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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
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After his confrontation at the bar, Booker's consciousness shifted to self-reflection, the intensity of his resentment decreasing as his anxiety levels escalated in slow, measured bursts. There was no denying it, Tom had not only infected his heart, but he had also infected every fiber of his being, leaving him unprepared as a rising surge of emotion consumed his mind, body, and spirit. The Booker of old would have taken the attractive man back to his apartment and screwed his brains out, but the new and improved Booker had no interest in casual sex. He wanted Tom, not just as a sexual partner, but as a friend and confidant, someone he could share his innermost thoughts with when he needed advice or a sympathetic ear. He didn’t want to spend his life alone, and with the effects of the alcohol calming his agitated mind, their fight now seemed trivial, a superfluous response born from jealousy and embarrassment. In the heat of the moment he had overreacted, his protectiveness coming to the fore, his need to coddle Tom ultimately pushing him away. It was a foolish mistake and one he knew he might have to live with for the rest of his life if he didn’t make things right.
And so, although it pained him to admit he was wrong, he made the decision to ignore his ego, apologize for being a monumental pain in the ass, and beg forgiveness, even if he had to do so on bended knee.
Arriving back at Tom’s apartment, he hesitated outside the door, uncertainty churning his stomach. But eventually, he found his nerve, and lifting his hand, he rapped on the wooden paneling.
When the door swung open, a rush of adrenaline heightened his senses. Since his rape, it was unusual for Tom to leave the door unlocked, and with his mind on high alert, the dark-haired officer cautiously entered the apartment. But bitter disappointment soon replaced the fear racing through his heart. While not expecting Tom to rush into his arms, apologies tumbling from his soft, sensuous lips, he had, at the very least, expected him to be home. The anticlimax of finding the apartment empty brought forth another wave of melancholy, and his head and shoulders slumped with disillusionment. It was obvious Tom was still angry with him, and he was making a statement by staying out with Penhall. Not that Booker could blame him. He’d behaved like a prick, and he deserved the emotional punishment.
With his need to get Tom off his mind, he walked over to the window and lifting up the sash, he stared down at the empty street below. Intoxicated laughter drifted on the cooling November breeze, the sound coming from several blocks away, the raucous merriment shattering the night’s peace. But the drunken revelry only added to his feelings of loneliness, and in a fit of temper, he slammed down the window, the force shaking the panes of glass within the wooden sash bars. It was then he decided he needed another drink, and not caring he was raiding Tom’s liquor, he headed for the kitchen in search of some whiskey.
But just as he entered the kitchenette, the sound of a key turning in the lock had his head spinning toward the door. Nervous expectation and the promise of reconciliation had him agonizing about how to react—play it cool or rush in first and offer an apology? But the words forming on his lips remained unspoken as Tom walked through the door dressed only in a pair of khaki pants, followed by Jorge, sans pants.
“Hey, Dennis,” Tom muttered, his greeting less than enthusiastic. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Booker’s eyes narrowed, his mounting suspicion pulling his mouth into a thin, tight line. “Obviously,” he replied in a terse voice.
Weariness projected from Tom’s dark eyes. “Don’t start. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Then what is it?” Booker snapped, his angry gaze flitting from Tom to Jorge and back again. “You two just decided to meet up and remove your clothing?”
Jorge stepped forward, a nervous tic twitching the corner of his mouth. “Don’t blame Tom, it’s not his fault.”
Booker lunged forward, his face contorting, his whole body trembling with a vengeful anger. “STAY OUT OF IT! YOU'VE CAUSED ENOUGH—”
“For God’s sake, Booker!” Tom interjected, his fatigue manifesting into irritability. “If you’d just stop shouting, maybe we can all sit down and talk about this like adults.”
Stunned into silence, Booker took a step back. He watched with growing animosity as Tom motioned for Jorge to sit down before once again, finding his voice. “If you’re gonna tell me something I don’t wanna hear, don’t, okay? I don’t feel like getting my heart ripped out right now.”
Taking a seat beside Jorge, Tom studied Booker’s resentful frown. “Sit down, Dennis,” he instructed with a noticeable sigh.
Only when he was seated did Booker notice the paleness of Tom’s face, the sallow color of his skin highlighted by a second faint bruise adorning the corner of his mouth. “What happened to you?” he asked, his clipped tone disguising his concern. “Did someone else hit you?”
Tom rubbed a self-conscious hand over the tender spot on his lip. “I don’t really remember. I s’pose they did.”
Jorge’s face reddened and turning to face Tom, he offered an apologetic smile. “It was Holland. He smashed the glass into your face when you—”
“HOLLAND!” Booker exclaimed, shock coiling through his body, the pulsating waves of fury forcing him to his feet. “What the hell were you doing with Holland?”
Fear drained the color from Jorge’s face, his dark eyes growing large with distress. “I’m sorry, Dennis, I didn’t mean to hurt Tom, I just wanted to be with you.”
With a primordial yell, Booker launched himself at the young Latino, and grabbing him by his shirt front, he hauled him to his feet. “WHAT DID YOU DO?” he screamed into the younger man’s startled face. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?”
Afraid Booker would lose control and beat the frightened pool boy into a bloody pulp, Tom jumped up, and grabbing his lover by the arm, he yanked him away. The young officer’s reaction left Booker even more agitated, and spinning around, he confronted him face-to-face, his eyes flashing with anger. “WHY ARE YOU PROTECTING HIM?” he yelled. “YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE HIM!”
Annoyance pulled Tom’s mouth into a furious scowl. “Because he’s your friend, and even though Holland brainwashed him into believing the two of you could be together, he chose to help me. So why don’t you shut the fuck up and listen to what we have to say.”
“Did he touch you?” Booker asked through gritted teeth, an indelible image of Holland’s smooth hands roaming over Tom’s naked body forming in his mind. “Because I swear to God, Tommy, I’ll kill that perverted sonofabitch if he so much as laid a finger on you.”
Tom’s face paled, his eyes widening in shock, the dark orbs framing his beautiful face. With the effects of the drug still in his system, it hadn’t occurred to him that he might have already fallen victim to another sexual assault. His stomach churned, and meeting Booker’s furious gaze, he fought to control his rising nausea. “I-I don’t know,” he faltered. “Oh God, Dennis, I don’t know.”
Booker stepped toward Jorge, his mouth set in a grim line. “Did he?”
Jorge lowered his gaze, his cheeks flushing red with shame. “I don’t know. I wasn’t allowed into the dungeon until Mister Holland left for his meeting. By then, Tom was already naked.”
Hot, bilious fluid rose into Tom’s throat, and clamping a hand over his mouth, he staggered backward and fell into a chair. Closing his eyes, he swallowed down the vile liquid, the acidity burning his throat. But he ignored the foul taste, and furrowing his brow in concentration, his mind tuned into his body’s frequency, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort. If Holland had penetrated him anally, he was confident he would know. But after several moments, he came to the conclusion the tycoon hadn’t raped him, but that did not mean he hadn’t taken his pleasure in other ways. The GHB had left him with no memory, and for all he knew, Holland could have fondled him or forced him to perform oral sex, both of which had him gagging with revulsion. Through no fault of his own, he had become a defenseless puppet, and knowing Holland’s past form, he was certain whatever had occurred, the mogul would have videoed it for future entertainment.
When a loving hand squeezed his shoulder, Tom looked up, his dark eyes clouding with misery. “I don’t remember anything,” he admitted in a strained voice. “He could have done other things, but I don’t think he… it doesn’t feel like he…”
“Shhh,” Booker consoled, his hand stroking Tom’s tousled hair. “Try not to think about it, it’ll just drive you crazy.”
Tom pushed Booker’s hand away. “I need a shower,” he muttered to no one in particular, and standing up, he hurried into the bathroom and slammed the door closed with a resounding bang.
After witnessing the uncomfortable exchange, Jorge edged cautiously toward the apartment’s main door. “I should go.”
“Wait,” Booker instructed, his tone cold and unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.”
Jorge shifted on his feet, his stance nervous and awkward. “Can I have some pants?” he asked. “I gave mine to Tom.”
Narrowing his eyes, Booker pointed to a chair. “Sit.”
A moody expression passed over the young Latino’s face, but he reluctantly obeyed. When Booker returned with a pair of sweats, he stood up and pulled them on. After sitting back down, he attempted to explain his actions in a soft, doleful voice. “You’ve gotta believe me, I didn’t want him to get hurt. I just wanted to be with you and Mister Holland said he’d help me.”
Booker cast an eye at the closed bathroom door. He could hear the sound of running water, and he felt an overwhelming urge to run into the steam-filled room, gather Tom in his arms and kiss away his pain and uncertainty. But first, he needed answers and taking a seat next to Jorge, he reined in his anger and attempted to speak in a calm, non-threatening manner. “But he did get hurt. You and I both know Holland did things to Tom, and just because he has no memory of them doesn’t mean it won’t affect him. I don’t love you, Jorge, I’m in love with Tommy. I’ll always be in love with Tommy. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m telling you now, nothing you do will ever change my mind. Ever. I’m sorry you misread the signals, but I don’t think I could’ve been any clearer. You need to move on and forget about me because no matter what you think, you and I are never going to be together.”
A single tear formed in the corner of Jorge’s eyes, the opaque droplet clinging to his lashes before sliding unchecked down his smooth, bronze cheek. “I know,’ he whispered, his lower lip trembling with emotion. “I know you don’t love me, and I don’t even know why I let Mister Holland talk me into helping him kidnap Tom. Deep down, I think I knew he only did it so he could abuse him, but a part of me didn’t care. A part of me thought he deserved it.”
The confession sent a surge of raging anger through Booker’s body, stiffening his muscles. But he managed to contain his temper, and instead of berating the broken man sitting before him, he offered him some much-needed advice. “You need to stay away from Holland. He’s manipulating you, you know that, right?”
Jorge sniffed loudly, his expression bereft of hope, his demeanor alone and yearning. “But he’s the only person who’s ever loved me. Without him, I’m nothing.”
A rush of genuine sadness expelled the anger coursing through Booker’s veins, and placing an arm around the Latino’s shoulders, he gave a gentle squeeze. “You are something, you just haven’t been given any opportunities. And the way Holland treats you has nothing to do with love, Jorge, it’s abuse, and he should be in prison.”
“That’s what Tom said,” Jorge mumbled. “He said he wanted to report all the Pi Taus for what they’ve—”
“Tom said that?” Booker interrupted, his forehead wrinkling in surprise.
Wiping away a stray tear, Jorge nodded. “He said we should take the sonofabitch down, but I didn’t believe him. I asked him why he didn’t file charges when he was raped, and he said the Pi Taus took everything from him, and like me, he didn’t have the courage to fight back. But he said he was tired of all their shit, and he wanted to make them pay. That’s when I helped him escape because I knew he’d suffered like me and I didn’t want to put him through that kinda hell again. I guess I didn’t want him to end up a screw-up like me.”
“You’re not a screw-up,” Booker reassured in a soft voice. “You just need guidance. I’m sorry I abandoned you, I should’ve been a better friend.”
A hesitant smile tilted Jorge’s lips. “Maybe we can start over, the three of us, I mean. Maybe we can all be friends?”
Although not certain his lover would agree, Booker returned an encouraging smile. “Maybe. But I really need to talk to Tom now, make sure he’s all right. Do you need money for a cab?”
With a shake of his head, Jorge rose to his feet. “Tell Tom I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve his forgiveness, but tell him anyway, okay?”
Booker responded with a nod of his head. He watched in silence as Jorge exited the apartment before turning his attention to the bathroom door. He had no idea how he was going to comfort Tom, all he knew for certain was that he owed his lover an apology for behaving like a jealous fool. The only problem was, after everything that had happened, he wasn’t sure Tom was ready to forgive him because once again, he had failed to protect him from the big, bad wolf.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness