the next life or wherever the hell his brother was now. O'Reily knew the importance of maintaining his force and power inside these walls. He knew the importance of Alvarez and getting his mind and body sober and away from that vicious queen.
"Are---are you finished?" the same Latino Redding had scared off earlier opened the door and asked.
"Do you see him here?"
"No."
"Well, there's your answer," O'Reily said as he took wet clothes out of the washing machine.
"Okay," he said and walked over to the dryer to retrieve his clothes.
"Don't mind Burr. It takes him---it takes him a while to warm up to people. What's your name?"
"Giovanni Vieyra---Gio."
"What are you in for?"
"Possession of a stolen car and accomplice to robbery. It was all my fucking friends."
"Yeah. That's what they all say. Hey, kid---Gio, how old are you?" the Irishman asked, with a hint of curiosity about the new Latino.
"Twenty."
"You want a piece of advice?"
"What do I have to do to get this advice?" Vieyra asked in a nervous but trying to be cocky way. "You're O'Reily aren't you? I've heard about you."
"You have? What have you heard---about me?"
"Um---"
"Go ahead. I won't kill you for repeating gossip," he said and laughed as the other man became serious. "Geez---it was a joke."
"Don't trust you. Stay away from you and your deals. Don't get involved. The usual stuff."
"That can't be all. I'm sure you've heard much worse about me---I know I have. But, let's get back to you."
"I---I don't want any problems. I'm just serving my few years and getting out of here."
"Take the piece of advice, kid. It's free---this time," the Irishman said in an uncharacteristically nice tone.
"What---what is it?"
"Grow a backbone. Any of these fucks see weakness and they'll pounce on you quicker than a tiger would fresh meat. Grow some balls or you won't make it to your few years to get out."
"Hey, I got balls!" Vieyra said as he looked at him.
"Doesn't look like it from where I'm standing."
"Thanks, I guess. For the advice."
"Don't get used to it," O'Reily said in the same tone as before.
He was not sure why the conversation had happened in the first place. There was just a sudden urge inside him to warn the kid about what he had really gotten himself into. In Oz, every day was a life and death struggle and, having to navigate through every day with that to bear took its toll on everyone. O'Reily did not want to see Vieyra end up like so many others that never made it out alive. There was still a youngness and innocence in his eyes---tainted innocence from mistakes, but innocence nonetheless. Maybe the kid reminded him of Cyril and his innocence---or maybe Alvarez.
Most of the inmates that were suffering from the withdrawal of Destiny had been released over the past few days so the hospital had quieted down to its normal daily activity. He was happy because having to cater to all those bastards was driving him crazy. O'Reily busied himself by ripping up dirty bed sheets to replace them with clean ones for other inmates to use. Dr. Nathan was in her office having a consultation with the nurse and a hack. He did not know what was going on there as he continued to work.
The Irishman stripped about ten beds and went to the linen closet to get clean sheets to make them up again. That was mainly his job---along with helping with patients and retrieving and filling prescriptions. Dr. Nathan trusted him in the medicine room, but he knew he was not worthy of that trust. O'Reily had stolen so many pills, but that was only to get him through the very rough patch of Cyril's death. He was not going to allow himself to fall back into his old habits of drug dependence.
"O'Reily---making a bed? I really must be dying," the Aryan Robson said from a bed across the room.
"What are you doing here? You beat AIDS and now can rejoin the masses?"
"No, you fuck. You can't beat AIDS."
"So, Robson, how does it feel to be the only Aryan left in Oz?" O'Reily said as he fitted a sheet on the bed and laughed. "Keller really did a number on you Nazi shitheads."
"Eat me, you potato-sucking motherfucker."
"With that diseased blood of yours, who's ever going to want to even touch you now? A half dick and now poisonous blood. You're going to have to get used to your hand for the rest of your days there, Jamie."
"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" he said and was getting distressed. "And don't fucking call me Jamie!"
"There's no such thing as the Aryan gang anymore. And, their sole surviving member is banished to the AIDS ward. I bet the niggers are happy about that."
"A lot of good men died because of Keller," Robson said in a sad voice.
"Says you. All you Nazis are bigots that got what you deserved."
"If I wasn't so goddamn weak, O'Reily---"
"Yeah---yeah. Conserve your strength, sleeping beauty. You miss spooning with your old pal Cutler?"
"Ryan!" Dr. Nathan firmly called out as she approached. "Stop that right now."
"What---making up the bed?" he asked but already knew what she was talking about.
"No---agitating James. Please get back to your work and leave him alone."
"Hey---he started it," the Irishman childishly said.
"My head is starting to spin, Dr Nathan," the Aryan said and his complexion looked a bit paler. "I feel dizzy."
"Relax, James. Nurse, could you help me here?"
A paralyzing fear shot through him as he saw Dr. Nathan and the nurse tending to the fallen Aryan. Robson had fucked so many men while in Oz and then had become a prag---where he was the one being fucked by Cutler. O'Reily was more than positive that most of those encounters had involved no protection at all---like the lack of protection he and Alvarez had between them. His breaths deepened and his head became delirious with anxiety and worry about what he had let happen to his body.
He knew he himself did not have anything. It was the Latino he was unsure of. The thoughts immediately invaded his mind---he could end up as Robson was now, or worse. O'Reily had to take care of the knowing because he knew his mind would not let him rest until he knew his body was clean. He believed Alvarez when he had said that he had not messed around with anyone, but something could have gotten inside him since before he came to Oz.
O'Reily was freaking out as he watched Robson being cared for. He left the partially made bed behind and used the opportunity to walk into Dr. Nathan's office. Files for all the prisoners were somewhere inside there and he was going to find what it is he was looking for. While keeping his eyes over his head to make sure he was still alone, the uneasy Irishman began searching through the office for one particular file. Medical books, folders, and many other miscellaneous items got in the way of his health.
Against the wall opposite her desk was a large filing cabinet with a master lock securely attached to it. His nerves were overwhelming as he tugged and pulled at the lock---hoping by some miracle that it would snap free. This cabinet had to be where all the files were kept. Now that he thought about it, O'Reily had never been sent to retrieve patient files. He had dealt with the various medication and the inmates one-on-one, but neither Dr. Nathan nor the nurses had ever sent him to retrieve any sort of medical files. After all the breaches to Oz over the past years, they must have finally wised up and took extra precautions now---especially after the anthrax scare.
He had to know and his mind was insane with anger and worry for his own body's safety. Alvarez was the first man he ever got that close to, so the chances of him having anything were minimal. They were still there, though. The Irishman looked around the desk for something that could possibly pick the lock to gain access. A small enough letter opener looked like it could slip into the caverns of the lock so he tried it. He looked up when he saw two hacks rushing someone into the ward and a commotion started.
"Ryan! Ryan! Where are you?" Dr. Nathan was calling him.
He dropped the letter opener back on the desk, ran outside, and said, "Right here---oh shit!"
"Prep a cooler with ice right now. Hurry!"
"I'll help him," the nurse said and followed behind him.
"Can he be saved?" one of the officers asked.
"No. Once the heart has been severed from the body like this, there is no chance of the body recovering---even if I were to attach it back. His body is in too much shock."
"But it's still beating," the other officer said and looked like he wanted to throw up.
"It's still alive---he's not," Dr. Nathan said as she waited for the cooler. "If we keep it alive, it can be used for someone in need of a heart transplant."
The nurse quickly dumped a bucket of ice into a small cooler and he rushed back outside to give it to Dr. Nathan. He stood close to the bed and stared as he saw a gaping bloody hole on the left part of Urbano's chest and his still beating heart coddled in Dr. Nathan's gloved hands. The man's eyes were vacant and his body nude from the waist up. His mouth hung open as if he was trying to talk while blood rivers had already trailed off down his stomach, neck, and arms and were drying.
Calderón had seized the opportunity the Irishman had presented him with and had taken full advantage of it. O'Reily did not fault him, but this grotesque manner of death was overkill. He was sending out notice as a formidable threat within Oz and Urbano's heart was the tool he was using to do so. It seemed that the man lived up to the ruthless tyrant title he had heard other prisoners describe him as. Urbano had really dug his own grave when he had muscled his way in as the leader of El Norte and had still been content with being Pancamo and Torquemada's unthinking lapdog.
This was why the Irishman had to get Alvarez as far away from them as possible. If not, he very well could come to work one day and see the Latino's body laying there without his beating heart attached to it anymore---or his head. He watched the still moving vital organ as Dr. Nathan carefully placed it on ice in the special metal cooler and sealed it shut. She had to get it down to the morgue and into the refrigerator as soon as possible.
O'Reily had seen many things most people could never even dream about. He had seen the body's insides as someone was sliced open from the stomach right in front of him. He had seen so much blood and carnage and violence one human could possibly do to another. He had seen the light leave someone's eyes at the very moment of death. That in itself was an extremely haunting feeling to be there and watch eyes go out for the last time--- never to be revitalized again.
This was different, though. A beating heart that was no longer attached to the body it once belonged to. O'Reily continued to stare at it even after it had disappeared behind the metal of the cooler. It was an amazingly powerful feeling. He could only imagine what El Cartel had to have felt when he had ripped it away from Urbano's body. There was no doubt in his mind that the man was responsible for this and, there was also a clear reason for the killing. O'Reily twisted a smile because he knew Torquemada and Pancamo's regime had taken a huge blow this day.
"Ryan, can you get a body bag?" he heard Dr. Nathan ask him. "We have to get him to the morgue."
"Huh---okay," he said and went to do as she requested.
He slipped a fresh pair of gloves, retrieved a body bag, and headed back out to cover up the body. Zipper teeth came undone and he pressed the bag against the gurney to make sure it would stay when they were moving the body. Dr. Nathan and the nurse went to the other side of the body and they lifted him from one gurney to the other without much problem. The nurse snapped off her gloves and grabbed a clipboard to take notes as O'Reily tucked the body in the bag and began zipping it up.
Now was a chance he had to solve his problem from earlier. There was no way he was going to get into that filing cabinet and he was positive that Dr. Nathan was not going to allow him to look at another inmate's personal medical records. That would have aroused too much suspicion anyway. O'Reily retrieved a pen from his pocket when everyone was preoccupied and quickly punctured a hole through one of his bloody gloves. He ripped the latex to make the hole more noticeable and easily tossed the pen in a nearby trashcan.
"Shit! Oh shit!" he cried out as if he were in danger. "Fuck!"
"Ryan---Ryan what is it?" Dr. Nathan turned around and said.
"Dammit---there a fucking rip in my glove! Shit! There's a hole in my goddamn glove. His blood touched my skin!"
"Calm down, Ryan." Do you have any cuts or open wounds on your hand?" Dr. Nathan came over and took his hand to examine it as she asked.
"No---I don't know. His blood is on my hand."
"Take off your gloves and run both your hands under hot water."
"Maybe he gave you HIV, spudfuck," Robson laughed and ridiculed him from a few beds over. "Looks like another one for Unit F."
"James---that's enough!" Dr. Nathan scolded him.
"I want this fucking checked out, now!" O'Reily said and demanded the tests. "I want to be tested for everything!"
"Of course. That would be a good idea. Go run your hands under water while I get ready to take a blood sample from you," she said and sirens immediately blared around them.
"That'll have to wait, doctor," the hack said. "The prison's on lockdown. Come on, O'Reily. Get rid of those gloves---you're going back to Em City now."
"Fuck you! I need to know if Urbano gave me anything. I'm staying right here!" he protested.
"Ryan, go with them," Dr. Nathan said. "When you get back to your pod, run your hands under water for a few minutes and dry them thoroughly. When the lockdown is over, I'll be able to run the tests."
"Come on, O'Reily!" another hack said.
The waiting was going to kill him, but there was no more that could be done right now. If he resisted any more, he was probably going to end up in the cage or Solitary. He threw the gloves away in the hazardous bin and walked away from the infirmary with the two officers. The buzzers were still screaming over the intercoms because of Urbano's death. O'Reily knew he had to be patient and wait until the lockdown was over to have the tests run on him to see if his raw sexual contact with Miguel Alvarez gave him anything.
It was a hard thought to think about but he had to put his body's welfare ahead of its desires for the handsome Latino. No matter what the outcome, if they were going to be sexual towards one another again, a layer of protection was always going to be between them. O'Reily thought about it as he was locked away in his pod. The quad was oddly empty for this time of day and everything was pretty much quiet as if it were lights out---but with the lights on.
Getting contraband into Oz had become much harder since Keller's parting gift to the Aryans and, getting condoms himself would cast suspicion upon him. Even if he were to have Meaney acquire them for him, the grunt would still know that he asked him to get condoms. He may be an underling, but O'Reily knew that even he could figure out that something was going on. The man was not that stupid or oblivious. There was no way he or anyone was ever going to know what he and Alvarez had been doing.
He looked around and thought about Alvarez in the hole. It was such a torturous move on his part, but it had to be done. The Latino could not end up like Urbano and they both had to get away from the drugs and refocus on what was important---refocus on getting the partnership back to its full force. Aside from the partnership, O'Reily had come to like the other, the deeper bond that had formed between them. He cared for Alvarez. He cared for the man's wellbeing and his safety and his touch. Loco.
Demented walls dripped into his senses as artificial light from above did nothing to tell him what time of the day it was. The lack of schedule messed with his equilibrium so he did not know how many days had passed since he was in confinement. His natural wiring was scrambling to reprogram itself so that he could cope without knowing when day turned to night and the general sense of time movement. In the hole, time became an irrelevant phenomenon that did not exist or had stopped altogether.
Food had not entered his body in days as he laid on the cold floor, naked and curled up to try and protect himself from the onslaught of withdrawal symptoms that plagued him. Miguel Alvarez felt his cheek pressed against the floor and his eyes were blurry because so many tears were passing through them. Maybe the river of streaming tears would drown him within its choppy waves. Maybe then, all the pain and hurt would finally be over.
His skin quivered and his nostrils filled with the repugnant scent of his waste that was in the bucket in the corner of the shapeless room. His body was tired of crying but his eyes had not gotten the message as of yet. The deprivation of Destiny made his body and mind brittle and susceptible to the other voices that were within him. Sometimes they came when he was awake. But theymostly talked to him in his dreams---or rather, nightmares.
Alvarez whimpered on the floor but his body had been in the exact position before. During the first days of withdrawal, the pain was always slow and unbearable. It had tested the will to live, fight, and survive. McManus had defended him to Querns's policy---McManus, Sister Pete, and Dr. Nathan had all spoken out against it for inmates in the hole. The restraint chair had been taken out of the room when he had come there. It had never been used on him. This was only the case with him, however. That first day being locked in the deserted wasteland seemed like eons ago inside his mind.
He knew the cycle all too well. Alvarez knew that it was only going to be little longer before his symptoms were going to recede and Destiny was going to be completely expelled from his system. The cycle had not killed him this time---something inside him wished it had. Maybe he wished the pain and rejection and despair would have been too much for his broken body to handle and his heart would have stopped---no more breath could enter or escape his body. It might have been worth it to someone.
As much as he had promised himself in the past that drugs were not going to be a part of his life anymore, it had never been a promise he could keep to himself. He was less of a man because he could not even keep a promise to himself. Alvarez stretched out his arm and watched his lifeless fingers through tear-stained eyes. The digits did not move, even though he wanted them to. Maybe his body had decided to give up until it had fully repaired itself from the severe illusion D-tabs had placed on it---placed on him.
Every time the small slot had opened, his heart became alive by a jagged memory he was no longer sure was real or not. Destiny robbed so much from him---Oz robbed so much more from him. His mind was currently unable to connect together that O'Reily had no longer worked in the kitchen. There was no possible way the Irishman could get anything to him. There was no communication in the hole, anyway. It was yet another of the punishments that was enforced in the barren grounds and walls of the lifeless cell.
"Is that you?" he slowly whispered and felt like his throat was being ripped apart.
It was another illusion of someone being there with him---his body's natural defenses to his loneliness and overpowering physical pain. Once the deprivation was gone, he was not sure if the voices and images would go as well because he would still be alone and trapped in a small and completely enclosed space. His mind's endlessness was bound to run free and bring the voices back in full force. Alvarez could not control it now no more that he had been able to when he had been locked away in Solitary.
His frail body stayed there for what seemed like hours, or days, or years. His mind could not recognize the difference. The Latino desperately wanted to feel sunlight kissing against his skin. He wanted a cool breeze to stroke his face and wet water caressing and cleaning his entire body of all the filth, of all the drugs, and the bad memories of this place. He could almost feel sand in between his toes and the crisp taste of fresh air against his tongue. It was another cruel chimera created by his body to cope with the loss of D-tabs.
"Are you real?" his voice choked out under the intense pressure.
Alvarez's mind was not well enough yet to think about how he ended up there. But, all the pieces were there for him to fit together and realize what had truly happened on the day of the shakedown. The drug dog had immediately come to him and Torquemada and had begun sniffing and loudly barking. Both had been busted without ever knowing that they had been carrying anything. He remembered that the dog had reminded him of Julie. Julie.
Whenever his mind was sane, he only thought about O'Reily---how much his body missed that touch and those feelings and how much he missed those lips against his. Though few and far between, Alvarez knew that the memories of those sensations were what had sustained him inside the hole thus far. He had never wanted anything more than the Irishman's trust and partnership---but they both had found themselves with so much more than that.
And, when his mind wanted to torment him even further, it had forced him to relive those thoughts of cold and emotionless nights in his pod---nights where Torquemada had fed him D-tabs and had succeeded in making him do so many sexual things to himself. All the stroking and licking his lips and touching his body in such sensual ways to please Torquemada's hungry eyes had driven him mad when he was allowed to remember them. Those detached nights where he had stroked his dick for the other man's amusement but only thinking of O'Reily.
That was his shame to bear. It was his memory to remember because it would not be destroyed. Bits and pieces had come back to him from all their nightly encounters. The queen had definitely gotten too excessively close for comfort. Torquemada had touched him---touched his muscles, and had run his nasty fingers along the length of his dick. Alvarez had realized that the flamboyant man, on more than one occasion, had tasted his very essence and had reveled in the power of it all. The power he thought he had gained by performing such an act.
His body was weak from the lack of food and proper rest. The brutal absence of D-tabs messed up his sleep cycle so he could not grab more than a few minutes at a time before his body would startle awake in the same cold sweat and damp nakedness that seemed to surround his life. Alvarez knew he could not come back to this place again. He knew his body could not experience the cycle of the highest high of drugs and the deepest low of withdrawal again. The never-ending cycle had to stop because drugs, or Oz, were not going to claim his life. Nevertheless, it would be so easy to let it take him---so he could get the chance to see his precious son again.
"Help me."