Page 1 of The Road Home
CHAPTER ONE
Orson pressed his back to the hard, cold wall of the old building, gripping his backpack to him tightly. It held everything he owned. It wasn't much, a few extra pairs of pants, a few stained t-shirts, and several pairs of socks. But buried deep at the bottom of the bag was his notebook. It was his most prized possession. It held his soul. It was filled with poems he'd written over the last few years, words that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else, but meant everything to him.
He closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer to a God he'd learned about as a child from his parents, a God they swore would protect and guide him. Oddly, it was that same God that his parents had used as a reason to throw him out of the house when he'd turned seventeen and been caught kissing Hunter Carson in his backyard one afternoon. Still, he found comfort in the faith he'd been raised with and even though his parents sworn the same belief would condemn him for being gay, he prayed to Him, hoping somehow, He'd help him find a way out of the situation he now faced.
"There's nowhere to go. You might as well give us what we want." One of the two men in front of him laughed.
Orson took a deep breath as he watched them step closer. They were both older, probably well into their forties. Both were dirty, with thick beards and beady eyes that left no doubt in Orson's mind that they were not there to make friends with him.
He'd lived on the streets long enough to know these types of men. He'd managed to avoid them, but now, struggling to find his place in a new city, he didn't know what areas to steer clear of or where to run that would be safe. He'd only been in Salt Lake City for two nights. Hitching rides out of Arizona to try his luck at finding a job or program in a new city. He'd heard Utah was safer and offered more resources, but he hadn't had time to look into anything yet.
"Just leave me alone." He shifted to his left, hoping he might be able to slide to the corner of the building and make a run for it.
"Where do you think you're going?" The second man leaped forward, grabbing hold of the strap of Orson's backpack. "We just want to get to know you a little better."
Orson's fear skyrocketed. He'd thought the men only wanted to rob him, but by the lecherous leer in the man's eyes, he now realized they wanted so much more. His stomach turned at the thought of what these two men would do to him.
"No!" He tried to jerk away while keeping his backpack in a firm grip. Giving up his backpack and losing his things was almost as bad as being raped. For the millionth time in his life, he hated how small and weak he was. He didn't stand a chance of getting away from these men if they really tried to hold him. He wasn't a fighter. Even after years of living on the streets, he still didn't have the size, skill, or strength to fight.
He learned to stick to areas that were well lit or hang with groups so there was protection in numbers, but being in a new place, he didn't know anyone, didn't know places. He should have stayed near the shelter, but with the way the cops were herding people away from there, it hadn't been safe. He would have never moved up to Utah if he'd known about the new rules and laws the state was trying to pass to control the homeless population. It was like they were nothing more than sheep to be moved from one location to the other. Out of sight and out of mind.
"Just give us what we want, and you can go on your way." The first man crowded up against Orson's side, pressing his strong body against his own.
The smell of the man nearly had him gagging. It might not be easy to stay clean on the streets, but it was clear this guy had probably forgotten what bathing was. "I don't have anything." Orson tried to push past the two men, but was met by a strong arm pressed across his chest, holding him against the wall.
"You look like you have enough for both of us." The second man's hand slid down, cupping Orson's crotch.
"Please…" Orson blinked as tears filled his eyes. He didn't have the energy to fight, especially since he couldn't win. "Let me go." He struggled to get away, trying to slip between the men who now caged him against the wall.
"Play nice and it won't be bad." The second man leaned in and licked Orson's cheek.
Orson cried out as his backpack was torn from his shoulder and tossed aside. He waved his arms, trying to force the men back, but they just grabbed him, gripping his wrists, and pinning him against the wall.
"No," Orson screamed as one of the men managed to get a grip on the front of his pants and tear the button open, forcing the zipper to rip with it.
This was hardly the first time he'd been attacked, and like all the others, Orson withdrew into himself, letting his mind go to another place. The less he fought, the less he struggled, the faster it would be over.
As he was pushed to the ground, he sank into the darkness of his mind, refusing to acknowledge what was happening to him. This was his life. It would never change.
At the first bite of pain, Orson screamed, then let the darkness consume him. He'd deal with it all later, if he managed to live through it at all.
