The Pains of Living - Chapter One.
Title: The Pains of Living (2/?)
Sequel to Velcro (Or, A Million and One Different Ways to Start Piecing Together Broken Hearts)
Author: Pulpobsessed.
Pairing: Multiple Pairings
Characters: This chapter: Dave Karofsky, Kurt Hummel, Chris Michaels (OC), and others
Overall Rating: NC17 (for violence and language)
Summary: Takes place a year and six months after the final chapters of Velcro. Dave thought his life was perfect. He had everything he could ever want or need. But when a real tragedy strikes, everything he knows is turned on its head.
Genre: FutureFic
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy. Not me. But this Dave...he's all mine.
A/N.So…I finally got another chapter up loaded. With my work schedule, my writing has had to take a slight backseat…but I hope to try and get more down on my days off. I am not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I wanted to get it out there. I am slowly starting to figure out the trajectory of the story - but have to admit, I am really excited.
Previous Chapters: Prolouge
Chapter One: A Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate over my head
Then I set fire to our bed
Florence and the Machine, “A Kiss with A Fist.”
November 12, 2024 - 7am
The metro system was dead. Which was rather strange for this time in the morning, since, normally, at eight in the morning it was bustling and teeming with government workers, students, tourists...the general business of morning rush hour in the nation’s capital.
But not this morning. This morning, for some inexplicable reason, Dave was the only person standing on the platform waiting for a train. Even the passageways and concourses had been deserted - the only sound Dave could hear was the clicking of his dress shoes on the dirty tile floor.
Or...maybe the emptiness of the place was normal...
It was extremely rare for Dave to be up and out of the house this early. Normally, he would just be waking up, grumbling loudly over the idea that he had to get out of bed. Normally at this time, he would be trying to bride Chris into getting up first - even though Chris usually got to sleep in until eight-thirty or nine. Normally, he would be stumbling into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee that would then accompany him into the bathroom.
Normally he would happily be at home still. But not this morning.
No. This morning, after lying awake all night, he was already on his way to work.
And he was miserable.
He wasn’t entirely sure if Chris had actually fallen asleep last night, but Dave had managed to fake sleeping so well that Chris had left him alone. Eventually, Dave had given up the act and just opened his eyes and just stared at the ceiling all night.
Thinking.
Finally around six in the morning, Dave had given up. He quietly got out of bed, showered, changed and slipped out the front door. Stopping at Starbucks on his way to the metro, he got one of those disgusting breakfast sandwiches and a venti latte with an extra shot.
As he moved past the turnstiles in the metro, Dave realized he and Chris had not kissed each other goodbye for the first time in a year - for the first time since they’d moved in together.
For the first time in over a year and a half, the veil of perfection had shifted on his life with Chris.
He’d spent all night wondering if this...development...was his fault.
Was there something he did that made Chris unhappy? Did he hurt Chris in some way? Why would there suddenly be reason to put their happiness in question?
Dave sighed and kicked an empty orange juice bottle that was on the ground in front of him - it flew in the air and landed somewhere in the tracks below him.
This was not happening.
It seemed unreal.
Utterly unreal.
Dave leaned forward on the platform. He could see the next train coming.
As the train pulled into the station, Dave suddenly had the urge to turn around and run back home, wake Chris up and insist they talk things out. He was terrified that if they let things lie the way they were now, it would all get that much more fucked up.
His whole body seized up with the intense desire to go back home.
But even so, when the train doors opened, Dave didn’t turn around. He stepped through the doors, let them close behind him and started his journey to work.
His stomach started to ache with greater intensity the further away from Chris that he got.
Last night, Dave’s perfect little world had started to crack. The walls of his paradise with Chris began to crumble down around him.
Dave had been so wrapped up in how happy he was, he never even thought that anything could go wrong...
But it had....
Dave had finished putting the dishes away from dinner - homemade pizza. Ever since Chris had decided to buy a pizza stone, it seemed as though they had it for dinner three, sometimes four, times a week. Plus, they now owned at least three different pizza cookbooks. Dave loved almost everything about pizza night, the sole expection was his boyfriend’s enthusiasm for making his own dough. Every time Chris made fresh dough, the entire kitchen suffered. Flour went everywhere. Plus, Chris‘ attempts at tossing the dough meant strange sticky handprints on all of the appliances in the room.
There was also Chris’ adventurous nature when it came to toppings…which sometimes lead to incredible successes, and sometimes lead to horrifying failures.
Tonight’s had been pesto chicken with peppers with roasted cloves of garlic. So, all in all, not the worst combination.
And, even better, he had used one of the many globs of dough in the freezer…so the clean up had been super minimal.
Dave was putting the wine glasses back on the shelf when he heard Chris clear his throat behind him. Dave turned around, smiling.
His boyfriend was leaning against the counter at the entrance to the kitchen, watching him. He was wearing jeans and an old FBI t-shirt. He looked tired.
“Hey.” Dave said quietly.
“Hey, yourself.”
“You want something for dessert?”
“Um…” Chris suddenly looked really nervous.
“Hey…what’s going on? Are you ok?” Dave stepped forward, reaching out to take Chris’ hand.
“I…I need to talk to you about something.”
“Chris…what’s going on?”
Chris reached his hand out, “Let’s sit down. Ok?” He pulled Dave towards the couch.
Dave’s head was spinning. His chest was extremely tight. What was going on?! Chris had seemed fine during dinner - a little quiet, but not upset or anything. So what was all this about?
“Chris…please…”
“Just sit down, Dave.”
Dave sat. He didn’t really know what to do with his hands. They felt large and cumbersome. He twisted them together until they hurt and then he started smoothing down his denim clad thighs.
His brain suddenly flashed to the half empty ice cream container in the freezer.
And he realized he was shaking.
“You’re scaring me, Chris.”
“I’m sorry… Ok, I have no idea how to even start thinking about saying this, so I’m just going to say it.”
Dave whimpered. He could feel himself growing paler. Chris was breaking up with him…after everything they’d been through. After all the work they’d put into making their relationship work…into making it perfect.
Dave nodded.
“I got a phone call a few days ago.”
“A phone call? What kind of…”
“Please, just listen to me, ok?”
“Ok.”
“I got a call a few days ago - do you remember my stories about the guy I worked for at the French Consulate back in New York?”
Dave nodded.
“Well, he called me.”
“What did he want?”
“He just got hired by the UN to form a task force that will operate out of both the Geneva offices of the UN and out of Paris, at the US embassy there. It’s a diplomatic commission that’s investigating global terrorism and major metropolitan metro systems - especially in Europe. There was also some talk about some mini task force about literacy…but he didn’t really go into that.”
“Chris…what does this have to do with you?”
“He offered me a job.”
“What?”
“He’s going to be based out of Geneva, but he needs someone he trusts to work out of the Embassy in Paris. He said that he’s been keeping tabs on my career so far, and thinks that my work with the bureau makes me a perfect fit for this position - plus, since I have knowledge of most of the major languages that encompass this project….”
“Jesus.” Dave pulled his hand away. “And you’re seriously thinking about this?”
“Dave…it’s a diplomatic assignment. With the United Nations! Never mind that it pays five times what I make now at both the Bureau and the Library! And I’d be co-running a UN task force…”
“In Paris.”
“Yes…in Paris.”
“For how long?”
“Six months…A year…Two years…”
“Which is it?”
“The commission's mandated to run its study for a year, but it could take up to two years to compile all the data and put together the reports and what not.”
“So…you’d be gone for two years?”
“I’m sure I’d be back and forth, some. But yes, I would have to be in Paris for a great majority of that time.”
Dave stood up. He walked towards the windows, staring out at the city below. He ran his fingers through his hair. He knew he had to keep an even head. He had to try and stay rational, but all he could hear running through his head was: abandoned! Abandoned! Abandoned!
“Do…do…do you want this?” His voice was shaky, but firm.
“Dave, I would be crazy not to.”
Dave nodded. He kept his back to Chris. He didn’t want the other man to see the tears running down his face.
What he said next…well it wasn’t exactly what he intended to say, but it came out nonetheless.
“But we’re so happy…”
Yeah, totally not what he wanted to say at all. Behind him, he actually heard Chris groan in frustration.
“Dave, this is not about us not being happy. This isn’t about you…or anything you did…”
“I didn’t…”
“No, but I know your brain. And I know you’ve already gone there.”
Dave turned around. “And I suppose…what…I’m supposed to be a hundred percent ok with this right away?”
“I didn’t say that! But you have to realize just how amazing an opportunity this is for me! It’s huge…”
“I get that! But, come on, I get to be upset…”
“Of course. Although I can already tell you’re over reacting. You’ve already decided that I’m breaking up with you and that I’m getting on the next flight to Paris and you’ll never see me again.”
“No I haven’t.” Dave mentally kicked himself for already envisioning Chris leaving the apartment with a huge suitcase in tow.
“Yes, you have. Dave…I don’t want us to fight about this. I want us to talk about it. To sit down and have a normal, rational talk. And then we can figure out what to do.”
“You’re acting like I have a choice in the matter.”
“Don’t you?”
“I’m not the one with the job offer, Chris.”
“No. But you are my partner. I share my life with you, I’m not saying yes without your input. I’m not even going to entertain the idea of moving my life to Paris without your help, your advice, your support.”
“Ok. But the fact remains, you want this. Right?”
“I…I can’t deny that it is an amazing offer, Dave.”
“Then you already made the decision without my input.”
“No! I haven’t…I haven’t decided anything.”
“But you waited..how many days to tell me about this? That tells me you’ve already made a decision.”
“I waited because I knew you’d react exactly like this…irrationally.”
“So, I’m just some irrational crazy person?”
“What?! No…but I knew that as soon as I brought this us, you’d get a little crazy and pretty much decide that you and I are on our last legs. Even though that is so far from the truth.”
“How do you expect me to react, Chris?”
“I don’t know…maybe excited for me that someone out there thinks I’m good enough to do a job like this? And maybe calm and rational enough to sit down and talk about how something like this might work with us?”
Things had pretty much taken a turn for the worse after that.
Dave knew that he’d over-reacted. He knew he’d thrown things out of proportion. And most of all, he knew that they needed to talk about this.
He had been excited for Chris. A fucking UN job! Come on, of course Dave was crazy proud of Chris. How could he not be?
But that did nothing to change the fact that Chris was about to leave for two years. That in a few short months, the perfect little life he and Chris had created together was going to end, and suddenly Dave was about to finding himself alone, again. It was that fact, the finding himself alone, that had caused such a strong and irrational reaction in Dave.
Over the past year and a half, Chris had become the most important part of Dave’s life. He was what made everyday a good day. He was what made Dave smile more than he’d ever smiled before. He was what kept Dave grounded. Pushed him to be a better person - a healthier person.
So the idea that Chris could be taken away from him - even for something like a job - destroyed Dave. Completely.
Now, the right thing to do would be to explain all that to Chris. Tell him how hard an adjustment it would be for Dave. Tell him how Dave didn’t want the happiest time in his life to end.
The right thing to do would not be to let last night’s talk turn into an all out fight...
But it had. And so, Dave was here now...walking out of the DC metro onto U street, a couple blocks from The Center, at seven thirty in the morning.
The day had turned rainy and cold. Dave pulled the collar up on his coat, hunched his shoulders and ducked his head and soldiered on...he knew in his gut that today was going to be one great big terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day...
********************************
From the moment he walked into The Center, nothing about Dave’s day was positive. In fact, it got progressively worse.
Dave had initially been hired at The Center as a district social worker who would deal with kids coming in looking for help - acting, as a matter of fact, as The Center’s only social worker on staff. However, in the years since he’d started working there, that role had shifted, changed, grown. He now sat on the Board of Directors, worked closely with the Advisory Committee on various projects related to The Center, worked with at least half a dozen youth groups every week, and mentored some of the social work interns that floated in and out of The Center every few months.
When The Center had received new funding back in 2015, it’s mandate had completely changed. It was now an all encompassing LGBTQ youth center - providing after school programs, arts programs, music programs, sports programs, counseling for teens in need...the list was long. And somehow, Dave was involved in almost every one of those things.
So, when he walked through the doors of The Center on his very bad day, he was not at all surprised to find himself flooded with requests to handle emergencies, nor was he shocked at the number of files that seemed to have moved from ‘non-essential’ to ‘an absolute, fucking, the world is going to end, emergency’ over night. All of which seemed to land on his desk.
He told the volunteer receptionist that he was going to handle as many of those cases as possible, and that he should just be left the fuck alone.
The look on the girl’s face - she had to be no more than nineteen - was one of such horror that he knew he’d be safe for a while.
Dave loved his office. He could still remember when he didn’t have one...back in the days of barely having a cubicle, instead sharing a desk with a couple other people. Even then, he’d always had trouble keeping his work from exploding everywhere. The day The Center gave him an office was the day his dis-organization, but highly, organized life began.
His office was always a mess. Papers were everywhere. Files were scattered all over the place - on his desk, on top of filing cabinets, on the floor, on chairs. He had a bookcase crammed full of various social work text books, reference materials, resources - for both himself and his kids. Tucked under one chair close to the door was a football, a volleyball and a few tennis rackets. Various sweaters, jackets, shirts, even a pair of jeans appeared to just be lying around on the floor, or tossed over the backs of chairs. And then there were the pictures. Dozens of photos littered the walls. Photos of Dave and friends, Dave and Chris, Dave and some of his kids, Dave and politicians, Dave and colleagues, Dave and the vice-President - whom he met at some fund raising party The Center held a couple years ago. On the back wall, flanked by a number of photos, Dave had hung his degrees - they seemed to scream, ‘the guy sitting here is fucking smart, so you better respect!’
Which was exactly the effect Dave wanted.
Yeah. Dave loved his office. It was his little world. A self contained environment that he had built for himself. It was his paradise. His fortress of solitude...When he was in it, no one could really bother him. He could just disappear into it...disappear into his work and ignore the day away.
Which was exactly what he planned on doing today.
As soon as his office door closed behind him, all the pressure in his body dissipated. It just seemed to evaporate. He pulled off his coat and flung it over one of the chairs that flanked his desk. He dumped his bag down onto the seat of that same chair and pulled out his iPad. Then, letting himself fall back into his incredibly well built desk chair, Dave hooked his iPad into the desk’s docking station. Instantly the pad was connected with The Center’s network and his day’s files, schedules, emails, and everything else that needed his attention appeared on the screen.
He pulled a few of his case files towards him, flipping through them to see if any of the names screamed out emergency to him right away. None did. And that’s what worried him. Because, normally, when he walked in and there was nothing pressing for him to deal with, things were going to explode before the end of the day...and Dave would be left with a mess similar to Pompeii.
Dave scrolled through the files on his pad, checking them against the ones that had appeared on his desk...
And then he paused.
Something caught his eye.
Jeremy Rodgers.
He hadn’t seen that name in ages...at least a year. The last time he had anything significant to do with Jeremy Rodgers was when he got called into his group home after Jeremy overdosed last year and they’d been forced to try and contact the kid’s family...
After that, Dave had passed on the kid’s file to another social worker who had more experience in Jeremy’s type of situation, so Dave figured he wouldn’t hear about the kid again.
Dave suddenly realized he’d never actually followed up on the kid’s progress to see how he was doing and if he was surviving or not...
Dave tapped on the kid’s name on his pad. A note appeared. Jeremy had called The Center looking for Dave last night, long after Dave had gone home. Dave then quickly called up his file.
There was nothing new.
The last significant notation was Dave’s entry on the OD and the transfer out of the group home almost twenty months ago. As well as the signature of a new case worker, a Julie Mattis, who had been trying to get him into a new group home. There was a final note by Mattis that Jeremy had been turned over to the custody of his father...
That worried Dave.
Especially because after that, there was nothing.
The kid was off the books.
He was well past eighteen now. So no longer a dependent, but... Dave quickly did the math...Jeremy would have been half-way through his sixteenth year, or just about to turn seventeen, when he went back to his family, so who knew how much damage had been caused in that time.
He checked the note about Jeremy’s call - it had been taken by one of the volunteers who manned the phones overnight - a college intern named Neptune.
Dave paused to silently chuckle to himself...even reaching for his phone to text Chris their usual joke about Neptune and whether he was particularly gassy. He stopped just as he was about to unlock his phone, remembering that he had snuck out of their home that morning so he wouldn’t have to talk to Chris...so technically, texting him a joke about a potentially gassy intern, might be kind of weird.
Dave sighed and instead brought up Neptune’s contact information on the Center’s server. He dialed the kid’s home number.
“Hello, Neptune speaking.”
“Oh. Hey, um, Neptune. It’s Dave Karofsky, from The Center.”
“Mr. Karofsky! Sir, is everything ok?”
Dave hated that he wasn’t even thirty and already was being called mister and Sir.
“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine...but I noticed that you got a call last night from Jeremy Rodgers, one of my old cases.”
“Oh, yeah. I logged the call and make sure you’d see it this morning...did I do something wrong?”
“What? No no.” Dave realized he probably sounded really pissed off. “I’m sorry, I’m having a bad day...I was just wondering what he said. He’s been AWOL for over a year now, so I’m curious what’s going on.”
“Oh. Well, he sounded kinda strange. Like maybe he was high or something. He kept saying that he wanted to talk to you. I kept telling him that it was after hours and you weren’t there, but that if it is was an emergency, he should go to the hospital.”
“What did he say then?”
“He insisted I give him your address...I told him I wasn’t allowed to do that. And that if he wanted to talk to you, he should call back in the morning.”
“Uh huh.”
“He called me some rather...innovative names and then hung up.”
“Ok. Neptune, none of that is in the note I’m looking at. You need to give me as much information as possible...This kind of incident needs to be reported. Look, I’m gonna make some calls to Rita and a few of my friends over at the police station.”
“I’m really sorry..I just didn’t think about it...”
“Next time, please make sure you do. I have to ask you, Neptune...”
“Yes?”
“Do you think, based on that call, that he’s a danger to himself or others?”
“I..I don’t know. I mean, it was pretty clear he was high, but nothing he said indicated any kind of violent thought or intent. He just seemed desperate to talk to you.”
Dave sighed. “Ok. Thanks Neptune, I’m sure everything is going to be ok. Just try to remember to file a more detailed report this sort of thing next time...ok?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dave ended the call. He stared at the open file on his screen. This was bugging him. Why would Jeremy be calling to talk to him. He’d barely been the kid’s worker for more than a few months. He’d gotten him involved with a couple youth groups, tried to get him into volleyball, helped get him signed up for the youth addiction service...and he’d been there for the overdose.
Plus, he’d counseled the kid a number of times...
“My dad says that queers deserve to burn in hell for a million years…he says that we’re worthless excuses of flesh.”
“And what do you think, Jeremy?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Jeremy, you know that being gay isn’t wrong, right? That it isn’t a sin.”
“My dad says it is.”
“Why did you run away from home, Jeremy?”
“Because of what my dad was saying…”
“So you disagree with him?”
“Maybe. I don’t know…I guess.”
“So you don’t know why you’d rather live on the streets than at home with your family?”
“I hate my family.”
“Why do you hate them?”
“Because they hate me.”
“And why do they hate you?”
“Because I’m evil.”
“Why are you evil?”
“Cause I’m a faggot.”
“Please don’t use that word - it’s a disgusting word.”
“But that’s what we are, isn’t it Mr. K? Faggots?”
“No…I’m Dave Karofsky and I happen to be gay.”
“Which means you’re a faggot.”
“No, Jeremy, it doesn’t. Because I don’t use that word. It’s dirty and wrong.”
“Whatever.”
“Jeremy, you do understand that when you use words like that, you’re insulting me and yourself, don’t you?”
“I dunno, man. It’s just a word.”
“But it’s a hurtful word.”
“So my dad is being hurtful when he says it?”
“Yes. How do you feel when he says things like that?”
“Dunno.”
Dave sighed. Clearly, this was not going very well. The kid was closed off. Dave looked down at his notes. He was thinking about his next approach, when a quiet voiced asked.
“Do I have go back there?”
“Back where, Jeremy?”
“To my dad’s?”
“Do you not want to?”
“No. I don’t. When I’m there, I hate it. I can’t be who I want to be. I can’t be myself. I have to pretend that I’m going to like fuck a bunch of girls or whatever.”
“I understand, Jeremy. Believe me. I used to feel the same way. Can I ask you a question, Jeremy?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think you would feel safer if you lived away from your father…your family?”
“I guess…I dunno. I just don’t wanna listen to him tell he about how Jesus hates gays and shit.”
“Which you don’t believe?”
“I’ve read the bible dude, there ain’t no hate in there.”
“Ok, Jeremy, do you understand what it means if I make the request that you don’t go home?”
“Yeah - a bunch of legal shit.”
“Your family will have to be contacted about this.”
“So?”
“They could contest it.”
“Let them…if you make me go home, I’ll just fucking run away again.”
Dave sighed. He knew this kid practically had one foot already in juvie, and he knew for certain that he was doing drugs…but he had to find a way to make sure Jeremy didn’t become a danger to himself or others. He just didn’t quite know how.
“Jeremy, if we’re going to work together, you need to join a couple of the groups we offer here. Ok?”
“Whatever.”
Dave frowned. He knew that was going to be as good as he’d get today.
He reached out to grab his phone, he’d have to talk to some of his superiors about this one…Dave felt slightly out of his league here. He didn’t even know if he could get this kid into a foster home.
“Well, kid, let’s see what we can do about you not having to run away again…”
It had worked for a time.
Jeremy had been placed in a halfway house that was especially meant for runaway gay teens. But all of Jeremy’s bad habits followed him.
The drug abuse.
The alcoholism.
The hustling.
Even with the intense counseling and therapy that Dave and the other social workers insisted on for Jeremy, his behavior just continued to get worse and worse.
When Jeremy landed in protective custody at the hospital, after his overdose, plus being rung up on charges of solicitation, the system put its foot down.
There was nothing left that Dave could do...
Jeremy was lying in a hospital bed. He looked awful. Dark bags hung under his eyes, looking as though they’d been painted there. He was restrained to the bed, after trying to pull out his IV and stab a nurse in the eye with it…a particularly lovely after effect of the meth. He had on a thin white hospital gown. On one arm was a heart monitor, and in the other was an IV pushing fluids into his his system trying to flush out the drugs from his blood.
And he looked angry.
Dave closed the door behind him. Jeremy kept his eyes focused on his IV pole.
Dave moved to a chair next to the bed. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair. Then he sat down, slowly.
He stared at the kid, who continued to look at anything but Dave.
“Jeremy?”
Silence.
“Jeremy, can you look at me.”
No response.
Dave shook his head. Then barked as loudly as he dared in a hospital. “Look at me you little shit!”
That got the kid’s attention.
“Fuck you, man!”
“Well, at least that got a response.”
“Go away.”
“No. I don’t think I will.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know why you were so strung out on meth last night that you actually tired to blow a police officer while he was arresting you.”
“Fuck. You.” Jeremy spat and turned away.
“Do you even know how bad this is? Do you?”
“What, I’ll go to some rehab group and promise not to do any more drugs or suck off guys for cash.”
“You fucking stupid child…” Dave muttered to himself. “It’s out of my hands now, Jeremy. The call has been made.”
“What call? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You broke every rule. We had an agreement. I’m not your case worker anymore. My superiors at Social Services are. They called your family.”
“Fuck you! You fucking…”
“Listen to me!”
Jeremy fell back against the bed, staring angrily at Dave.
“There was nothing I could do. You broke the agreement you made when you went into that group home. You broke every single rule. You knew that drugs were forbidden. You knew that illegal activity - especially something like solicitation - was forbidden. But you did it anyways. You were told. You knew the consequences. And still, you fucked up.”
“You’re sending me back?!”
“Not me, Jeremy. You. You’re sending yourself back. I’m sorry…I really and truly am. But the moment you were admitted here, you weren’t my case anymore. You were the police’s and you’re a minor - you know what that means?”
“It means, you’re a fucking lying faggot fuck!”
“No. It means that because you violated the agreement we had to put you in the group home, you’re no longer a resident of it. And because you’re a minor, the authorities called your father.”
“Fuck you!”
“Jeremy. I tried my best for you. I did everything I could. I got you into the home. I got you into all those program. I got you playing sports. I set up counseling for you. I offered to help you find a part time job. Jeremy, I…I fought for you. I fought so hard to help you. I’m sorry…but it’s out of my hands.”
“I won’t go back there…I won’t!”
“You’re no longer my case. A new social worker - who works with the district police - will be coming by to speak with you.”
Dave stood. He turned away from the angry sobbing boy in the bed and walked out of the hospital room. As the door swung shut, he heard: “FUCK YOU FAGGOT!” ring out.
Dave sighed…
That had been the last time he’d heard from or even, heard of Jeremy. Despite his good intentions, Dave had not been able to gain access to Jeremy’s file directly after his arrest. He knew that the kid’s family had been contacted. He had even heard that his father had come to DC - although, whether that was true or not, Dave wasn’t sure. He was suspicious, seeing as how the man had never visited him. And he was sure that Jeremy’s father seemed like the kind of guy who would come visit his son’s social worker.
Jeremy’s absence and silence after that final meeting in the boy’s hospital room - not to mention last night’s mysterious phone call - just generated a million new questions for Dave.
Had Jeremy run away again?
Had Jeremy gone home with his family?
What had happened to Jeremy if he did go back with his family?
Why was he back in DC?
Was he reaching out for help?
Dave flicked through the pages on Jeremy’s file. Looking for...well, he didn’t actually know.
He picked up his phone again, pressing the button for the receptionist.
“Hello! Mr. Karofsky!” The volunteer’s bright and preppy voice squeaked in his ear. He was pretty sure her name was...Amber...or something like that.
“Hi. I need you to make a note for yourself and all the other volunteers manning the phones.”
“SURE! Lemme get a pen!”
Too much pep...why was she so fucking happy...no one should be that fucking happy, especially not today.
“KAY! Go ahead!”
“If a boy named Jeremy Rodgers calls, you are to contact me immediately. And if I’ve gone home, you’re to put him on hold and call my cell and then patch me through to him. Ok?”
“...patch you through to him... Got it!”
“Thanks... put that in a really obnoxious pen color so everyone who sits at your desk sees it.”
“I just got new purple and green glitter pens! Awesome!”
Dave rolled his eyes. “Great. Good for you.”
Dave hung up. He sat there for a while staring at the tiny picture of Jeremy that was open on his screen. He was a good looking kid. Deep auburn hair with piercing brown eyes. He didn’t really have very nice complexion - mostly because of the drug use, but this picture didn’t really show that. Instead, Dave found himself looking at a young boy with a tiny shy smile. A smile that was afraid to get any bigger - a smile that didn’t want to be noticed.
Dave knew that smile. When he was seventeen, he had to look at it every day in the mirror.
Dave groaned and tapped the file shut.
He knew about the call. He’d gone through the file. He’d asked the receptionist to contact him if Jeremy called...what more could he do?
Maybe make a call to the police? Was that really necessary?
Dave’s eyes fluttered over to a picture of him and Chris. And suddenly everything else that had gone on in his life over the past fifteen hours came crashing back to him.
Paris.
The United Nations.
Chris leaving.
Dave sneaking out of the house like a dog this morning.
And now...Jeremy.
Suddenly, Dave just wanted to go home, hide under his duvet, and forget the world even existed.
Maybe accompanied by a large tub of Ben and Jerry’s.
***********************************
The rest of the day passed quietly.
Dave tried to push his concerns about Jeremy out of his mind and focus on everything else that was floating around The Center. He spent the rest of the morning looking over budget reports for the Board of Directors, then worked his way through a few case files of some kids that had come into The Center for help.
The list was as usual: Runaways. Scared kids with no idea who to turn to. Applications for help with GSAs at local high schools. Requests for someone to come into speak to school assemblies. A few parents who were looking for help with their recently outed son or daughter.
Dave steadily worked his way through the piles of paper on his desk, and the open files on his computer. He figured that working without stopping or breaking or anything like that for as long as possible would help in banishing thoughts of the turmoil that was his personal life right now.
He knew that the answer to most of his problems was simply to go home and talk to Chris.
Dave knew he’d blown things out of proportions.
He knew that Chris had never even mentioned them breaking up - no, that had been Dave. He also knew that there was no way in hell either of them were giving up what they had with each other. Chris and Dave loved each other. That was a fact.
Dave sighed and smoothed down the argyle sweater vest he was wearing over his light green button up - he hated this damn sweater, it made him look like a giant over stuffed hipster throw pillow, or something.
Paris.
Fucking Paris.
He glanced at the clock - quarter to four in the afternoon, almost time for his weekly youth group. He grabbed his phone and called Jess.
She picked up on the second ring. “Oh thank god! I’ve been sending you mental messages to call me since like lunch time.”
“Or you could have just texted me?”
“Fuck that...if you’re a real friend, you don’t need to a text message to know to call me.”
“No, Jess, that’s called being psychic...”
“Whatever. I’m safe in my belief that you heard me screaming at you inside my head...”
“You’re a strange girl.”
“Ok, whatever. Look, I think I want to change our plans for Friday.”
“So, we’re not meeting...what’s his name?”
“Alan. His name is Alan. How many times do I have to say it...A-L-A-N. Alan.”
“Ok! Ok! So, we’re not meeting Alan?”
“No! I just don’t think I want to go to The Blue Duck...it’s not really Alan’s kind of place, you know?”
“Oh. Ok...so this is a Jess is freaking out about my approval and wants to create the perfect setting for me to meet her new boyfriend.”
“It is nothing like that...Alan’s just more...a wings and beer kind of guy than a braised bison shank.”
“I’ve heard their shank is to die for.”
“Your shank is to die for...”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t even know! So, you think we could switch it up?”
“Yeah...but I need to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Chris got a job offer.”
“Oh? Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s in Paris.”
“As in Paris, Texas or...THE Paris?”
“Paris, France.”
“Jesus. What...”
“He’d be working with the UN, something about terrorism and public transit and translation.”
“Wow...Dave...that’s...”
“I freaked out.”
“Of course you did. How bad?”
“I pretty much acted like this meant we were finished...you know, I did my usual ‘I’m a five year old’ act.”
“So, what happened?”
“I snuck out of the apartment this morning before he even woke up.”
“Dave...are you serious? Are you actually doing this?”
“You don’t need to say much to make me feel bad, I feel like a whole pile of shit right now.”
“Did you at least say you were happy for him?”
“No...pretty much just focused on the whole negative side of things.”
“Dave...”
“Yeah, I know Jess. I’m being stupid. But what do you expect? He tells me that he might have to move to Paris for up to two years, that’s like a direct attack on everything I think is important in my life. Everything I cherish. I love him so much, Jess. And the idea that he’s going to disappear from my life for two years...amazing UN job or not...it was a bit of a slap in the face.”
“Yeah, ok I can get that. But the two of you work so well because you’ve learned from past mistakes and actually talk shit out.”
“I should go home and grovel, shouldn’t I?”
“No. I don’t think you need to grovel. I think you need to go home tonight say you’re sorry and talk about it. Who knows, maybe he won’t have to go for the whole two years or he can shift between here an there. Or you can go stay with him - you know use some of that vacation time you haven’t used since you started working. But don’t freak out about this Dave...talk to Chris.”
“Yeah.” Dave pinched the bridge of his nose. “Guess I just wanted more time to be drama free...”
“Hey, I get it. After the last year, you deserve all the drama free time in the world. But can you fix this so on Friday it won’t be tense and weird when you meet Alan?”
“I’ll be sure to inform Chris that you need us to work out our future plans for your comfort...”
“See, you catch on fast!”
“Hardly, I just know you all too well...maybe I’l pick up burgers for dinner or something, surprise him.”
“Only you would apologize with burgers...”
“Meat and make up sex...usually works, right?”
“How about eating the meat DURING the make up sex?”
“Now you’re just being gross.”
“I know.”
“Jess...thanks. I think I just needed to hear someone tell me how stupid I was being.”
“I long ago accepted my role as your life coach and guide.”
“Ok, I’ll deal with the reservations for Friday...and you find something more appropriate for Al.”
“Don’t call him that...it sounds so middle age.”
“We’re almost thirty...that’s getting close to middle age.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ok, then, we’re both still practically college students.”
“Not much better...but better.”
“Are things going well with Alan?”
“Yeah...mostly. He’s a nice guy...very much a football and beer type.”
“So, kind of like I was when you met me?”
“No...you were a lot more reserved.”
“Am I meeting him to give my impression or my opinion?”
“Both...I like him, just not sure about the spark.”
“Mmhm.”
“I just want...I want someone with whom I can freak out if he suddenly has to leave the country because I can’t stand being away from him.”
“Alan’s not that guy?”
“No...I don’t think so.”
“You’re not forcing a relationship because you want a relationship, are you?”
“No...god I hope not.”
“If that is the case, I’d worry about how healthy this is.”
“I know...I...shit, hold on.”
Dave heard her talking to someone in the back ground. Then: “Dave, I have to go...one of the other science teachers wants to talk about a student.”
“Why are you still at school?”
“I was marking...”
“Not avoiding going home?”
“No...I don’t...Whatever. Call me tomorrow with updates?”
“Sure. Bye Jess.”
He pressed end as he heard her tinny voice say goodbye.
He frowned at his phone.
He and Jess were going to have to have a real talk about boys soon. She’d been playing it rather loose with men this past year, and he was worried she was letting her rather crazy behavior influence her decision to be with this Alan guy now...
As for now, Dave knew he and Chris needed to talk. They needed to deal with all this...there was no way they couldn’t. Tonight, he’d get dinner, go home and they would talk...all night if need be.
Fuck Paris...they could survive this.
****************************
It got late really fast. Faster than Dave had really anticipated.
After talking to Jess, Dave went and ran his usual Thursday afternoon youth group for questioning teens, which generally lasted about two hours. Unsurprisingly, when he left the meeting room, The Center was pretty much deserted.
He could hear the dying sounds of his kids as they left the building, all heading home to various parts of the city.
He hurried past the receptionist area, but stopped in his tracks.
Strange. For some reason the girl wasn’t there anymore. The computer was on. Her coffee cup was sitting next to a open copy of some old lesbian pulp novel. And the headset was tossed down onto a stack of files.
Normally if she went to the washroom, she’d put up a sign saying that she’d be right back.
Dave glanced up and down the empty corridor. No sign of her.
Maybe the urgency to pee had been so bad she’d forgotten the sign.
Or maybe Dave was just being paranoid. What with the stuff about Jeremy this morning and last night’s fight with Chris...his mind wasn’t exactly in the right space.
Chris...shit. Dave glanced at his watch. If he was going to beat Chris home and pick up dinner, he needed to hurry the fuck up.
Dave forgot all about the missing receptionist as he walked quickly towards his office thinking about whether he should pick up Chipotle for dinner. He knew Chris couldn’t say no to that lime rice.
Dave paused again as he approached his office door. He was sure he’d closed it all the way, but for some reason, it was ajar. Had the receptionist come looking for him, thinking he might be in his office and then not closed the door all the way?
Why, then, would she not have come looking for him in the meeting room?
Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut.
He started to back away from the door. His phone was in his pocket, he reached for it. He’d call security and get them up here to check this out. Then he’d call Chris and tell his him plan and explain that he’d be late but still wanted to have a nice long talk over steak burritos.
As he was about to press call, he heard a noise from inside his office.
A cough. Or maybe a sniffle? Something...there was someone in there.
Maybe Amber had gone into his office. Maybe she was waiting for him? Maybe she needed to talk to him about something? Maybe something had happened?
The sensation in his stomach didn’t subside, but Dave slipped his phone back into his pocket. Amber was clearly just waiting inside for him...waiting to talk to him.
He stepped forward again, put his hand on the frosted glass of the door’s window and pushed.
His office was dark.
“Amber?” He called, quietly. “You in here, honey?”
Silence.
So he tried again, a little more forcibly. “Amber? Are in you my office?”
Nothing.
That sensation in his stomach erupted into a full blown nervous ache.
He was about to turn around and go back into the hallway, when something moved behind him.
He started to turn, but something pushed him. Pushed him hard.
Dave flew forward into his desk, tripping over a pile of papers and one of this guest chairs. He crashed down, slamming his forehead into the side corner of his desk.
He immediately felt the wet, hot searing pain of a head wound. Blood started running into his left eye - momentarily blinding him.
He cried out.
Then he felt a hand on the back of his neck, pressing him down.
He pushed back. He might be blinded and hurt, but he was still fucking strong. The body behind him wasn’t.
He started to swing around, with a punch, but the cold hard metal of something against his cheek stopped him.
A gun.
He lifted his good eye.
Jeremy Rodgers was standing above him. And he was pointing a rather intimidating gun right at Dave’s head.
All thought stopped. His gut felt like it was about to drop right out of his stomach. He felt bile starting to rise in his throat…he knew he was going to vomit.
He opened his mouth to say something. But nothing would come out.
The young man frowned at him. “You’re fucking dead, fag.”
Sequel to Velcro (Or, A Million and One Different Ways to Start Piecing Together Broken Hearts)
Author: Pulpobsessed.
Pairing: Multiple Pairings
Characters: This chapter: Dave Karofsky, Kurt Hummel, Chris Michaels (OC), and others
Overall Rating: NC17 (for violence and language)
Summary: Takes place a year and six months after the final chapters of Velcro. Dave thought his life was perfect. He had everything he could ever want or need. But when a real tragedy strikes, everything he knows is turned on its head.
Genre: FutureFic
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy. Not me. But this Dave...he's all mine.
A/N.So…I finally got another chapter up loaded. With my work schedule, my writing has had to take a slight backseat…but I hope to try and get more down on my days off. I am not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I wanted to get it out there. I am slowly starting to figure out the trajectory of the story - but have to admit, I am really excited.
Previous Chapters: Prolouge
Chapter One: A Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate over my head
Then I set fire to our bed
Florence and the Machine, “A Kiss with A Fist.”
November 12, 2024 - 7am
The metro system was dead. Which was rather strange for this time in the morning, since, normally, at eight in the morning it was bustling and teeming with government workers, students, tourists...the general business of morning rush hour in the nation’s capital.
But not this morning. This morning, for some inexplicable reason, Dave was the only person standing on the platform waiting for a train. Even the passageways and concourses had been deserted - the only sound Dave could hear was the clicking of his dress shoes on the dirty tile floor.
Or...maybe the emptiness of the place was normal...
It was extremely rare for Dave to be up and out of the house this early. Normally, he would just be waking up, grumbling loudly over the idea that he had to get out of bed. Normally at this time, he would be trying to bride Chris into getting up first - even though Chris usually got to sleep in until eight-thirty or nine. Normally, he would be stumbling into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee that would then accompany him into the bathroom.
Normally he would happily be at home still. But not this morning.
No. This morning, after lying awake all night, he was already on his way to work.
And he was miserable.
He wasn’t entirely sure if Chris had actually fallen asleep last night, but Dave had managed to fake sleeping so well that Chris had left him alone. Eventually, Dave had given up the act and just opened his eyes and just stared at the ceiling all night.
Thinking.
Finally around six in the morning, Dave had given up. He quietly got out of bed, showered, changed and slipped out the front door. Stopping at Starbucks on his way to the metro, he got one of those disgusting breakfast sandwiches and a venti latte with an extra shot.
As he moved past the turnstiles in the metro, Dave realized he and Chris had not kissed each other goodbye for the first time in a year - for the first time since they’d moved in together.
For the first time in over a year and a half, the veil of perfection had shifted on his life with Chris.
He’d spent all night wondering if this...development...was his fault.
Was there something he did that made Chris unhappy? Did he hurt Chris in some way? Why would there suddenly be reason to put their happiness in question?
Dave sighed and kicked an empty orange juice bottle that was on the ground in front of him - it flew in the air and landed somewhere in the tracks below him.
This was not happening.
It seemed unreal.
Utterly unreal.
Dave leaned forward on the platform. He could see the next train coming.
As the train pulled into the station, Dave suddenly had the urge to turn around and run back home, wake Chris up and insist they talk things out. He was terrified that if they let things lie the way they were now, it would all get that much more fucked up.
His whole body seized up with the intense desire to go back home.
But even so, when the train doors opened, Dave didn’t turn around. He stepped through the doors, let them close behind him and started his journey to work.
His stomach started to ache with greater intensity the further away from Chris that he got.
Last night, Dave’s perfect little world had started to crack. The walls of his paradise with Chris began to crumble down around him.
Dave had been so wrapped up in how happy he was, he never even thought that anything could go wrong...
But it had....
Dave had finished putting the dishes away from dinner - homemade pizza. Ever since Chris had decided to buy a pizza stone, it seemed as though they had it for dinner three, sometimes four, times a week. Plus, they now owned at least three different pizza cookbooks. Dave loved almost everything about pizza night, the sole expection was his boyfriend’s enthusiasm for making his own dough. Every time Chris made fresh dough, the entire kitchen suffered. Flour went everywhere. Plus, Chris‘ attempts at tossing the dough meant strange sticky handprints on all of the appliances in the room.
There was also Chris’ adventurous nature when it came to toppings…which sometimes lead to incredible successes, and sometimes lead to horrifying failures.
Tonight’s had been pesto chicken with peppers with roasted cloves of garlic. So, all in all, not the worst combination.
And, even better, he had used one of the many globs of dough in the freezer…so the clean up had been super minimal.
Dave was putting the wine glasses back on the shelf when he heard Chris clear his throat behind him. Dave turned around, smiling.
His boyfriend was leaning against the counter at the entrance to the kitchen, watching him. He was wearing jeans and an old FBI t-shirt. He looked tired.
“Hey.” Dave said quietly.
“Hey, yourself.”
“You want something for dessert?”
“Um…” Chris suddenly looked really nervous.
“Hey…what’s going on? Are you ok?” Dave stepped forward, reaching out to take Chris’ hand.
“I…I need to talk to you about something.”
“Chris…what’s going on?”
Chris reached his hand out, “Let’s sit down. Ok?” He pulled Dave towards the couch.
Dave’s head was spinning. His chest was extremely tight. What was going on?! Chris had seemed fine during dinner - a little quiet, but not upset or anything. So what was all this about?
“Chris…please…”
“Just sit down, Dave.”
Dave sat. He didn’t really know what to do with his hands. They felt large and cumbersome. He twisted them together until they hurt and then he started smoothing down his denim clad thighs.
His brain suddenly flashed to the half empty ice cream container in the freezer.
And he realized he was shaking.
“You’re scaring me, Chris.”
“I’m sorry… Ok, I have no idea how to even start thinking about saying this, so I’m just going to say it.”
Dave whimpered. He could feel himself growing paler. Chris was breaking up with him…after everything they’d been through. After all the work they’d put into making their relationship work…into making it perfect.
Dave nodded.
“I got a phone call a few days ago.”
“A phone call? What kind of…”
“Please, just listen to me, ok?”
“Ok.”
“I got a call a few days ago - do you remember my stories about the guy I worked for at the French Consulate back in New York?”
Dave nodded.
“Well, he called me.”
“What did he want?”
“He just got hired by the UN to form a task force that will operate out of both the Geneva offices of the UN and out of Paris, at the US embassy there. It’s a diplomatic commission that’s investigating global terrorism and major metropolitan metro systems - especially in Europe. There was also some talk about some mini task force about literacy…but he didn’t really go into that.”
“Chris…what does this have to do with you?”
“He offered me a job.”
“What?”
“He’s going to be based out of Geneva, but he needs someone he trusts to work out of the Embassy in Paris. He said that he’s been keeping tabs on my career so far, and thinks that my work with the bureau makes me a perfect fit for this position - plus, since I have knowledge of most of the major languages that encompass this project….”
“Jesus.” Dave pulled his hand away. “And you’re seriously thinking about this?”
“Dave…it’s a diplomatic assignment. With the United Nations! Never mind that it pays five times what I make now at both the Bureau and the Library! And I’d be co-running a UN task force…”
“In Paris.”
“Yes…in Paris.”
“For how long?”
“Six months…A year…Two years…”
“Which is it?”
“The commission's mandated to run its study for a year, but it could take up to two years to compile all the data and put together the reports and what not.”
“So…you’d be gone for two years?”
“I’m sure I’d be back and forth, some. But yes, I would have to be in Paris for a great majority of that time.”
Dave stood up. He walked towards the windows, staring out at the city below. He ran his fingers through his hair. He knew he had to keep an even head. He had to try and stay rational, but all he could hear running through his head was: abandoned! Abandoned! Abandoned!
“Do…do…do you want this?” His voice was shaky, but firm.
“Dave, I would be crazy not to.”
Dave nodded. He kept his back to Chris. He didn’t want the other man to see the tears running down his face.
What he said next…well it wasn’t exactly what he intended to say, but it came out nonetheless.
“But we’re so happy…”
Yeah, totally not what he wanted to say at all. Behind him, he actually heard Chris groan in frustration.
“Dave, this is not about us not being happy. This isn’t about you…or anything you did…”
“I didn’t…”
“No, but I know your brain. And I know you’ve already gone there.”
Dave turned around. “And I suppose…what…I’m supposed to be a hundred percent ok with this right away?”
“I didn’t say that! But you have to realize just how amazing an opportunity this is for me! It’s huge…”
“I get that! But, come on, I get to be upset…”
“Of course. Although I can already tell you’re over reacting. You’ve already decided that I’m breaking up with you and that I’m getting on the next flight to Paris and you’ll never see me again.”
“No I haven’t.” Dave mentally kicked himself for already envisioning Chris leaving the apartment with a huge suitcase in tow.
“Yes, you have. Dave…I don’t want us to fight about this. I want us to talk about it. To sit down and have a normal, rational talk. And then we can figure out what to do.”
“You’re acting like I have a choice in the matter.”
“Don’t you?”
“I’m not the one with the job offer, Chris.”
“No. But you are my partner. I share my life with you, I’m not saying yes without your input. I’m not even going to entertain the idea of moving my life to Paris without your help, your advice, your support.”
“Ok. But the fact remains, you want this. Right?”
“I…I can’t deny that it is an amazing offer, Dave.”
“Then you already made the decision without my input.”
“No! I haven’t…I haven’t decided anything.”
“But you waited..how many days to tell me about this? That tells me you’ve already made a decision.”
“I waited because I knew you’d react exactly like this…irrationally.”
“So, I’m just some irrational crazy person?”
“What?! No…but I knew that as soon as I brought this us, you’d get a little crazy and pretty much decide that you and I are on our last legs. Even though that is so far from the truth.”
“How do you expect me to react, Chris?”
“I don’t know…maybe excited for me that someone out there thinks I’m good enough to do a job like this? And maybe calm and rational enough to sit down and talk about how something like this might work with us?”
Things had pretty much taken a turn for the worse after that.
Dave knew that he’d over-reacted. He knew he’d thrown things out of proportion. And most of all, he knew that they needed to talk about this.
He had been excited for Chris. A fucking UN job! Come on, of course Dave was crazy proud of Chris. How could he not be?
But that did nothing to change the fact that Chris was about to leave for two years. That in a few short months, the perfect little life he and Chris had created together was going to end, and suddenly Dave was about to finding himself alone, again. It was that fact, the finding himself alone, that had caused such a strong and irrational reaction in Dave.
Over the past year and a half, Chris had become the most important part of Dave’s life. He was what made everyday a good day. He was what made Dave smile more than he’d ever smiled before. He was what kept Dave grounded. Pushed him to be a better person - a healthier person.
So the idea that Chris could be taken away from him - even for something like a job - destroyed Dave. Completely.
Now, the right thing to do would be to explain all that to Chris. Tell him how hard an adjustment it would be for Dave. Tell him how Dave didn’t want the happiest time in his life to end.
The right thing to do would not be to let last night’s talk turn into an all out fight...
But it had. And so, Dave was here now...walking out of the DC metro onto U street, a couple blocks from The Center, at seven thirty in the morning.
The day had turned rainy and cold. Dave pulled the collar up on his coat, hunched his shoulders and ducked his head and soldiered on...he knew in his gut that today was going to be one great big terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day...
********************************
From the moment he walked into The Center, nothing about Dave’s day was positive. In fact, it got progressively worse.
Dave had initially been hired at The Center as a district social worker who would deal with kids coming in looking for help - acting, as a matter of fact, as The Center’s only social worker on staff. However, in the years since he’d started working there, that role had shifted, changed, grown. He now sat on the Board of Directors, worked closely with the Advisory Committee on various projects related to The Center, worked with at least half a dozen youth groups every week, and mentored some of the social work interns that floated in and out of The Center every few months.
When The Center had received new funding back in 2015, it’s mandate had completely changed. It was now an all encompassing LGBTQ youth center - providing after school programs, arts programs, music programs, sports programs, counseling for teens in need...the list was long. And somehow, Dave was involved in almost every one of those things.
So, when he walked through the doors of The Center on his very bad day, he was not at all surprised to find himself flooded with requests to handle emergencies, nor was he shocked at the number of files that seemed to have moved from ‘non-essential’ to ‘an absolute, fucking, the world is going to end, emergency’ over night. All of which seemed to land on his desk.
He told the volunteer receptionist that he was going to handle as many of those cases as possible, and that he should just be left the fuck alone.
The look on the girl’s face - she had to be no more than nineteen - was one of such horror that he knew he’d be safe for a while.
Dave loved his office. He could still remember when he didn’t have one...back in the days of barely having a cubicle, instead sharing a desk with a couple other people. Even then, he’d always had trouble keeping his work from exploding everywhere. The day The Center gave him an office was the day his dis-organization, but highly, organized life began.
His office was always a mess. Papers were everywhere. Files were scattered all over the place - on his desk, on top of filing cabinets, on the floor, on chairs. He had a bookcase crammed full of various social work text books, reference materials, resources - for both himself and his kids. Tucked under one chair close to the door was a football, a volleyball and a few tennis rackets. Various sweaters, jackets, shirts, even a pair of jeans appeared to just be lying around on the floor, or tossed over the backs of chairs. And then there were the pictures. Dozens of photos littered the walls. Photos of Dave and friends, Dave and Chris, Dave and some of his kids, Dave and politicians, Dave and colleagues, Dave and the vice-President - whom he met at some fund raising party The Center held a couple years ago. On the back wall, flanked by a number of photos, Dave had hung his degrees - they seemed to scream, ‘the guy sitting here is fucking smart, so you better respect!’
Which was exactly the effect Dave wanted.
Yeah. Dave loved his office. It was his little world. A self contained environment that he had built for himself. It was his paradise. His fortress of solitude...When he was in it, no one could really bother him. He could just disappear into it...disappear into his work and ignore the day away.
Which was exactly what he planned on doing today.
As soon as his office door closed behind him, all the pressure in his body dissipated. It just seemed to evaporate. He pulled off his coat and flung it over one of the chairs that flanked his desk. He dumped his bag down onto the seat of that same chair and pulled out his iPad. Then, letting himself fall back into his incredibly well built desk chair, Dave hooked his iPad into the desk’s docking station. Instantly the pad was connected with The Center’s network and his day’s files, schedules, emails, and everything else that needed his attention appeared on the screen.
He pulled a few of his case files towards him, flipping through them to see if any of the names screamed out emergency to him right away. None did. And that’s what worried him. Because, normally, when he walked in and there was nothing pressing for him to deal with, things were going to explode before the end of the day...and Dave would be left with a mess similar to Pompeii.
Dave scrolled through the files on his pad, checking them against the ones that had appeared on his desk...
And then he paused.
Something caught his eye.
Jeremy Rodgers.
He hadn’t seen that name in ages...at least a year. The last time he had anything significant to do with Jeremy Rodgers was when he got called into his group home after Jeremy overdosed last year and they’d been forced to try and contact the kid’s family...
After that, Dave had passed on the kid’s file to another social worker who had more experience in Jeremy’s type of situation, so Dave figured he wouldn’t hear about the kid again.
Dave suddenly realized he’d never actually followed up on the kid’s progress to see how he was doing and if he was surviving or not...
Dave tapped on the kid’s name on his pad. A note appeared. Jeremy had called The Center looking for Dave last night, long after Dave had gone home. Dave then quickly called up his file.
There was nothing new.
The last significant notation was Dave’s entry on the OD and the transfer out of the group home almost twenty months ago. As well as the signature of a new case worker, a Julie Mattis, who had been trying to get him into a new group home. There was a final note by Mattis that Jeremy had been turned over to the custody of his father...
That worried Dave.
Especially because after that, there was nothing.
The kid was off the books.
He was well past eighteen now. So no longer a dependent, but... Dave quickly did the math...Jeremy would have been half-way through his sixteenth year, or just about to turn seventeen, when he went back to his family, so who knew how much damage had been caused in that time.
He checked the note about Jeremy’s call - it had been taken by one of the volunteers who manned the phones overnight - a college intern named Neptune.
Dave paused to silently chuckle to himself...even reaching for his phone to text Chris their usual joke about Neptune and whether he was particularly gassy. He stopped just as he was about to unlock his phone, remembering that he had snuck out of their home that morning so he wouldn’t have to talk to Chris...so technically, texting him a joke about a potentially gassy intern, might be kind of weird.
Dave sighed and instead brought up Neptune’s contact information on the Center’s server. He dialed the kid’s home number.
“Hello, Neptune speaking.”
“Oh. Hey, um, Neptune. It’s Dave Karofsky, from The Center.”
“Mr. Karofsky! Sir, is everything ok?”
Dave hated that he wasn’t even thirty and already was being called mister and Sir.
“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine...but I noticed that you got a call last night from Jeremy Rodgers, one of my old cases.”
“Oh, yeah. I logged the call and make sure you’d see it this morning...did I do something wrong?”
“What? No no.” Dave realized he probably sounded really pissed off. “I’m sorry, I’m having a bad day...I was just wondering what he said. He’s been AWOL for over a year now, so I’m curious what’s going on.”
“Oh. Well, he sounded kinda strange. Like maybe he was high or something. He kept saying that he wanted to talk to you. I kept telling him that it was after hours and you weren’t there, but that if it is was an emergency, he should go to the hospital.”
“What did he say then?”
“He insisted I give him your address...I told him I wasn’t allowed to do that. And that if he wanted to talk to you, he should call back in the morning.”
“Uh huh.”
“He called me some rather...innovative names and then hung up.”
“Ok. Neptune, none of that is in the note I’m looking at. You need to give me as much information as possible...This kind of incident needs to be reported. Look, I’m gonna make some calls to Rita and a few of my friends over at the police station.”
“I’m really sorry..I just didn’t think about it...”
“Next time, please make sure you do. I have to ask you, Neptune...”
“Yes?”
“Do you think, based on that call, that he’s a danger to himself or others?”
“I..I don’t know. I mean, it was pretty clear he was high, but nothing he said indicated any kind of violent thought or intent. He just seemed desperate to talk to you.”
Dave sighed. “Ok. Thanks Neptune, I’m sure everything is going to be ok. Just try to remember to file a more detailed report this sort of thing next time...ok?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dave ended the call. He stared at the open file on his screen. This was bugging him. Why would Jeremy be calling to talk to him. He’d barely been the kid’s worker for more than a few months. He’d gotten him involved with a couple youth groups, tried to get him into volleyball, helped get him signed up for the youth addiction service...and he’d been there for the overdose.
Plus, he’d counseled the kid a number of times...
“My dad says that queers deserve to burn in hell for a million years…he says that we’re worthless excuses of flesh.”
“And what do you think, Jeremy?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Jeremy, you know that being gay isn’t wrong, right? That it isn’t a sin.”
“My dad says it is.”
“Why did you run away from home, Jeremy?”
“Because of what my dad was saying…”
“So you disagree with him?”
“Maybe. I don’t know…I guess.”
“So you don’t know why you’d rather live on the streets than at home with your family?”
“I hate my family.”
“Why do you hate them?”
“Because they hate me.”
“And why do they hate you?”
“Because I’m evil.”
“Why are you evil?”
“Cause I’m a faggot.”
“Please don’t use that word - it’s a disgusting word.”
“But that’s what we are, isn’t it Mr. K? Faggots?”
“No…I’m Dave Karofsky and I happen to be gay.”
“Which means you’re a faggot.”
“No, Jeremy, it doesn’t. Because I don’t use that word. It’s dirty and wrong.”
“Whatever.”
“Jeremy, you do understand that when you use words like that, you’re insulting me and yourself, don’t you?”
“I dunno, man. It’s just a word.”
“But it’s a hurtful word.”
“So my dad is being hurtful when he says it?”
“Yes. How do you feel when he says things like that?”
“Dunno.”
Dave sighed. Clearly, this was not going very well. The kid was closed off. Dave looked down at his notes. He was thinking about his next approach, when a quiet voiced asked.
“Do I have go back there?”
“Back where, Jeremy?”
“To my dad’s?”
“Do you not want to?”
“No. I don’t. When I’m there, I hate it. I can’t be who I want to be. I can’t be myself. I have to pretend that I’m going to like fuck a bunch of girls or whatever.”
“I understand, Jeremy. Believe me. I used to feel the same way. Can I ask you a question, Jeremy?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think you would feel safer if you lived away from your father…your family?”
“I guess…I dunno. I just don’t wanna listen to him tell he about how Jesus hates gays and shit.”
“Which you don’t believe?”
“I’ve read the bible dude, there ain’t no hate in there.”
“Ok, Jeremy, do you understand what it means if I make the request that you don’t go home?”
“Yeah - a bunch of legal shit.”
“Your family will have to be contacted about this.”
“So?”
“They could contest it.”
“Let them…if you make me go home, I’ll just fucking run away again.”
Dave sighed. He knew this kid practically had one foot already in juvie, and he knew for certain that he was doing drugs…but he had to find a way to make sure Jeremy didn’t become a danger to himself or others. He just didn’t quite know how.
“Jeremy, if we’re going to work together, you need to join a couple of the groups we offer here. Ok?”
“Whatever.”
Dave frowned. He knew that was going to be as good as he’d get today.
He reached out to grab his phone, he’d have to talk to some of his superiors about this one…Dave felt slightly out of his league here. He didn’t even know if he could get this kid into a foster home.
“Well, kid, let’s see what we can do about you not having to run away again…”
It had worked for a time.
Jeremy had been placed in a halfway house that was especially meant for runaway gay teens. But all of Jeremy’s bad habits followed him.
The drug abuse.
The alcoholism.
The hustling.
Even with the intense counseling and therapy that Dave and the other social workers insisted on for Jeremy, his behavior just continued to get worse and worse.
When Jeremy landed in protective custody at the hospital, after his overdose, plus being rung up on charges of solicitation, the system put its foot down.
There was nothing left that Dave could do...
Jeremy was lying in a hospital bed. He looked awful. Dark bags hung under his eyes, looking as though they’d been painted there. He was restrained to the bed, after trying to pull out his IV and stab a nurse in the eye with it…a particularly lovely after effect of the meth. He had on a thin white hospital gown. On one arm was a heart monitor, and in the other was an IV pushing fluids into his his system trying to flush out the drugs from his blood.
And he looked angry.
Dave closed the door behind him. Jeremy kept his eyes focused on his IV pole.
Dave moved to a chair next to the bed. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair. Then he sat down, slowly.
He stared at the kid, who continued to look at anything but Dave.
“Jeremy?”
Silence.
“Jeremy, can you look at me.”
No response.
Dave shook his head. Then barked as loudly as he dared in a hospital. “Look at me you little shit!”
That got the kid’s attention.
“Fuck you, man!”
“Well, at least that got a response.”
“Go away.”
“No. I don’t think I will.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know why you were so strung out on meth last night that you actually tired to blow a police officer while he was arresting you.”
“Fuck. You.” Jeremy spat and turned away.
“Do you even know how bad this is? Do you?”
“What, I’ll go to some rehab group and promise not to do any more drugs or suck off guys for cash.”
“You fucking stupid child…” Dave muttered to himself. “It’s out of my hands now, Jeremy. The call has been made.”
“What call? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You broke every rule. We had an agreement. I’m not your case worker anymore. My superiors at Social Services are. They called your family.”
“Fuck you! You fucking…”
“Listen to me!”
Jeremy fell back against the bed, staring angrily at Dave.
“There was nothing I could do. You broke the agreement you made when you went into that group home. You broke every single rule. You knew that drugs were forbidden. You knew that illegal activity - especially something like solicitation - was forbidden. But you did it anyways. You were told. You knew the consequences. And still, you fucked up.”
“You’re sending me back?!”
“Not me, Jeremy. You. You’re sending yourself back. I’m sorry…I really and truly am. But the moment you were admitted here, you weren’t my case anymore. You were the police’s and you’re a minor - you know what that means?”
“It means, you’re a fucking lying faggot fuck!”
“No. It means that because you violated the agreement we had to put you in the group home, you’re no longer a resident of it. And because you’re a minor, the authorities called your father.”
“Fuck you!”
“Jeremy. I tried my best for you. I did everything I could. I got you into the home. I got you into all those program. I got you playing sports. I set up counseling for you. I offered to help you find a part time job. Jeremy, I…I fought for you. I fought so hard to help you. I’m sorry…but it’s out of my hands.”
“I won’t go back there…I won’t!”
“You’re no longer my case. A new social worker - who works with the district police - will be coming by to speak with you.”
Dave stood. He turned away from the angry sobbing boy in the bed and walked out of the hospital room. As the door swung shut, he heard: “FUCK YOU FAGGOT!” ring out.
Dave sighed…
That had been the last time he’d heard from or even, heard of Jeremy. Despite his good intentions, Dave had not been able to gain access to Jeremy’s file directly after his arrest. He knew that the kid’s family had been contacted. He had even heard that his father had come to DC - although, whether that was true or not, Dave wasn’t sure. He was suspicious, seeing as how the man had never visited him. And he was sure that Jeremy’s father seemed like the kind of guy who would come visit his son’s social worker.
Jeremy’s absence and silence after that final meeting in the boy’s hospital room - not to mention last night’s mysterious phone call - just generated a million new questions for Dave.
Had Jeremy run away again?
Had Jeremy gone home with his family?
What had happened to Jeremy if he did go back with his family?
Why was he back in DC?
Was he reaching out for help?
Dave flicked through the pages on Jeremy’s file. Looking for...well, he didn’t actually know.
He picked up his phone again, pressing the button for the receptionist.
“Hello! Mr. Karofsky!” The volunteer’s bright and preppy voice squeaked in his ear. He was pretty sure her name was...Amber...or something like that.
“Hi. I need you to make a note for yourself and all the other volunteers manning the phones.”
“SURE! Lemme get a pen!”
Too much pep...why was she so fucking happy...no one should be that fucking happy, especially not today.
“KAY! Go ahead!”
“If a boy named Jeremy Rodgers calls, you are to contact me immediately. And if I’ve gone home, you’re to put him on hold and call my cell and then patch me through to him. Ok?”
“...patch you through to him... Got it!”
“Thanks... put that in a really obnoxious pen color so everyone who sits at your desk sees it.”
“I just got new purple and green glitter pens! Awesome!”
Dave rolled his eyes. “Great. Good for you.”
Dave hung up. He sat there for a while staring at the tiny picture of Jeremy that was open on his screen. He was a good looking kid. Deep auburn hair with piercing brown eyes. He didn’t really have very nice complexion - mostly because of the drug use, but this picture didn’t really show that. Instead, Dave found himself looking at a young boy with a tiny shy smile. A smile that was afraid to get any bigger - a smile that didn’t want to be noticed.
Dave knew that smile. When he was seventeen, he had to look at it every day in the mirror.
Dave groaned and tapped the file shut.
He knew about the call. He’d gone through the file. He’d asked the receptionist to contact him if Jeremy called...what more could he do?
Maybe make a call to the police? Was that really necessary?
Dave’s eyes fluttered over to a picture of him and Chris. And suddenly everything else that had gone on in his life over the past fifteen hours came crashing back to him.
Paris.
The United Nations.
Chris leaving.
Dave sneaking out of the house like a dog this morning.
And now...Jeremy.
Suddenly, Dave just wanted to go home, hide under his duvet, and forget the world even existed.
Maybe accompanied by a large tub of Ben and Jerry’s.
***********************************
The rest of the day passed quietly.
Dave tried to push his concerns about Jeremy out of his mind and focus on everything else that was floating around The Center. He spent the rest of the morning looking over budget reports for the Board of Directors, then worked his way through a few case files of some kids that had come into The Center for help.
The list was as usual: Runaways. Scared kids with no idea who to turn to. Applications for help with GSAs at local high schools. Requests for someone to come into speak to school assemblies. A few parents who were looking for help with their recently outed son or daughter.
Dave steadily worked his way through the piles of paper on his desk, and the open files on his computer. He figured that working without stopping or breaking or anything like that for as long as possible would help in banishing thoughts of the turmoil that was his personal life right now.
He knew that the answer to most of his problems was simply to go home and talk to Chris.
Dave knew he’d blown things out of proportions.
He knew that Chris had never even mentioned them breaking up - no, that had been Dave. He also knew that there was no way in hell either of them were giving up what they had with each other. Chris and Dave loved each other. That was a fact.
Dave sighed and smoothed down the argyle sweater vest he was wearing over his light green button up - he hated this damn sweater, it made him look like a giant over stuffed hipster throw pillow, or something.
Paris.
Fucking Paris.
He glanced at the clock - quarter to four in the afternoon, almost time for his weekly youth group. He grabbed his phone and called Jess.
She picked up on the second ring. “Oh thank god! I’ve been sending you mental messages to call me since like lunch time.”
“Or you could have just texted me?”
“Fuck that...if you’re a real friend, you don’t need to a text message to know to call me.”
“No, Jess, that’s called being psychic...”
“Whatever. I’m safe in my belief that you heard me screaming at you inside my head...”
“You’re a strange girl.”
“Ok, whatever. Look, I think I want to change our plans for Friday.”
“So, we’re not meeting...what’s his name?”
“Alan. His name is Alan. How many times do I have to say it...A-L-A-N. Alan.”
“Ok! Ok! So, we’re not meeting Alan?”
“No! I just don’t think I want to go to The Blue Duck...it’s not really Alan’s kind of place, you know?”
“Oh. Ok...so this is a Jess is freaking out about my approval and wants to create the perfect setting for me to meet her new boyfriend.”
“It is nothing like that...Alan’s just more...a wings and beer kind of guy than a braised bison shank.”
“I’ve heard their shank is to die for.”
“Your shank is to die for...”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t even know! So, you think we could switch it up?”
“Yeah...but I need to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Chris got a job offer.”
“Oh? Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s in Paris.”
“As in Paris, Texas or...THE Paris?”
“Paris, France.”
“Jesus. What...”
“He’d be working with the UN, something about terrorism and public transit and translation.”
“Wow...Dave...that’s...”
“I freaked out.”
“Of course you did. How bad?”
“I pretty much acted like this meant we were finished...you know, I did my usual ‘I’m a five year old’ act.”
“So, what happened?”
“I snuck out of the apartment this morning before he even woke up.”
“Dave...are you serious? Are you actually doing this?”
“You don’t need to say much to make me feel bad, I feel like a whole pile of shit right now.”
“Did you at least say you were happy for him?”
“No...pretty much just focused on the whole negative side of things.”
“Dave...”
“Yeah, I know Jess. I’m being stupid. But what do you expect? He tells me that he might have to move to Paris for up to two years, that’s like a direct attack on everything I think is important in my life. Everything I cherish. I love him so much, Jess. And the idea that he’s going to disappear from my life for two years...amazing UN job or not...it was a bit of a slap in the face.”
“Yeah, ok I can get that. But the two of you work so well because you’ve learned from past mistakes and actually talk shit out.”
“I should go home and grovel, shouldn’t I?”
“No. I don’t think you need to grovel. I think you need to go home tonight say you’re sorry and talk about it. Who knows, maybe he won’t have to go for the whole two years or he can shift between here an there. Or you can go stay with him - you know use some of that vacation time you haven’t used since you started working. But don’t freak out about this Dave...talk to Chris.”
“Yeah.” Dave pinched the bridge of his nose. “Guess I just wanted more time to be drama free...”
“Hey, I get it. After the last year, you deserve all the drama free time in the world. But can you fix this so on Friday it won’t be tense and weird when you meet Alan?”
“I’ll be sure to inform Chris that you need us to work out our future plans for your comfort...”
“See, you catch on fast!”
“Hardly, I just know you all too well...maybe I’l pick up burgers for dinner or something, surprise him.”
“Only you would apologize with burgers...”
“Meat and make up sex...usually works, right?”
“How about eating the meat DURING the make up sex?”
“Now you’re just being gross.”
“I know.”
“Jess...thanks. I think I just needed to hear someone tell me how stupid I was being.”
“I long ago accepted my role as your life coach and guide.”
“Ok, I’ll deal with the reservations for Friday...and you find something more appropriate for Al.”
“Don’t call him that...it sounds so middle age.”
“We’re almost thirty...that’s getting close to middle age.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ok, then, we’re both still practically college students.”
“Not much better...but better.”
“Are things going well with Alan?”
“Yeah...mostly. He’s a nice guy...very much a football and beer type.”
“So, kind of like I was when you met me?”
“No...you were a lot more reserved.”
“Am I meeting him to give my impression or my opinion?”
“Both...I like him, just not sure about the spark.”
“Mmhm.”
“I just want...I want someone with whom I can freak out if he suddenly has to leave the country because I can’t stand being away from him.”
“Alan’s not that guy?”
“No...I don’t think so.”
“You’re not forcing a relationship because you want a relationship, are you?”
“No...god I hope not.”
“If that is the case, I’d worry about how healthy this is.”
“I know...I...shit, hold on.”
Dave heard her talking to someone in the back ground. Then: “Dave, I have to go...one of the other science teachers wants to talk about a student.”
“Why are you still at school?”
“I was marking...”
“Not avoiding going home?”
“No...I don’t...Whatever. Call me tomorrow with updates?”
“Sure. Bye Jess.”
He pressed end as he heard her tinny voice say goodbye.
He frowned at his phone.
He and Jess were going to have to have a real talk about boys soon. She’d been playing it rather loose with men this past year, and he was worried she was letting her rather crazy behavior influence her decision to be with this Alan guy now...
As for now, Dave knew he and Chris needed to talk. They needed to deal with all this...there was no way they couldn’t. Tonight, he’d get dinner, go home and they would talk...all night if need be.
Fuck Paris...they could survive this.
****************************
It got late really fast. Faster than Dave had really anticipated.
After talking to Jess, Dave went and ran his usual Thursday afternoon youth group for questioning teens, which generally lasted about two hours. Unsurprisingly, when he left the meeting room, The Center was pretty much deserted.
He could hear the dying sounds of his kids as they left the building, all heading home to various parts of the city.
He hurried past the receptionist area, but stopped in his tracks.
Strange. For some reason the girl wasn’t there anymore. The computer was on. Her coffee cup was sitting next to a open copy of some old lesbian pulp novel. And the headset was tossed down onto a stack of files.
Normally if she went to the washroom, she’d put up a sign saying that she’d be right back.
Dave glanced up and down the empty corridor. No sign of her.
Maybe the urgency to pee had been so bad she’d forgotten the sign.
Or maybe Dave was just being paranoid. What with the stuff about Jeremy this morning and last night’s fight with Chris...his mind wasn’t exactly in the right space.
Chris...shit. Dave glanced at his watch. If he was going to beat Chris home and pick up dinner, he needed to hurry the fuck up.
Dave forgot all about the missing receptionist as he walked quickly towards his office thinking about whether he should pick up Chipotle for dinner. He knew Chris couldn’t say no to that lime rice.
Dave paused again as he approached his office door. He was sure he’d closed it all the way, but for some reason, it was ajar. Had the receptionist come looking for him, thinking he might be in his office and then not closed the door all the way?
Why, then, would she not have come looking for him in the meeting room?
Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut.
He started to back away from the door. His phone was in his pocket, he reached for it. He’d call security and get them up here to check this out. Then he’d call Chris and tell his him plan and explain that he’d be late but still wanted to have a nice long talk over steak burritos.
As he was about to press call, he heard a noise from inside his office.
A cough. Or maybe a sniffle? Something...there was someone in there.
Maybe Amber had gone into his office. Maybe she was waiting for him? Maybe she needed to talk to him about something? Maybe something had happened?
The sensation in his stomach didn’t subside, but Dave slipped his phone back into his pocket. Amber was clearly just waiting inside for him...waiting to talk to him.
He stepped forward again, put his hand on the frosted glass of the door’s window and pushed.
His office was dark.
“Amber?” He called, quietly. “You in here, honey?”
Silence.
So he tried again, a little more forcibly. “Amber? Are in you my office?”
Nothing.
That sensation in his stomach erupted into a full blown nervous ache.
He was about to turn around and go back into the hallway, when something moved behind him.
He started to turn, but something pushed him. Pushed him hard.
Dave flew forward into his desk, tripping over a pile of papers and one of this guest chairs. He crashed down, slamming his forehead into the side corner of his desk.
He immediately felt the wet, hot searing pain of a head wound. Blood started running into his left eye - momentarily blinding him.
He cried out.
Then he felt a hand on the back of his neck, pressing him down.
He pushed back. He might be blinded and hurt, but he was still fucking strong. The body behind him wasn’t.
He started to swing around, with a punch, but the cold hard metal of something against his cheek stopped him.
A gun.
He lifted his good eye.
Jeremy Rodgers was standing above him. And he was pointing a rather intimidating gun right at Dave’s head.
All thought stopped. His gut felt like it was about to drop right out of his stomach. He felt bile starting to rise in his throat…he knew he was going to vomit.
He opened his mouth to say something. But nothing would come out.
The young man frowned at him. “You’re fucking dead, fag.”