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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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Two hours later
A row of evenly spaced street lights cast a yellow glow over the cracked sidewalk, the soft radiance illuminating a path to Tom’s apartment. In the distance, the rumble of traffic echoed through the still night air, the low resonance drowning out the sound of the young officer’s footsteps. But the city’s urban song didn’t stop Tom’s mind from reciting a silent mantra with each footfall. Dennis... Jorge... Dennis... Jorge... Dennis... Jorge… the names jarred painfully inside his head until they became a cohesive whole, dennisjorgedennisjorgedennisjorge, giving validation to the two men’s coupling. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and no matter how much the young officer tried to pretend it had never happened, he could not change reality. Dennis and Jorge had shared a personal experience, an intimate coming together of bodies that he had thus far, only dreamed about. His own painful initiation into gay sex had resulted in a fear of penetration, leaving his and Booker’s relationship hanging precariously in the balance, which had created feelings of regret and inadequacy. What if he could never be the partner Booker deserved? Would his anxiety ultimately force his lover into the arms of his rival? These and other questions swirled through his brain, the thoughts intermingling with his melodic dennisjorge chant, confusing his mind to the point where he could barely think straight. Trapped in a cycle of self-rejection, he was mentally and physically exhausted and on the verge of giving up. For the first time ever, he was without purpose, and he couldn't help but wonder if life had become all too hard.
Turning the corner, Tom slowed his pace. Although he longed for the comfort of his home, the thought of facing Booker filled him with dread, the psychological burden weighing him down. Consequently, he purposely dragged his feet, delaying the confrontation and the inevitable argument. He’d reacted badly to the news of Booker's tape, and his guilt hung like a noose around his neck, waiting for the moment his mind yanked at the metaphorical rope, and the painful castigation crushed his airway. But while his remorse was real, his jealousy was a far bigger beast, a raging fire-breathing monster that easily dominated all other emotions. It was a deep-seated sensation that encompassed feelings of fear, fury, obsession, and humiliation. In his eyes, Jorge was everything he wasn’t; the young Latino had the body of a God, the face of an angel, and was sexually experienced beyond his years. He was the perfect man, and in comparison, Tom felt clumsy and inept. He had nothing to offer his lover except a lifetime of emotional baggage, and in his mind, no rational person would choose a sexually repressed individual over one who offered it up freely, especially not a passionate man like Dennis Booker. Somehow, in his jumble of thoughts, he had forgotten Jorge was also messed-up because all he saw was the perfect exterior and not the psychologically damaged interior of a victim of abuse. It was all an illusion, a fantasy of his own creation, but he couldn’t see past it. Jorge was a divine being, and he was nothing more than a boorish fool.
Stopping outside his building, the young officer stared up at his apartment. No light shone from the windows, and relief relaxed the muscles in his aching shoulders. Rather than waiting for him to return, it appeared Booker had gone to bed, thereby avoiding the inevitable argument that was sure to erupt as soon as he walked through the door. It was a smart move on Booker’s part, and Tom was grateful for the out. He needed time for his mind to acknowledge the existence of the tapes. While one had the power to help convict Holland, the other had the power to destroy a friendship, and he wanted to process the information in a slow and rational manner so he could decide the best way to proceed. One false move and he could ruin the most important relationship of his life; one false move and he could find himself regretting his decision forever.
With his mind made up, the young officer entered the double doors and climbed the stairs to his second-floor apartment. He paused for a moment outside his home, listening for any sounds of life before inserting his key and pushing open the door. Light from the last quarter moon shone through the window, the faint glimmer illuminating the room in an ethereal glow. Despite the dimness of the atmosphere, Tom’s gaze immediately fell on a near-empty bottle of whiskey, and he suppressed a sigh. After their argument, Booker had obviously decided to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. Not that Tom could blame him, confronting Holland had opened old wounds, and numbing his mind with alcohol had obviously helped ease Booker’s emotional pain, if only temporarily. But having taken a stroll down the same dark path, Tom knew it wasn’t the answer. Alcohol only masked the pain for the briefest of moments, allowing it to grow and fester once the effects wore off, leaving the mind vulnerable to unwanted thoughts. It was a slippery slope, and Tom hoped Booker was strong enough not to fall for Jack Daniel’s seductive allure by diving head first into the trap of binge drinking.
After flicking on the light, Tom closed and bolted the door. He never felt a hundred percent safe, even with Booker in the apartment, and it wasn’t unusual for him to check the door several times before retiring to bed. But this night, he made the decision to sleep on the couch rather than disturb his lover. He recognized the compromise for what it was; cowardice, but he was in no mood for a fight, especially with a drunken Booker. However, he felt more exposed sleeping out in the open, and so he picked up the remote and switched on the television for company. It was then he spied the two evidence bags on the coffee table, and before he had time to think through the consequences of his actions, he opened one of the bags and pulled out the video.
The words, ‘The cop and the pool boy (Dennis and Jorge shower scene) 10/3/89’ jumped out at him from the label on the spine and his hand shook so violently, he almost dropped the tape on the table. Was it fate that had made him choose that particular bag, or was it just bad luck? He had no idea, but now the video was in his grasp, he knew he had no choice but to watch it.
With trembling fingers, he pushed the tape into the VCR and sat down on the couch. His thumb hovered over the remote’s play button, hesitant, anxious, unsure if he was doing the right thing by invading his lover’s privacy. But now the idea had surfaced in his mind, the itch became too strong to ignore, and without further thought, he leaned forward and pressed play.
Dennis and Jorge’s naked bodies filled the screen, the droplets of water speckling their bronze skin shimmering under the light of the overhead bulb. The steady thrum of the shower created an exotic backdrop to the erotic scene, an audiovisual stimulation of the senses that would continue to gratify long after the video ended. But for Tom, it was a horror movie in the making. His eyes grew wide, and he stared at the screen in silent dismay as Jorge’s soapy hands moved over Booker’s torso, his long fingers caressing the dark-haired officer’s flesh with slow, sensual strokes. In the background, a low, teasing voice encouraged the young Latino with softly spoken commands. “That’s it,” the mogul directed from behind the camera, his voice dripping with arousal, “make the dirty whore nice and clean.” Unable to look away, Tom watched on, his muscles tense, his mouth pulled into a silent scream. But when Holland issued the command for Jorge to touch Booker’s cock, the young officer broke his silence. A low, anguished howl spilled from between his lips, the guttural cry adding an audible texture to the eroticism of the scene. He had become one with the vision, a voyeuristic observer trapped within the scene playing out on his television screen, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not break the cycle and tear his eyes away. By opening Pandora’s Box, the consequences of his decision would impact on his life forever. But it was when Booker pushed his huge erection into Jorge’s trembling body—a look of pure ecstasy radiating from his beautiful face—that Tom completely lost control of his emotions. Loud sobs racked his body, and burying his face in his hands, he mourned the loss of the man he loved. Nothing would ever be the same again.
When the tape eventually turned to static, Tom rubbed a hand over his tear-stained face and switched off the VCR. But there was no escaping the erotic vision, the image had anchored itself in the annals of his mind, the memory biting into the flesh of his conscious thought. Tiny beads of water glistening on a chiseled body, hips thrusting forward in carnal delight, it was a coupling like no other, a work of art, an aesthetic vignette of motion and texture uniting two men as one. But it was more than just sex, it was a transcendent moment in time that could never be replicated, no matter how hard others tried. Theirs was a uniquely beautiful pairing, and it was then Tom knew he could never compete. He was a mere flicker in the shining light of two Adonises. He was transparent, a ghost, and it was clear he did not belong. He might as well not exist at all. He was, in a word, obsolete.
Out of nowhere, the Sesame Street song, ‘One of These Things Is Not Like the Others’ popped into Tom’s head, and with a sad smile, he wiped a rogue tear from his cheek. But just as he had made up his mind to tell Booker it was over, a strident voice inside his head told him to stop being so pathetic and fight, fight, fight! Despite the roller coaster ride that was their friendship, Booker had chosen him as a partner, not Jorge, and he needed to stop doubting his lover’s motives and treat him with the respect he deserved. But it wasn’t quite as easy as that. If their relationship was to survive, he needed to overcome his fears and give Booker the greatest gift he could offer; his unconditional love. It was a huge step for someone who only three months before had been violently raped by seven strangers, but it was a sacrifice Tom was willing to make. His love was absolute, and he wanted to experience the same level of passion his lover had once shared with Jorge. He wanted to feel loved. He wanted to be Booker’s everything.
A gratifying calm eased the tension in the young officer’s weary body, and lying down on the couch, he drew his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes. Eventually, his breathing slowed, his mind content in the knowledge that when he awoke, he would set the ball in motion and achieve his ultimate goal.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness