Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Cries of a Shadow	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2758 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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
- 21
- 22
- 23
Booker woke with a start, disoriented for a moment by the darkened room. When the rhythmic beep-beep of the heart monitor reached his ears, his memories returned and turning his head, he stared down at his friend.
With his face relaxed in sleep, Tom’s beautiful features radiated an innocent tranquility that reminded the dark-haired officer of a small child. But on further inspection, the bloody bandage and myriad of bruises covering his friend’s arms painted a far different picture...a brutal picture of a frightened man living with a controlling bully. That the physical abuse had escalated into rape only reinforced Booker’s belief Will was unhinged, and he wondered how long Tom had suffered in silence. A month? A year? Always? An image of the Hanson brothers’ bedroom flashed into his mind, and he suppressed a shudder. One bed for two adult siblings didn't make sense. It didn't make sense at all.
Tom’s fingers twitched in Booker’s hand, faintly at first before the spasm grew stronger. The dark-haired officer’s heart thumped heavily in his chest and leaning forward in his chair, he brushed a stray strand of hair from his friend’s brow. “Hey, Tommy. Can you hear me?”
“W-Will?” Tom croaked, his eyelids fluttering weakly. “Will, is that you?”
A chill ran down Booker’s spine. “No, Tom, it’s Dennis.”
“Dennis?”
Booker squeezed Tom’s fingers. “Yes, it’s me. Open your eyes. You’re safe now. You’re in the hospital.”
When Tom’s eyes slowly blinked into focus, the illusion of youthful innocence was shattered, replaced by a world-weary countenance of pain and suffering. Staring up at his friend, he swallowed several times before asking the one question Booker did not expect to hear. “Is Will okay?”
The concern in his friend’s voice caught Booker by surprise. “Um...I don’t know. I guess. Is there a reason he shouldn’t be?”
A shadow of pain crossed over Tom’s face. “I’m thirsty.”
Compassion softened Booker’s features and disengaging his fingers, he stood up. “Do you want me to get you some water?”
“Tired,” Tom muttered, his eyes fluttering closed.
Booker laid a gentle hand on Tom’s head. “Okay,” he murmured. “Get some rest.”
“Don’t leave me,” Tom mumbled, the effects of the pain medication once again dragging him toward darkness.
“Never,” Booker murmured, his hand lightly caressing Tom’s hair. “I promise, baby. I’ll never leave you again.”
**
Three hours later
A sharp burning pain dragged Tom back toward consciousness. A low moan quivered over his lips, his discomfort intensifying as the effects of the drugs circulating through his system slowly wore off. He whimpered again, and a warm hand squeezed his fingers, reminding him he wasn’t alone. Opening his eyes, he saw Booker’s worried face hovering above him, and biting down on his lower lip, he stifled a sob. His brother had raped him, he was in the hospital, and everyone knew his secret shame. Life had officially hit an all-time low.
“Hey, Tommy. Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”
It was a stupid question, an empty banality that served no purpose except to make the speaker feel useful. But under the circumstances, Tom forgave Booker his clumsy attempt at offering him aid. After all, what did one say to a battered and bleeding twenty-three-year-old victim of incest lying in a hospital bed? Sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry your parents died and left you to fend for yourself? Sorry your brother’s a perverted, deviant asshole? Sorry you didn’t have the cojones to tell said brother to keep his fucking hands off you? There were no politically correct platitudes, and even if there were, would they help? In Tom’s mind, the answer was no. But that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the effort. Booker was the only person to have taken the time to get to know him, and even though they’d had their ups and downs, he trusted the dark-haired officer had his best interests at heart, even after their very public fight. However, that was before fate had exposed his dirty little secret in such a dramatic fashion. He had no idea whether Booker’s feelings toward him had changed, but he was certain his friend wouldn’t abandon him in his time of need. It was a comforting observation, and yet, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to share his feelings about his and Will’s unhealthy relationship. Fiercely private, the very idea of opening up and talking about his dysfunctional life terrified him. Then there were his conflicting feelings about Will. He loved and hated his brother in equal measures, and he wasn’t sure anyone else would understand the complexity of his emotions. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he understood why he cared so deeply for the man who had made his life a living hell. But love him he did, and despite everything that had happened, he didn’t want people to think of Will as the bad guy. His brother was in dire need of help, not judgment, and if his rape was the catalyst that prompted his sibling to seek psychiatric support, then something good had come out of his suffering. He wanted his brother back, and rightly or wrongly, he was prepared to go to any lengths to ensure he didn’t lose the only remaining family member he cared for. Yes, Will’s actions had hurt him, but compared to the thought of spending a lifetime on his own, the damage was, in his mind, minimal.
“Tommy?”
Mustering all his inner fortitude, Tom managed a weak smile. “I’m okay.”
Impressed by his friend’s strength of character, Booker returned an affectionate look. “Are you thirsty? You said you were thirsty, so I got you a pitcher of water.”
Touched by Booker’s tender concern, Tom’s eyes filled with tears. But he quickly blinked them back. “Yeah, thanks.”
Booker poured a cup and held it out to his friend. “Do you need help?”
The thought of moving his battered body filled Tom with a familiar dread, but his inner determination soon won out and clenching his jaw, he rolled onto one elbow and pushed himself into a half sitting position. He visibly winced as pain flared inside his anus, and drawing in a sharp intake of breath, he waited for the throbbing to ease before reaching for the cup. But the nerve damage in his wrist restricted his movements, and the plastic receptacle slipped from between his numb fingers, spilling its contents over his chest.
Tears pricked at Tom’s eyes, and using his other hand, he picked up the empty tumbler. “Here, let me,” Booker offered, and taking the cup from his friend, he refilled it and held it to his lips. Embarrassed, Tom allowed the dark-haired officer to assist him, and leaning forward, he swallowed several large gulps of the cool liquid.
“More?” Booker asked quietly.
Exhausted, Tom shook his head, and flopping back against his pillow, he closed his eyes and waited for the pain to subside.
“Should I call the nurse?”
Opening his eyes again, Tom shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I’m just tired. What time is it?”
Glancing at his watch, Booker was surprised to see it was 3 a.m. “Three o’clock in the morning,” he replied with a yawn.
A frown knitted Tom’s brow. “What time did I get here?”
Easing himself out of his chair, Booker stretched his aching back muscles. “I dunno, about seven o’clock last night I guess. Why?”
“Does Will know I’m here?”
The muscles in Booker’s jaw tightened. “You don’t have to worry about him. You’re safe here. Fuller’s put you on a twenty-four-hour security watch.”
“Why?”
It was on the tip of Booker’s tongue to say, “Because your brother’s a psycho rapist,” but he caught himself just in time. Instead, he approached the question with careful consideration for his friend’s feelings. “Um...Tom? Do you remember what happened to you?”
Lowering his gaze, Tom gave a slight nod of his head. “Of course I do.”
Rubbing a hand over his temple, Booker withheld the exasperated sigh that threatened to expel from between his pursed lips. “Then you know why.”
Embarrassment colored Tom’s cheeks. “But it wasn’t his fault,” he muttered into his chest.
Booker could feel his blood pressure rising along with his heart rate. "He raped you, Tom. If it wasn’t his fault, whose fucking fault was it?”
Tom’s lower lip started to tremble. “M-Mine,” he choked, his eyes shiny with tears. “I was so young, Dennis. I was so young, and I didn't know how to s-stop...”
His voice hitched, his shame rendering him speechless. How could he explain the fear and confusion he’d felt the first time his brother had stroked his penis through his gym shorts? There were no words to articulate the titillating sensation pulsating through his groin, his body’s awakening fighting for dominance over the guilt and shame screaming inside his head. Eventually, his inner voice had won the battle, and his mind had taken him to his happy place so he wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment. But by shutting down, he’d given Will the green light to proceed, and by the time his prepubescent mind had sorted through his conflicting emotions, he had no idea how to rebuff his brother’s advances. Months turned into years, and he had remained trapped in a cycle of escalating abuse, unable or unwilling to speak out in case he hurt Will’s feelings. But all that had changed the moment Booker had called him a freak, and although he hadn’t realized it at the time, the public humiliation was the wake-up call he had needed to find the courage to take back control of his life. He had found his voice and finally said no...not that it had done him any good. His audacious rebellion had resulted in him spending two days chained to a sink, and the sexual abuse had continued throughout the long, agonizing hours of his incarceration. And to add insult to injury, his work colleagues now knew about his rape, giving them more ammunition to make his life a living hell. Speaking out hadn’t changed a damn thing. His objective had failed, and he was worse off than before.
Happy fucking days.
A long, drawn-out silence followed Tom’s admission. Booker remained seated, his questioning gaze locked on his friend’s flushed face as his mind processed the painful truth. “Jesus, Tom,” he eventually croaked. “How long has this been going on?”
Tom swallowed several times. He could no longer pretend, no longer hide his and Will’s flawed relationship from Booker. His words caught painfully in his throat, his stutter reflecting his embarrassment. “H-He didn’t m-mean to h-hurt me,” he whispered, a single tear trailing down his pale cheek. “H-He just...he just n-needed comfort and—”
“How long?” Booker repeated through gritted teeth.
Tom’s fingers nervously plucked at the pilled blanket covering his legs. Eventually, he found the courage to share his secret with his friend, his words filling the empty void stretching out between them. “I was almost twelve when it first started,” he admitted in a quiet voice. “It’s been h-happening ever since.”
Watery bile stung the back of Booker’s throat, and with a grimace, he swallowed it back down. He continued his silent observation of Tom, his face frozen into a mask of horrified disbelief. A stillness settled around him, all the hospital sounds fading into the background as the enormity of the young officer’s admission finally hit home. His friend wasn’t the victim of an isolated sexual assault, he was the victim of recurring abuse that had started when he was a child. But while the horrendous discovery offended every fiber of his being, the dark-haired officer couldn’t get past one glaring fact. When Tom transitioned from a child to an adult, he’d allowed the abuse to continue without fighting back. He was, at least in Booker’s mind, a willing participant, and that made him complicit in his own sexual assault.
Sickened to the stomach by the revelation, the dark-haired officer rose to his feet, his movements slow and clumsy, the tremors vibrating through his body impeding his mobility. Once standing, a surge of adrenaline secreted into his system, and the need to escape the close confines of the room suddenly overwhelmed him. “I can’t...I...I’ve gotta go!” he blurted out, and spinning around, he stumbled out the door.
A tsunami of emotion rose from the very depths of Tom’s soul, and burying his face in his hands, the young officer attempted to stifle the flood of tears threatening to spill from his eyes. But his grief was too consuming, and hunching forward, loud, racking sobs forced their way out of his body, each pain-stricken cry piercing the silence. The disgust in Booker’s eyes remained cauterized in his memory, the animated visual providing another piece of an image that had formed a twisted facsimile of his friend’s face mouthing the word freak over and over again in his mind. The mental picture mercilessly taunted him, validating his own opinion of himself. On and on the torment continued until his exhausted mind finally snapped, and falling back against his pillow, he closed his eyes and allowed the screaming inside his head to chase the ghostly apparition away.
**
Booker hunched over the toilet, his eyes screwed closed, long slivers of bitter tasting saliva dangling from between his lips. He’d only just made it to the hospital restroom and into a vacant stall before his rising nausea spewed forth in a torrent of watery vomit. And as he continued to heave, purging the vile liquid from his body along with the memory of Tom’s words, he wondered how he would ever look his friend in the eyes again.
- 21
- 22
- 23
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Cries of a Shadow