Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Chasing a Butterfly	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 2592 -:- 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
- 40
- 41
- 42
Wednesday December 4th 1991 (8.42 p.m.)
After much thought, Booker had made the difficult decision to lie low and give Tom some space. He deeply regretted the clumsy way he had handled their meeting, and for the umpteenth time since that fateful day, he cursed his impetuous nature. However, after spending three sleepless nights analyzing in minute detail every mistake he had made, he had come to the conclusion that it would be sensible to leave Tom alone, at least for the interim. His infatuation blinded him to what it was Tom really needed; which was support, guidance and friendship, and not a full-blown love affair. There was no denying the obvious; Tom was, without any doubt, emotionally and physically scarred and he knew it would be a very long time before his ex-lover was stable enough to enter into a relationship that was anything more than a friendship. However, he did hope that Tom would, at the very least, accept the hand of friendship and allow him to help in any way he could.
Therefore, having finally straightened everything out in his head, he was more than a little surprised to find Tom sitting crouched outside his door when he arrived home from work. It was immediately apparent from his appearance that something was amiss and sprinting down the hallway, he dropped to his knees beside his friend. “Tommy, what is it? What’s wrong?”
When Tom lifted his head, Booker was shocked to see how unwell he looked. Dark shadows ringed his dull, lifeless eyes, the black smudges emphasizing his apparent poor health. His hair clung in damp curls around his pallid, drawn face and his perspiration-soaked sweatshirt adhered to his slender frame. It was obvious he was in need of medical attention and Booker wrapped a supporting arm around his waist and helped him to his feet.
“Th-They sacked me,” Tom stammered, his frail body shaking uncontrollably as he desperately clutched at Booker’s arm. “I k-kept dr-dropping the tr-tray, and th-they said I was—”
“Let’s get you inside,” Booker soothed and sustaining Tom’s weight with one arm, he quickly opened the door, “you need to go to the hospital.”
Despite his frail appearance, Tom managed to pull away from Booker’s hold and leaning against the wall for support, he wrapped his arms protectively around his body and shook his head violently back and forth. “I d-don’t wa-wanna go t-to the h-hospital,” he protested.
“Tom—”
“N-NO!” Tom cried, his increasing hysteria becoming more apparent with each passing second. “I j-just need s-some-wh-where to s-stay! P-Please, D-Dennis, don’t s-send me away!”
Booker took Tom by the arm and leading him into his apartment, he closed the door. “If I’m to help you, you have to be honest with me. What’s going on?”
Tom’s eyes flitted nervously around the room before his gaze settled on the floor. “I st-stopped my m-medication,” he disclosed in a defensive tone.
With a frustrated sigh, Booker raked his hands through his hair. “Why would you—”
“BECAUSE I JUST WA-WANNA BE N-NORMAL!” Tom screamed, his dark eyes flashing wildly. “I H-HATE BEING L-LIKE THIS! I FUCKING H-HATE IT!”
Forcing down another sigh, Booker inhaled deeply and remained calm. “Okay, I get that,” he placated softly. “But, Tommy, you can’t just come off anti-anxiety medication cold turkey. There are side effects, and you’re exhibiting every single one of them.”
Without warning, Tom’s face crumpled and he burst into tears. “S-So w-what am I su-supposed to d-do? I’m fu-fucking useless on m-medication and I’m fu-fucking useless off it.”
The sight was so pathetic, Booker felt a physical pain stab at his heart and taking Tom by the hand, he escorted him over to the couch and sat him down. Taking a seat on the coffee table opposite, he laid his hands on Tom’s trembling knees and spoke in a quiet but authoritative voice. “First, you take a warm shower and put on a change of clothes. Second, I’ll go to your apartment and get your medication.”
When Tom started to argue, Booker held up his hand. “This is non-negotiable,” he lectured in a no-nonsense tone. “If you want my help, we do it my way.”
Flopping back against the couch cushions, Tom folded his arms across his chest in a willful show of protestation and pushed his lower lip out into a fractious pout. “And if I r-refuse?” he asked in a cold voice.
Booker gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Then you’re on your own.”
Tom chewed anxiously on his lower lip as his legs jiggled restlessly. He knew he had no choice, he was in a bad way and with no job and no prospects, he would find himself homeless within the week.
Overcome by a sudden onset of weariness, his lower lip started to tremble. “Okay,” he sniffed in defeat, his glassy eyes shimmering with fresh tears. “I’ll do wh-whatever you w-want.”
Although pleased that Tom had agreed to his terms, Booker did not smile. Instead, he acknowledged his friend’s statement with a barely perceivable nod of his head and getting to his feet, he held out his hand. “Keys.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Tom reached in his jean’s pocket with shaky fingers and pulling out a single key tied to a frayed piece of string, he handed it over to Booker.
“There are towels in the bathroom and sweats in the bottom drawer of my bureau,” Booker continued in a calm voice. “Is there anything else you want me to grab from your apartment?”
Tom’s face flushed crimson. He owned very little; just a few articles of clothing and a small television set that the building manager had given to him in exchange for the occasional blowjob. But that was his dirty little secret and one he would never divulge to Booker.
Needs must when the devil drives. Once a whore, always a whore.
With a slight shake of his head, he continued to stare at the floor as he struggled to control his twitching limbs. “J-Just my clothes,” he stated in a flat voice. “My m-meds are n-next to m-my bed.”
It was extremely distressing for Booker to see Tom so defeated, and he desperately wanted to gather him into his arms and kiss away his tears. But he was determined not to make the same mistake twice and so he remained cool and composed. “Okay, I’ll be back in an hour.”
As he started to leave, cold fingers grasped at his arm and maintaining his equanimity, he turned around and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Is there something else?”
Somewhat taken aback by Booker’s aloofness, Tom withdrew his trembling hand and clamped it between his legs. “No,” he muttered glumly, “I just wa-wanted to say th-thanks, that’s all.”
Booker returned a strained smile. “What are friends for?”
**
Wednesday December 4th 1991 (9.28 p.m.)
As he stood inside Tom’s dank and musty apartment, Booker remembered a long forgotten sermon from Sunday School; One sin leads to another, and iniquity begins to define our lives. It certainly appeared to be true in Tom’s case and even though he had sought redemption by sacrificing eighteen months of his life, the emotional and physical scars would forever remind him of the sins of his past. It seemed unjust, but it was the truth; Tom would never have the luxury of closing the lid on his past and just forgetting. His memories would haunt him forever.
With sagging shoulders, Booker walked over to the single bed in the corner of the room. Three vials of medication stood on a rickety bedside table and picking them up one by one, he studied the labels. On the drive over to the apartment, he had thought long and hard about the best way to help Tom and foremost in his mind was getting him to see a doctor. Although he understood why his friend was taking medication, he was worried about the side effects, and it seemed negligent for a clinic to keep filling his prescription without ever giving him a basic physical exam. He was starting to wonder if Tom was, in fact, over medicated, and perhaps that was part of the problem. However, without a doctor’s exam, he could not say for certain. All he could do was hope that Tom would agree to see a physician and submit to a thorough examination.
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his reverie and turning around, he saw a man standing in the open doorway. He started to speak, but the man interrupted him. “Where’s Tom?”
With his suspicions aroused, Booker eyed the man up and down. He appeared to be in his forties, around six foot four, and his body was fit and muscular, but showing the beginnings of a paunch. His hair was styled in a military buzz cut, giving Booker the impression that he was an ex-serviceman, and he cut a formidable figure in his dark gray chinos and tight, long-sleeved tee. The man gave off an aura of power and dominance, and a shiver of foreboding ran down Booker’s spine. If he knew Tom, in all likelihood, he had some control over him and that did not sit well with Booker. It did not sit well at all.
Taking a step forward, he maintained a neutral expression. “Who wants to know?”
The man sneered and a low, mocking laugh rumbled in his chest. “No need to ask who you are. By that possessive look in your eyes, I’d have to take an educated guess and say you’re the ex-boyfriend.”
Booker found it extremely disconcerting that the man seemed to know so much about him, but he kept his uneasiness to himself. “And you are?” he asked politely.
Swiping his tongue over his perfectly even teeth, the man’s eyes glinted with malice. “The name’s McLeod, I’m the building supervisor and I wanna know where Tom is ‘cause I’ve got an itch that needs scratchin’, if you know what I mean.”
It took a second for the meaning of McLeod’s words to register in Booker’s mind, but once they did, a deep-seated fury rose from the pit of his stomach. His hands balled into tight fists as the urge to smack the smirk off the smiling face in front of him became insurmountable and narrowing his eyes, he glared angrily at McLeod. “You’d better walk away, you sonofabitch,” he growled. “Tommy doesn’t live here anymore.”
McLeod tilted his head on one side and leered at Booker in amusement. “Is that right? Damn, I’m really gonna miss that pretty little mouth wrapped around my—”
With a primordial yell, Booker launched himself at his antagonist, knocking him to the ground. Even though McLeod outweighed him by at least twenty pounds, his momentary insanity imbued him with an added strength and he managed to land several vicious punches before two meaty fists picked him up and threw him across the room. He crashed through the small coffee table, the force of the impact knocking the air out of him with a loud oomph. Pain immediately flared in his lower back, but it did not deter him and staggering to his feet, he defiantly stood his ground. “Wanna go again, asshole?” he hissed through bloody lips.
Alex McLeod swiped the back of his hand across his bloody nose. “And get charged with assaulting a cop? No thanks. Give Tom my love, I’m sure gonna miss him.”
For the briefest of moments, Booker considered attacking McLeod for a second time, but for once, common sense prevailed and instead, he shot the older man a stony look. “Go to hell.”
“Already been there,” McLeod countered with a growl, his piercing blue eyes narrowing into slits. “So if you’re looking for revenge, buddy boy, just remember, I got very little to lose… much like your precious Tommy.”
Taking a menacing step forward, Booker glared at McLeod. “Is that a threat? ‘Cause if you come anywhere near Tom, I swear I’ll make it my mission to see you really do end up in hell.”
An amused laugh sputtered from between McLeod’s lips. “You and whose army, pretty boy?”
Booker’s lips pulled back into a manic grin, revealing his blood stained teeth. “Never underestimate the power of Los Angeles’ finest,” he snarled. “I’ll put a tail on your ass and if you even fart in public, I’ll have you arrested. Got it?”
McLeod’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, but he eventually came to the conclusion that Tom was not worth the hassle and with a nod of his head, he turned on his heel and sauntered out the door.
- 40
- 41
- 42
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

Chasing a Butterfly