Hospital Debauchery-Chapter 215: Scars

Yvonne’s eyes sparkled with a sudden light the instant Devon spoke those words.

She shifted closer on the bed without even realizing it, her body leaning in as if drawn by an invisible pull, her hands finally relaxing from their knotted grip in her lap.

The expression on her face was one of pure, quiet desperation mixed with hope—she’d listen through the night, through anything, just to hear him share what had been locked away for so long.

No interruptions, no judgments.

She gave a small nod, her lips parting slightly like she wanted to urge him on, but she held back, letting the silence stretch so he could begin in his own time.

Devon felt it, that earnest look in her eyes hitting him like a gentle wave, stirring something soft and forgotten inside. He adjusted on the bed, the towel around his waist feeling loose and unimportant, a few remaining drops from his hair pattering onto the sheets like tiny rain.

He raked his fingers through his damp hair, pushing it back, and drew in a deep, shaky breath, his chest lifting and falling as if bracing for a cold plunge into unknown waters.

The room grew even quieter, the air thick with anticipation and the distant murmur of the lake outside.

"Okay," he murmured soft, his voice low and a touch rough at the edges. "But this isn’t a short tale. It’s the kind that weighs on you, Yvonne, makes your heart feel heavy just from hearing it. Sad and lonely, the way things turn when a kid has to face the world all by himself from the start."

She nodded again, her eyes fixed on his, silently begging him to keep going.

Devon eased back against the pillows, his bare shoulders sinking into the soft fabric, and let the words start to spill out.

"I don’t have many clear memories from before the orphanage. Just blurry flashes, like dreams that fade when you wake up. I ended up at Willow House tucked away on the edge of a quiet town, with tall fences."

"It was home to kids like me, left behind for reasons nobody talked about much. The caregivers were older ladies, kind in a distant way—they made sure we had clean sheets and food on the table, but it wasn’t like having someone who really saw you."

"Breakfast was always oatmeal, lunch sandwiches with thin slices of cheese, dinner some kind of stew. We’d line up for everything, bells ringing to tell us when to eat, when to play, when to sleep."

He paused, his eyes drifting to the window where the dark lake rippled under the night sky, like it was mirroring the unrest inside him.

Yvonne moved a bit nearer on the bed, her skirt whispering against the sheets, her hand reaching out slow to rest on his arm.

She stayed quiet, her touch light and warm, a silent signal that she was right there with him.

"The days blurred together," Devon went on, his voice soft like he was reliving each one. "Wake up to the morning bell at six, wash up in the shared bathroom with cold water that never got hot enough, line up for breakfast in the big hall where the tables were scratched from years of kids like us. School was a bus ride away, sitting in class trying to focus while my mind wandered to why I was there, alone in a sea of other lonely kids."

"After school, back to the orphanage for chores—sweeping the long hallways, helping in the kitchen, folding laundry that always smelled like bleach. Free time was in the yard, kicking a worn ball or sitting under the one big tree, watching the clouds and wondering if life was like this for everyone."

"The nights were the hardest, bunk beds in a room with nine other boys, lights out at eight, listening to the sniffles and whispers in the dark, everyone missing something they couldn’t name."

Yvonne’s heart ached as she pictured it, that small boy with wide eyes, huddled under thin blankets, the room full of shadows and quiet sobs.

Her fingers pressed a little firmer on his arm, like she could reach back through time and comfort him.

"But it wasn’t just the loneliness," Devon said, his tone dropping even lower, like the words were hard to push out.

"When I was six, during one of those check-ups they did every few months at the orphanage, the doctor noticed something off. I was always so tired, even after a full night’s sleep. My hands would shake for no reason, my heart would race like I’d run a mile when I was just sitting still. I’d get dizzy spells where the world tilted, and I’d have to grab a wall to stay up."

"They did tests—poked me with needles for blood, hooked me up to machines that beeped and whirred. Turned out I had this rare thing called Hyperadrenal Syndrome."

"My body makes too much of these hormones that control energy and stress, but in me, it’s all messed up. If they build up without a way to let go, it can mess with my heart, my breathing, everything."

"The pressure gets too high, and without release, it could stop my heart cold or shut down my body bit by bit."

He swallowed, his throat working like the memory was stuck there.

Yvonne slid closer without a sound, fully on the bed now, sitting right beside him, her hand moving from his arm to his back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles over his skin.

It was still a touch damp, warm under her palm, and she could feel the slight tension in his muscles as he spoke. Her eyes were getting misty, tears gathering at the corners, but she held them back, wanting to take in every word.

"The doctor explained it to me simple, sitting in that little office with posters on the wall about eating healthy and washing hands," Devon continued. "Like a balloon filling with air—if you don’t let some out regular, it pops. Pills helped a little at first, but they made me feel sick, my stomach twisting, head pounding."

"Later the bad days started coming more. I’d wake up shaking, sweat soaking my pajamas, my chest tight like someone was sitting on it. The caregivers thought I was just a sickly kid, gave me extra blankets or soup, but it didn’t touch the real problem."

"The specialist they sent me to later said the only thing that truly released the buildup was... physical closeness. Sex. It kicked off the right chemicals in my body, reset the hormones, kept the pressure from turning deadly. Without it, I’d die slow—my heart giving out, my body failing piece by piece."

"But I was just a kid. How do you wrap your head around that in a place full of rules and no privacy?"

Yvonne’s tears started to slip free, quiet trails down her cheeks as she rubbed his back steadier, her fingers tracing soft patterns to soothe him.

The pity swelled in her chest like a heavy wave—the poor little boy, carrying this secret burden in a cold orphanage, no one to hug him through the fear, no warm arms to make him feel safe.

"So it built up slow," Devon said, lying back more on the bed, his head nestling deeper into the pillow as he stared at the ceiling, like the shadows up there held the past.

Yvonne followed natural, stretching out beside him, her body close to his, her head turned on the pillow to watch his face, her hand never stopping its gentle rub on his back.

"At first, I tried everything else—running in the yard until my legs burned, cold showers that made me shiver, even holding my breath or punching my pillow to let out the tension. But it wasn’t enough."

"The episodes hit harder. I’d curl up in my bunk during the day, pretending to nap, while pain shot through my chest like hot needles, my vision blurring, my breaths coming short and fast."

"The other kids whispered I was weird, stayed away like I had something catching. The caregivers took me to the doctor more, tried different pills that left me throwing up or too tired to play. Nothing stuck. The specialist pulled me aside one day, his face all serious, and told me the truth—sex was the only real fix, the only way to keep my body from turning on itself. But in an orphanage? With rules against everything? I was scared, so scared."

"What if I couldn’t find a way? What if the pressure built too high one night and I just... didn’t wake up?"

He turned his head a touch, looking at her now, his eyes shiny with the hurt he usually hid.

Yvonne’s face was streaked with tears, her chest rising and falling quick with quiet sobs, but she kept her gaze on his, her hand moving in wider, comforting strokes across his back, feeling the warmth of him, the way his body trembled just a little with the telling.

"I held on as long as I could," Devon whispered, his voice cracking soft like old paper. "At twelve the bad spells came every few days. I’d hide in the bathroom during free time, splashing water on my face to stop the dizziness, biting my tongue to not cry out from the ache in my sides."

"The loneliness made it worse—no one to tell, no one to hold me when the fear hit. The other kids had their own sadness, but mine was this secret monster inside, eating away quiet."

"One night, it got so bad I thought that was it—my heart hammering like a drum gone wild, my hands numb, the room spinning. I staggered to the caregiver’s room, begging for help."

"They rushed me to the hospital, hooked me up to machines, and the doctors there said the same thing. the condition was getting stronger. Without regular release, my body would give out—heart stopping, lungs failing, all slow and painful."

"Sex was the medicine, the only one that worked without side effects."

Yvonne’s sobs grew a little louder, her body shaking as she lay there beside him, staring at his face, her hand pressing firmer on his back like she could shield him from the past.

The pity flooded her—the sad, scared child in that big, empty orphanage, fighting a hidden illness that stole his innocence, forcing him to seek out something so grown-up just to see another day, no loving arms to make the nights less terrifying.

"It started small after that," Devon said.

"By thirteen, I couldn’t wait anymore. The pain was always lurking, building like a storm you feel in your bones before the rain comes. I’d sneak out after lights out, climbing the fence when the caregivers weren’t looking, my heart racing from fear and the buildup both." 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

"The town was small, but there were girls from school who smiled at me, thought I was cute with my quiet ways. I’d meet them in the park or behind the old store, talk for a while, then... it would happen. Awkward at first, my hands shaking, but it worked."

"The pressure melted away, my breathing eased, the dizziness cleared like fog lifting. I’d slip back into the orphanage before dawn, crawl into my bunk, and lie there staring at the bottom of the bed above, feeling alive but so ashamed."

"The other kids slept sound, not knowing my secret, not knowing I had to do this to keep waking up each morning."

He shifted onto his side, facing her fully now, the bed creaking soft under them.

Yvonne stayed close, her tears falling free onto the pillow between them, her hand rubbing his back in endless circles, feeling the rise of his breaths, the warmth of his skin against her palm.

"By fourteen, it was every few days," Devon whispered, his eyes meeting hers, the pain raw and open.

"The spells came faster—shaking in class, my vision spotting black, pain twisting in my chest like a knife turning slow. I’d fake being sick to skip chores, curl up in the bathroom with the door locked, waiting for the wave to pass, terrified it wouldn’t."

Yvonne’s heart broke a little more with each word, her sobs quiet but deep, shaking her whole body as she lay there, staring into his eyes, her hand never stopping its gentle path across his back. The pity overwhelmed her—the poor, lonely boy in that cold orphanage, battling a secret illness that stole his childhood, forcing him into hidden nights of shame just to survive another day, no one to wipe his tears or tell him he wasn’t broken.

"And it kept going," Devon said.

"Fifteen brought worse episodes. The girls thought it was romance, but for me, it was survival, a medicine I took in secret, each time leaving me more empty inside."

"The orphanage felt like a cage. I’d sit in the common room on rainy afternoons, watching other kids play cards or read, wishing I could be like them, free from this curse that made me different, made me need something so desperately to keep my heart beating."

He lay fully on his back again, eyes on the ceiling, but Yvonne stayed close, her head on the pillow beside his, staring at his profile as he narrated on, her tears a constant flow, soaking the fabric.