Yoss’s eyes followed me as I walked into the room and sat down in other chair on the opposite side of his bed.
“I’ve been telling Yossarian about the shelter and the services he’s eligible for,” Tracey said, baring her teeth in an aggressive smile. “He seems rather resistant. I told him that you would reinforce how important it will be for his long-term health to be in an environment where he can get the support he needs.” She was incredibly condescending, speaking about Yoss as though he were a small child incapable of making his own decisions.
And she had called him Yossarian.
He hated being called Yossarian.
Even though he felt pride in the oddity of his name, he still had always refused to use it in its entirety.
“Tell this lady that I don’t do shelters. That I will never stay in one and to stop bugging the shit out of me,” Yoss demanded through clenched teeth.
Tracey’s eyes widened fractionally. “I understand this is a lot to take in at the moment, Yossarian—”
“Do not call me Yossarian,” he warned, glaring at her with narrowed green eyes.
Tracey gave me an annoyed look as if to say what is his problem?
“Yoss, maybe you could just have a look at the services the Homeless Program offers. There might be something that could help you,” I suggested softly.
Yoss turned his eyes to me and his face relaxed. Just a little.
“Okay, I’ll have a look,” he agreed, though he didn’t sound very convincing. Tracey smiled as though she had won some sort of war.
“Great, now Yossa—I mean Yoss—I know the police have been by to speak to you. They’ve said that unless you can identify your attacker and want to press charges, there’s nothing they can do. Can you talk to us at all about what happened? I think finding the person responsible is very important. You need to—”
“I’m not talking about that. Not to you. Not to the police. I think you need to go now,” Yoss all but shouted. He winced and closed his eyes as if in pain.
It was time for me to step in.
“Tracey, Yoss is tired. He’s been through a lot and he’s running a fever. Perhaps you can ask him your questions later,” I insisted.
“But, I have paperwork to fill out,” Tracey complained, lifting the pile in her lap.
“All of that may not be necessary,” I told her firmly.
Tracey narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” It sounded like a threat.
“I’ll call you in the morning to let you know if that works.” I smiled at her. A mean smile. She rose to her feet and shoved the paperwork into her bag.
“Fine. It was nice to meet you Yoss. I hope to hear from you soon,” Tracey said stuffily before breezing out of the room.
“That lady really needs to work on her social cues,” Yoss muttered after she had left.
I snickered and then covered it with a cough. “She was just trying to help. We all are.”
Yoss rolled his eyes and that simple gesture made me smile. It was so much like the old Yoss. The one I remembered. The one that was nothing like this hardened, unhappy man beside me.
“I would have thought you had figured it out by now that you can’t help everyone.” His words were clipped. His tone frustrated.
I had come to his room hoping to get some answers from him, but I could tell it was useless. Yoss wasn’t going to talk to me. Not now.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“Like shit, but I’ll live. For now. They gave me more medicine and I’m supposed to sleep. But I think I’ve slept enough for a lifetime.”
“So you’re up to some company then?” I asked him.
“Are you offering?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I am,” I said.
“Then by all means.” He waved his bandaged hand. “You look tired,” he observed, looking at me closely.
I pushed my less than tidy hair out of my face and gave him a small smile. “Well you look like someone used your face as a punching bag.”
Yoss barked out a laugh. “Touché.”
Yoss’s eyes twinkled for just a moment before the light fizzled out and died.
We sat in silence. One minute.
Two minutes.
Three…
“What happened, Yoss?” I asked him again. “Did one of your…” I swallowed, not sure how to say the words. Yoss narrowed his eyes and waited as I fumbled and stuttered. “Did one of your cust—um—johns—do this to you?”
Yoss stared at me long and hard and I felt myself withering under his gaze. It wasn’t a friendly look. Nor was it an openly communicative one either.
He didn’t answer me. He was locked up tight and I no longer had the key. His eyes drifted up to the television mounted on the wall. An old movie was playing silently. I didn’t recognize what it was, but it reminded me of other things.
Things that I knew Yoss would remember as well. Things that if mentioned, may make him open up to me again.