Chapter 10
Peter relaxed back into the overstuffed chair in Jonas Goldman’s office with a happy sigh. Already he felt safe here. The therapist was watching him with a slight smile on his face. “How are you today, Pete?” he asked.
“Pretty good. Look,” he lifted his lips to show the therapist his repaired teeth. “I got my stitches out, too,” he added happily.
“I can see that. You look much better,” the therapist remarked as he opened his note pad.
“Yes, and I’m starting to feel better, too,” Peter replied. “Inside, I mean. I’m still scared, but…”
“That’s great news,” Jonas said. “Do you think that you might want to talk about that night a bit today?”
He stiffened in his chair, his breath starting to come faster. But he clenches his newly-repaired teeth together and said with determination: “Yes, I want to talk about it.”
Jonas studied his face, then nodded. “I’ll just sit here and be quiet. It will be up to you to decide when you want to talk, and how much you want to tell me.”
Having that kind of control over the situation helped. He took in a deep breath and tried to unclench his hands in his lap. “I…was on vacation,” he began hoarsely. “Going up North to spend the week at my parents’ house.” he paused, struggling to breathe properly. Jonas said nothing, merely sitting in his chair waiting patiently. Peter finally got a hold of himself. “I stopped…to buy some water to drink. And some chips. As I was coming out of the mini-mart…these guys…surrounded me…” his head bent and his shoulders heaved as he fought over instinctual panic at reliving this painful memory.
“You don’t have to say anything more right now, if you don’t want to,” Jonas said gently above his head.
“No! I want to,” he cried, his head flying up. “I NEED to! For Jake, if not for me.”
Jonas’ brows drew down a little in puzzlement. “For Jake? What do you mean?”
Peter sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hands. “He’s been so good to me,” he half-whispered. “And I feel like I’m being such a burden to him! He stayed to take care of me and protect me when he could have ridden away. And I know that’s what he likes. To be free, to ride wherever he wants whenever he wants. I don’t want to hold him back anymore. I want to get better so that he can leave if he wants to without feeling bad or guilty about going,” he explained to the therapist.
“Ahh, I see. That’s a very good goal to have, Pete…but when it happens…and you notice I don’t say ‘if’,” he added with a genuine smile, “What about you? When Jake rides off into the sunset, how will you feel?”
He felt his heart sink into his stomach. He blinked rapidly to force back his tears, biting a little at his lower lip. “That doesn’t matter,” he choked. “Jake deserves to be free. I-I’ll miss him,” he went on woefully, his shoulders slumping. “But I don’t…have the right to hold him here. Not if he wants to go.”
“You’re an admirable person, Peter,” Jonas remarked. When he blinked in surprise, the therapist pointed his pen at Peter. “Many people would try to hold onto someone like Jake no matter what, for their own selfish ends. But you’re thinking about him and his needs, not just your own. No matter how much it hurts you, you want him to have choices. But I seriously think that you should tell him all of this before you encourage him to go, and also tell him about how you feel about him. I know you don’t want to tie him down, but it would be healthier for you to come clean about everything. Not to guilt him into staying with you, but for you to find some closure. I think a man like Jake - at least the way you’ve described him to me - could handle your confession and wouldn’t hold it against you that you like him. Because you DO like him, don’t you, Pete?”
“Yes,” he said on a half-sob. “I do. So much. I-I love him,” he sighed wearily, admitting it at least to himself and to the therapist who would keep his feelings confidential.
“I thought so. And because you love him, you’ll do what’s best for him no matter how much it hurts you. But you should also do what’s best for you at the same time, which is why I think that you should tell him how you feel about him eventually. Even if he leaves, at least you’ll have acknowledged your feelings for him. And then you can begin the process of getting over him, if that’s what you have to do. Keeping these things inside of ourselves is not a good or healthy thing to do. It’s too easy for it all to begin to fester and rot in there.”
“I guess I can see that,” Peter said. “I mean, it’s going to be really hard to tell him this stuff, but…I can do it. I know I can.”
“Of course you can. We can do anything that we set our minds to,” the therapist remarked. “But for now, let’s concentrate on getting you over your trauma. Then we’ll deal with the emotional issues afterward - whatever they turn out to be,” he said with a whimsical smile.
Peter felt a spurt of gratitude. “Thank you, Jonas. You’ve already been so helpful,” he said.
“I try my best. I like to help people. A little too much, maybe…or that’s what my boyfriend Julian says, anyway,” he replied with a dazzling grin that lightened his face and made him look very handsome indeed, in spite of his rather large nose. Peter felt a certain amount of silent envy toward this Julian, because it was clear that Jonas Goldman adored him. Not that he wanted his therapist to feel that way toward HIM, but if only Jake…he sighed silently, and decided to concentrate on his therapy and not think about this anymore. Not right now, anyway. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it, and hope that it didn’t crumble out from under him and drown him…
Peter wandered out into his living room, yawing and scratching at the top of his head with his hand. He paused when he saw that Jake was still asleep on his couch, under the blanket that Peter had given him. His face was relaxed in sleep, and he looked younger with his flaxen hair spilling out over the blanket and around his face. He had the sudden urge to go over there and crouch down, to run his fingers through that mane and feel if it was as soft as it looked. But instead he only sighed and turned toward the kitchen instead, on a quest for juice and coffee.
He thought about last night as he put on the coffee pot to percolate. He’d been sitting beside Jake on the sofa, watching TV with him, when he’d felt the first stirrings in his penis that he’d had since one of his attackers had kicked him in the crotch during the beating. The doctor had assured him that there would be no permanent damage to his genitalia, but he hadn’t been sure that he really believed that when he would feel sexual stirrings whenever he looked at Jake - and Mr. Happy hadn’t responded at all. He’d been terrified that he was going to be impotent for the rest of his life - until last night, that was.
He’d felt Jake’s hard body pressing up against his, and the biker had reached out to grab some of the popcorn in the bowl on Peter’s lap. His fingers had gone a bit astray, and they’d ended up brushing up against his chest. One had definitely rubbed over one of his nipples on the outside of his shirt. He’d gasped, because at that touch his penis had leapt into life with a vengeance. It had been straining against the fabric of his sweat pants, trying to escape. He’d had to bend over a bit and try not to moan as Jake had glanced over at him. The biker had asked him if he was all right, and he’d managed to husk out that he was just fine. Which wasn’t really true, but he didn’t want Jake to worry…
Besides, the return of his erections made him happy even if it was also a torment. It meant he could still function sexually. And it made him feel more confident, because what man didn’t feel crippled and less than a man if he couldn’t get his dick to work properly?
He glanced over at the couch, and the man sleeping on it. How he wished that he could tell Jake about his good news without sounding like he was propositioning the man. He didn’t want to make Jake uncomfortable, not after all the biker had done for him. He’d already confessed his attraction, and Jake had handled that well. But he didn’t want to remind Jake of that attraction, or to put any other kind of pressure on him either. When he finally rode away, Peter wanted him to do so with a light heart.
It would be soon; he was sure of that. His sessions with Jonas Goldman were going well, and he wasn’t as fearful as he’d first been. And his body was healing nicely; the bruises were pretty much gone, and the cuts were almost totally closed over. With the return of his ability to function sexually, he was almost completely physically healed. The only reason that Jake had to stick around anymore was the threat from his attackers, and it wouldn’t be long before the cops caught those men. After all, the guy in the hospital was mending, and would soon be able to speak clearly. Peter suspected that he’d be able to give the names and addresses of his companions in exchange for some kind of deal for himself. And then there would be no more reason for Jake to hang around at all…
He felt his stomach muscles twist, and his hands clenched at the coffee pot. ‘That’s the way it has to be,’ he reminded himself sharply. ‘You know it, so stop being such a baby.’
He returned to making coffee, refusing to indulge in any kind of depressed or melancholy thinking. He’d always tried to be a positive person, and he didn’t want to change that fact because of the attack. If that happened, his attackers would win TWICE! It might take time, but he’d find a way back to himself. No matter what it took.
Jake awoke to the smell of coffee brewing. His eyes opened, and he saw Peter standing in the kitchen in his bathrobe(a plush terry pink thing that made him look like a cute little boy), making coffee. The biker propped his head on his hand as he watched Peter go about his morning routine. With the bruises now faded and almost gone, Peter’s face looked almost pixy-ish. Sweet-faced. That’s what he was. Adorable. Made Jake want to get up and go over there, to put his arms around Peter and set his chin on top of the brown hair. But he didn’t move; it was still too early to make his move. Peter seemed to be doing better all the time, but he was still pretty fragile emotionally.
He sighed gustily. Waiting had never been one of his fortes. Usually, if he wanted something he just went for it. And if the circumstances had been different, he’d have already reciprocated the attraction that Peter had confessed that he had for him. Instead, he was struggling to be patient and to keep himself in check. But it wasn’t easy; not when he was living in this small apartment with Peter with only a closed door separating them. It would be so easy to just open it and walk inside…he was pretty sure that Peter would happily welcome him into his bed.
He groaned in the back of his throat, running his free hand over his face. Peter heard the noise, and turned toward him. “Oh, good morning, Jake,” he said, seeing the biker still stretched out on the couch but clearly awake.
“Good morning, Pete,” he replied. ’How are you feeling this morning? Better?” he asked, referring to the fact that Peter had seemed kind of sick to his stomach last night.
To his surprise, Peter turned bright red and stammered out: “I-I’m feeling better!” his fingers playing with the knot at the front of his bathrobe in a nervous habit that he had.
Jake’s brows lifted. What was this? He wondered curiously. “That’s good,” he said aloud. “So your stomach isn’t hurting this morning?”
“No,” Peter choked out, his face still flaming.
The biker eyed him thoughtfully, deciding to let it go for now but determined to keep an eye on Peter and see if he could figure out what was making him so nervous and flustered. “Okay, then. Breakfast?”
“I’ll make it today,” Peter replied quickly. “You’ve been making it for the last few weeks, and I want to do my part.”
“All right, if that’s what you want,” Jake said, sitting up. “I don’t mind letting somebody else cook for me. I’ll just go and take a shower. If that’s okay?”
“Of course,” Peter said. He seemed to be breathing rather heavily. Jake nodded and got to his feet, all the while carefully observing Peter. He ran a hand down his chest and stomach, since he never wore a shirt to bed. Ah ha! Those blue eyes were fastened on his hand and the way it ran over his skin, which made him bite back a grin.
Jake strolled into the bedroom, grinning to himself. Peter looked like a dog that had just spotted a particularly juicy bone. Well, at least he didn’t have to worry that the man didn’t want him…
Peter pulled himself together and started making omelets for breakfast. His hands shook a little as he worked, and he had to move very slowly at first until his unruly penis went down. The image of Jake’s massive chest, lightly smattered with flaxen body hair and ornamented with his various tattoos, was burned into his retinas. How he wanted to touch it, to kiss it, to explore every inch of that terrain! He’d probably go crazy, being cooped up in this apartment with that total hunk for God only knew how long. It would probably be the worst - or the best - kind of madness ever…
Fortunately for his sanity, Jake was wearing a t-shirt with a flaming skull on the front when he emerged from the bedroom. Peter had breakfast ready by then, and they sat down together at his tiny dining table to eat. Jake looked impressed by the omelet. “You’re a good cook, Pete,” he remarked.
He felt pride at these words. “My mom taught me how to cook,” he explained.
“If that’s the case, I want to take her up on her offer to come to dinner soon,” Jake replied fervently. “So what do we have to do today?”
“I have another appointment with Jonas, and I also have a doctor’s appointment. This should be my last one, thank God. I really don’t like doctors.”
“Not too many people do,” Jake agreed. “I’m going to spend the afternoon after we get back tuning up my bike. She needs some tlc.”
Peter tried to conceal the lance of fear that went through him at these words. Was Jake getting ready to leave? He put a bite of omelet into his mouth, but he couldn’t taste it as he chewed. It might as well have been sawdust. He wanted to protest, to beg Jake not to leave, but knew he didn’t have the right. If the man wanted to go then he should have that freedom. Peter wasn’t going to try to hang onto him; wasn’t going to cling or whimper or beg. No matter how difficult it was to hold himself back. He would let Jake go with a smile on his face, waving, and then he’d retreat to his bedroom and cry like a baby…
Peter relaxed back against the seat, feeling better than he had this morning. Talking to Jonas Goldman really helped. The man not only managed to unerringly put his finger straight on the things that were bothering Peter, he also helped him to get them out in the open and take a good look at them. He’d reminded Peter that he should tell Jake about his feelings for him before the biker left, and he agreed even though the thought of it left him feeling nervous and out-of-sorts. He’d have to do it soon; it looked as though Jake were thinking of leaving any time now. Somehow he’d work up the nerve to do it!
Jake pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building. “Here we are,” he remarked. “You go inside. I’m going to stay out here and work on my bike.”
“Okay,” he got out of the car, walking toward his apartment. He heard Jake getting out of the car, and walking away toward the visitor parking spaces where he’d left his precious baby. He was thinking both about what to make for dinner and also whether he should try to talk to Jake about his feelings tonight.
He approached his door, his mind on other things. Suddenly a hand grabbed his arm, and he found himself being turned around forcefully. His blue eyes widened and all the color drained out of his face when he saw the man who’d grabbed him. He remembered that face. How could he ever forget it? The man’s face was twisted into a mask of hatred. “Hey, fag,” he hissed furiously. “I finally found you. They’ve already arrested most of my friends, but not me - not yet. And now I’m going to finish what I started, so that you can’t testify against me even if they do catch me. A dead fag can’t flap his lips, now can he?”
Time seemed to stretch out for Peter. The man had grabbed his arm, and with his other hand was pulling something shiny from his pocket. Sunlight gleamed on the blade of the small knife. He was starting to pull, to tug Peter toward the shadows where he could do the deed with no witnesses. The sidewalk behind him was empty. No Jake, no anybody. If he screamed, the man would stab him before someone could get here to help. And if he let his attacker drag him into the shadows, he was done for. He didn’t want to die…
An image of Jake’s face flashed through his head. The biker would be furious if Peter just allowed himself to go tamely to his death without fighting. But what could he do? He wasn’t large and strong, like Jake. But his mind, in the amazingly slow and stretched out way that it was working, reminded him of something that had happened the night of his beating. He knew what to do, and he struggled to get his weak limbs to move properly.
He lunged toward his attacker, rather than trying to pull away. The man looked surprised as Peter’s hands settled on his shoulders. Then his knee came up, with all of the force and power in his slender body, and drove his bony knee with incredible force into the man’s exposed crotch.
His attacker didn’t even turn white - he turned a pale shade of green, instead. He dropped Peter’s arm as his hands flew down to clutch at his groin in a flaming agony that Peter knew all too well. A low, terrible sound was torn from his throat, because he couldn’t quite summon up enough breath to scream. His eyes were wide and full of the pain he was experiencing. In his brain, Peter laughed. It was only what the creep deserved, after all.
The man bent over, groaning, guttural sounds pouring from his throat. But Peter wasn’t done with him yet. His mind was still clear, and it still felt like he was wading through molasses. As his attacker bent over, grabbing at his injured genitals, Peter brought his knee up yet again. But this time it smacked firmly into the man’s jaw, snapping his head back and sending him onto the unforgiving concrete of the sidewalk in a boneless sprawl. He lay there splayed and unmoving, as Peter stood over him breathing heavily, his brain finally speeding up a bit now that he was no longer in danger.
“Pete!” a familiar voice cried.
He looked up groggily into Jake’s shocked face. The biker was walking toward him, and Jake’s eyes went down to the man lying still on the sidewalk. They narrowed and his mouth tightened when he caught a glimpse of the prostate man’s face. He snarled silently. “Pete, are you okay?” he growled, his hands flexing at his sides.
“Yes,” he said in a thin voice. He couldn’t quite believe it, but he was okay…safe…
Now that Jake was here, now that he wasn’t afraid anymore, he felt his body begin to tremble wildly. Tears sprang to his eyes. The anger slid out of Jake’s eyes, and he stepped over the unmoving man without looking at him again. “Pete? Come on inside it’s all right,” he soothed, leading a shaking Peter toward the door of his apartment. “I’ll call the cops to come and take him away,” he added. “Come on.”
He went docilely, the trembling worse now. Jake’s hand on his arm was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. The biker snagged the key from him and opened the door, and led him inside and over to the couch. He guided Peter down onto it. Then he knelt down in front of Peter and took his hands in his own. “Pete,” he said softly, looking deep into his eyes, “It’s okay. You did really good, Pete. You took him out all by yourself. I’m so proud of you.”
His words made Peter feel a flush of pride, in spite of how shaky he felt. Jake’s fingers were chafing his. “Take deep breaths, Pete. Try to relax. You’re coming down from the adrenaline rush.”
Was that what this was? He looked into Jake’s steady eyes and his breathing began to slow and lengthen. The shaking was lessening a bit. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, and he sniffled to try to contain it. “Hey,” Jake said. “You can cry if you want to, Pete. You have every reason to, right now.”
He sobbed softly, and found himself with his face buried in Jake’s t-shirt as he was pulled up against that massive chest. A hand cradled the back of his head. He began to cry harder, letting go as he lay in Jake’s embrace. He didn’t know how long he cried, but he had a large, terrible headache by the time the biker drew back. “Here, blow your nose,” Jake handed him a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “And just relax while I call the cops. Can I borrow your cell phone?”
He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to Jake, who took it. He opened it and dialed 9-1-1 as he walked toward the still open door and out into the sunlight. He knelt down by the man, who still wasn’t moving. He reached out with his free hand and put two fingers up against the man’s neck. While he felt a certain vicious glee over the bastard’s fate, he was glad to feel a pulse for Peter’s sake. If he’d killed the son-of-a-bitch he would have been devastated, in spite of the fact that the motherfucker deserved it. He wanted to give the guy a steel toed boot to the side as a going-away present, but he refrained because it would probably upset Peter. And he really didn’t need to be any more upset right now…
He told the 9-1-1 operator what had happened, and she promised to dispatch a patrol car and an ambulance to Peter’s apartment complex. He closed the phone and considered the unconscious man thoughtfully.
If the guy woke up and made a fuss, he wouldn’t be able to help himself. He’d beat the creep into a pulp. So he decided to truss him up so that he couldn’t cause any trouble, as a precaution. Jake reached down and unbuckled his belt, pulling it off. He rolled the man to the side and used his heavy leather belt to bind the guy’s hands behind him. He tightened the belt enough that it would probably cut off the circulation, which made him feel a great deal of evil satisfaction. If the creep couldn’t use his hands anymore, that would be a real shame. A real shame.
He went back into the apartment to check on Peter. The slender man was still sitting on the couch, but he looked less shaky. “The cops are on their way,” Jake said.
“Oh, good,” Peter said weakly.
Jake walked over to him and reached out to set his fingertips on Peter’s chin. He lifted it, looking down into the big blue eyes. “You only did what you had to survive, Pete,” he said softly. “And he’s not dead. I’m sure the snake will recover from this, sadly. You have nothing to worry about.”
The anxiety in the blue gaze eased at his words. A tremulous smile slid over Peter’s lips. “Thank you, Jake,” he husked.
“I didn’t do anything. You did it all, Pete. You ferocious thing, you,” Jake said with a slight smile, his thumb brushing over the skin of Peter’s fragile jaw.
A half-laugh, half-sob burst from Peter’s throat. “Am I? I don’t feel very ferocious,” he whispered.
“You might not feel like it, but you are,” Jake assured him. “A real tiger. You took out a guy who’s bigger and stronger than you…”
“He had a knife,” Peter said, his voice shaking.
Rage flashed in Jake’s eyes. “He did?”
Peter nodded. “It flew away when I kneed him,” he explained. “I don’t know where it went.”
“I’ll go look for it. The cops will need it,” Jake said. “But just remember this, Pete. You took out an armed attacker all by yourself. You’re pretty amazing,” he left the apartment to look for the knife, leaving a bemused Peter sitting on the couch.
He was amazing? He didn’t feel like it. He felt weak and cold and scared. His eyes strayed to the open door, and the man still lying on the sidewalk, awkwardly now because Jake had bound his hands behind him. Had HE done that? It seemed impossible to believe. He felt as though he were living in a dream world of some kind.
The cops arrived, along with a pair of EMTs. Peter did his best to answer all of their questions, though all he really wanted to do was go and lie down on his bed and never move again. Jake gave his statement as well, though he couldn’t tell them much since he’d arrived after it was all over.
Officer Ridley looked impressed when Peter told him how he’d taken out his attacker. “We’ve already arrested all of his friends,” he explained when Peter was done talking, “We were just looking for him. His friend in the hospital rolled on the rest of them to make a deal for himself. He wrote all of their names and addresses down for us. But this guy managed to sneak out the back when we came to the front door of his house, and got away. We were just going to swing by here to check on you when we got the call. But you don’t have to worry anymore. All of them will be in jail for awhile after this. Especially him,” he added, glancing over where the EMTs were checking out Peter’s attacker. “Because now we’ve got him on attempted murder as well as the assault charges.”
“Okay,” Peter said. “Thank you.”
Officer Ridley smiled slightly. “You should thank yourself, Mr. Singer. You did a good job subduing him. Now - do you feel ready to testify against them in court? It might be kind of difficult for you…”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want them to do this to anyone else,” Peter said, lifting his chin.
A nod. Officer Ridley looked satisfied. “Do you want the EMTs to look you over? Make sure you’re not hurt.”
Peter shook his head. “That’s all right. I feel okay,” he said.
“All right. We’ll get going now. We’ll call you if we need anything else from you over the next couple of days, Mr. Singer,” he told Peter.
He nodded. Officer Ridley smiled at him again and departed, stopping briefly to say something to Jake. His attacker was taken away by the EMTs, followed by the cops. He’d be treated at the hospital and then carted off to jail. It was over. Really over, at last. Sure, he still had to testify at the trial. But somehow that didn’t seem too onerous or scary anymore. Not after what had just happened. And he’d survived that…so he could survive anything.
Now that it was over…he looked up at Jake, standing by the door watching the cops depart. The biker would have no more reason to stay. He’d go, taking Peter’s heart with him. His lower lip began to quiver, but he bit back his tears this time. If he could survive this, he could survive Jake’s departure as well. Really, he could…
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