Derek & I

By Lee Mariner


The author's copyright, dated 2/13/2002, and all provisions of the original disclaimer remain in effect.  All rights are reserved.

This story depicts homosexual acts and is intended for ADULT READERS ONLY. If you are not of legal age in your locality, please leave.

My friend, Dean, has edited this work, and I am deeply grateful for his assistance.

All of my stories are listed in the Nifty Archives listing of Prolific Author's under the pen name of Lee Mariner.

If any reader would wish to be notified of future episodes to this and/or any other stories, please contact me at:

Chapter #11

I didn't have a telephone in my room, but Mom and Dad did. It was Mom knocking on my door that woke me, "Larry, Larry, your friend, Derek, is on the telephone."

"Who? What?" I answered, in a fog, groping for the bedside light switch.

"It's your friend, Derek.  He's on the telephone and he sounds upset," she said again a little louder.

I sat bolt upright when I heard her say, "Derek." 

"Derek's on the phone, Mom?" I called out, looking around for my cell phone before remembering I had left it charging on the kitchen counter.

"Yes, it's Derek on the telephone. Will you please get out of bed and answer it? The poor boy sounds like he is crying."

I threw the blanket off  me and started for the door before realizing I was buck-naked. . Turning quickly, I snatched my robe from the back of a chair, putting it on and trying to open the door at the same time.  Mom was just outside my door clutching her old pink flowered robe at her throat while holding it shut with the other hand.  She stepped back when I threw the door open.

"It can't be Derek, Mom, because he doesn't know our telephone number, only my cell," I said, excitedly, almost in a panic.

"Well, I don't know about all of that, but he said his name is Derek Kingsley, and he asked for you.  He sounded like he was crying and awfully upset about something."

All sorts of different things flew through my head, and for a moment I didn't know what to do until I heard my Dad.

"It's Derek, son, and he sounds awfully upset," he said, tying his robe belt. " I spoke to him for just a moment after your Mother laid the phone down, and I heard him crying.  Use the phone in our room. Your Mother and I will be downstairs."

Rushing past him, I almost knocked him down in my hurry to reach the phone.  When I put the receiver to my ear, I heard: "Get your faggot ass out of my house, and you aren't taking a goddamed thing with you except your clothes," followed by a woman's voice.  "Hush talking that trash, Mr. Morrison, he doing the best he can."

"Derek, it's Larry. What's wrong?" I hollered.

"Larry, can you come and get me, please?" he stammered.

"Sure I can, are you all right?" I asked anxiously.

"I'm okay, but I've got to get out of here," he answered, his voice quivering.

"I'll be right over," I said, a little braver than I felt.

Hanging the phone up, I ran back into my room, throwing my robe off, and grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt,  putting them on and slipping my feet into a pair of slippers.  Mom and Dad were in the kitchen and she was fixing a pot of coffee when I ran into the room.   Turning around from the stove, she looked at me anxiously.

"Is he all right, Larry?" she asked, using my nickname, her worried eyes searching my face.

"I think so, Mom, but if he's hurt him, I'll...."

"Easy, son, cool down," Dad said, taking my arm as I started for the door.  "Don't go flying off the handle and do something we all will regret.  Are you going to bring Derek here?"

"Yes sir," I said, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down.  "He doesn't have anywhere else to go, and I heard his Dad telling him to get out."

"Then you go, and bring him home with you, but keep your wits about you, Larry.  If his father has told him to get out, there is no need for you to fly in there and make things worse than they already are," Dad said, gripping my arm.

"Yes sir," I answered, breathing deeply, my heart racing, "I won't lose my temper."

"Good..., we will be waiting until you get back."

The drive to Derek's house took less than five minutes, and I broke every traffic law while driving between my house and his.  Every window in the house was ablaze with light, but the cars that had been there previously were gone except for a Lincoln parked at the rear of the house in front of the garage.

There was a black man placing two suitcases outside the side door to the house; and, when he heard my truck, he turned, looking at me.  When I jumped out of my truck and slammed the door, he came towards me, looking furtively over his shoulder at the door; "Is you, Mr. Larry?" he asked.

"Yes, I am; where's Derek?"  I said, starting to push past him, but he blocked my way and put his hands up.

"Praise be, yo here. The boy's daddy done gone plumb crazy, he's so mad.  If'n you put them bags in your truck, I'll tell Mr. Derek you's  here and you can take him away from here before sumpin real bad happens,"  he said while I craned my neck trying to look inside to see if I could see Derek.

"Where's Derek; is he all right?" I asked, trying to stay calm.

"Mr. Derek's all right. You wait right here and I'll go get him for you," the black man, whose name I did not know said, turning and going back inside, closing the door.

I walked up and down beside my truck after putting the bags in the back, looking up at the windows, anxiety building inside of me.  I wanted to see Derek but the windows were empty.  I didn't know what to do, but my Dad's words held me from running into the house and getting Derek.   That didn't help the frustration or anger at not knowing anything, and I smacked my clenched fist down hard, on the truck's bed rail, cursing out loud, "I don't give a damn, I'm going inside."

Shoving the door open, I  saw Derek coming down some steps, barefooted and wearing a terry cloth robe.  He was carrying some clothes and I heard a woman crying out,  "Morrison, please, at least let him put on his clothes."

"What for?" a deep angry voice growled, "He's only going to take them off when he crawls in bed with his faggot boy friend.  I want the snot-nosed bastard out of here, and the sooner the better." 

I stood with the door knob still in my hand, paralyzed more by the raw anger I heard than fear. Derek was stumbling down the stairs crying and trying to hold onto the handrail to avoid falling.  The sight of him in such distress galvanized me, and I cleared the two steps from the doorway to where he was in two leaps, and I braced myself to catch him just as he collapsed. 

There were people I didn't know hollering around me, but I didn't care.  I heard the angry voice say, "What the hell?" and another softer voice say, anxiously, "Mr. Derek," and I could hear someone sobbing.  I didn't care, Derek was my only concern and I clasped his sagging body to me whispering softly in his ear, "Derek, it's me, Larry; I'm here."

The bedlam around us ceased for a moment, except for the sobbing. I felt someone tugging gently at me from behind; but I was looking at Derek's swollen tear streaked face, the anger building inside of me.  Just as I looked up at the man standing at the head of the steps, Derek moved his head and said weakly, "Larry, take me home."

"That's right, faggot," the man at the top of the steps growled, moving menacing down towards us. "Take your sick boy friend and get out of my house and off my property before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing."

"I don't think you want to do that, Mr. Kingsley," I answered calmly, controlling the rage boiling in my gut and assuming he was Derek's father.  "If you do that, they might raise questions about Derek's condition."

"Why, you little...," he growled, moving down the stairs, stopping when a sharp voice screamed from behind him.

"Morrison, stop it.  Haven't you hurt him badly enough?"

"Helen," Kingsley  hollered up at Derek's mother, "you don't tell me what to do in this house, no one does."

"Morrison, please," she answered; but I didn't hear the rest of what she was about to say.  Instead I became aware of the persistent tugging again and, turning my head, looked over my shoulder into the face of a worried black lady.

"Come on, Mr. Larry, take my boy and git while you got the chance. Henry's got the door open," she said, tugging at my sleeve.

Gathering Derek in my arms, I followed her out the door; and Henry followed, opening the truck door.   When I set him in the seat, he looked at me and whimpered, "Larry, he hit me. I didn't think he would hit me."

"You're all right now, Derek," I said, closing his robe, "he won't hit you anymore."

When I closed the truck door and started to go around the truck to get in, he put his hand out the window and said, "Beca..., don't let Dad...,"

"Hush yourself, son, your daddy ain't gonna do no more harm now that yo' friend is with you. He gonna take care of you, ain't you, Mr. Larry."

"For a long time ma'am." I answered, seeing the concern in her soft brown eyes.

Derek's head lolled to the left as I backed down the driveway; and, as bad as his face looked, he managed a grin and whispered, "I missed you."

Anger boiled within my chest, and it took a lot of effort  not to drive back up the driveway and vent my anger, but my Dad's warnings resonated in my head. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, I glared up at Derek's house; and, looking at him, wondered whether  I should take him to the hospital  instead of home where Mom and Dad would take care of him.  Taking a deep breath, I dropped the gear shift into drive and decided to take him home. 

The lights were still on in the kitchen and the upstairs bedrooms when I drove up to the house.  Mom and Dad came to the side door, and Dad ran out and followed me around the truck to where Derek was sitting with his head resting on the seat's head rest.  "Damn, Larry, you should have taken him to the hospital, " he said when he saw Derek.

"I thought about that, Dad, but it's probably better that I brought him home.  Doctors would start asking questions, wanting to know how he got in this condition," I answered, opening the truck door.

"But, but... he might need a doctor, son," Dad protested, mildly.

"Dad, please. Derek needs help, not doctors questioning him and maybe bringing the police in." 

"Maybe the police need to be notified, Larry.  He looks like he has been beaten pretty badly," he protested again.

"Maybe they do, but that's Derek's decision, Dad. Help me get him inside, please," I pleaded.

Dad didn't say anything else, just looked at me pitifully. When I started to put my arms under  Derek's legs and around his shoulders, he murmured softly, "I can walk, Larry.  Just let me hold onto you."

"Are you sure, Derek, you took a nasty tumble falling down those steps," I said, half pleading.

"You caught me, and I didn't hit the floor," he answered, grimacing a little, but trying to grin. "Just give me a hand and I'll be all right."

 When I helped him out of the truck, he stood on the asphalt; and, seeing my Father standing behind me, he leaned against the truck and tried to pull his robe around him.  I pulled the belt tight, and moving beside him I lifted his arm on my shoulder; and he leaned against me for a moment before we started to walk together to the door where Mom was standing.

"Larry, does he have any clothes besides his robe?" Dad asked and I answered over my shoulder, "In the back of the truck, Dad. There are a couple of suitcases."

"Edith," Dad called out as he took the bags out of the back of the truck , "Get some ice, hot water and towels. We might need some peroxide too."

Mother disappeared from the doorway, and Dad jumped ahead of us, opening the screen-door.  We took it slowly, and, by the time we were in the kitchen, Mother had a tea-kettle on the stove and was emptying ice trays into a large pot.  I heard  the suitcases hit the floor, and then Dad was pulling a chair back from the table.   When Derek sat in the chair, he leaned back and sighed, "I didn't want to meet your parents this way, Larry."

"Don't worry about that for now, son," Dad said,  " just take it easy."

"Christopher, you or Lawrence get some towels from the bathroom," Mother called out as she was filling a wash basin with hot water.

"Stay with Derek, Larry.  I'll get them."

"Yes, sir," I answered, pulling another chair closer and sitting next to Derek.

Dad ran from the room; and Mother turned around, almost dropping the basin of hot water. Seeing Derek, she stopped for a moment, before placing the basin on the table.   She didn't said anything, but I saw the pain in her eyes; she had looked the same way when  she and Dad were asked to identify Paul after he had been found.  She turned away and stood at the sink for a few seconds with her head bowed; and, when Dad re-entered the room carrying several fresh towels, he went directly to her, "Edith," he said as he placed the towels on the counter, "Something wrong?"

"I'm all right, Christopher," she answered, taking a deep breath, as she took one of the towels and picked up the ice cubes from the counter.

Mother sat next to Derek; and, looking at me the pain in her eyes replaced by compassion, she wiped his face with the warm, damp, peroxide towel while Dad fixed a cold compress, using the ice cubes and a towel. Derek moved when he felt her hand on his face and opening his eyes, he smiled weakly.  When she had finished wiping his face, she took the cold compress Dad handed her. Taking it from him she placed it against the swollen left side of his face, and taking my hand nodded for me to hold the compress.

"Did you see his father, Lawrence?" she asked.

"Briefly, Mom.  I saw him on the steps behind Derek when  he fell and I caught him," I answered.

"Did you say anything to him?" she asked, quietly, as she wrung out another warm towel.

"Not until he threatened to call the police and have me arrested for trespassing. I told him it wouldn't be a very good idea if he did that and the police saw Derek's condition."

"You didn't say or do anything else, son?" Dad asked from where he was standing behind Mother.

"No, sir. He called us a few nasty names, but I was more concerned with getting Derek out of there than with what he might do," I answered, glancing up at him.

"That's good," Dad said. You might have provoked him further if you had.  It is better to try to avoid any further confrontation with someone who is in a rage."

"Lawrence has a good head on his shoulders, Christopher," Mother said quietly while she was wiping the back of Derek's neck and reaching as far under his robe as she could without undoing the belt.

Derek hadn't said anything while he was being ministered to; but I knew he had heard us talking when he opened his eyes and, looking at me, moved his hand over on my thigh squeezing gently. 

"I didn't think he would hit me like he did, Larry.," he mumbled. "He got so mad when I told him about you, and then I was on the floor with my head in my Mother's lap.  I've never seen him like that." 

"There is no need to be talking about that right now, son," Dad said, sitting down beside Mother.  "You will be safe here with us."

"Thanks, Mr. Marks," Derek answered. "That's why I called Larry. I didn't know whom else to call."

"You did the right thing, Derek," Mother said softly. "I don't think he broke anything when he hit you, but your jaw and lips are going to be swollen for a few days."

"Not to mention a beaut of a shiner," Dad said, grinning, trying to inject a note of humor.

"Yeah, Derek. It's going to look like a rainbow," I said, trying to chuckle even though I didn't feel like it.

"I won't look too good for graduation, will I?" Derek said, turning his head slightly and looking at me with a painful twinkle in his eyes.

"Probably not, but...," Dad started to say when Mother cut him off.

"My heavens!!" she exclaimed, lightly, "You three men are unbelievable.  The boy's in pain, and you two are making jokes about shiners while he is more worried about how he will look for graduation, I never.  Christopher, take his suitcases up to Lawrence's room, while he helps him upstairs.  I'll get the headache bag and fill it with more ice. "

Mother left the room; while Dad and I, not wanting to risk her becoming any angrier, did as she had said.

We followed, Dad up the stairs and I wished we had a bannister for support but we managed without too much difficulty.  When we were in the room, I started to remove his robe, but he stopped me looking over my shoulder at Dad.

"I've seen naked men before, son. Go ahead and take your robe off and let Larry help you into bed," Dad said, throwing the covers back just as Mother came into the room with the towel wrapped ice bag.

"Oh, no," Derek groaned; and, looking over my shoulder I saw Mother standing behind Dad with the ice bag, but I already had his robe off. 

Mom, didn't say a word as I helped Derek naked into bed; but, as soon as I pulled the covers over him, she leaned over him and placing the ice next to his jaw, said, "Try to keep it there, if you can."

"Thanks, Mrs. Marks," he answered softly, looking up at her and then closing his eyes.

"Thanks, Mom, Dad," I said before they left us. "I'm not going in to work tomorrow, but I'll call Mr. Carlson.  I want to stay home in case Mr. Kingsley tries to do something else."

"I don't think he will, son, but it's a good idea for you to stay home.  I'll call Fred in the morning and tell him, so don't worry about that. You stay here and help your Mother. Derek is going to need you when he wakes up."

Mother, kissed me on the cheek and holding my chin, she looked deep into my eyes for a few seconds before turning with Dad and going to their bedroom.

Closing the door, I turned off the light, and, removing my clothes, I slid under the covers with Derek. Sliding my arm under his neck, I put my other arm over his chest and snuggled as close as I could, without disturbing him.  His skin was soft and warm under my arm, and I could tell from his even, deep breathing that he had fallen into a deep sleep.  The dark swelling along his smooth jaw line and the vivid cheek bruise seemed to fade into the soft almost angelic features of his otherwise unblemished face.  I could feel the rage that had been consuming me slowly dissipating as I gazed at him. 

"No one will ever hurt you again," I whispered, kissing his cheek.

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