Violated (18 page)

Was everybody looking at their old pal Derek now and thinking, “Jesus! I knew he was a fag, but I thought he had enough sense to keep it to himself. Thank God I never went on a trip with him!”

Were they wondering if he’d been sneaking peeks at their dicks in the men’s room?

The guard stood over him as he went through his desk as quickly as possible. Derek knew the company policy was largely to prevent angry former employees from destroying company property or walking off with computer equipment, but it felt as if everyone was afraid he might make a break for it and run up and down the rows of cubicles, kissing guys and grabbing their crotches.

There wasn’t much he wanted to take with him—a few books that belonged to him personally, an external hard drive that was his, a mug Tim had gotten him, some paperwork with personal information about his doctor visits and bank accounts. He’d been worried someone might challenge him on the hard drive, or at least demand to see whether there was anything on there that belonged to the company, such as the software programs he’d supported or software utilities used in support. But nobody prevented him from putting the hard drive in his box.

He left behind the plaques he’d received for his years in support and the two paperweights he’d been awarded for Employee of the Quarter. But he took his nameplate.

Then the guard escorted him downstairs. When he left the building, the sky was ominous, with heavy, dark storm clouds rolling in from the ocean. He could feel the moisture gathering in the air.

Derek looked up, blinking as a light spattering of rain struck his face. He was too shaky to drive home, but he couldn’t stay there, so he retrieved his car and drove a short distance down the road. Here there was a building that hadn’t been occupied for several years, since the tech company occupying it had declared bankruptcy. The parking lot was cracked and sun-bleached, with grass and even small saplings poking up through it in places. Derek parked and sat hunched over his steering wheel. He didn’t cry this time, but the numbness had come back. He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever feel normal again.

He knew he’d blown it. If he’d had the brains to file a police report immediately after returning from Tampa—and had an examination done—he might have had something to defend himself with against Victor’s accusation. But not now. He was as helpless now as he’d been in that hotel room bed.

His career was over. His relationship with Tim was crumbling. He had a mortgage on the cabin and no income. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stand the thought of sex. His entire life was falling apart. Victor had won.

He’d destroyed Derek as utterly as if he’d put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

N
OT
SURPRISINGLY
,
Tim was shocked when he heard the news.

“
Fired
? What did you do?” His tone was accusing. It irritated Derek that Tim never seemed to assume he might be innocent.

“Victor… claims I sexually harassed him on the trip to Tampa.”

“Do tell.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips. In that moment, Derek hated him, hated the fact that he’d known Tim wouldn’t have his back, and he’d been proven right.

“He told them he woke up in the night and I was sucking him off,” Derek went on. Fuck it. He didn’t care anymore what Tim or anybody else thought of him.

Tim reacted by shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air. He tried to push past Derek, but Derek grabbed his arm.

“I didn’t do it!” Derek snarled.

“Whatever.”

“
He
was the one who climbed on top of
me
!”

“I don’t want to hear this!”

“Goddamn it!” Derek was yelling at him now. “He
raped
me!”

Tim looked him in the eye, and his expression was ice-cold. “
Seriously
? You can bench twice my body weight, and you expect me to believe you couldn’t shove him off you?
Fuck you
, Derek! You’ve been chasing after him since before we met. You want to know what I think happened? I think you got him drunk, fucked around, and now you’re too chickenshit to admit it!”

“Why the fuck would he get me fired if we just ‘fucked around’?”

“Obviously he regretted it later.”

“Three
months
later?” Derek snarled. “He made a false report because he panicked! He thought I was going to report it!”

Tim scoffed. “Bullshit!”

Derek restrained himself from punching him in the face, but his right fist was balled up so tight it felt like the tendons in his forearm were about to snap. He had to will his left hand not to crush Tim’s arm. “Listen to me, you idiot! I woke up and he had me pinned down—”

“
Idiot?
” Tim’s nostril’s flared. “Fuck you, Derek! If he’d
raped
you, he sure as hell wouldn’t go reporting it to HR himself, now would he?”

He didn’t give Derek a chance to respond. He yanked his arm free and practically ran out of the condo, stopping just long enough to grab his sneakers. He didn’t put them on—he just swept them up in his hand and took them with him as he slammed through the front door. Derek heard him racing down the stairs to the street entrance.

Poor Gracie was cowering in her dog bed in the living room. She’d never heard them fight like this. Derek saw how frightened she was, and that diffused part of his anger—part, but not all. “It’s okay, girl. Nobody’s mad at you.” He went to her and stroked her fur to calm her. Then he sighed and stood. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

D
EREK
TOOK
at least a week’s worth of clothes to the cabin, along with his toothbrush, laptop, and Kindle. Food, he could grab on the way. But he figured he and Gracie would be staying there a while.

He didn’t know what would happen with him and Tim. Maybe this was the end of everything. If it was, he might look back at today as one of the biggest regrets of his life. Maybe he’d keep mulling over how he could have handled it differently. But right now he wasn’t sure if he cared. He just wanted to get the hell away from the condo before Tim came back.

He couldn’t stop at the supermarket with Gracie in the car. So he drove to the cabin and took everything he had inside. They’d emptied the refrigerator of everything but beer, wine, and raspberry jam two weekends ago, and there wasn’t much in the cupboards but cereal, coffee, flour, and sugar. He did find some saltine crackers he could spread jam on and snack on with black coffee, but he knew that wouldn’t hold him. So he gave Gracie some of her chew toys and left her there while he headed into town for real supplies.

Russ’s truck hadn’t been there when he arrived, and he was disappointed to find it still gone when he pulled back in an hour and a half later. He could have used some friendly company. But God knew what hours Russ put in. Maybe he’d be home later tonight. In the meantime, Derek had ice cream in the trunk that needed to be taken in before it melted.

R
USS
STILL
wasn’t home by the time Derek took Gracie out for a brief walk around sunset, and again he didn’t show up at any point during the rest of the evening. Derek knew it was silly to keep checking like this. Russ was becoming a friend, but really, they’d just begun to get to know each other. The night Russ had talked him down from the panic attack had made it feel as if they had some kind of bond, but did they? Maybe not. Certainly, not enough of one for Derek to go crying to him whenever he’d had another fight with Tim.

It depressed the hell out of him to realize that, with Victor and Tim out of the picture, he didn’t have anyone he could turn to
besides
Russ. He didn’t have friends. He’d had coworkers—people he could go out with for a drink once in a while but never really confide in about his personal life. And now he no longer had them. When a corporate employee was fired, they disappeared. Once in a while, someone might say, “Hey, I ran into Derek at Home Depot yesterday.” And everyone would want to know whether he’d found another job. If he hadn’t, they’d feel bad for the poor sap. If he had, they’d feel happy for him, or maybe even a bit jealous, if he’d gotten an enviable position. But that was it.

What the fuck happened to me?
Derek wondered.
I
used
to have friends… didn’t I?

He’d had some friends in high school. But most had written him off as a freak when he came out—a
faggot
. Just like his mother and stepfather. He’d tried calling home once, after college. That’s when his mother told him Larry had passed away. He felt a twinge of guilt that he’d missed the funeral… until she’d told him not to call again.

He’d had some friends in college too—friends who knew he was gay and were cool with it. They’d all sworn they’d be friends forever. But here it was, less than ten years later, and he didn’t know where a single goddamned one of them was anymore. Kevin and Mary had married, then divorced and gone their separate ways. Ted had died suddenly of pancreatic cancer—Derek had gone to his funeral. Sue and Corrine and Prakesh…. Who the hell knew?

He was alone now. In part, he realized, because Tim had wanted it that way. The man had never liked it when new people came into their lives. He hadn’t enjoyed going to parties or having company over. He’d always had unpleasant things to say about anyone who tried to befriend them—even women. And God forbid a man should smile at Derek! He’d wanted it to be just the two of them. Because it was easier than fighting, Derek had gone along with it.

And now Tim had accomplished his goal. They were isolated, with just each other to depend on. So either Derek would have to go groveling back to him and beg for forgiveness—forgiveness for “allowing” Victor to rape him—or he’d find himself completely alone.

R
USS
HAD
never been into strip clubs, and the one time he’d ventured into a porn shop and decided to see what the video booths were like, he’d left immediately. There had been guys doing… something… in the booths. Russ hadn’t looked closely, because if he had, he probably would’ve had to start arresting people.

But the farm was pushing his boundaries. The second night, he’d been alone with Brian in the hot tub, and when he lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the tub for a minute or two—it was easy to get overheated in water that hot—Brian had glided in between his thighs and taken Russ’s cock in his mouth. Nobody had been nearby, but someone could have come outside at any moment. It had made him nervous as hell, but Brian seemed to get off on it, so Russ let it continue until he came. Fortunately Brian swallowed, so they didn’t violate the “No Ejaculating in the Hot Tub” sign.

Worse than that—or at least, further out of his comfort zone—was what had happened on Saturday evening. After dinner everyone had retired to the same living room they’d been hanging out in when Russ arrived. Noah and Wyatt took up their usual place at the chessboard, and Ryan and Stephen claimed one of the couches for a make-out session. They were generally making out, Russ had learned. Or at least cuddling. Nobody objected, since they were sexy and adorable.

But Russ hung out with Brian at the bar with Bobby, who was happily mixing drinks again. Apparently, he’d been a bartender in Provincetown before he moved in with Ted. “That’s where Teddy and I met,” he said, dipping the rim of a margarita glass in salt for Russ. “At the Atlantic House, where I worked. He came in there every night, looking to get sloshed and pick up a twink. Eventually he picked
me
up.” He tossed some ice in the glass, did a little dance with the shaker, and then poured the margarita cocktail over it. “Thank God my Prince Charming was a lush.”

“I am not a lush, thank you very much,” Ted corrected from his perch at the other end of the bar. “I simply appreciate a good cocktail.”

“Or three.”

Ted smiled at him and raised his glass. Russ had the feeling this was an old, old argument between these two—one carried on for the sake of tradition rather than animosity.

“Are you about to
fuck
on my imported Italian sofa?” Bobby gasped, clutching his chest as if he were having a heart attack.

He wasn’t directing this to anyone at the bar. Ryan and Stephen had gotten a little out of hand in their make-out session. They froze as all eyes turned to them, looking embarrassed. They were both erect and Stephen had a finger up his boyfriend’s ass.

“Oh,” Ryan said, his face red. “I guess we… didn’t really think you’d mind.”

“If you put on a show? Be my guest. But I insist you
at least
slip a towel under that pert little ass of yours.”

To Russ’s surprise, that’s exactly what they did. Ted retrieved a towel from a closet in the hall, and Ryan lifted up so Ted could slip it underneath him. Then, while everyone in the room watched, they went at it in earnest. They seemed to enjoy the fact that they had an audience. Russ was simultaneously appalled and turned on as he watched, uncomfortably aware that every man in the room had a hard-on. That included himself. And his cock was just as much on display as everyone else’s. He was dreading this would turn into an orgy, which he really didn’t think he could handle. But he couldn’t force himself to leave. It was like someone had tied a rope around the base of his cock, rooting him to the spot.

Now I really know what “thinking with your dick” means
.

At some point Bobby leaned across the bar and whispered, “This isn’t actually illegal, is it?”

Russ’s mouth was so dry he had to take a sip of his margarita before replying. “Um… no, I don’t think so.” Did this count as a public place? Or a private home? Having sex in public was illegal, but there wasn’t really a law against a group of men watching two people have sex, as long as they weren’t paying for it. Did paying to rent a room count? He decided he didn’t want to think about it anymore.