Pure Innocence (18 page)

He was hardly able to keep his eyes open. He
felt his clothes coming off and assumed his mom was putting him to
bed, like she had years ago when he was little. He cried a little
more in relief, barely heard the other voice until the rough hand
clamped his mouth tight, hot stinking breath wafted on his neck,
and felt the incredible excruciating pain in his ass that convinced
him he was being cut in two. The hand moved and Oliver vomited on
the ratty sheet. He was forced down in it, could hardly breathe as
the incredible weight of the man pushed him down, plowing into him
and grunting like a pig. Oliver must have passed out, because when
he woke up the vomit was all dried on his face and in his hair.
Mike and his mom were both passed out naked on the other couch, and
no one woke up as he practically crawled out of the trailer to get
to the hosepipe on the ground outside.

He laid on the ground, in the dust, while
the cold water flowed all over him. He nearly vomited again in pain
when he twisted around and let the cold water wash all the blood
off his legs. That was the first time he wished he was dead, but it
wasn’t the last.

Oliver vaguely heard Master Jameson pulling
him from his nightmare and in a sudden shift, he strained to let it
go.

“
You can wake up now,
Oliver.”

Oliver blinked, drew in a shuddering
breath.

“
Oliver, I want to ask you
something very important.” Oliver tried to focus. “Have you thought
anymore about living at Gage’s House? There are other boys there
your age, and you would see Adam.”

Oliver’s heart thumped, and
he turned to the noise by the door—Damon. Oliver stared at Damon,
and Master Jameson’s voice fading away. Damon looked so wretched,
sadness etched on every line of his face. He had heard every word
Oliver said. The defeat there was obvious, painful—he wanted Oliver
to go, was giving up, giving up on him.
Everyone gives up on me. Why should Damon be any
different?

Damon just stood leaning on the door jamb,
not saying anything. He wasn’t telling him to stay, and Damon
always decided for him.

The doctor persisted. “Oliver, do you want
to come and live there?”

Oliver stared at Damon, waiting for the
answer, but Damon just stood there, and he knew. This was one
decision that Oliver had to make, and he had to make it for both of
them. Damon didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve any of this. He
should have someone whole.

Oliver wrenched his eyes away from Damon.
“Yes, yes please.”

He kept his eyes downcast
as Master Jameson stood up. He couldn’t bear to look at Damon, to
see the relief that Oliver was going that would be in those
beautiful eyes. Oliver had told Damon he wanted to be his boy,
wanted it so much, wanted to
belong
so much—belong to Damon. If he could have got his
body to work, he might have even laughed because it was so
ridiculous. But no one wanted Oliver, and Oliver belonged to no
one.

Oliver barely heard Master Jameson arranging
for him to be taken to Gage’s house, he even offered to send an
ambulance for him, but Damon politely declined. Oliver was barely
aware the rest of the evening. He thought he’d eaten pizza, maybe
watched some television, but he wouldn’t have been able to say what
type, and he definitely wouldn’t have been able to say what program
was on.

Damon was distant. He’d helped him to bed,
Oliver had refused a shower, and Damon had retreated to the office
to do some paperwork. Oliver had lain awake for a long time, and
when he’d woken up in the early hours of the morning, Damon’s side
of the bed was still empty, and cold, completely cold. Oliver had
never slept alone any night since he came home from hospital, so he
now knew that meant Damon couldn’t even bear to be next to him.

He’d lain awake a long time then and
eventually got up to go for a pee. Damon was there, suddenly. “I
can manage,” Oliver insisted.

Damon just nodded, and helped him back into
bed when he was done, even getting the towel and carefully drying
between his fingers on his left hand. Oliver wanted to yank it
away—Damon was only doing it through guilt, and he had done nothing
to feel guilty about.

****

Boy.
He wanted to rage, scream, cry; wrap Oliver up in his arms
and hold him tight, promise him that he would chase all his demons
away, no-one would ever hurt Oliver again, they would have to get
through Damon first, but Oliver closed his eyes and rolled away
from him. Damon’s words stuck in his throat, hurt, like someone had
their hand around it. He closed his eyes against it, and nearly
staggered out back to the living room where he’d already sat in
silence for five hours and watched the clock go around.

As he watched the sun eventually come up,
the bitter taste in his mouth wasn’t the whisky he had drunk
earlier.

It was defeat.

He’d failed. He’d failed to take care of the
best thing that had ever happened to him, and now Oliver was
leaving. He’d never trusted him enough to truly submit, to trust
him with everything. He swallowed the fourth cup of now cold black
coffee he’d made himself in disgust when he’d finished the whisky.
What sort of Dom was he? When he couldn’t even get Oliver to trust
him?

He woke Oliver gently two hours later. He’d
arranged for them to be at Gage’s House by twelve. They’d gone
through the routine of showering, except apart from washing
Oliver’s hair, Oliver had very politely told him he could manage.
Damon nodded, his throat so tight he couldn’t have replied if he
wanted to. Oliver hardly touched his breakfast, it was as if he
could hardly wait to get out of the apartment. Damon stood
eventually; he couldn’t cope with the silence any longer, it was a
little early but he would have driven slowly anyway. They had
ridden the elevator in silence, and Oliver had followed him quietly
to the car. If he heard one more polite “Thank you” he would
scream.

They had pulled up outside a quiet house in
a nice leafy street. Damon explained this was Ybor, and he’d
pointed out Hillsborough Community College as they’d passed, but
Oliver hadn’t seemed interested in anything. Damon was desperate,
it was as if he could feel his boy slipping away inch by inch, and
there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He opened his mouth
to say something, anything, to tell Oliver he could always come
home, whenever he wanted, but Oliver looked up as they stopped.
“It’s Adam,” he said. And the moment was lost.

Damon got the suitcase out of the trunk and
another boy with a shy smile offered to take it. Adam had his arm
slung around Oliver and was laughing, eager.

Damon just stood by the car, he didn’t
follow. He just waited, watched every step Oliver took, every
breath that pulled him away from him, and counted every second that
Oliver didn’t turn around until the door closed with such finality.
Oliver was inside and Damon still stood motionless by his car. He
breathed, swallowed, didn’t trust himself to get behind the wheel.
He rubbed a hand over tired eyes, turned, and just started
walking.

He couldn’t have said afterwards where he
walked to, it must have been miles because it was dark when his
steps faltered in front of a pink, neon sign. Pure. Damon looked up
at it, he didn’t know why he had come here. There was nothing pure
in his life anymore, it had all just been taken away.

“
Damon? Damon?” Damon
blinked and came face to face with Joe.

“
Come on man, you look like
you need a drink. You only just caught us, we were just locking
up.” Joe smiled and put a hand on Damon’s arm. Damon stumbled,
trying to navigate the steps next to the newly built ramp, but Joe
kept a firm hand under his elbow and hustled him inside.

Callum sat at the bar with a cup of coffee,
and both his eyebrows lifted when he saw Joe come in with Damon. He
immediately leaned over the bar, snagged three glasses and a bottle
of whisky, and nodded Joe toward the stairs. Joe caught his glance
and steered Damon in that direction.

Within minutes Damon was settled in a large
office chair with his feet propped up, shoes off, and a glass of
whisky. “Thanks, Mom,” Damon said dryly.

Neither of the guys laughed. He looked at
Joe and Callum.

“
So, you gonna tell us
what’s going on?” Joe demanded gruffly.

Damon sighed and rubbed his eyes. How the
hell had it got to this? “Oliver tried to cut his arm with
scissors, I called Derek, and Derek took him to Gage’s house.”

Joe looked impressed. “I didn’t know Gage’s
house has that sort of facility. I thought it was just a shelter,
safe-house kind of thing.”

“
It’s new,” explained
Callum. “Derek’s just set on two more house mothers, or fathers
actually. Actually yeah.” Callum frowned. “One’s definitely a guy,
and I think he’s a nurse.”

“
So Oliver did what? Tried
to go for his wrist?”

Damon winced and Callum shot Joe an
exasperated look. “What?” Joe blustered. “I’m a cop.”

Damon choked on his whisky. “You’re a
glorified security guard now.” He looked at them both. “Isn’t
Stealth involved looking after the latest wannabe pop-princess?” He
looked at Joe hard. “The one that got white supremacist death
threats?”

Joe put his whisky down and glanced at
Callum. “You really need to employ this guy, it’s scary where he
gets his information.”

Callum smirked. “I’ve been trying for
months.”

Joe put a hand to his heart. “And you didn’t
tell your partner. I’m wounded.”

Damon smiled then sobered. “He never went
for his wrist.” Damon explained what Dr. DeSouza had told him a few
days ago, but Derek had said the danger was he could have got his
wrist by mistake and they didn’t really know.

Joe scowled. “But I don’t get it then, if
Oliver’s not suicidal, what did Derek go and yank him out of your
place for?” Joe blustered. “I mean, I saw your boy yesterday,
Damon. Yeah, the kid’s got issues, but shit, he looked happy curled
up next to you.”

Damon glanced at the floor and swirled the
amber liquid around his glass.

“
I don’t imagine it’s that
simple, Joe,” put in Callum.

“
He didn’t yank him out.”
Damon drained his glass and stood up. “Oliver wanted to go, he
didn’t want to live with me anymore.”

Damon stood up abruptly and walked out of
the office. He didn’t need to see the horrified looks on either Joe
or Callum’s faces. He went down the stairs and headed to the
door.

“
Hey, give me a second and
I’ll drop you at home. Where’s your car?” Joe ran down the steps
after him.

“
I left it in town.” Damon
glanced at the members’ notice board as he walked into the entrance
lobby, nodding politely to Daniel. He hadn’t noticed him on the way
in when Joe had to practically carry him through the door. Daniel
stared at the advert for the whipping demonstration arranged for
Saturday. “Who’s your Dom?”

Joe shuffled his feet. “MacNaire.”

Damon rounded on him. “Good god, I hope
you’ve brought a tailor’s dummy for him to use, not a real
sub.”

“
Actually, the only way
Callum would allow it was by MacNaire bringing his own sub, and
Callum interviewing him first. Pain slut, apparently.” Joe scowled.
“It’s all fucked up if you ask me, that sort of thing.” Joe looked
at Damon assessingly. “Actually, Callum said the sub knew you,
it’s—”

“
Alec Matterson,” said
Damon grimly. He knew it. “Tell Callum to stop it, it’ll be a blood
bath.”

Joe scowled. “Shit. Callum’s got the owners
from Breathless coming in, wants a big night. There’s a chance of a
deal, we’ve heard they’re thinking of retiring. But they’re very
protective of the club’s name, that’s why they’re willing to talk
to Callum. Everyone knows he doesn’t run a bad place, but
Breathless is more hard core than Pure.” Joe smiled ruefully.
“They’ve met Lee. They think Callum’s gone soft.”

Damon shared his first smile today with Joe.
They both knew Lee had Callum wrapped around his finger. Damon
shook his head. “And you’re not just as bad? At least Callum
started out gay.”

Joe ignored the dig. He looked at the
notice, then at Damon. “You could do it.”

It was on the tip of
Damon’s tongue to protest.
How could
he?
“I haven’t swung a cat in over five
weeks.”

“
So, get your ass in here
tomorrow night and practice.” Joe grimaced at his own
outspokenness. “Look man. I totally understand.”

“
No.” Damon stared at Joe.
“I’ll do it.” He’d do it, but there wouldn’t be so much as a speck
of blood on Alec’s back when he’d finished with him. He’d do it and
he’d do it perfectly.

He followed Joe out to the car. At least
there was something he could do well.

Chapter Fourteen

It was a door slamming that got Oliver out
of bed. He’d lain there awake most of the night wondering how he
had got himself into this mess. He was just thinking about all the
times he’d seemed to fall asleep at Damon’s with no effort
whatsoever, and he’d never closed his eyes once here all night. He
was just managing to pull his sweats on when there was a knock at
the door and Adam peered around.

Oliver smiled. “You’re just in time.” He
wiggled his feet. “I can’t get any socks on, and I have no chance
of tying laces.”

Adam laughed and walked in, peering at
Oliver. “You didn’t get any sleep, did you?”

Oliver shook his head, and pointed to the
window. “Damon never came back for his car.” Adam opened his mouth
to say something, and Oliver zeroed in on his expression. “What?
What’s happened?” Something had happened. Oliver’s vision greyed a
little as he sat on the bed.