Love's Home

Chapter 1-4

Trey heaves, his hand flying out to grip Brent’s forearm, hard. The car swerves dangerously.

“Damn it, Trey! What’s up?”

“Pull over, will ya? Think I’m gonna be sick.” Trey doesn’t have to tell Brent twice though he would have gladly puked inside Brent’s car especially after what Brent has done to him—staying at the club long after closing time.

Thanks to Brent, Trey has spent most of the last few hours at the club sprawled unconscious on the couch.

Trey’s head is throbbing and if anything bad happens later on at the set, Trey will certainly lay the blame on Brent.

Brent pulls over and Trey bolts from the car. He staggers to a back alley where he crouches down, emptying his stomach. His head clears after a bit and he straightens up, groaning and wiping at his mouth. He feels a lot better. Time to kill Brent now.

He halts as he suddenly hears a muffled, grunting sound. Trey turns around, squinting in the darkish alley. The early morning light has not made its appearance there yet, and in the dim light he makes out a curled up shape, a man, lying near a couple of dumpsters nearby. Trey is still feeling queasy but he ignores his discomfort and cautiously walks towards the man and gently touches the man’s shoulder, all the while telling himself that he should let the man be. Probably another homeless drunk, but something tells him this man is hurting, not just drunk. He can’t smell any alcohol on the man anyway.

“Hey, you okay?”

No answer. Trey turns the man over gently, careful to not jar him. The man groans, his eyes squeezed shut. He is clearly oblivious to Trey’s presence.

Oh God.

“Jesse?” Trey chokes.

At the sound of his name, Jesse jolts to a sitting position and drags himself back towards the wall behind him.

Trey winces at the sight of Jesse, the wounds and bruises. Both his eyes are swollen shut and there are dark bruises plastered all over his face, cuts on his forehead, some of which are still oozing blood—the same goes for his split lips. Jesse’s scrunching down, hands over his middle, and Trey can imagine what he will find there if he looked at it—more bruises probably, perhaps even some broken ribs? Trey kneels down beside Jesse, his headache completely forgotten.

“What the hell happened to you?” He tentatively puts his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse stills, shaking his head.

“Go. Just go. Please.”

Jesse turns his head around. He looks like he is searching for something.

“Were you robbed?”

Jesse shakes his head when suddenly his already pale face blanches even more and he grimaces. Trey knows what is coming and he is right. Jesse turns his face to the side and he just loses it. The sound of Jesse puking and the smell make Trey’s stomach roll and he clamps a hand over his mouth and nose, not wanting to puke again. There is not much coming out from Jesse though, just some bile-colored fluid and what looks like…blood? Trey puts his hand on the back of Jesse’s neck, rubbing it.

“I’m taking you to the hospital, dude,” he says softly. “You look bad.” Trey watches as Jesse breathes heavily, leaning back against the wall.

“Trey, I-I don’t—”

“No, don’t say anything. Can you get up? Brent’s waiting in the car.” The douche had better not have anything to say about Jesse.

Without waiting for an answer, Trey helps Jesse to his feet.

* * * *

Deep down Jesse wants to hold back, wants to refuse Trey’s help, doesn’t want to let Trey see him like this.

Because oh God it is Trey and it’s going to be so embarrassing for Jesse if Trey knows what he is and what his life is like. Trey is younger than him but look where his career has taken him compared to Jesse’s. And what if Trey found out what Jesse feels towards him? That Jesse is gay and has the hots for the sexy young star when he’s just a nobody.

Jesse wishes he were strong enough to stand by himself without feeling the world shift beneath him and threaten to send him to the ground. But it feels so good to be held in Trey’s strong arms, to smell his warm, male scent—though it’s overlaid by a strong tang of alcohol. Through the haze in his mind, Jesse knows that there is something missing, something important. He clutches at Trey’s arm.

“What is it?” Trey asks.

Trey’s voice is low and heavy yet warm and soothing. Jesse has always loved listening to that voice.

Jesse hesitates. Something—then he remembers.

His backpack and duffel bag.

His clothes. His papers. What little money he has left. All his worldly possessions in those bags.

And he no longer has them with him.

Jesse feels like crying. Why didn’t they just kill him? The rats could feast on his flesh and he wouldn’t have to worry about his miserable life anymore. He looks up at the back door of the restaurant where he used to work and feels bile rising in his throat.

“Jess?” Trey shakes Jesse’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Jesse’s head spins, his hands turn sweaty, and his vision blurs. A trip to the hospital is not an option as he has no money, no insurance. He doesn’t think that he will be able to go to the set today either, him being a wreck like this. And that means no pay for today.

No food.

No shelter.

And with that thought on his mind, Jesse loses consciousness, unaware of Trey tightening his hold on him.