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A Short Story : A Story?

Decent Essays
Tom stood at his bedroom window, his eyes fixed on the hypnotic stream of early morning traffic below. Exhaust smoke snaked and vanished in the beams of the street lights, choking the air with its noxious fumes. The sight was strangely comforting, allowing his mind to focus on the everyday monotony of human existence rather than what had occurred only hours before.

Behind him, the coils of the mattress squeaked, but his gaze didn’t falter, and when a warm hand lightly caressed his bare buttocks, he allowed his abuser to lead him back to his bed.

**

When Tom failed to show up at the warehouse the following morning, Booker made the executive decision to go it alone. Disappointment weighed heavily on his mind as he drove the short distance to Westview High. He’d thought he’d made significant inroads with Hanson the night before, their conversation flowing without too many awkward silences. They’d discussed their case at length, each giving their own opinion on how far the drug cartel had managed to extend their tentacles of power and violence. It had made for a pleasant and entertaining evening, the few beers they’d downed, and the tasty meal of Kung Pao chicken, and sweet and sour pork helping banish the memories of Tom’s ordeal to the back of their minds. But it appeared it had been only a remedy, not a cure and Booker wondered if Tom’s absence had anything to do with his dunking in the pool. While he hoped the officer was professional enough to shrug off the humiliation
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