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Beneath a Heart of Darkness	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 4657 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 21JS or the characters. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
I think this will be the final chapter for 2015, unless of course I can sneak some time on my laptop during the holiday season ;) I'm not sure how long I will be on hiatus, but I will definitely be back by mid January.
Wishing you and your families love and light.
In peace,
OpenPage x

Just after midnight, violent tremors rocked the bed, waking Booker from a deep sleep. A sliver of moonlight filtered through the ill-fitting curtains, the ethereal white glow adding to the young officer’s disorientation, and sitting up, his gaze immediately settled on the figure lying next to him. Soft moonbeams danced over Tom’s sleeping form, the faint shimmer emphasizing the terror on the young officer’s face. Although still asleep, Tom’s eyes were wide open, his mouth twisted into a silent scream. Perspiration soaked his tee shirt, the thin cotton material now plastered to his chest, but while his face remained frozen in a grotesque mask of terror, his hands swatted uselessly at whoever or whatever was attacking him in his dreams. Fascinated by the animated display playing out beside him, Booker watched for several moments while deciding what to do. It was obvious Tom had become trapped within his nightmare, his mind caught somewhere between non-REM sleep and consciousness, and although terrifying to witness, Booker was reluctant to shake him awake. Instead, he rolled over and switched on the lamp next to his side of the bed.
Soft light illuminated the room, chasing away the haunting darkness, and sitting up, Booker stared down at Tom, willing him to wake up. But instead of focusing his attention on his friend’s face, his gaze locked on the dozens of bloody scabs peppering Tom’s arms, and his eyebrows knitted into a deep frown. The wounds appeared fresh, causing his heart to skip a beat. Tom’s psychological trauma had manifested into self-harm, a classic behavior often associated with self-hatred. The words “I FUCKING HATE MYSELF! DO YOU HEAR ME? I HATE MYSELF!” echoed in Booker’s mind, and he rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth. “Shit,” he muttered to himself. “Shit shit shit shit shit.”
Whether it was the light emanating from the lamp or Booker’s softly spoken words, Tom’s panicked eyes suddenly gained focus and drawing in a loud raspy breath, he sat bolt upright. When he noticed Booker, he let out a yelp of surprise and throwing back the duvet, he scrambled from the bed, his arms wrapping protectively around his heaving chest. Shocked by the reaction, Booker started to speak, but his words caught in his throat when he noticed a crimson stain on the sheet covering the mattress.
Following Booker’s line of vision, Tom’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “Oh, God,” he whispered, his expression mortified.
Booker quickly pulled himself together, and climbing from the bed, he slowly approached his friend, sympathy shining from his dark eyes. “It’s okay, Tom,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to the young officer. “You’re still heal—”
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Tom yelled, and stumbling backward, he collided with the wall behind him.
Not wanting to alarm Hanson any more than he already had, Booker stopped and held up both hands. “Okay. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Shame crumpled Tom's face, and a single tear trickled down his cheek. “I wish they’d killed me.”
Disconcerted by the revelation, Booker utilized his police training and drew on the small amount of experience he’d had with rape survivors. “I know it seems hopeless now, but you’re still recovering. Maybe talking to a psychol—”
“I’m not crazy,” Tom muttered with a sniff, his expression becoming defiant.
Booker acted out his frustration by raking his fingers through his hair. “I know that! Jesus, Tom, I’m not the fucking enemy; I’m trying to help you! Look at your arms, you’re hurting yourself and it scares the hell out of me. I care about you, Tommy, and I don’t want to see you descend into a delusional state of mind where self-harm is the only way you can cope with your emotions.”
Embarrassed by Booker’s observations, Tom attempted to hide the bloody scabs by covering the exposed flesh with his hands. “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” he muttered, his lower lip pushing into a soft pout. “You think you know me, but you don’t.”
“Tom, I’m just trying to help you,” Booker explained with a weary sigh. “Don’t push me away.”
Unable to bear the pity and concern in Booker’s eyes, Tom lowered his gaze to the floor. “If you want to help me, then leave. I want to be alone.”
Surprised by the request, Booker took a step forward. “Tom, I don’t think that’s a good—”
“I SAID LEAVE!” Tom screamed, stamping his foot as his grief exploded into white-hot anger. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT!”
Pulling himself up to his full height, Booker stubbornly folded his arms across his chest, his gaze calmly scrutinizing Tom’s furious face. “No.”
“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” Tom hollered, his face turning red with frustration. “I FUCKING HATE YOU!”
Unperturbed by the insult, Booker shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. But you know what? I don’t really care ‘cause your welfare is more important to me than our friendship.”
Tom wiped his forearm across his face, brushing the glistening tears from his eyes. “Bullshit,” he spat, a cruel sneer curling his upper lip. “You’ve been trying to get into my pants since the first day you saw me. I bet watching those bastards rape me really pissed you off because you wanted to be the one fucking me, isn’t that right, DENNIS?”
The caustic words penetrated Booker’s heart like a knife, and he struggled to maintain his composure. Sensing victory, Tom bent over and pulled a clean pair of boxers from the laundry basket sitting discarded on the floor. “I’m gonna take a shower. I want you gone by the time I’m finished.” And without waiting for an answer, he walked into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him.
**
When Tom opened the bathroom door, the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, the pleasant scent wafting through the small apartment. He glanced around the bedroom, immediately noticing a fresh sheet had replaced the stained one, and a heavy scowl creased his forehead. Without bothering to dress, he secured his towel around his waist, and raking his fingers through his damp hair, he stormed into the living room.
Booker sat on the couch watching a black and white horror movie, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. Shocked and a little disconcerted by his friend’s arrogance, Tom strode across the room and stood defiantly in front of the TV. “I told you to leave.”
An irritating smile passed over Booker’s lips and leaning to the right, he calmly continued to watch the movie. “Yeah, well, if I remember correctly, I said no, so…”
Frustration and anger bubbled up inside Tom, the churning mass of resentment releasing his inner child. His hands balled into tight fists, his knuckles flaring white, and with an anguished cry, he unfurled his exasperation. “Why won’t you leave... me... ALONE?”
Booker lifted his gaze and looked Tom straight in the eye, his expression tranquil but sincere. “Because I care.”
Defeated, Tom collapsed into a chair and buried his face in his hands. He was at a loss for words, unable to comprehend the complexity of Dennis’ feelings for him. The more he behaved like an asshole, the more the dark-haired officer stubbornly supported him. It was perplexing in its normality because for some strange, inexplicable reason, it felt right to have Booker by his side during one of the most intimately painful and emotional times of his life. He couldn’t explain it; Booker had been his nemesis for so long, but he now realized sharing every humiliating aspect of his rape had actually been a blessing, not a curse. Doug was his best friend, yet the thought of him knowing about the violent assault had Tom cringing with embarrassment. It was easier sharing the experience with Booker because there were no expectations, no preconceived notions of reactions or levels of concern, and so far, his new friend had not let him down, despite his appallingly childish behavior. However, the realization added another level to the misery of his suffering, and much to his chagrin, he found himself once again succumbing to tears.
Booker placed his coffee cup on the table and leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees and studied his friend’s bowed head. As difficult as it was not to leap forward and wrap his arms around Tom’s quivering shoulders, he remained seated, biding his time until the moment was right. Tom was a powder keg of emotion, and any unintentional wrongdoing could spark an eruption.
Minutes passed, and eventually, Tom’s grief subsided. He lifted his head, and with tears still glistening in his eyes, he offered Booker a wan smile. “I bet you wish you’d never met me,” he sniffed.
Amusement twinkled in Booker’s black eyes, and smiling cheekily, he attempted to lighten the mood. “Are you kidding? Having you in my life is a dream come true.”
Tom managed a small chuckle and wiping a stray tear from his cheek, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled a heavy sigh. “How am I gonna get through this?” he asked quietly.
Booker’s eyes filled with a dark intensity. “You don’t have to do it alone. I’m gonna do everything I can to make it right, okay?”
“How?” Tom asked simply. He was desperate to believe, but terrified of adding disappointment to the weight of his burdens.
With a knowing smile, Booker picked up his mug and drained the last of his coffee. Now more than ever, he knew he needed to act on his plan, but first, he needed to make sure Tom had a restful night’s sleep. “Just leave it to me,” he replied cryptically.
Too weary to quiz his friend any further, Tom stifled a yawn, and rising to his feet, he motioned toward the bedroom. “Coming?”
Although pleasantly surprised by the invitation, Booker shook his head. “That cup of coffee’s kinda got me wired. I think I’ll watch the end of the movie.”
With a nod of his head, Tom disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Booker to mull over the pros and cons of his plan.
**
Raucous laughter woke Booker from a light sleep, and groaning softly, he liberated the remote from its uncomfortable position beneath his left hip and switched off the TV. Sunlight streamed in through the window, signaling the start of a new day, and sitting up, he stretched his arms above his head and yawned loudly. He had no recollection of when he had fallen asleep; one minute he had been watching The Wolf Man and the next, he had woken to Good Morning America’s lively debate about dental hygiene. That he had slept so long surprised him, and his thoughts soon turned to Tom. Had the young officer slept through the night or had he once again been plagued with paralyzing nightmares? Suddenly, his decision not to accompany his friend back to the bedroom seemed like a bad one and jumping to his feet, he hurried across the room and pushed open the bedroom door.
Tom lay on top of the covers, his body in the freefall position—one leg bent toward his chest and his arms hugging his pillow. A rush of air expelled from between his pouting lips, the rhythmic pfff bringing a smile to Booker’s face. With his mussed hair and flawless complexion, Tom was a vision of childlike innocence. However, the rust-colored stain on the seat of his boxers shattered the illusion into millions of razor-sharp pieces, each jagged shard capable of shredding through what remained of the young officer’s virtue. It was obvious Tom would never be the same man he had been a week ago, how could he be? Rape was a game changer, and once someone had violently stripped your liberties from you, there was no turning back, not ever.
Being careful not to wake his friend, Booker walked into the bathroom and closed the door. After relieving his bladder, he stared into the mottled mirror and studied his reflection. He was surprised at how tired he looked. The black smudges under his eyes and the paleness of his sallow skin were both testament to his lack of sleep over the last week. He had witnessed a heinous assault but only now were the effects beginning to show. However, he knew he needed to remain strong. He had to fight through the fatigue because he was about to go into battle, and if everything went to plan, he would come home triumphant and Tom would finally begin to heal.
- 17
- 18
- 19
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness