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Guardian Angel	By : akaWind Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Savage Garden Views: 1512 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Savage Garden. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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I had a dream. A nightmare. I dreamed about a pack of dogs. They pursued me, and I couldn't evade them in any way. I was exhausted. When I was finally ready to surrender, I woke up.
I had awakened five times in last two hours. I laid with my eyes open wide, looking into the darkness. The room was so silent that I began to fall asleep again as I heard an easy sigh. I listened and heard the deep sigh once again. I cautiously turned on my right side and saw Darren's silhouette. He sat on the bed, with his back to the headboard, his knees pressed up against his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. I could not see, if he was crying or not. I waited while my eyes got used to the darkness, leaned my chin on my right hand, asked "Why?"
I could actually see Darren shudder in the near dark before he turned his head toward me.
"Why?" I repeated my question. I wanted to get to know him. Know about his life, a life I couldn't begin to imagine.
"I… I don't know what you mean," he whispered in the answer.
"Why do you do what you do? You have the right to slap me in the face if I have offended you," I said to him. "But… .but why do you prefer being a—a…"
He was silent for a moment. "I should do this… I should."
I tried to understand, but I still didn't see it. "I'm an idiot, forgive me." I said after a moment. I, Daniel Jones, who has never apologized to anyone for anything. "Probably it's very painful to you…"
Darren sighed faintly. "You don't have to feel sorry, Daniel. I'm used to it. I was always a whore, and I've learned to suffer in silence."
"Tell me about yourself," I asked suddenly. "I want to know who you were before… before…"
Darren laughed nervously. "My life hasn't meant much. I was a trade for everyone whom I loved or met in my life."
I was silent, not knowing what to say. What could I say to him? It was clear that he had gone through a big personal tragedy.
He hesitated minute and then began his sad story.
~***~
I never knew and still don't know the names of my true parents. Up until the age of nine, I was brought up in a shelter at a Baptist churche. I still have unpleasant memories of the time I had there, but it was the best time in my life, too, I guess. In the shelter were very strict rules. We were never allowed to play or gambol, all we knew was study, prayer and helping at the shelter's garden. I learned patience, and to not ask questions.
When I was nine years , I was adopted by a family and we left for California. They were good people. A husband with his wife and their daughter, who was my senior by five years. The first month I bathed in love and caresses, literally. They bought me all that I wanted – toys, comics, ice-cream, chocolate and even a small puppy. I was happy, that I had found a home, a real family. But in couple of months all that changed. July, my adopted sister, began to grow jealous of me with her parents. I don't blame her for that, I understand her feellings. She began to scoff at me, take my toys, telling her parents that I offended her. Once they lost a large sum of money. They began to search for it and found it, hidden under a pillow in my bed. I hadn't put it there, but they wouldn't listen to me. They sent me back to another shelter. They were very kind people. As much as I wished I could stay with them, I didn't blame them for what they did or the way they acted.
At this new shelter, the other children began to call me names. Calling me a nobody. Sometimes children can be cruel.
I lived in the shelter about two years before I was adopted again. This couple didn't have any children. They seemed to me to be very kind people too. They worried about me as if I was their own son, especially Mr. Thompson. He constantly pottered with me in the garage. He showed me how to repair an old car, taught me how to drive. I thought I would love him to be my father.
At fourteen, I began to notice that Mr. Thompson often tried to remain with me alone, giving me strange looks and at each opportunity he tried to touch me. I didn't give great worth to this till the day when Mrs. Thompson left for a week with her sister in Detroit… That week seemed to me an eternity...
I never told her, because Mr. Thompson threatened me. Said he would send me back to the shelter if I dared to tell her. So I chose to remain silent. Mr. Thompson met me every day after school. We went home and then went in garage "to work on the car". Sometimes we didn't reach the house. He'd do it in the car on the back seat.
That continued about three years, until I met Michael. He was my senior by a year. He had the same classes in school. He was one of the strongest guys at school and nobody asked questions about our friendship.
I told to Michael about Mr. Thompson and he went to my home and threatened Mr. Thompson, that if he ever touched me again, he'd beat him. Mr. Thompson didn't touch me anymore, but he began to hate me. He started calling me "a whore". Telling me that I lie down for everyone, that I paid for friendship with my ass. He wouldn't let me come in if I came back late from anywhere with Michael, so I'd spend the night in the street. Michael would apologize to me and promised, that as soon as we left school, we'd go to New York where he would go to work, and I would go to college. We couldn't meet openly, though as the city was small and the inhabitants all claimed to be true Puritans.
When I graduated, we took a bus to New York. Michael had some money and we got a room in a very cheap hotel. He got a job with a cousin in car-shop, and I went to college. Every evening I came back to our home, I was grateful for what I had. I thought that at last I had found happiness. Michael never hurt me. He gave me wild flowers from the empty lot up the street, he gave me little gifts. We were a small happy family. But soon I found out, that Michael had a small vice. Michael was the inveterate player.
He played everything. If you could win money at it, he played it – roulette, slots, cards. When he managed to win, he'd shine with happiness and want to please me. He'd cover our bed with flowers and we'd make love on it. But when he lost, I knew better than to approach to him.
Once he come home very late. He refused supper and for a long time he couldn't fall asleep. For a long time he refused to answer what happened, but in the end he told me. He'd lost everything. I tried to calm him. I told him that we'd think of something, but he didn't want listen to me. He said he needed money and he needed it right now. He said there was only one thing that would save him, but he wouldn't tell me. I begged him to tell me, but he was silent. He simply sat there and swung his head. At daybreak, he finally told me. His creditor demanded me.
"Give me your pretty boyfriend for one day."
I was shocked. Michael began to assure me, that he would not allow it, that he would rather die. Would not allow me to pay with my body for his sins. But I already knew my decision. I would do it, for Michael's sake. He fell to my feet, begged me to forgive him. He swore that would never play again.
But Michael didn't stop. On the contrary, he began to play even more often. His stake wasn't money, anymore though. His stake was me. My body became the currency. They didn't play for money anymore, they played for a night with me.
Darren laughed hollowly.
Why didn't I leave Michael? Because I loved him. I loved him madly. Each time he assured me that it was the last time. I was young, foolish and I didn't have anybody but Michael. I wanted to believe him. I wanted it to be true.
One day Michael came home and told me, that he'd lost again. When I asked him how much this time, he looked directly at my face and said, "I lost you". When I tried to object that I didn't want to be his prostitute anymore, he struck me. For the first time, he struck me. Then he shouted at me, that he "didn't have any other way out", and he "didn't wanna live with a whore anymore, so I had to go". When I refused to do what he said, he kicked me out and told me not to come back again.
I lived on the street about a week. I slept in boxes. I ate from garbage cans. I didn't have warm clothes, I didn't have money, I didn't have a job, I didn't have a home. Michael threatened to call the police if I came back. He told me, "If you need money, you can earn it easy enough, you know what people want. You've got experience."
Then I met Stan. He fed me. Clothed me, and became my pimp.
~***~
I had been so struck by Darren's story, that I didn't noticed he'd broken off. There were awful pictures before my eyes of what he'd gone through. Suddenly I heard something. I rose from my bed and went to Darren's. Carefully I cupped his chin in my hand and lifted his head so that he was forced to meet my eyes. In the dim light of the window I saw that Darren's eyes were dry. I sat down on his bed, and pulled Darren into an embrace "Shhhhh…If you need to cry, then cry." I felt Darren snuggle to my chest and cautiously embrace me before he answered.
He sighed once again. "I don't cry. Not any more. I stopped crying a long time ago. Since Stan brought me my first client. Crying only brings more pain."
So we stayed till the morning, in each others arms, silently looking at each other's faces and trying to understand each other's feelings.
TBC
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Guardian Angel