Part Five...

Paulie could feel his cheeks burning with fury as he stomped down the street, rubbing vigorously at his battered wrists in an effort to rejuvenate circulation in his hands. The cold, metal handcuffs had been squeezed so forcefully against his skin, the edges carved bright red bracelets into the tender surface, drawing blood while assuring dark purple contusions would appear later on.

Even though he'd only been Moretti's captive a short time, Paulie had careened into a full-blown panic as soon as he felt the cuffs fastened around his wrist. He'd gone through the car window, kicking and screaming like a wild animal -- all pretense of control diminished. Fuck. He hated to feel that helpless. Hated being at the mercy of any other man. Yet, at the same time, Paulie had been disappointed when Moretti's initial fervor waned and the man released him.

Once again, the conflicting emotions brought on by his encounter with Moretti, left Paulie ill at ease. So, he did what came naturally and made excuses for himself -- attempted to pull the wool over his own eyes, though this time, the veil was flimsy. No matter how adamantly Paulie tried to persuade himself that he felt nothing but contempt for the detective during their brief struggle, buried deep down was the knowledge that each confrontation thus far had left him stimulated. Craving... Needing...something more.

Frowning, Paulie paused and inspected his fresh wounds more closely, leaning back against the coarse brick facing of the building behind him. He was full of shit and he knew it. There was no question what he'd wanted from the detective. Paulie had wanted the man to touch him. He hadn't cared how or why, he had been content just to have some form of physical contact with Moretti. And realizing this about himself, filled Paulie with a sense of disgust so overwhelming, it made his stomach sick.

There was something wrong with him, there had to be. For Paulie, the entanglement of sex and violence, was a heady mix. Ever since his experience with Cody, it had been that way -- a battle of wills and thrashing of bodies. It was all Paulie knew. The only way he could relate to another man. And he despised that. Hated what he did, not only to the men he wanted, but to himself. He just didn't know how to make it stop. Paulie didn't know how not to be bitter. Couldn't help but resent every man who wanted to fuck him, on some level. Even those who'd actually tried to treat him well. It wasn't their fault. It was his.

Although the rest of the night proved uneventful, Paulie saw it through to the end. He didn't turn many tricks, but it didn't matter. The geezer had paid him a shitload of money and he planned on making it last awhile. Who knew? Maybe the guy would actually come back again, sometime soon? Paulie figured, if could keep the guy interested, he'd have an easy ride. Besides, he was still feeling a bit fucked in the head -- there was a sense of unrest growing inside him. Depression, maybe? Paulie couldn't be sure.

The orange-pink glow of sun's first light, was just beginning to tint the edge of the horizon with vibrant color, as Paulie pushed his filth-ridden apartment door open. Emotionally exhausted, Paulie stumbled over the threshold into the room. The stagnant air in the cramped living space, so lush with smoke it stung his eyes -- burnt them until they began to brim with warm, salty tears.

Blinking away the moisture that gathered in his long, dark lashes, Paulie waved a hand before his face. Attempting in vain to cut through the poisonous smog, filling his mouth and nostrils. Through glassy eyes, he glanced over at Thad's hazy figure, hunched forward on the tattered couch, a cigarette burning between his long fingers -- an ashtray heaped with butts, sitting beside him on the grimy cushion.

"Thad?" Even though Paulie was fatigued, Thad's demeanor was not lost on him, nor was the emptiness in his friend's dusky black eyes. Something was amiss.

"Where've ya been all night, Paulie?" Raking one had through his greasy hair, Thad glared at him. Even from where he stood, Paulie could see the rapid rise and fall of the other's chest. Clearly, he was worked up again about something, though Paulie couldn't imagine what.

Paulie took a few, hesitant steps toward the couch and spoke with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, "had a good night, I guess."

"You had a good night?" Thad snorted with disdain. His hand trembled violently as he lifted the cigarette to his chafed lips and sucked. His deadpan expression was unaltered as he exhaled. "Would that have been with your new little friend?"

"What? What the fuck are you talking about Thad? Cut the bullshit and just tell me." Paulie's slate-gray eyes widened, the pitch of his voice rising a notch, as he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. He was too worn to deal with this shit. Thad was fast becoming more trouble than he was worth.

"You KNOW what I'm talking about, you fucking whore." The man's tone was uncharacteristically flat, the lack of emotion giving Thad a greater sense of foreboding that usual. Paulie, accustomed to reading Thad like an open book, was suddenly lost. Thinking that perhaps, he had underestimated his friend's intelligence. Fuck him. Paulie wasn't about to admit to anything. It was none of Thad's business what he did, it never had been. He thought they'd had an understanding. "No. Actually, I don't."

Thad shook his head with mild disbelief, "Really, Paulie? That's funny, 'cause I heard an interesting story about you tonight. I heard you saved some bitch when he was about to get hauled in. Heard he was real fucking grateful too. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Nope." Paulie narrowed his eyes into two, crescent slits, "what are you on tonight, Thad? Seriously, man...you're fried."

"Don't change the subject, you little fuck. I know about you and Bryan. Are you still gonna stand there and deny it?" He stubbed out his cigarette and waited for Paulie's reply, all the while sizing him up. Body tensed and ready to pounce.

"Yep. I sure am."

"You fucking LIAR!" A hideous snarl erupted from deep within Thad's throat, anger and frustration finally getting the better of him. In one swift, sudden movement, he was on his feet, "you stupid cocksucker. You think you can make me look like a fucking fool, over and over again, and get AWAY with it?" His hand shot out and wrapped around Paulie's slender neck, taking him by complete surprise.

"Jesus Christ, Thad. Calm down. I AM a whore, baby. You know that -- it's what I do. And you never cared before. Please, come on. Let go." Paulie gripped Thad's large, calloused hand with both of his, and tried to pry the fingers from his neck.

Steadily tightening his grip, Thad guided Paulie backwards, until he was pressed against the wall. "No, that ain't true. I ASKED you to help me...but you'd rather guzzle cum than be a pusher, remember? HUH? Do ya remember that? Urgh...god...I hate what you do...and I hate YOU."

"Fuck, ohfuck, Thad...let go... I'll leave if you want me to. Don't do this." Paulie's mind reeled, searching for a way to defuse Thad's hostility. He'd never seen the other like this before. Not even in his highest stupor.

"Shut the fuck up! Just shut up! I've given you everything. I LOVED you, Paulie. Do you have any idea what you've put me through?" The feral glint in Thad's eye was more than a little alarming.

"I love you too, Thad. Please, stop. You're hurting me." It was a lie. He'd never loved Thad. He'd used him for financial support...for protection...never thinking he'd be on the other side of Thad's strong-arming.

"You LOVE me? You LOVE me?" The incredulous look on Thad's face, was the last thing Paulie saw, before the man's fist slammed into his face.

The pain of the blow was terrible -- at first sharp, dulling soon after to a throbbing ache. Paulie groaned, fearful that he might pass out. Determined to ward off the lightheadedness that threatened to drag him down into a black void. If he allowed himself to fall to the carpet, unconscious, Paulie knew there was a very good chance he wouldn't be waking up. He forced his eyes to regain their focus and choked back a sob, aware that his face was coated in a warm layer of blood, that a coppery film clung to the inside of his mouth. The only thing Paulie couldn't confirm, was the source of his bleeding. His mouth? Nose? Everything seemed to hurt equally.

Before he was able to recover from the shock of being hit, Thad's fingers were clutching his hair. Tearing at it viciously, as he dragged Paulie across the room, over to the makeshift table. Forcing him downward, like a limp rag doll, over the top -- grinding the younger man's face against the rough, splintered plywood, as he barked, "get your pants down, bitch. I've got a goin' away present for ya."

"Ahhhhhhh...fuck. Fuckyou, Thad." Paulie kicked out with one boot-clad foot, making contact with Thad's leg. The pressure was enough to propel Thad back a two foot distance, but not effective enough to make him give up his firm hold on Paulie's hair. In the end, the attempt to break away only infuriated Thad further. With little effort, he flipped Paulie over onto his back, and reached down into the chest pocket of his flannel shirt. Grinning madly, Thad withdrew a Zippo and flicked -- until a tall flame leapt from the very tip.

"Wanna play with fire, Paulie? It's a good way to get burned. Didn't anyone ever tell you that? Now...take your fucking pants down, cunt."

"Alright...alright...don't do anything stupid, Thad. Just wait a minute." His heart hammering frantically against his ribs, Paulie reached down to unfasten his formfitting pants, screaming inside his head. This couldn't happen again. He couldn't...wouldn't...go through this again. Couldn't bear the humiliation of being forced to submit -- in being taken without consent. Only HE had the right to decide who and when.

Paulie's mouth went dry, as his world teetered between the past and present at a dizzying pace. He could feel the walls of the small room closing in around him on all sides, as he laid there, struggling to breathe. Hearing voices in the back of his mind. Voices he'd spent years trying to blot from his memory -- the mingling of husky grunts and urgent whispers. Cody's laughter. The detached tone Cody had used while bantering with his friends, as Paulie was forced down over the cold, wooden bench. He'd wanted to die, the pain had been so fucking unbearable. Love. Trust. It was all bullshit. Paulie's heart had withered and died, that day -- the very second he'd been split open and torn.

As soon as Paulie unclasped his pants, Thad grabbed at the waistband and gave them a firm tug downward. Yanking the velvet fabric until it was wrapped around Paulie's knees. "You never looked me in the eye. Think I didn't notice? You couldn't look at me while I was fucking you."

Still pinning Paulie to the table by the head of his hair, Thad reached between his thighs and jammed one finger, hard and swift, into Paulie's sweat-dampened cleft. Twisting and nudging at the pink, wrinkled pucker, without a trace of tenderness, until his digit finally pushed past the resistant muscle. His breath uneven as he dropped his eyes lower to watch the violation, Thad stabbed further, until his finger was buried to the knuckle in Paulie's asshole. Wetting his lips with anticipation, he stroked the moist membranes within and pressed deliberately against Paulie's gland -- wanting to observe the younger man's humbled expression, when he stiffened and twitched in spite of himself. "Look at me. Look at ME, Paulie. I'm gonna fuck you so hard you cry, then...I'm gonna slit your goddamn throat. And...maybe...just maybe, after that I'll fuck your corpse...for good measure. Whaddya think?"

Paulie gnashed his teeth together, writhing and straining his sinewy body atop the table, as if he might be able to escape the finger that impaled him. "I think I'd rather die than have to look at you, you fucking psychopath."

His own rage and fear out of control now, Paulie spat directly into Thad's flushed face, causing the other man to flinch and pause. While Thad swiped at the saliva in his eyes, Paulie drew one leg upward, dipping his fingers down into his boot, until he found the Exacto hidden within. As soon as he had it in his grasp, Paulie flicked it open and lashed out, the razor's edge sweeping across the left side of Thad's face.

"Wha...? Ahhh. FUCK!" Immediately, Thad swayed backwards, covering the fresh, gaping wound along his cheek with one hand, in an futile attempt prevent blood from streaming down over his skin. Seizing the opportunity, Paulie pulled his pants back up to his waist and rushed Thad.

"Don't you EVER, EVER fucking touch me again. Got it? You disgusting scumbag...I'll fucking kill you." His voice soared to a high-pitched wail, as he lunged forward and sliced Thad's forearm -- the same arm Thad had raised up to cover his face. "Argh. Ohgod...FUCK. FUCK. FUCK...you bastard." Again and again, Paulie's arm pivoted. Blinded by fury, he remained oblivious to where his slashes were landing, but was able to feel it, each time the metal penetrated flesh.

Fighting to catch his breath between sobs, Paulie retreated, mopping sweat and blood from his face with the cuff of his peasant blouse, as he paced the floor. Afraid to glance over at Thad. Afraid of what he'd done...what he might see. He muttered reassurances to himself. It was self-defense. He had a right to protect himself, didn't he? When that failed to help calm his nerves, Paulie stomped over to where Thad lay, in a pool of bright, syrupy blood, and shrieked at the man's tattered form. "Why did you make me do it? WHY?! I didn't want to hurt you, you stupid fuck." The only response he received, was a wet-sounding gurgle.

At least he hadn't killed Thad. The man hadn't died yet -- Paulie could hear his wheezing, his short raspy huffs, as he struggled to breathe. Thad might survive, if help arrived soon. However, Paulie was torn between wanting him to die....and hoping that he'd live. Dialing 911, on the other's behalf, might not be the wisest choice, considering Paulie's predicament. What if Thad DID live? Surely, the man would come looking for him. Who knew what horror that could mean for Paulie? No. He couldn't take that chance, couldn't put his own life in further jeopardy. It was survival of the fittest. Thad had lost.

The only thing Paulie NEEDED to do, was get the fuck out of the apartment. Not an easy feat, considering he was borderline hysterical and smeared with a thick layer of reddish-brown blood, some of it his own, and some it Thad's.

His body quaking uncontrollably, Paulie clicked the blade shut and crammed it back down into his boot. Without packing a single item, he left. Hanging his head, hoping to remain unseen, as he made his way down the crooked staircase to the street below.

Once outside on the sidewalk, Paulie was bewildered. Confused and unsure of how to proceed. The incident with Thad had been so spontaneous...so unexpected.... There had been no time to think everything through. And even if there had been, Paulie's head was too fucked up to devise a well thought out plan. His mind had temporarily unraveled, leaving him with only the basic instinct to survive.

To make matters worse, there wasn't a solitary person Paulie felt comfortable enough with, to seek out their help. Thad had been "it" for him -- the only person he'd been close to. He had discovered long ago, there was no such thing as a real "friend". No one could be trusted. But for the very first time, Paulie regretted his decision to remain an isolated, anonymous figure. If he'd made a few shallow friendships along the way, he would have somewhere to go...somewhere to sleep...someone whose advice he might seek out. He knew he had to get off the street, and fast. There was no way he'd remain unnoticed for long, not with his appearance being what it was. The cops would be all over his ass, in no time flat.... And that's when the idea first struck Paulie.

Perhaps, Detective Moretti would feel obligated to lend him a hand? Or money? Or possibly, just give him a place to rest for awhile? Grant had treated him miserably, after all. The man owed him...and owed him big. He'd basically assaulted Paulie -- had left him wounded. And luckily, Paulie still had the bruises to prove it, if it came down to that. Though he had a sneaking suspicion the detective might concede without much protest. There had been no mistaking the guilt in Grant's eyes, when the man realized that he'd pushed the situation too far. In fact, Paulie reasoned further, Grant deserved more than half the blame. He never would have molested Bryan, if the detective hadn't been ready to nab the kid. The entire display had been orchestrated for Moretti's behalf. If the fucking pig had stayed away, none of this would have happened.

Without additional delay, Paulie headed down the street, tearing his soiled blouse over the top of his head. Dabbing at the crusted wounds on his face, wiping at his bare chest, as he made his way to the nearest pay phone. He strode the two block distance as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, trying to decide exactly what he'd say, if Moretti actually picked up the telephone. By the time Paulie grasped the receiver and dialed Information, he'd come to the conclusion that it'd be best if he didn't lie to Grant. Not this time. He'd be as honest as possible, but he wouldn't give him all the details, not until they met face to face.

Once the operator had given him Moretti's telephone number and he'd hung up the phone, Paulie remembered that he didn't have a quarter to place the call. The only cash on him, were the bills, tucked low inside his boot. Again, he grabbed the receiver. This time, dialing "0" to request a collect call. Fuck. He wasn't even sure if Moretti would accept. What if the detective didn't recognize his name? It wasn't as if they'd formally introduced themselves. And if Moretti DID guess who was waiting on the other end, what if he shit -- what if he just got all pissed off that a fucking street kid had dug up his home phone number? Tremors seized his half-naked body as he waited in what seemed like endless suspense, listening to the open line ring. Fearing that Grant wouldn't be home...that he might be sleeping, might not hear or pick up his phone.

His trepidation was dispelled after the fifth ring, when finally, Moretti's raspy voice mumbled a greeting. The operator asked Grant if he'd accept the call, and after a brief pause, the detective said that he would... Flooding Paulie with an overwhelming sense of relief.

"Hey...Moretti? It's Paulie...you know...the guy you dragged through the car window earlier tonight? You know who I am, right?" Paulie cringed. He was rambling foolishly, his throat tight and voice so shrill, it cracked when he spoke. If ever he came across as desperate, Paulie knew it was now. He drew the chill, early morning air deep down into his lungs, and tried to slow his speech. "Moretti....I'm fucked up, man. I think I might be in trouble...and I need you to come and get me."

Again there was silence on the other end, as if Grant couldn't comprehend what Paulie was asking. "What? Why are you calling me? Call the Station, they'll send a car for you."

"NO! No, I can't do that, Moretti. Listen, I didn't contact you just 'cause you're a cop. I'm not asking you for THAT kind of help. Fuck..." Paulie swallowed hard, embarrassed at having to spell it out for the detective. Despising that he'd have to admit, outright, that he meant absolutely nothing to anyone, "I don't have anyone else to call. I don't have FRIENDS. Understand? Right now...right now...I could really use one."

"Oh." Grant seemed to be weighing the situation carefully, "Umm. Paulie...look...I'm not sure that's a good idea. I have no idea what kind of trouble you're in. Jesus, if you've done something illegal...."

A shudder ran through Paulie's body and his stomach lurched. He gagged on the thick bile, rising steadily in his throat, then lowered his voice to a faint, defeated whisper. "Please? Please, Grant? I won't be any trouble, I promise. Just let me spend the day at your place? Just ONE day? I'm standing outside, half naked for Christ's sake. I think my nose is broken..."

There was an audible sigh and a soft ruffling of sheets -- the slight creaking of bedsprings, before Grant spoke again. "Where are you?"

continue...