Chapter 03: Homecoming
I dropped my boss's dry cleaning off and hopped on the 'L'. God, I was so happy to be getting off work early, and on a Monday at that. When my boss told me to take off early, I was shocked. I was not so shocked when he told me to drop his dry cleaning off on the way.
It's hard to believe that I've been working for him for two years. I still hadn't gotten my CPA. I don't know where the time went. I took the job for experience and to bring money in, but two years later, I was still there doing menial grunt work and going nowhere. Sometimes I felt like such a failure, but Bart would tell me that it was okay. I didn't need a stressful job like he had and he made plenty of money to take care of us.
In contrast, Bart was very successful at his job. In the two years he's been with the company, he's been promoted twice. He makes nearly four times the amount of money I do.
I sighed and got off the train and walked down the steps. It was cold and windy and I shivered and zipped my jacket up.
As I walked the two blocks home, I hoped that Bart could get off early or at least on time. I tried to call him, but got voice mail. I was tired of cooking... Maybe I could get him to take me out to dinner tonight. I looked at my watch and smiled. Bart got it for me a couple of years ago for my birthday. It was early enough that I could probably get a load or two of laundry done and put away before Bart got home. That will put him in a good mood.
I unlocked the door to the condo. I could hear music playing upstairs. I smiled. Bart was home early. I set my bag down and hurried upstairs. As I neared the bedroom, I froze in my tracks. The bed was thumping in a fast rhythm. Then Bart was grunting, "Take that cock, boy!"
He had promised me.
"Oh, yes, daddy!" an unknown voice cried out.
Oh, god, I might be sick right here in the hallway.
My chest felt constricted and I forced myself to move forward. I stepped into the bedroom and my boyfriend of four years was ramming his cock into a blond haired twink on his hands and knees doggy-style, his head thrashing back and forth in pleasure.
I was so angry and hurt I was shaking. "Bart."
They turned and looked at me. The twink gasped and pulled away from Bart and tried to cover up. "What the hell!"
"You're home early, baby," Bart said. He knelt there on the bed with his hands on his hips. His condom covered cock angled towards the ceiling. "Come join us."
I shook my head. I looked at the twink and said, "Get out."
The twink scrambled out of the bed and pulled his clothes on. "Look, I'm sorry," he apologized to me. "His profile said he was single."
The twink ran down the stairs and out the front door.
"Since you interrupted me," he said with a smirk. "I guess you'll have to finish the job. Come here."
"I hope you're kidding," I said. "You promised me, Bart. You said you'd never cheat on me again."
I caught him about a year ago... last September, I guess. I had cried and sobbed and told him how much he hurt me. He got pissed. God, he hates when I cry. But he had promised me then that it was the only time and that he'd never cheat on me again.
Bart pulled the condom off and tossed it onto the floor. He got up and walked over to me. "I'm sorry, baby. He hit on me and I wasn't able to resist."
"He said your profile said you were single. Stop lying. Be a man and admit it. How many others have there been?"
Bart got in my face. "You think I'm lying, boy? You calling me a liar?"
"I know you're lying. You say you love me, but you don't give a shit about me."
Bart's face got red and he raised his hand.
"Go ahead. You promised you'd never do that again either. But we both know what kind of man you are."
He had hit me once before. This past Super Bowl weekend. He and his buddy were watching the game drinking. Bart was bragging about my abilities in the bedroom and his buddy made a bet. If Bart's team lost, he'd get to have me. When Bart shook on it, I hit the roof. "No way!" I had said and stormed into the bedroom. He followed me and told me I'd keep my mouth shut and do whatever he told me. I told him to "fuck off" and he backhanded me across the face.
BAM!
I was brought out of my memory as his right fist connected with my face and I slammed back against the wall. I covered my left eye with my hand and tears finally fell from my eyes as I stared at him in shock. I pushed away from the wall and ran down the stairs.
"Come back here, boy! Don't you fucking walk away from me!"
"I'm leaving, Bart!"
I grabbed my keys and walked to the front door.
"Where're you gonna go, Clark? Huh? You don't have jack shit. You can't live off of that fucking dead end job of yours."
Bart scoffed. "Ha. You can't even fucking take care of yourself. I'm all you got. So, you better buck up and get your ass up those god damned stairs. Don't make me tell you again, boy!"
"Goodbye, Bart."
I turned around and left, closing the door behind me. I walked around the back to the parking area and climbed into my truck. Bart was right. I let him take care of me for the past four years. All I had to my name was this truck, a dark red Ford Explorer Sport Trac. Bart hated this truck. "Get a real pickup truck if that's what you want, not this faggy piece of shit" he had said. I started to laugh to myself, which then turned to sobs.
After I was able to compose myself, I started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. I drove to the bank and took out a few hundred dollars. I had just over ten thousand dollars in my savings account. I guess that was one benefit of Bart taking care of me. My pittance of a salary didn't amount to anything to him and I was able to save a bit.
I pulled into a cheap motel and checked in at the desk. The old woman at the counter looked at me with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked. I nodded and took the key card and headed to my room.
I laid on the bed and wondered what to do next. I couldn't go back to Bart. I wouldn't. I can take a lot, but not cheating. And not hitting. I would blow through the money I had saved up in no time living on my own. I didn't know anyone else here. The only way I heard from my friend Ben was Facebook status updates and I don't blame him. I hadn't talked to my parents since Christmas, 6 months ago. They came down to Chicago to visit a couple of months after we moved here. Dad and Bart struggled to get along for my sake, but it was so awful they never came back and that was the last time I saw them in person, just about two years ago.
I curled up in the fetal position and sobbed uncontrollably. After I calmed myself down, I pulled my cell phone out of my bag. I had a voice mail from Bart: Come home now, Clark. We'll put all this behind us. We'll work it out.
I deleted the message and sat down on the bed. I took a deep breath. I scrolled through my contacts, then hit the call button.
"Hello?" her voice was soft and melodic.
"Mom?" I said, my voice quivering.
"Clark? Honey, is that you?"
