Part Sixteen
Avenger

Trenton had never felt so numb in his life. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The numbness was emotional. Physically, he was in pain. He knew that Gervase hadn't been deliberately rough with him, but he still hurt. His ass ached something awful, and he could feel a thin trickle of blood oozing into his underwear from his ravaged asshole.

He curled up on the back seat of the taxi, shaking. The cabbie watched him in the rear view mirror, and silently turned up the heater, hoping it would help the boy. He had no idea what the child had been through, but judging from the look on his face, it hadn't been pretty. He waited for the boy to say something, to ask to be taken to the hospital, or the police. But he didn't. He only hugged himself, and shivered, and, occasionally, made a little whimpering sound that tore at the grizzled hack's heart. Feeling helpless, the old man drove the boy to his destination.

When they arrived the boy climbed out slowly, moving as if he were in pain. As he took the fare, the cabbie asked gently, "Serez-vous bien?" The boy only looked at him with sad, old eyes and shook his head, then turned and went into the building.

Trenton went upstairs to the guest bathroom, passing through a darkened house without bothering to turn on the lights. In the bathroom he stripped, dropping his clothes to the floor heedlessly, thinking vaguely that he should burn them.

He ran a bath as hot... well, hotter than he could stand it. He had to lower himself into it an inch at a time. By the time he was sitting fully in the bath, his skin had begun to pinken. He sat, huddled in the steaming water, till it cooled to hot, then tepid, then cold. He pulled the plug, let it drain, and refilled the tub.

Trenton did this twice more. Finally he took a bar of soap and the bath loofa, and scrubbed himself thoroughly, thinking all the while that it was no use. He was never going to be able to get the smell and feel of Gervase off his skin.

He left the last bath water and walked, naked and dripping, into his room. For a moment, he stood there in the darkness. Moonlight slanted through the crack of the curtains, falling on the bed on the other side of the room: Anatole's bed.

Trenton stared at it. That was where he had fucked someone for the first time in his life. That was where Anatole had taken him in his hands, and in his mouth, and in his ass, and drawn such sweet sensations from his body that he thought he would die. That was where Anatole had told Trenton he was special, he cared for him. That was where Anatole had lied.

Something inside Trenton snapped. With a cry he threw himself at the bed, dragging the mattress from the frame. His body screamed in protest at the sudden vigorous activity, but he was beyond stopping.

He broke the headboard with several kicks, his legs powerful from the hours upon hours of swimming. He stripped the sheets, and tore them to shreds, stamping on them, and he only stopped when he realized that he was weeping, and muttering, "Clive... Clive...Clive..."

Finally exhausted, he crawled into his own bed, and stared up at the ceiling. What was he going to do? There were still months of his term left.

He stayed there, scarcely moving except to go to the bathroom once or twice. Dawn came, the day passed, night came again. It passed also, and Trenton lay in bed, eyes open, not moving. A little after daybreak, he heard the Bienvenus return. He heard their irritation, and then growing alarm when they discovered that the front door was unlocked. Then one of them discovered the tub of cold, scummed water, and the pile of clothes... and the bloody underwear.

Voices rose in alarm. He heard Mr. Bienvenu directing his wife and Chloe to go to the neighbor's and call the police. They left, and Trenton heard the cautious approach of footsteps. He closed his eyes, but could find no energy to do anything else.

The door to the room opened. He heard Mr. Bienvenu's gasp as he took in the destruction. Then his voice was sharp, "Trenton!" Trenton didn't move, didn't respond. There just didn't seem to be any reason. Then the older man grabbed him to shake him.

Trenton had a vivid flash of rough hands, fingers sinking bruisingly into the flesh of his hips, and he screamed, throwing himself away from his startled host so violently that he crashed into the wall. The force of his landing shoved the bed away from the wall and Trenton fell back behind it in a tangle of sheets. Mr. Bienvenu was trying to speak to him, trying to get some sense of what was happening. But the boy crawled under the bed, cocooning himself in the sheets, weeping.

The policeman managed to coax him out. Finally Trenton was seated on the bed, wrapped still in the sheets, a brandy pressed into his hands. He touched the glass to his lips occasionally, to make the adults happy, but he didn't drink.

Very little else made them happy. Trenton just couldn't (wouldn't) tell them anything. The policeman consulted with the Bienvenus. Trenton refused to go to the hospital. "I'm all right," he repeated every time someone asked him. "I just need to sleep."

They didn't doubt that, looking at the boy's haggard face. Finally one of the paramedics sat with Trenton, speaking to him quietly. "Boy, something happened to you. I saw the underwear." Trenton stared at him dully. "Maybe you don't want to think about it now. I can understand that. But you have to be looked at. Something could be torn up inside."

"I stopped bleeding."

"You need shots, and a blood screening."

"No, I don't. He used a condom." The paramedic winced. "Whoever he was."

He finally agreed to go, only because they threatened to strap him to a stretcher, and have him spend some time in a locked ward, under observation. It was just as well. By that time the moving around had started the bleeding again. The doctor ended up giving him an anesthesia, and putting in a few stiches

Mr. Bienvenu, while this was going on, called his son. "Anatole, what the hell happened? Why was Trenton here at the house alone? Do you know what happened?"

His son sounded strained. "No, father. Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? The house is broken into, furniture destroyed, and that poor American boy was assaulted."

"Trehn-tonne? Is... is he all right?"

"No, Anatole, he is not. The boy is practically a zombie. He won't tell us a thing, but the medics say it looks as though he was raped. Can you believe it? Dear lord, I was responsible for him, and this happens! What can I tell his mother? The break in is nothig, but the boy... Anatole, why wasn't he with you?"

"It's silly, really father. I can't even remember now what we quarreled about. But he was angry, and he's more headstrong than you would think. He insisted on going back to the house. Children of that age stay alone all the time in America. I thought he would be safe."

"Well, he wasn't. Oh..." Mr. Bienvenu sighed. "Don't blame yourself, son. It wasn't your fault. I'll speak to you later." He hung up.

Anatole stared at the receiver in his hand, then set it gently back in the cradle, put his head down on the table, and began to cry.

Trenton knew that he was causing trouble. He was going to mess things up, after all the work and worry his Mom had been through to get him here. But he just couldn't bring himself to care. He lay staring at the ceiling until they prodded him out of bed. Then he sat and stared, or simply held his face in his hands. He ate only when they threatened to put a tube down his throat.

Several days passed, he wasn't sure how many. When he thought at all he wondered if he should have someone bring him his lessons, so he wouldn't fall behind, but it was too much trouble.

The doctors tried to talk to him. The police detectives tried to talk to him. The nurses tried to talk to him, too, but that was more from their hearts than a sense of duty. It was wrenching to see the once vibrant young man fading away, sitting in the corner like a silent ghost. Trenton had gotten very good at ignoring them.

That was why he ignored the voice at first, turning his face away when someone said, "Trent?"

Another voice, one of the doctors, said, "You see? It's no use. He's unresponsive. We need your permission to medicate him."

"Over my dead, gorgeous body. The boy doesn't need any chemicals in his system to screw things up further. Trenton!"

"He won't respond."

"Oh, he'll respond to me, all right. Trenton Vittelli! I don't know where you've gone, but you get you fine little butt back here, right now!

Trenton blinked in confusion, and turned toward the voice. He blinked again. Dark gold hair, warm brown eyes, leather... "Clive?"

A hand, big and gentle, touched his face. "In the flesh, baby boy."

Without another word, Trenton reached for him. The older man pulled Trenton up into a bear hug, then sat in the chair the boy had just vacated, pulling him on to his lap. He stared cooly at the open mouthed doctor. "You can leave now." The doctor left.

Trenton's arms went around Clive's neck, his face buried against his shoulder, rubbing on the leather of his jacket. Clive didn't say anything else. He just held Trenton, and waited. Finally the boy gave a soft, shuddering sigh. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, precious. I've damned myself ten different ways for letting you come over here, and that was before this happened."

"What are you doing here?"

"Baby, did you think for a second that I wouldn't come? I'd have been here sooner if the fucking idiots had called. Your Mom is next of kin, but I was listed as your emergency contact, and those fuckers waited almost a week before they called up and admitted something was wrong. I was on the next plane out of Metropolis, and let me tell you, I pulled quite a scene to get on it. They'll remember me for a long time at the airport. I'm also advising your mom to find someone to sue."

"I... I'm glad you're here. Can I go home?"

"Of course you can, lamb, as soon as I can arrange it."

"It may take a while. I don't think the police want to let me go till... till I tell them something."

Clive took hold of Trenton's chin, lifting his face so that their eyes would meet. "You don't have to tell them anything, if you don't want to, darling. These things are nasty. I have a good friend who barely escaped a similar incident. Well, only halfway escaped it. Her other friends told me what she went through afterward. She didn't want to go to the police, either. It was taken care of privately."

His eyes glinted, and he gave Trenton a soft smile. "I'd like to take care of this privately, too."