Chapter 32: Tim


Pete had only been living with me for about two weeks before things started going wrong. Really wrong. Before he moved in, I didn't have a lot of extra money, but I got by just fine. But with Pete living with me, I was buying a lot more food and a lot of beer. When I asked him to help with money, he always said he was broke. I knew how much Pete made since I printed his check, but I don't know what he spent it on. He never seemed to have any to help me and if I asked he would get really pissed off. He went out drinking almost every night and would come home drunk and paw at me until I had sex with him.

One night I heard Pete's bike pull into the driveway as I was getting ready for bed. I had spent the evening pacing and worrying, wondering where he was and why he didn't answer his phone. I looked at the clock and it was nearly midnight. He stumbled into the house and kicked the door shut behind him.

I walked out of the bathroom and asked, "Where have you been? It's almost midnight."

He walked up to me and grabbed me and pushed me against the wall. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and I turned my head away.

"Is that any way to greet me?" he growled.

He ground his crotch into me. "You know you want it, boy."

Pete licked my neck and I closed my eyes as his hand moved into my underwear and moved between my legs.

"I was worried about you, Pete," I whined.

"Shut the fuck up and spread your legs for me, Timmy."

He doesn't call for hours and now he's demanding I spread my legs for him? And calling me 'Timmy'?! I absolutely hate that. No one calls me Timmy.

Well, no one except....

I opened my eyes and straightened up. "Tim," I said firmly. "My name's Tim."

Pete pushed back from me and stared me in the eye. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Don't call me 'Timmy'. I don't like it."

His hand moved so fast I didn't have time to react. When the back of his hand hit my face, I hit the wall and slumped down to the floor. My glasses had flown off and all I could see was a blur.

"I'll call you whatever the fuck I want, boy!"

I grabbed my cheek and the tears fell from my eyes. I tried to push away from him, but Pete balled the front of my shirt up in his fist and pulled me up to my feet. He dragged me crying into the bedroom and threw me down onto the bed.

I watched in horror as he unbuckled his belt and tossed it onto the floor. He unzipped his pants and his dick sprang out, already hard. I tried to crawl away from him, but he grabbed my leg and rolled me over onto my stomach. He pulled my underwear off and threw them across the room.

"Pete, please don't," I begged. "Not like this."

Pete grabbed the back of my hair and pulled. He growled in my ear, "Shut the fuck up!"

I heard him open the nightstand drawer and then he kicked my legs apart as he moved between them. I felt the KY gel being smeared into my crack and pushed inside me with his fingers.

"Oh! Ow!" I cried out in pain. "Stop..."

Pete pushed my legs apart and I felt his latex sheathed cock pushing into me. I buried my face in the comforter and screamed in pain. Pete laid on top of me and covered my body with his as he began moving his hips, thrusting in and out of me.

"Yeah, that's a good boy," he breathed into my ear. "Take it like a man."

The pain slowly began to lessen as he fucked me steadily. When Pete shifted his hips and rubbed up against my prostate, I couldn't help but let out a quiet whimper. He pulled out of me and turned me over onto my back. He pushed my legs back and locked them around his back as he slid into me. He leaned down and kissed me as he pounded me hard and fast.

"I love you, baby," he breathed into my ear. "You're so good to me. I'm so sorry."

I looked up at him in surprise. "Pete?"

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I love you."

As upset as I was at Pete, the thrusting against my prostate started to feel good. And he said he loved me. Maybe he really did care about me. I sighed as I wrapped my arms around him and tightened my legs.

Pete pushed hard into me one final time and he grunted loudly. His body shuddered as he filled the condom with semen. He lifted up onto his arms and pulled out of me, then pulled the condom off with snap. He tied the end off and dropped it onto my chest and rolled over onto his back next to me. I picked the condom up and flinched in pain as I got off the bed. I went to the bathroom, picking up my bent glasses from the hallway floor along the way, and got rid of the condom. I washed myself off and returned to the bedroom with a washcloth and washed the mess from Pete's body and his softened prick.

"Come here," he said softly.

I dropped the washcloth onto the floor, put my glasses on my nightstand, and climbed into bed next to him. He pulled me up to his chest and wrapped his arms around me.

When he started snoring, his arms loosened around me and I rolled over away from him. I laid there for a while until I finally was able to fall asleep.


I woke up the next morning running late. I started the coffee and took a really quick shower. When I got out, Pete was sitting at the table drinking a mug of coffee.

"We need more milk," he said.

"Okay. Today's payday, so I'll try to go to the store tonight. Do you think that maybe..."

Pete lifted his eyebrows at me.

"Never mind," I said. "I have to go. I need to get the checks from the office and hurry to the site."

I hurried and pulled on my button-down shirt and jeans, quickly tied my tie and threw on my boots.

I grabbed my bag and keys and hurried out the door. "Bye. See you there."

"Bye," Pete grunted.

I sped to the office and grabbed the checks from my locked drawer and then headed for the job site. I got there right on time and hurried to the trailer. I unlocked the door and sat down at the desk. I pulled out my computer and turned it on.

I had just started working when Jeff came in for his paychecks. He walked in front of the desk and stood there with his hands in his pockets, not speaking a word.

I pulled the bundle that had his check on top out of my bag and gave it to him. He flipped through them and looked at me and finally spoke. "What happened to your face?"


Jeff walked up to me and leaned down and turned my face and touched my right cheek. I flinched at the pain and he bolted upright. His face became red and I could see that he was grinding his teeth.

"Did that motherfucker hit you?"

"What? No! I, um, tripped last night. It's not a big deal. I didn't even realize that it hurt."

Jeff clenched his jaw and let out a deep breath. He shook his head and left the trailer, slamming the door behind him. I got up and went to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and I saw that I had a bruise on my left cheekbone.

I heard shouting outside and I stepped outside to see Jeff and Pete yelling at each other with a crowd gathering around them.

"You better mind your own fucking business," Pete shouted at Jeff.

"Or what? You'll hit me? I'm not Tim. I will hit you back," Jeff yelled back, stepping closer and getting into his face.

Clark pushed his way through the crowd that gathered. "Knock it off, you two. All of you, get back to work."

The crowd dispersed.

Jeff turned and looked at me and shook his head. He stormed to his truck and backed out and slammed on the gas and was gone.

"Back to work, Pete," Clark said.

Pete shot me a look before he headed back to the building they were working on. Clark turned and looked at me, and I hurried back inside the trailer. I sat down at the desk. My hands were shaking. I put them under my knees and took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

Clark opened the trailer door and walked up to me. He sat down on the corner of the desk in front of me.

"What's going on, Tim?" he asked in deep, soothing voice.


"Do you know why they were fighting?"


Clark cocked his head and reached up and turned my chin towards him. He looked at my face and frowned. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I tripped."

Clark sighed. "Okay, Tim. You got me in your phone. You radio me or call me anytime you need anything, okay? Anytime, for any reason. I mean that."

I nodded and looked away from him, down at the floor.

"Okay," he said. He rubbed my arm for a couple of seconds and then left.

I was really glad that I didn't see Dad that day. I don't think I could have handled it.

When Pete got home, he slammed the door and got into my face.

"What the fuck did you tell your brother?!"

"N-n-nothing," I stammered and cringed away from him.

"You better tell your brother to stay out of our fucking business, or he'll be sorry. You got that?"

He poked his finger hard into my chest and I nodded. "Yes. I'll tell him."

"I'm hungry. Get your ass in the kitchen and start dinner."

He shoved me towards the kitchen.


A few days later, I was in the kitchen making dinner when Pete came home. He flopped down onto the couch and kicked off his boots.

"This place is a fucking pig sty," he complained as he pushed the papers off the coffee table and onto the floor.

I stood at the sink and looked at him over the breakfast bar. He propped his feet on the coffee table and turned on the TV.

"I know," I said with a sigh. "I've been busy. We had a lot of invoices to send out this week, and I had to do the budget for the upcoming Pratchett job."

"Stop making excuses and just fucking get it done. The laundry is piling up, too."

"I know. I'll get it done."

"Bring me a beer."

I looked in the fridge and we were out. Shit.

"We don't have any."

I waited a couple of seconds and he didn't say anything so I let out a deep breath of relief. When I turned around, he was standing in front of me. I backed up against the fridge.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, boy? You haven't been doing shit all week. You're not cleaning up or doing laundry or going to the store. I'm getting fucking sick of it."

"Payday is this Friday. I'll go then, Pete. I just... I don't have any money left until payday."

"Then put it on your card. Sell some ass. I don't fucking care."

"Can you... I mean, can I maybe borrow some money--"

Pete grabbed my head and slammed it back against the fridge and then punched me hard in the gut. I cried out in pain and doubled over as he grabbed me by the hair and dragged me screaming into the bedroom.

"Now you're begging for money like some kind of whore? I earn my keep by giving you this cock, boy."

Pete tore off his belt and unzipped his pants. He grabbed me and pushed me face down on the bed. He pulled my jeans off and grabbed my hips and pulled me to the edge of the bed. The nightstand drawer opened and I felt the cold gel run down my crack. I laid there and silently cried as I heard the condom wrapper rip open. I sobbed in pain when I felt him push into me. He grabbed my shoulders and thrust into me. He held still for a few moments not moving.

His fingers dug into my hips and he started thrusting hard, telling me he loved me over and over. When he finished he collapsed onto my back and said he was sorry and kissed the side of my head. He pulled out and tied the condom off and tossed it onto my back, pulled up his pants and walked into the living room.

I struggled to pull my pants on. I walked to the bathroom and got rid of the condom and cleaned myself up. I pulled off my shirt and looked at my stomach. I already had a bruise forming from where he hit me. I took an ibuprofen and then returned to the kitchen to finish dinner. While dinner was cooking, I started a load of laundry.


Over the next couple weeks, Pete got worse and worse. He was staying out late and getting wasted every night. In addition to drinking, I think he was smoking weed.

He was wound up tight. Any little thing would set him off. After the confrontation with Jeff, he never hit me in the face or where anyone could see. If anyone saw me without a shirt, they'd see the bruises on my arms, stomach and sides.

I didn't know what to do. At first, he would always tell me he loved me and that he was sorry afterward, but that soon stopped. I was absolutely terrified of him and I just didn't know how to break up with him. Dad and Jeff still weren't talking to me and I felt like I had no one to turn to. Clark had said I could call him if I needed him, but I was scared to talk to him.

It was a Monday and I was working on the budgets and costs for the big site. I noticed something wrong between what we budgeted and what Clark said was done and it was a pretty costly discrepancy. I got in my jeep and went down to the site. I beeped Clark and he told me his location and I found him with Dad.

Dad turned his back to me when he saw me coming. My eyes stung from the rejection and I looked up at Clark and tried not to start crying. He gave me a sympathetic smile.

"What's up, Tim?" he asked.

"There's a mistake on your paperwork. It doesn't match. I think I need to look at the job."

I showed him the budget sheet and started to explain what the problem was and as I said it out loud, my throat closed up and I felt sick to my stomach.

Pete does the flooring. He messed up big time and used the wrong materials in the wrong place. Clark reported the line items properly based on the materials he used and the work he did.

Clark and Dad realized it at the same time and Dad turned around grabbed the paperwork from my hand and looked it over. He yelled for Pete to come over. Dad waved the paperwork in Pete's face and cussed and chewed him out right there in front of everyone. I stood there wide-eyed and trembling.

Dad looked at his watch and said to Pete, "Get the fuck out of my sight while we try to figure out how fix your fuck up."

Clark called lunch and the guys started winding down and heading out for their lunch break. Clark turned back to Dad and they looked over the papers I brought, talking between themselves, forgetting that I was standing there.

"Let's go, Tim. Lunch. Now," Pete growled.

He grabbed me by the bicep and practically dragged me to the jeep. He shoved me towards the driver's door and then got in the passenger's seat. I climbed into the car and drove a few blocks to Jimmy's Diner. I followed him inside and we sat in the last corner booth and ordered lunch. Luckily, it came quickly and I tried to eat as fast as I could.

Pete was getting more and more pissed as he sat there muttering and grumbling while he ate. I trembled in fear and twisted my hands in my lap. My stomach was knotted and I was feeling nauseous. I realized that he hadn't figured out that I was the one who brought attention to the mistake. I think he thought that Dad was yelling at me, too.

"That motherfucker thinks he can talk to me like that?" he growled, trying to keep his voice down, but not really succeeding. Oh god, he was so pissed.

"Trying to humiliate me like that in front of everyone... I'm gonna fucking let him have it, just you see. I'm gonna get him alone one of the these days and it's gonna be on. He's lucky there were witnesses. God damned lucky!"

He was gesturing with his hands, then slammed his fist on the table and pointed his finger in my face. I kept my head down and tried not to flinch whenever he moved towards me.

"You need to tell him to back the fuck off. And your fucking brother, too. They don't know shit about construction. They don't give a damn about the work or the workers. All they care about is their fucking budgets."

I knew that was absolutely not true, but I wasn't about to interrupt him to tell him that. Pete suddenly stopped and looked up at me and I looked back down into my lap.

Pete grunted. "Heh."

His voice took on a calmer, deeper, more menacing tone. "You check the budgets, don't you? What were you doing on-site on a Monday? Huh, Tim?"

Tears started falling from my eyes and rolling down my cheeks.

Pete started breathing harder and his eyes narrowed as they burned with rage. "You fucking little snitch...."

He pulled out his wallet and slammed a $20 bill on the table. I jumped and cowered away from him.

"You must think I'm fucking stupid," he said. "Let's go. Now."

He grabbed me by the arm and jerked me out of the booth really hard. I whimpered in pain as his hand squeezed and jerked my arm as he pulled me to my feet. He tightened his grip on me and dragged me towards the door.

Our path was blocked by a large, brawny man. I was looking down at his black boots.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked in a deep, masculine voice.

My eyes were drawn up to the bulging crotch in his tight dark navy blue pants with the gold stripes on the side, then to the hand resting above the holstered gun.

I lifted my eyes and saw a big, broad chest covered by a dark blue uniform shirt. A gold badge on the left breast glimmered in the light. On the right side, the silver name tag was engraved:


I softly gasped and looked up at his face.

The cop looked down at me with shock on his face. "Tim?"

"Hank," I whispered.