lojojan@att.net

When he hit me that first time, I didn't know what to do. Just kind of stood there. What was I supposed to do? I'm a guy; he's a guy. It's not like high school or college can prepare you for the first time your male lover hits you.

He was sorry afterwards. Looked so sad, like he was about to cry. Did cry, in fact. That freaked me out more than getting smacked in the face. Never seen him cry before. He always seemed so strong, so invincible, so perfect. Guess that's why. Must be hard to keep up the appearance of perfection day in and day out. I wouldn't know, or so he tells me. Says I'm not intelligent enough.

Maybe he's right. Sometimes I wonder how I got here. How did I end up with a guy who treats me like I'm nothing? I don't think I started out in life to become someone's doormat, someone's whipping boy. I musta taken a wrong turn at some point. Shoulda taken a left at Albuquerque.

I didn't like guys before him. Never gave them a second thought. But he decided he loved me. No, love isn't the right word for it. Wanted me is more like it. And what he wants, he gets. Never could say no to him. Oh, I tried but he didn't listen. He never listens to me, says its because I don't know what's best for myself. Says I need someone to make sure I do the right thing.

So when he told me that he wanted me, I laughed. I couldn't help it. The idea that he wanted me in 'that' way was unbelievable. I'd never thought of him in that way. He was my best friend.

I shouldn't have laughed.

I've never been as scared in my entire life like I was that night. He got this *look* on his face. I can't explain it, it's not a face he makes in front of everyone else. The closest I can come to describing it is rage. Pure rage. I found out the hard way that he doesn't like to be laughed at.

He sat there on my couch and stared at me with that look of rage. I stopped laughing and stammered something about not wanting him like that. He just kept looking at me. Made me squirm around on the couch, that look. I started to say something again, but he was just...there all of a sudden. In my face, breathing on me. I tried to pull back, to get away from this man I didn't recognize anymore.

I didn't get very far.

He just wrapped those big arms around me and held on. Tight. Could hardly breathe, he was holding on so tight. I got scared and tried to fight him. Lot of good that did. He just held me tighter to him. He had my arms pinned to my sides and I was practically sitting in his lap. That's when he kissed me.

It wasn't a nice kiss. There wasn't a single thing nice about it. It was a rough kiss, possessive, demanding, everything that I thought he wasn't. He kissed me like he wanted to devour me, maybe he did. All I know is that I damn near passed out from no air. When it was finally over he pulled away and stared into my eyes and said something like he wasn't going to do anything that I didn't want, that I didn't need.

I told him I didn't want this, didn't want him. That's when he told me that I didn't know what was best for me and that he was going to take care of me. He said he would take care of everything from now on.

And God help me, I believed him. I couldn't argue with him, he just stopped listening and started kissing me again. I started struggling again, couldn't help it. He paid no attention, just kept on with what he was doing, holding me down easily. The kisses were softer this time and I found that if I closed my eyes, I could imagine he was someone else. Didn't matter who, just someone else.

After a while he got off me and pulled me to my feet. In an instant I knew what was going to happen. He started tugging me towards my bedroom. I drug my feet, trying to put off the inevitable. He stopped, looked at me, and said, 'Let's go, Ray.'

I never could say no to him.

I don't think about that night too much. Brings up bad memories. Actually, I can't really remember any details about that night. It's kind of hazy, like a dream. I do remember being terrified and in pain. Maybe I don't want to remember. Maybe that's for the best.

The next morning he was sweet and kind and tender. Nothing like he was the night before. He apologized for being so rough. He really did feel bad about it, I could tell. Feeling bad doesn't make bruises go away any faster, though does it?

I felt like I was Alice in Wonderland or something. We showered together and I got the first in a long line of lessons. He likes to fuck in the shower. It wasn't any easier the second time around. It never gets any easier. I don't think I'll ever get used to that. At least with most of the other stuff, I could pretend I wasn't there. I'm pretty sure he knows this. Not that it matters to him, of course.

We worked on cases like always just like nothing had changed. He treated me like he always did at work. After work was a different story. It got so I started to dread my shift being over. If my shift was over, I had to go pick him up. So I started to stay as late as I could, anything to avoid going to the apartment. He'd pretty much moved in after that night so it didn't seem much like home anymore. He figured out that something was up, just like I knew he would.

That was the first time he hit me. During the investigation into Mr. Tucci's murder, I kissed Luanne. To this day, I don't know what I was thinking. I knew he had caught us. I knew that I wouldn't get out of this one without getting hurt. I saw the anger in his eyes when he told me it was time to go home. I went, what else could I do?

I never could say no to him.

As soon as we were inside the apartment, he slammed me up against the wall. My head bounced off the wall, he did it so hard. This was nothing new. Kind of a common occurrence these days. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

I was expecting the fist that smashed into my face. We had been building towards this for awhile. I knew it was going to happen eventually. The fact that I knew it was going to happen wasn't what scared me. It was that I did nothing to stop it or get away from him. I just let him hit me. I let him make me bleed.

That was a bad night. He was a careful bastard though. Only hit me that one time where other people could see it. I had to make up a story about sparring with some guy that got a little rough. From the looks that everyone gave me, they didn't buy the story. Frannie especially didn't believe me. She pulled me aside and grilled the snot out of me. Had to do some quick thinking there, let me tell you. I denied it was anything more. Thought I had her convinced.

I was wrong. She went to him about it. I overheard part of their conversation. Frannie was pissed; he was calm. He told Frannie that what he and I did in our personal lives was our business and if she couldn't keep her mouth shut, he would do it for her.

Frannie hasn't really talked to him since then. Can't say as I blame her. When he threatens you, you stay threatened. He did learn one thing though. If he was going to hit me, he should do it where no one can see the bruises.

Life goes on, I suppose. I learned to ignore the looks that Huey and Dewey gave me when they thought I wasn't looking. Welsh even got in on the act. Called me into his office to 'talk'. Told me he was worried about me. Was I maybe in need of some help? He knew some people that could get me out of town. He would take care of the transfer.

I played the same game that I had with Frannie. I denied everything. Killed me to do it, though. Welsh is like a dad to me. He's better than my dad anyway. He looked so sad when I told him nothing was wrong. Coulda sworn he was trying not to cry. I made up some excuse to get out of there, but before I left, Welsh told me that if I ever needed anything to call him. Even gave me his card with his home number and everything.

He knew Welsh had talked to me. Don't know how he knew, but he did. I told him exactly what I had told the lieutenant. Seemed to satisfy him. He ripped up the card Welsh had given me, though.

Sometimes at night, after.....he would tell me about when he was a kid. How his dad had been a strong man, a man who knew how to keep his household in order. I just let him talk, he wouldn't hear if I said anything anyway. I don't really talk much anymore. I'm always with him and according to his logic, he knows what I need before I need it, so there's no reason to talk.

By the time Vecchio came back we had settled into a routine. He controlled everything I did and I let him. It made him happy and I didn't want him mad. He scares me when he's mad. I'm afraid that one of these days he's going to get so angry that he'll kill me. Funny that I can say that out loud.

I'm afraid that one day he'll kill me. Then he won't be able to apologize or cry or beg my forgiveness.

So Vecchio came back and he and I flew off to Canada. Should have known he wouldn't want to leave. Told me he was home. He looked happy, guess that's good. I thought that might change a few things. Once again I called it wrong.

Today he told me that we're staying in Canada.

I never could say no to him.

The End