Chapter 9
They had a quiet evening together, eating take-out food from white paper containers and watching television. They sat in a comfortable silence for awhile, until Jake asked: “What do you do for a living, Pete?”
“I’m a personal assistant to a lawyer,” Peter told him. “A really high-power trial attorney.”
“Huh. Is he going to be okay with you being out for awhile? Because of what happened?” Jake asked.
Peter sighed, twiddling the chopsticks he’d been using to eat his food between his fingers. “Yeah, he should be. Because I was on vacation already when…that happened. I was on my way to spend a few weeks with my parents, who live up north, when I stopped to get something to drink and some snacks…”
Jake touched his knee lightly, comfortingly. “I get it. If you have to, you can just tell your boss that you need more time to recover. I’m sure he can find a substitute for you until you’re ready to go back to work.”
“He can. He’d already hired a temp to take over for me while I was on vacation. I’m sure he’ll understand. He’s actually kind of nice - for a lawyer, that is.” he added with a wry smile.
Jake chuckled. “So you can just take your time and get better, Pete. That includes finding a good therapist.”
Peter threw him a sideways look. “I’m kind of surprised…that somebody like you would think me going to a therapist was a good idea, Jake,” he said tentatively.
The biker looked amused. “You think bikers don’t ever need mental health services?” he teased, his eyes twinkling.
Peter found himself giggling. “You have a point,” he conceded when he could speak again.
“Do you have a computer, Pete? We should do some research. We don’t want to just pick somebody at random out of the Yellow Pages.”
“I do, yes,” Peter rose to his feet and retrieved his laptop bag from his bedroom. His friend Brenda had gotten it out of his car and had brought it into the apartment for him. He carried it over to the couch and sat back down, unzipping the top and pulling out his laptop. He got it set up and plugged in, while Jake simply lounged back on the couch and watched the TV screen idly. Finally he was done, and he logged onto the internet.
Jake leaned over as he pulled up an internet search engine. “I think you want a therapist, not a psychiatrist, Pete,” he remarked.
“Why?” he asked, pausing with his fingers over the keys.
“Because a therapist has been specifically trained to help people who’ve been emotionally traumatized,” Jake explained. “That’s what you want. And a therapist also knows that sometimes people just want to talk about their troubles, not be fed a bunch of psycho-babble.”
Peter slid him another sideways glance. You sound like you speak from experience,” he said softly.
Jake’s lips lifted in a wry quirk. “Good catch, Pete. I do. The REAL reason that I split and don’t go home much is because my parents were convinced that there was something wrong with me mentally for wanting to be a biker rather than an investment banker, and they forced me to go to a psychiatrist. I spent six months being psychoanalyzed by this guy, and being told that the reason I wanted the freedom of the road was because I wanted to have sex with my mother.”
Peter’s eyes widened, which made him grin. “Freudians,” he said in disgust. “It all comes back to mommy with them. Freud must have had some real issues with his own mommy, some really sick ones…and he’s the father of psychology. Which is pretty weird, if you think about it.”
Peter sat on the chair in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. He was feeling vulnerable and scared, because Jake had deserted him. The biker had said gently but firmly that this was something that Peter needed to do on his own, and he’d dropped Peter off at the therapist’s office and had driven away, saying that he’d return later to pick him up.
He understood what Jake was saying, but he still felt miserable and scared without Jake’s reassuring presence. He bit at his lip, careful of the stitches. He knew that he had to learn to go places by himself again, that Jake couldn’t follow him around forever…but while he knew that intellectually, his heart was rebelling. He knew how pathetic he was to be so frightened of being alone, but he just couldn’t help himself.
The door opened, and a man stepped out of the office. He had a pleasant, not-quite-handsome face dominated by a proud arch of a nose, and his eyes smiled behind gold-rimmed glasses. “Mr. Singer?” he said, holding out his hand to Peter. “I’m Jonas Goldman. Welcome.”
He took the outstretched hand gingerly. “Hi,” he said shyly.
“Would you come into my office?” he invited Peter, stepping back and waiting for Peter to precede him.
He walked into the office, which was an open and comfortable space with a bank of windows on one side letting in a lot of warm sunlight. “Please have a seat, Mr. Singer,” Jonas Goldman said, indicting an overstuffed chair. He waited until Peter had gingerly sat down in it, before taking a seat himself in the leather wingback chair across from it.
“Now the man I talked to on the phone said that you’d recently been assaulted,” the therapist said, studying his bruised and battered face.
Peter nodded, his hand automatically going up to his face and hovering over it, but without touching it. It still hurt too much to be touched. “I…got beaten up…” he whispered. “At a mini-mart. They…it was because…I’m gay…”
“I see,” the therapist said compassionately. “And I understand, Mr. Singer. That is a gay person’s worst nightmare.”
“How can you understand!” Peter cried, feeling anger race through him suddenly. He was shocked at his outburst, and his eyes were wide as he stared at the therapist.
Jonas Goldman merely smiled slightly, looking not at all upset by his sudden outburst. “Because I happen to be gay, too, Mr. Singer,” he said gently. “While I’m not as slightly built as you are, I wouldn’t have been able to fend off so many attackers either. And there’s nothing more frightening than being helpless in any given situation, is there?”
Peter stared at him mutely, his heart and mind in turmoil. A gay therapist? One who could understand the fear that most gay people lived with - that terrible fear that you’d be attacked either verbally or physically just for being who you were? “Do you…have you ever…been attacked…?” he asked in a trembling voice.
Jonas Goldman shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I have. I’ve been lucky. But I’ve counseled more than one gay person who have experienced traumas similar to yours - whether being attacked on the streets or bullied in school because of their sexuality. I want to help you, Mr. Singer. Are you willing to work with me so that you can recover from this?”
He nodded. “Yes. I don’t…I don’t want to live in fear,” he said.
“That’s a good attitude to have. And you shouldn’t have to live in fear, Mr. Singer. We’ll do our best to make sure that you don’t have to, together. Now. I thought we could start by you telling me a little bit about yourself. Your family, your childhood, anything you want to talk about.”
Seeing the surprising expression on Peter’s face, he smiled. “I want you to relax and feel safe here, Mr. Singer, before we address what happened to you,” he explained. “It’s inevitable that you’re going to be tense and frightened when we talk about that, so I’d like it if you were as calm and relaxed as you possibly can be before we venture out into dark waters.”
“Oh,” he said, his hands twisting together in his lap. “I guess I can see that.”
Jonas Goldman opened his writing pad and set a pencil on the page. “Where would you like to start? Talk about anything that you want to, Mr. Singer.”
“Pete,” he said suddenly, surprising himself yet again. “Could you call me Pete?”
“Of course. I’ll call you anything that you want me to call you, Pete,” the therapist replied. “And you can call me Jonas if you wish.”
“Okay, Jonas,” he said.
“Great. So what would you like to talk about today, Pete?”
When he left the office an hour later, Peter already felt a little better. Just talking to Jonas Goldman had helped him a bit. The therapist had a very reassuring and kind manner that really did make him feel safe. He’d even told Jonas a bit about his rescuer and informal bodyguard, Jake Hartmann. The therapist had listened with interest, noting that he’d been lucky. Not only because Jake had been there to save him that night, but also because the biker had been there for him ever since. He had to agree with that. He didn’t know what he would have done without Jake so far. Fallen apart, most likely.
He was looking forward to his future sessions with his new therapist, even though he still didn’t want to talk about that night. Something told him that he’d relax enough eventually to be able to talk about it properly, and that would help with the constant fear when he was able to finally do so. It also helped a lot that his therapist was gay, too. There was nothing better than someone who understood what you were going through. The feelings of fear, of helplessness, of pain and self-loathing…he had a sneaking suspicion that women who’d been raped felt very similar emotions. Because what had happened to him had been a violation, even if not a sexual one.
He found Jake waiting for him in the lobby of the building, flipping through an old issue of Cosmo with a rather incredulous expression on his face. Peter felt a giggle well up inside of him at the sight of the massive biker reading a women’s fashion magazine. Jake looked up as he approached, setting the magazine aside. “Hey, Peter. How’d it go?” he asked as he rose to his feet.
“Really good, actually,” he replied. “Jake…my therapist is gay!”
“Is he?” the biker said, looking pleased. “That’s great news, Pete. So he knows what you’re going through?”
“Yeah. He’s never had it happen to him, but he said he’d counseled other gay people who’d been attacked. And he’s really nice, too. I like him.”
Jake smiled. “Glad to hear it, Pete. You wanna get something to eat and then head home?”
“Yes,” he said fervently. While he felt he’d made some progress today, the place he still felt safest was at home with Jake.
“Let’s go, then. When’s your next appointment?”
“Two days from now. Jonas wants me to come in at least three times a week at first, until I show signs of real improvement.”
“That okay with you?” Jake asked keenly as they started to leave the building together.
“Yeah, it is. I don’t mind talking to him. And if I can really get better by going to see him…I want to, Jake. I want to get better. I hate living in fear!” he cried passionately.
The biker patted his arm. “That’s my boy. I know you can do it, Pete,” he said. His words, and the utter faith that he showed, made Peter feel stronger and better about himself. He would do it, he’d recover from this. Those men hadn’t killed him, and he wouldn’t let them destroy him, either.
They pulled up in front of his apartment building,. And he saw a familiar car parked in a visitor slot nearby. “Oh!” he cried happily. “My parents are here!”
“Are they?” Jake glanced at the car he was looking at. There was nobody inside of it. Peter jumped out of the car, heading for his apartment without waiting for Jake. His eagerness and bold action made the biker smile slightly to himself. He followed in Peter’s wake, carrying the bags of food over his arm. He hoped that there was enough for four people, since he suspected that Peter’s parents would be staying for dinner.
Peter saw his parents waiting outside of his door, and called out to them. “Mom, Dad, hi!” he cried, dashing up to them.
His mother enfolded him in a tight but careful hug. “Peter! How are you doing, honey?” she asked anxiously, her eyes tracing the fading bruises on his face.
“I’m okay, Mom. I was just at an appointment with a therapist. I think it went pretty well,” he added.
She looked relieved. “What a good idea, Peter. I’m glad that you’re seeing a therapist.” she said, stroking his arm.
“Me, too. But it was all Jake’s idea,” he said.
His parents exchanged glances. “Who is Jake?” his father asked, his voice slightly suspicious.
Peter looked over his shoulder, seeing that Jake had halted nearby and was waiting patiently for him to talk to his parents alone. “That’s Jake,” he said, indicating the biker. “He’s the guy who saved my life, Mom. The one you said you were going to give a kiss.”
“Oh!” she cried, turning to look at Jake. “Is that him?! Goodness, he’s huge,” she half-whispered to her son.
He smiled. “I know. He came to stay with me after I got out of the hospital, to take care for me and protect me in case those men tried to hurt me again. He’s been really good to me. And before you say anything,” he went on, seeing the skepticism in his father’s eyes, “Jake has tons more money than I do. I don’t think he’s trying to rob me or anything.”
“Well, I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt for now,” his mother said firmly. “Because he saved your life. As far as I’m concerned, he’s an angel,” and she strode away to where Jake was standing, and before the biker could react she hugged him tightly then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she said fiercely, as he stared down at her in bemusement, “Thank you so much for saving my son’s life. I can never thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome, Ma’am,” Jake said. “But I was only doing what anybody else would have done.”
She snorted. “As if. Lots of people wouldn’t have wanted to get in the middle of something like that, in case they got hurt themselves. They might have called the police, but what if they hadn’t gotten there in time? You’re a good boy,” she added, patting his arm approvingly.
Jake looked at Peter, who had a hand over his mouth as he fought not to break down into helpless laughter. The sight of his mother patting the massive biker as though he were a pet dog of some kind…Jake’s lips lifted slightly, and his eyes gleamed. Peter couldn’t take it anymore. He began to laugh, not caring that it pulled the stitches on his lip and made his bruises throb sullenly. He felt better than he had in weeks.
Jake’s lips twitched as he glanced at Peter’s mother. She was staring at her son, a look of delight on her face. He smiled and touched her arm. “Would you like to stay for dinner? We got enough for everybody, because we intended to eat leftovers tomorrow for lunch.”
“We’d love to,” she said. But then she sobered, and turned a gimlet stare on him. “You’re not to hurt my son,” she told him sternly. “You understand that? I’m grateful that you saved his life, but if you hurt him…”
“You have my word that I won’t do anything to hurt Pete, Ma’am,” he said somberly.
“All right. But…” she looked worried, her brows drawing down. “I’m afraid that he might be hurt anyway, because I can tell that he already has feelings for you,” she glanced over at her son, who was talking to his father. “My poor baby.” she sighed. “Falling in love with a straight man…”
“Actually, Ma’am, I’m not straight,” Jake replied softly.
Her eyes widened a bit. “You’re not? You’re gay?” she hissed.
He shook his head. “I’m bisexual,” he explained quietly.
“Oh. So what are your intentions toward him?” she asked suspiciously, eyeing Jake.
His lips quirked. “My only intentions for now are to help him and take care of him,” he replied simply. “As for later on, I can’t say yet. He’s just too out of it and battered for me to think about anything right now. I’ll just have to wait and see what comes as he gets better.”
She sighed, a long exhalation of breath. Then she hugged him again. “You are a wonderful man,” she told him, as he blinked and looked down at the top of her head.
“I am?” he said.
She nodded, drawing away at last. “You’re just what my son needs. You take good care of him for me, Jake. You hear?” she tried to be severe, but her eyes were shining as she looked up into his face.
He couldn’t help but think how much she looked like her son - or how much he looked like her, anyway. “I will, Ma’am,” he said seriously. “You have my word on that.”
Peter sat in the dentist’s chair, his fingers gripping the arms so tightly that they were white and bloodless. He’d never liked going to the dentist anyway, and now he hated it even more. It felt like a violation to have someone else’s fingers thrust into his mouth. He wanted to whimper, but instead he closed his eyes tightly and endured. The dentist was capping the teeth that had been damaged during the beating, so this session was long and involved. Last time had been much shorter; the dentist had simply surveyed his mouth and had decided what work he was going to do. But now he had a marathon to endure, and it seemed to him that he’d been in this horrible chair forever.
He wished distantly that Jake could be here to hold his hand. It would have made him feel better. But the biker couldn’t go everywhere with him, and Peter knew that he had to learn to do things by himself again. It wasn’t as though Jake would be able to go to work with him or something like that. And he could do it, he knew he could; his determination to overcome his fear was as strong as ever.
The dentist’s assistant sucked the excess spit out of his mouth with a tube, making him shudder faintly. He really hated everything to do with the dentist; the drill, that tube, the numbness in his gums and the fact that he drooled until that crap wore off. And having a person you barely knew stick their fingers in your mouth wasn’t a comfortable feeling, either. While he knew it was necessary to get his teeth fixed, he was still miserable.
He wobbled out of the dentist’s office an hour later, cradling his still numb jaw and blinking back tears. That had been so horrible! Well, at least he’d only have to come back once or twice more to have smaller things done to him; the worst was past. He never, ever wanted to do anything like that again.
Jake rose up from his seat on the chair in the waiting room. “You look terrible, Pete,” he said sympathetically. “And you were in there for hours. Was it pretty bad?”
He nodded, since he could still barely speak. Jake’s look of sympathy deepened. “Come on, then. Let’s get you home. You can take a hot bath and rest until that numbing shit wears off,” he took Peter’s arm solicitously and began to help him out of the dentist’s office, watched by the receptionist who had an incredulous expression on her face. Jake just had that effect on a lot of people.
In the car, he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. Jake didn’t say anything as he drove, clearly seeing that Peter was at the end of his rope. The soft music playing on the radio helped to soothe his frazzled nerves, and he fell into a light slumber. He only woke up when Jake shook him a little, and then he let the biker help him inside his apartment and lay down on his couch. He went back to sleep, and dreamed that he and Jake were running through a field of flowers together. It was a very nice dream, because the handsome biker was buck naked and smiling. He had a small smile on his lips, and Jake wondered what he was dreaming about as he stood looking down on Peter.
He wandered into the kitchen to make some dinner for them, deciding on mashed potatoes and peas as soft food that would be easier on poor Peter’s mangled mouth. As he worked, he thought about the diner that he’d eaten with Peter’s parents the other day. He’d genuinely liked both of them a lot, partly because they both adored their son even though he was gay. And Pete’s mother was a delight, a fiercely protective and supportive parent who had taken to treating HIM as though he were her son as well. That had been a weird experience for him, since his own mother had never given him that much attention or affection during his childhood. It was a nice change of pace, in fact.
He glanced over at the slender man sleeping on the couch, feeling another surge of over-protectiveness lance through him. He’d been through so much, and he was trying so hard not to let what had happened to him destroy his life…Jake admired him for that. He hoped that he could help Peter to heal and return to the person he’d been before the trauma of the beating. Because the way he was now, Peter could never be in a healthy relationship with anyone. He was too broken and scared. And Jake suspected that he needed Peter to be well, since it was the only way for him to give in to his growing attraction for Peter…
Yes, he was attracted to Peter Singer. It wasn’t just sympathy that he’d felt when he’d looked into those blue eyes for the first time; and acting as Peter’s bodyguard and protector had only deepened that attraction as the days had passed. But he couldn’t give into these feelings, not just yet. Peter wasn’t ready. Jake was afraid that if he started something with Peter as he was right now, the poor thing would cling desperately to him and not want to learn to stand on his own two feet again. And that wouldn’t be healthy for either of them. That’s why he was being patient and giving Peter time to heal. He had high hopes for the therapist they’d found for him; Jonas Goldman seemed like an effective and caring person who could help Peter overcome what had happened to him. Who knew? Anything was possible. He just hoped that his patience didn’t wear thin as he waited, because living with Peter wasn’t easy when he couldn’t make a move on the man sleeping snuggly in the next room…
He sighed for his poor, frustrated libido, mashing the potatoes in a bowl. He’d never thought that something like this might happen to him…he’d always been a wanderer, roaming from place-to-place with no ties to hold him. Until he’d stopped at a mini-mart a few weeks ago to gas up his bike and buy something to drink. And he’d saved a man from being beaten to death in the parking lot, a man whose dazed blue eyes had somehow drawn him in and taken him prisoner...and Jacob Hartmann suspected that he’d never really be free again, not in the same way. And the oddest thing of all - he really didn’t seem to mind that fact.
Go to Next Chapter
They had a quiet evening together, eating take-out food from white paper containers and watching television. They sat in a comfortable silence for awhile, until Jake asked: “What do you do for a living, Pete?”
“I’m a personal assistant to a lawyer,” Peter told him. “A really high-power trial attorney.”
“Huh. Is he going to be okay with you being out for awhile? Because of what happened?” Jake asked.
Peter sighed, twiddling the chopsticks he’d been using to eat his food between his fingers. “Yeah, he should be. Because I was on vacation already when…that happened. I was on my way to spend a few weeks with my parents, who live up north, when I stopped to get something to drink and some snacks…”
Jake touched his knee lightly, comfortingly. “I get it. If you have to, you can just tell your boss that you need more time to recover. I’m sure he can find a substitute for you until you’re ready to go back to work.”
“He can. He’d already hired a temp to take over for me while I was on vacation. I’m sure he’ll understand. He’s actually kind of nice - for a lawyer, that is.” he added with a wry smile.
Jake chuckled. “So you can just take your time and get better, Pete. That includes finding a good therapist.”
Peter threw him a sideways look. “I’m kind of surprised…that somebody like you would think me going to a therapist was a good idea, Jake,” he said tentatively.
The biker looked amused. “You think bikers don’t ever need mental health services?” he teased, his eyes twinkling.
Peter found himself giggling. “You have a point,” he conceded when he could speak again.
“Do you have a computer, Pete? We should do some research. We don’t want to just pick somebody at random out of the Yellow Pages.”
“I do, yes,” Peter rose to his feet and retrieved his laptop bag from his bedroom. His friend Brenda had gotten it out of his car and had brought it into the apartment for him. He carried it over to the couch and sat back down, unzipping the top and pulling out his laptop. He got it set up and plugged in, while Jake simply lounged back on the couch and watched the TV screen idly. Finally he was done, and he logged onto the internet.
Jake leaned over as he pulled up an internet search engine. “I think you want a therapist, not a psychiatrist, Pete,” he remarked.
“Why?” he asked, pausing with his fingers over the keys.
“Because a therapist has been specifically trained to help people who’ve been emotionally traumatized,” Jake explained. “That’s what you want. And a therapist also knows that sometimes people just want to talk about their troubles, not be fed a bunch of psycho-babble.”
Peter slid him another sideways glance. You sound like you speak from experience,” he said softly.
Jake’s lips lifted in a wry quirk. “Good catch, Pete. I do. The REAL reason that I split and don’t go home much is because my parents were convinced that there was something wrong with me mentally for wanting to be a biker rather than an investment banker, and they forced me to go to a psychiatrist. I spent six months being psychoanalyzed by this guy, and being told that the reason I wanted the freedom of the road was because I wanted to have sex with my mother.”
Peter’s eyes widened, which made him grin. “Freudians,” he said in disgust. “It all comes back to mommy with them. Freud must have had some real issues with his own mommy, some really sick ones…and he’s the father of psychology. Which is pretty weird, if you think about it.”
Peter sat on the chair in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. He was feeling vulnerable and scared, because Jake had deserted him. The biker had said gently but firmly that this was something that Peter needed to do on his own, and he’d dropped Peter off at the therapist’s office and had driven away, saying that he’d return later to pick him up.
He understood what Jake was saying, but he still felt miserable and scared without Jake’s reassuring presence. He bit at his lip, careful of the stitches. He knew that he had to learn to go places by himself again, that Jake couldn’t follow him around forever…but while he knew that intellectually, his heart was rebelling. He knew how pathetic he was to be so frightened of being alone, but he just couldn’t help himself.
The door opened, and a man stepped out of the office. He had a pleasant, not-quite-handsome face dominated by a proud arch of a nose, and his eyes smiled behind gold-rimmed glasses. “Mr. Singer?” he said, holding out his hand to Peter. “I’m Jonas Goldman. Welcome.”
He took the outstretched hand gingerly. “Hi,” he said shyly.
“Would you come into my office?” he invited Peter, stepping back and waiting for Peter to precede him.
He walked into the office, which was an open and comfortable space with a bank of windows on one side letting in a lot of warm sunlight. “Please have a seat, Mr. Singer,” Jonas Goldman said, indicting an overstuffed chair. He waited until Peter had gingerly sat down in it, before taking a seat himself in the leather wingback chair across from it.
“Now the man I talked to on the phone said that you’d recently been assaulted,” the therapist said, studying his bruised and battered face.
Peter nodded, his hand automatically going up to his face and hovering over it, but without touching it. It still hurt too much to be touched. “I…got beaten up…” he whispered. “At a mini-mart. They…it was because…I’m gay…”
“I see,” the therapist said compassionately. “And I understand, Mr. Singer. That is a gay person’s worst nightmare.”
“How can you understand!” Peter cried, feeling anger race through him suddenly. He was shocked at his outburst, and his eyes were wide as he stared at the therapist.
Jonas Goldman merely smiled slightly, looking not at all upset by his sudden outburst. “Because I happen to be gay, too, Mr. Singer,” he said gently. “While I’m not as slightly built as you are, I wouldn’t have been able to fend off so many attackers either. And there’s nothing more frightening than being helpless in any given situation, is there?”
Peter stared at him mutely, his heart and mind in turmoil. A gay therapist? One who could understand the fear that most gay people lived with - that terrible fear that you’d be attacked either verbally or physically just for being who you were? “Do you…have you ever…been attacked…?” he asked in a trembling voice.
Jonas Goldman shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I have. I’ve been lucky. But I’ve counseled more than one gay person who have experienced traumas similar to yours - whether being attacked on the streets or bullied in school because of their sexuality. I want to help you, Mr. Singer. Are you willing to work with me so that you can recover from this?”
He nodded. “Yes. I don’t…I don’t want to live in fear,” he said.
“That’s a good attitude to have. And you shouldn’t have to live in fear, Mr. Singer. We’ll do our best to make sure that you don’t have to, together. Now. I thought we could start by you telling me a little bit about yourself. Your family, your childhood, anything you want to talk about.”
Seeing the surprising expression on Peter’s face, he smiled. “I want you to relax and feel safe here, Mr. Singer, before we address what happened to you,” he explained. “It’s inevitable that you’re going to be tense and frightened when we talk about that, so I’d like it if you were as calm and relaxed as you possibly can be before we venture out into dark waters.”
“Oh,” he said, his hands twisting together in his lap. “I guess I can see that.”
Jonas Goldman opened his writing pad and set a pencil on the page. “Where would you like to start? Talk about anything that you want to, Mr. Singer.”
“Pete,” he said suddenly, surprising himself yet again. “Could you call me Pete?”
“Of course. I’ll call you anything that you want me to call you, Pete,” the therapist replied. “And you can call me Jonas if you wish.”
“Okay, Jonas,” he said.
“Great. So what would you like to talk about today, Pete?”
When he left the office an hour later, Peter already felt a little better. Just talking to Jonas Goldman had helped him a bit. The therapist had a very reassuring and kind manner that really did make him feel safe. He’d even told Jonas a bit about his rescuer and informal bodyguard, Jake Hartmann. The therapist had listened with interest, noting that he’d been lucky. Not only because Jake had been there to save him that night, but also because the biker had been there for him ever since. He had to agree with that. He didn’t know what he would have done without Jake so far. Fallen apart, most likely.
He was looking forward to his future sessions with his new therapist, even though he still didn’t want to talk about that night. Something told him that he’d relax enough eventually to be able to talk about it properly, and that would help with the constant fear when he was able to finally do so. It also helped a lot that his therapist was gay, too. There was nothing better than someone who understood what you were going through. The feelings of fear, of helplessness, of pain and self-loathing…he had a sneaking suspicion that women who’d been raped felt very similar emotions. Because what had happened to him had been a violation, even if not a sexual one.
He found Jake waiting for him in the lobby of the building, flipping through an old issue of Cosmo with a rather incredulous expression on his face. Peter felt a giggle well up inside of him at the sight of the massive biker reading a women’s fashion magazine. Jake looked up as he approached, setting the magazine aside. “Hey, Peter. How’d it go?” he asked as he rose to his feet.
“Really good, actually,” he replied. “Jake…my therapist is gay!”
“Is he?” the biker said, looking pleased. “That’s great news, Pete. So he knows what you’re going through?”
“Yeah. He’s never had it happen to him, but he said he’d counseled other gay people who’d been attacked. And he’s really nice, too. I like him.”
Jake smiled. “Glad to hear it, Pete. You wanna get something to eat and then head home?”
“Yes,” he said fervently. While he felt he’d made some progress today, the place he still felt safest was at home with Jake.
“Let’s go, then. When’s your next appointment?”
“Two days from now. Jonas wants me to come in at least three times a week at first, until I show signs of real improvement.”
“That okay with you?” Jake asked keenly as they started to leave the building together.
“Yeah, it is. I don’t mind talking to him. And if I can really get better by going to see him…I want to, Jake. I want to get better. I hate living in fear!” he cried passionately.
The biker patted his arm. “That’s my boy. I know you can do it, Pete,” he said. His words, and the utter faith that he showed, made Peter feel stronger and better about himself. He would do it, he’d recover from this. Those men hadn’t killed him, and he wouldn’t let them destroy him, either.
They pulled up in front of his apartment building,. And he saw a familiar car parked in a visitor slot nearby. “Oh!” he cried happily. “My parents are here!”
“Are they?” Jake glanced at the car he was looking at. There was nobody inside of it. Peter jumped out of the car, heading for his apartment without waiting for Jake. His eagerness and bold action made the biker smile slightly to himself. He followed in Peter’s wake, carrying the bags of food over his arm. He hoped that there was enough for four people, since he suspected that Peter’s parents would be staying for dinner.
Peter saw his parents waiting outside of his door, and called out to them. “Mom, Dad, hi!” he cried, dashing up to them.
His mother enfolded him in a tight but careful hug. “Peter! How are you doing, honey?” she asked anxiously, her eyes tracing the fading bruises on his face.
“I’m okay, Mom. I was just at an appointment with a therapist. I think it went pretty well,” he added.
She looked relieved. “What a good idea, Peter. I’m glad that you’re seeing a therapist.” she said, stroking his arm.
“Me, too. But it was all Jake’s idea,” he said.
His parents exchanged glances. “Who is Jake?” his father asked, his voice slightly suspicious.
Peter looked over his shoulder, seeing that Jake had halted nearby and was waiting patiently for him to talk to his parents alone. “That’s Jake,” he said, indicating the biker. “He’s the guy who saved my life, Mom. The one you said you were going to give a kiss.”
“Oh!” she cried, turning to look at Jake. “Is that him?! Goodness, he’s huge,” she half-whispered to her son.
He smiled. “I know. He came to stay with me after I got out of the hospital, to take care for me and protect me in case those men tried to hurt me again. He’s been really good to me. And before you say anything,” he went on, seeing the skepticism in his father’s eyes, “Jake has tons more money than I do. I don’t think he’s trying to rob me or anything.”
“Well, I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt for now,” his mother said firmly. “Because he saved your life. As far as I’m concerned, he’s an angel,” and she strode away to where Jake was standing, and before the biker could react she hugged him tightly then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she said fiercely, as he stared down at her in bemusement, “Thank you so much for saving my son’s life. I can never thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome, Ma’am,” Jake said. “But I was only doing what anybody else would have done.”
She snorted. “As if. Lots of people wouldn’t have wanted to get in the middle of something like that, in case they got hurt themselves. They might have called the police, but what if they hadn’t gotten there in time? You’re a good boy,” she added, patting his arm approvingly.
Jake looked at Peter, who had a hand over his mouth as he fought not to break down into helpless laughter. The sight of his mother patting the massive biker as though he were a pet dog of some kind…Jake’s lips lifted slightly, and his eyes gleamed. Peter couldn’t take it anymore. He began to laugh, not caring that it pulled the stitches on his lip and made his bruises throb sullenly. He felt better than he had in weeks.
Jake’s lips twitched as he glanced at Peter’s mother. She was staring at her son, a look of delight on her face. He smiled and touched her arm. “Would you like to stay for dinner? We got enough for everybody, because we intended to eat leftovers tomorrow for lunch.”
“We’d love to,” she said. But then she sobered, and turned a gimlet stare on him. “You’re not to hurt my son,” she told him sternly. “You understand that? I’m grateful that you saved his life, but if you hurt him…”
“You have my word that I won’t do anything to hurt Pete, Ma’am,” he said somberly.
“All right. But…” she looked worried, her brows drawing down. “I’m afraid that he might be hurt anyway, because I can tell that he already has feelings for you,” she glanced over at her son, who was talking to his father. “My poor baby.” she sighed. “Falling in love with a straight man…”
“Actually, Ma’am, I’m not straight,” Jake replied softly.
Her eyes widened a bit. “You’re not? You’re gay?” she hissed.
He shook his head. “I’m bisexual,” he explained quietly.
“Oh. So what are your intentions toward him?” she asked suspiciously, eyeing Jake.
His lips quirked. “My only intentions for now are to help him and take care of him,” he replied simply. “As for later on, I can’t say yet. He’s just too out of it and battered for me to think about anything right now. I’ll just have to wait and see what comes as he gets better.”
She sighed, a long exhalation of breath. Then she hugged him again. “You are a wonderful man,” she told him, as he blinked and looked down at the top of her head.
“I am?” he said.
She nodded, drawing away at last. “You’re just what my son needs. You take good care of him for me, Jake. You hear?” she tried to be severe, but her eyes were shining as she looked up into his face.
He couldn’t help but think how much she looked like her son - or how much he looked like her, anyway. “I will, Ma’am,” he said seriously. “You have my word on that.”
Peter sat in the dentist’s chair, his fingers gripping the arms so tightly that they were white and bloodless. He’d never liked going to the dentist anyway, and now he hated it even more. It felt like a violation to have someone else’s fingers thrust into his mouth. He wanted to whimper, but instead he closed his eyes tightly and endured. The dentist was capping the teeth that had been damaged during the beating, so this session was long and involved. Last time had been much shorter; the dentist had simply surveyed his mouth and had decided what work he was going to do. But now he had a marathon to endure, and it seemed to him that he’d been in this horrible chair forever.
He wished distantly that Jake could be here to hold his hand. It would have made him feel better. But the biker couldn’t go everywhere with him, and Peter knew that he had to learn to do things by himself again. It wasn’t as though Jake would be able to go to work with him or something like that. And he could do it, he knew he could; his determination to overcome his fear was as strong as ever.
The dentist’s assistant sucked the excess spit out of his mouth with a tube, making him shudder faintly. He really hated everything to do with the dentist; the drill, that tube, the numbness in his gums and the fact that he drooled until that crap wore off. And having a person you barely knew stick their fingers in your mouth wasn’t a comfortable feeling, either. While he knew it was necessary to get his teeth fixed, he was still miserable.
He wobbled out of the dentist’s office an hour later, cradling his still numb jaw and blinking back tears. That had been so horrible! Well, at least he’d only have to come back once or twice more to have smaller things done to him; the worst was past. He never, ever wanted to do anything like that again.
Jake rose up from his seat on the chair in the waiting room. “You look terrible, Pete,” he said sympathetically. “And you were in there for hours. Was it pretty bad?”
He nodded, since he could still barely speak. Jake’s look of sympathy deepened. “Come on, then. Let’s get you home. You can take a hot bath and rest until that numbing shit wears off,” he took Peter’s arm solicitously and began to help him out of the dentist’s office, watched by the receptionist who had an incredulous expression on her face. Jake just had that effect on a lot of people.
In the car, he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. Jake didn’t say anything as he drove, clearly seeing that Peter was at the end of his rope. The soft music playing on the radio helped to soothe his frazzled nerves, and he fell into a light slumber. He only woke up when Jake shook him a little, and then he let the biker help him inside his apartment and lay down on his couch. He went back to sleep, and dreamed that he and Jake were running through a field of flowers together. It was a very nice dream, because the handsome biker was buck naked and smiling. He had a small smile on his lips, and Jake wondered what he was dreaming about as he stood looking down on Peter.
He wandered into the kitchen to make some dinner for them, deciding on mashed potatoes and peas as soft food that would be easier on poor Peter’s mangled mouth. As he worked, he thought about the diner that he’d eaten with Peter’s parents the other day. He’d genuinely liked both of them a lot, partly because they both adored their son even though he was gay. And Pete’s mother was a delight, a fiercely protective and supportive parent who had taken to treating HIM as though he were her son as well. That had been a weird experience for him, since his own mother had never given him that much attention or affection during his childhood. It was a nice change of pace, in fact.
He glanced over at the slender man sleeping on the couch, feeling another surge of over-protectiveness lance through him. He’d been through so much, and he was trying so hard not to let what had happened to him destroy his life…Jake admired him for that. He hoped that he could help Peter to heal and return to the person he’d been before the trauma of the beating. Because the way he was now, Peter could never be in a healthy relationship with anyone. He was too broken and scared. And Jake suspected that he needed Peter to be well, since it was the only way for him to give in to his growing attraction for Peter…
Yes, he was attracted to Peter Singer. It wasn’t just sympathy that he’d felt when he’d looked into those blue eyes for the first time; and acting as Peter’s bodyguard and protector had only deepened that attraction as the days had passed. But he couldn’t give into these feelings, not just yet. Peter wasn’t ready. Jake was afraid that if he started something with Peter as he was right now, the poor thing would cling desperately to him and not want to learn to stand on his own two feet again. And that wouldn’t be healthy for either of them. That’s why he was being patient and giving Peter time to heal. He had high hopes for the therapist they’d found for him; Jonas Goldman seemed like an effective and caring person who could help Peter overcome what had happened to him. Who knew? Anything was possible. He just hoped that his patience didn’t wear thin as he waited, because living with Peter wasn’t easy when he couldn’t make a move on the man sleeping snuggly in the next room…
He sighed for his poor, frustrated libido, mashing the potatoes in a bowl. He’d never thought that something like this might happen to him…he’d always been a wanderer, roaming from place-to-place with no ties to hold him. Until he’d stopped at a mini-mart a few weeks ago to gas up his bike and buy something to drink. And he’d saved a man from being beaten to death in the parking lot, a man whose dazed blue eyes had somehow drawn him in and taken him prisoner...and Jacob Hartmann suspected that he’d never really be free again, not in the same way. And the oddest thing of all - he really didn’t seem to mind that fact.
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