Part Three:

When Michael heard the wheels of Jake's jeep crunching over the gravel outside, he pulled himself off the bed and went to search for his discarded jeans. In a fog, he wandered through the trailer, a distinct ache in his chest. There was something forlorn about the stillness of the trailer. Something dejected. Michael reached with balled up fists to rub at his red-rimmed eyes, hoping to soothe the burning behind his lids; a dull, throbbing ache gripping his head. He just couldn't think straight. Felt fucked up, like he was all tangled and knotted on the inside...and it wasn't the pot. Hell, marijuana was just kid's stuff.

Making his way to the kitchen, Michael spied his jeans, scrunched up on the floor where Jake had tugged them off earlier. He couldn't stay in this pigsty, waiting all night for Jake to return. God only knew how long it'd take the other to finish his "business". As it was, Michael had been waiting all week to see him. And for what? To be deserted right in the middle of what should have been an affectionate fuck? Michael made for his crumpled denims and yanked them up over his thin legs with more than a little annoyance. There was no WAY he was going to behave like his typical, pathetic self. He had no intention of spending an entire Saturday night paging Jake every ten minutes, whining for him to come back. Michael had been there...done that...what seemed a thousand times. Besides, there were plenty of places he could go, people who'd be happy to keep him company. If nothing else, Michael had a pocket full of change and could hop on the very next bus into the city. And in the city, there was always Brad.

If you were without cash and needed to score, Brad was always a good place to start. It had been awhile since Michael last paid Brad a visit, but that was deliberate. He knew it just wasn't right, running off to another man behind Jake's back, exchanging favors for highs. He didn't do it unless he had to. When he was desperate - like the time Jake had disappeared for two weeks, leaving him dry...with nothing to smoke, snort or pop. During those few weeks, Michael had felt himself teetering closer and closer toward the edge. There had been no escape. No one to talk to. Yeah, Brad had come in handy then. Had hooked him up real nice.

Without wasting another minute, Michael went to the phone and dialed, determined to disappear before Jake returned.....

Before leaving the trailer, Michael dug through the clean laundry in his mother's bedroom and pulled a fresh shirt out of the basket. A shirt he thought Brad might find more appealing. The cropped shirt's elastic material was supposed to hug one's chest tightly, but Michael had lost so much weight recently that the fabric hung loosely around his torso. Even the jeans he wore seemed to wilt on his emaciated form, sliding down low, well past his hollowed waist, leaving his prominent hipbones exposed. Michael wasn't concerned. Part of him hoped he'd just whither away to nothing and disappear. At least then, he wouldn't have to feel this way. Wouldn't have to do the nasty sorta shit he knew he was about to do.

A wave of queasiness clenching his stomach, Michael stepped out into the chill autumn air, slamming the grimy door shut behind him. With a heavy-hearted sigh, he turned his back on the trailer, the dusky shadows enveloping him as he strolled along the unpaved road that twisted ahead. Every step one step further from his battered home. A home he'd grown to love and hate equally over the years. A home that acted as both his sanctuary...and his prison. Inside the trailer and in his own mind, Michael was haunted - tormented by a past filled with painful memories and images that couldn't be willed away. No matter how desperately Michael prayed to God, a god who's existence he wasn't even certain of, he couldn't halt the grim thoughts and inner voices once they began taunting him.

Eventually, Michael learned that the chaos could be drowned out. He could dull the incessant badgering and ugly memories by slamming his head against a wall till stars appeared behind his eyelids. But that wasn't always enough, not anymore. Lately, Michael found the only technique that never failed was cutting. He'd search in a frenzy for the first sharp object he could find - scissors, his mother's nail file, a knife, a razor, it didn't matter. He'd use anything he could snatch up quickly and disappear with. Then, when Michael was safely locked away in the privacy of the bathroom or his own bedroom, he'd gouge at his body, dig and slice at his skin. The bloody discharge bringing him a sense of relief, almost as if his veins were expelling his agony. It was perfect. Well, except for the telltale scars...and even those Michael wouldn't have minded so much, it weren't for Jake.

Ten minutes later, Michael approached the deserted bus stop and perched on the battered wooden bench, glad to find himself alone. He wasn't up for the questioning, knowing stares typically shot at him in public. Not tonight. Tonight, he just wouldn't have been able to bear that.

The brisk wind beat against Michael's frail form as he leaned back against the bench, a shiver gripping his entire body, turning his skin to goose flesh. In an attempt to keep himself warmer, Michael wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, rubbing his palms rigorously, up and down, over his exposed skin. His nerves more frazzled with every moment that passed...his mood becoming agitated. His demeanor increasingly restless. He chewed on his mangled fingernails one minute, tapped his sneakers against the pavement the very next, frequently peaking down at the dime store watch that dangled on his bony wrist - as if he could quicken time using the force of will alone. And as he sat there, staring vacantly into space, Michael realized that in all his life, he couldn't recall a time he felt more alone.....or loathed himself quite as much.

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Standing outside the apartment door, it's once glossy coat now chipped and peeling, Michael could hear the revelry inside. The loud music; the sound of laughter and drunken chatter. For a moment he hesitated. There was probably still enough time for him to turn around. To go home and meet Jake. But his resentment got the better of him. That...and his craving for a high. Anyway, he'd left Jake a note. Scotch-taped it to the exterior door of the trailer where he'd be sure to find it. And for all Michael knew, he might have read it all ready and stormed off in a huff. The other boy was a whole lot better at leaving, than he was at being left. Besides, he'd gone through the trouble of changing his clothes, and he'd hauled his ass into the city. There was no way he intended to leave empty handed.

Without further pause, Michael lifted his smallish hand and rapped hard at the apartment door. Within a matter of seconds, it cracked open as far as the chain lock would allow, and Brad's eager face peered out at him, a grin twitching the corners of his lips, the pupils in his hazel eyes dilated. Brad was a dealer, but he wasn't even in the same league as Jake. Jake was cautious. He had regular customers, and would meet them out different places to deal. And he'd only take cash. That's what he was in it for - the money that could be made. Brad, on the other hand, had a steady stream of guests wandering in and out of his run down apartment. All day. All night. Not the most inconspicuous way to do business. And unlike Jake, he wasn't all about cash. Nope. Not good ole Brad. The guy had no problem being a sleaze. If he liked you well enough, he was almost always willing to provide you with drugs....as long as you didn't mind taking it out in trade.

"Hey, Mikey. Nice to see you, man. It's been a long time. Come on in," the chain lock scratched and clicked, and the door opened wide in welcome.

"What's up, Brad," Michael shifted nervously, toying with the hem of the midriff shirt he wore beneath his denim jacket. Gnawing his bottom lip, he took a few tentative steps inside and glanced around the murky, smoke-filled room. A small crowd was gathered on the shabby gold sofa, taking turns at the tall plastic bong sitting atop the marred coffee table. Everywhere throughout the dim apartment, empty beer bottles and heaping ashtrays were scattered indiscriminately.

"So...what can I do for you, babe," the man pressed his hand against Michael's back, then slipped it up inside his jacket. Brad's fingers stroking his narrow waist, as he steered the boy down the littered hallway. The place was even worse than Michael's broken-down trailer.

"I dunno, what've your got? Coke...X? Something that'll give me a kick, or at least put me in a better fucking mood."

"Damn. Doesn't that man of yours take care of you, Mikey? Mmmm...let me tell you sweetie, if you were MY boy, you wouldn't have to go hustling elsewhere."

"Jake thinks I'm using too much...won't give me anything," at the mention of Jake's name, a sharp pang seized Michael's chest, a deep piercing stab brought on by his own guilt and the disgust he felt at knowing what he intended to do in a few short minutes. And how he knew Jake would feel about that. Still, he allowed himself to be ushered into the bedroom at the end of the hallway.

"Really? That's a little drastic, ain't it? What's Jake think he is now, your father?" Brad flicked a wall switch on as they entered, bathing the filthy room in a warm yellowish light. Filtered as it was, it still emphasized the nicotine stained walls, the cracked plaster, and grimy pea green carpeting. The strong scent of semen and urine clung to the air, leftovers from previous visitors. Michael couldn't help but wonder if others, beside Brad used the room to rut and play in, and then decided they must. It was a one bedroom apartment, after all. And it'd probably take more than Brad's shady business dealings to give the room the odor of a whore's den. In fact, it wasn't difficult to imagine Brad allowing some of his guests to sleep in the room on occasion, even easier to believe these same guests were probably loaded enough to piss themselves while they slept on the floor, thus the biting stench.

It never failed to amaze Michael that Brad hadn't been ripped off yet. Or maybe he had, but barely noticed? The man was pretty fucked up most of the time, and that made him rather inattentive...but...it also made him crazier. Maybe no one stole from Brad, because they feared what he'd do if he found out? Michael sank down carefully on the rumpled bed, trying to force himself not to gag at the foul aroma, heady in the stagnant air, "yeah, something like that. Look, can we not talk about Jake?"

"Whatever you want Little Mikey. You just remember, I'm here if you ever get tired of eating shit," his back was to Michael as he spoke, rummaging through the top drawer of his dresser. "Now, what do you want? I have both, so the choice is yours...I'll let you do a few lines of grade A shit, or you can take a pill."

"Gimme the coke then," a knot tightened in the pit of Michael's stomach, as Brad turned around and waved the tiny packet of fine white powder at him. What the fuck was he doing here? Jesus, did he really need to get high this bad? How pitiful. How revolting he was... Michael knew he should get up off the bed. Just leave before it was too late. But his legs refused to cooperate, felt as if they'd been grounded to the floor by leaden weights.

"You got it," sitting on the creaky mattress alongside of Michael, Brad rested one hand on the other boy's skinny thigh, "this here's good stuff Mikey. It's gonna cost you."

"Oh yeah? And just what's it gonna 'cost'?" Narrowing his brown eyes suspiciously, Micheal glanced up and stared into Brad's face. It wasn't that he was unattractive, that wasn't what made Michael so uneasy. The guy was all right, sorta exotic looking. Part Korean. His cheekbones high, small hazel eyes slanting attractively. Skin clear and creamy smooth, despite the abuse Brad laid on his body. His front tooth was chipped, but it had been since Michael had first been introduced to Brad - though he'd never bothered to ask what happened to the other half. The thing that Michael uneasy was the man's unpredictable nature - his paranoia. Well, that...and the vulgar ranting that spewed from his mouth when he was getting off. Michael's had to force his face not to contort with disgust at the though.

"What do you think I want, baby? What have I always wanted from you, hmm?" Cocking one eyebrow, Brad's hand wandered further up Michael's leg, until it was pressed against the crotch of his worn jeans...wriggling down between his thighs.

Michael blanched, "no way. Come on, Brad. I'm not doing that. Anything else."

"I don't think you're in any position to barter, do you Mikey? Who are else can you turn to, penniless? Who'd take care of you, if not ME?" He was rubbing the palm of his hand against Michael's cock through the coarse fabric of his worn jeans, working diligently to produce a hardon, "is the thought of fucking me so terrible?" With that, Brad glowered at Michael, making him shiver under his green-eyed stare. The was no way he wanted to be cut off by Brad, they'd had a decent thing going up till now, an easy business arrangement. Besides, there was no telling how Brad would react, if he were pushed. If he felt thoroughly rejected.

"It's not that, you know...well...Jake..." Stammering indecisively, Michael averted his gaze, staring down at his tattered sneakers, as the hand groping his crotch gave a squeeze. He winced and gasped beneath Brad's tight grip, "ahhhh...fuck..."

"What? You can come over hear to suck my dick, but fucking me is out of the question? What's the big deal? Don't be a stupid cunt and pretend you suddenly have morals," the man paused, then softened his harsh gaze, "tell you what? I'll let you do a few lines beforehand, then you can do another afterwards. How's that for a deal?" Grinning, Brad released his clutch on Michael and opened the small packet he'd been holding in his other hand. Wetting the tip of his finger, and dipping it down into the powder, the man brought it up to Michael's mouth, "go ahead...taste. It's good. It'll be worth it. You have my word."

Unable to resist, Michael clamped his lips around Brad's thin finger, sucking at the traces of coke on the man's skin. He closed his eyes as a sharp tingle crept over the roof of his mouth, a numbness spreading over it, right along with his gums and tongue. Slowly, Brad began to move his finger, in and out between Michael's lips, crooning, "mmm...that's it Mikey....you want it don't you..."

And Michael DID want it... The high, not Brad's big, thick cock, pounding his ass. The very thought made him nauseous. He could cope with sucking Brad off, that didn't bother him much anymore. In fact, Michael had found it easier and easier, as time went on, to let his mind wander off in a thousand different directions while going through the motions of giving head. But the thought of dropping his pants...of exposing himself for Brad...that was another matter all together. It would be much more difficult to ignore someone poking around in his gut. It'd make him feel vulnerable....and most likely sick. It reminded Michael too distinctly of his stepfather and the way the man had ripped him apart, made him hurt and bleed.

For the longest time, Michael had given up on the thought of ever enjoying sex, thought fucking had been ruined for him. It wasn't something he'd particularly enjoyed, even though he continued to screw around on a regular basis. After the abused ended, Michael had gone through a long stretch of promiscuity, getting bent by this one or that, not caring who or why. He just wanted to erase all the hideous memories. Replace them with other, less painful experiences. And that had still been the case when Jake first came along. Then everything just...changed. For the first time he could remember, Michael felt safe...he felt wanted. And it wasn't long before he was literally aching to feel the other's cock buried deep inside his body. Fucking him nice and slow. Staring down into his face with those bright blue eyes. The image put a bitter lump in Michael's throat, as he reminded himself once more, that Jake had cut him off tonight, and in more than one way.

Michael twirled his tongue around Brad's finger one last time, then drew his head back, "all right. Let me do a few lines first. Let's go."

"Smart boy, I knew you'd see things my way." Brad reached out and mussed his hair, almost affectionately, "you DO know who you can count on, don't you?"

To be continued....