Falling Apart

 

 

Jarrod felt lucky that Dave hadn’t pushed any harder and his luck seemed to still be with him when he arrived home.

“Mr. Jarrod!” Silas exclaimed after Jarrod closed the door.  “What happened to you?”

Jarrod tried to smile and make light of his appearance.  “Would you believe me if I said I ran into a door?”

Silas eyed him critically.  “You going to tell your mother that when she gets home?  I doubt she’ll believe you any more than I do.”

A bit of the anxiety in Jarrod’s chest eased.  He wouldn’t have to confront her right away if she wasn’t home.  “No, probably not.  I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  It’s nothing serious.” 

“If you’re sure.”  Silas still looked doubtful.

Jarrod waved away Silas’ hand when it reached for his case.  “I’ll take it myself.  I’m going upstairs to rest anyway.”

“I’ll bring you some liniment for your face.”  Silas stared Jarrod down and stopped his protest.  “If you want me to hold your mother off, you won’t argue with me.  Now I can’t say as I’ll be able to keep her from checking on you, but I’ll bring you a plate and tell her you’ve already eaten if you don’t feel like coming down for dinner.”

Jarrod nodded, grateful for his friend’s understanding.  “Thank you, Silas.”

“You just be sure you eat some of it,” Silas admonished before heading off to the kitchen.

Jarrod climbed the stairs and closed the door of his room.  He eyed the cabinet that held a bottle of scotch, but decided to hold off until Silas had delivered the promised liniment and until he was sure no one would disturb him.  He didn’t want to explain to anyone why he was drunk as well as beaten.  Numbing himself with alcohol was the only thing he’d found that kept the guilt from overwhelming him and drinking into oblivion was the only way he could sleep and keep the nightmares at bay.

He changed out of his suit and tried to look at some contracts after Silas brought the liniment, a roast beef sandwich and coffee.  He decided it wouldn’t hurt to pour a small glass of scotch and was sipping it when the expected tap came on his door.

Straightening his shoulders and putting on his best courtroom face, he invited, “Come in.”

Victoria immediately walked over to him and turned his head to face her.  As much as he wanted to pull away, he endured her gentle touch.

“Silas told me you’d been injured.”  She dropped her hand.  “Have you seen the doctor?”

Jarrod gave her what he hoped was a disarming smile, even though it made his face hurt. “Trust me, it looks worse than it is,” he assured her.

She sat against the edge of his desk.  “What happened?”

Knowing he wouldn’t get away with claiming he ran into a door, Jarrod just shrugged and said, “I was robbed.  He left me with a broken nose in exchange for my wallet.”  He hated lying to her, but what else was he going to say?  That he’d been raped and beaten for defending a man with the same sexual preferences that he had?  That in the eyes of the law, he was as much a criminal as his attacker?  He knew his mother didn’t condemn his relationship with Dave, but it was never discussed either.

Victoria looked over to the plate with the half-eaten sandwich.  “I’m sure Silas will save something for you for breakfast if you want to sleep in tomorrow,” she told him gently and kissed his cheek.

He returned the kiss with gratitude, relieved he’d have more time before he had to try and deceive the rest of his family.  “Thank you, Mother.”

“Get some rest, dear.”  She left with a swish of skirts, shutting the door behind her, and Jarrod picked up his glass.  He drained it in one swallow, retrieved the almost full bottle from the cabinet and took it back to the desk.  He had two more shots in rapid succession and leaned back.  He planned to have enough that he wouldn’t have to think of anything more that evening.

 

He was naked and trussed like a calf ready for slaughter.  Not an unfamiliar position for him to be in, but the never-ending parade of faceless men violating him was almost more than he could bear.  “Filthy whore” was whispered in his ear as he was viciously raped over and over, “fucking sodomite”.  Jarrod tried to protest, tried to call for help, but whenever he opened his mouth, another foul-tasting, unwashed cock was shoved in to choke him.

He heard a loud yell and terror raced through him when he saw Dave bound spread-eagled across a table.  Another faceless man was standing over him and a sharp knife glinted in his hand.  The man grabbed Dave’s scrotum as Dave struggled and pulled it up.  The knife moved closer and Jarrod finally found he could move.

Then he was standing over Dave, the castration knife in his grip and his hands covered with blood.

“Why, Jarrod, why?” came Dave’s anguished plea and Jarrod fell to his knees, sobbing.

“I never meant to hurt you, Dave.  Oh, God, I’m so sorry.  So sorry.”

 

He woke in a cold sweat, shuddering and retching.  Crawling out from under the covers, Jarrod groped for the bottle and gulped down the remains of the scotch.  He sat on the bed, trying to regain his breath, trying to banish the image of Dave’s blood on his hands.

But the horrible visions wouldn’t go away.  Again and again, he could feel the pain and humiliation of rape, and again and again, heard Dave’s voice as he wielded the knife and took something irreplaceable from his lover.

Even most of a bottle of scotch hadn’t been able to keep the nightmare away this time and his head sunk heavily into his hands.  Maybe everyone was right.  Maybe he was a crime against nature.  His mind travelled back to his earlier thought, that if he hadn’t come along, Dave would have found another woman to love. 

Maybe that was what his dream was telling him, that he had pulled Dave into his sick little world and had harmed someone he loved more than anything.  Jarrod suddenly knew he had to give him up.  And to do that, he knew he’d have to give up his life in Stockton.  There was no way he could go on practicing law in the same town where Dave was sheriff.  He was always being asked to throw his hat in the ring and run for office; maybe moving to the capitol and putting his energies into something new would help him cope with the loss of someone so important to him and the necessity of staying away from all those he loved so dearly.

Jarrod eyed the empty bottle, got unsteadily to his feet and went downstairs in search of another.