Donovan Chronicles: Awakening Ch. 01

He stretches his body out while reaching for the zipper, slowly lifting the zipper he holds his breath, he doesn't want any quick movements causing him to get caught in it. He stands up from the couch with soggy tissues in hand and proceeds to the bathroom to flush away the evidence. As the tissues swirl down their porcelain grave, he looks in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door, checking to see if any landed on his clothes. A quick look over and it seems he got away with it, he breathes a sigh of relief, he feels relaxed and refreshed.

He sits back down on the couch and starts flipping through the channels again, he notices ESPN is running a special about old football legends; he decides it's innocent enough and quickly changes the channel. Another half hour goes by and he's interrupted by the sound of knocking at his front door. He gets up from the couch slowly, placing the remote on the coffee table and giving himself a quick once over to make sure he indeed, got everything cleaned up. He approaches the door, extends his right hand and turns the handle, his palms a little stickier then normal but this feeling is not exactly new to him. As the door opens, he is surprised to see a female police officer standing in the doorway. She looks normal enough, for a Cop; her dark brown hair neatly pulled back under her cap; her uniform fits her fairly well considering the only women who look flattering in these uniform's are strippers and dressed up housewives. Donovan's mind starts to race; he becomes overwhelmed with fright; "did someone see me, was somebody watching me and did someone call the cops?" Before he had the chance to say a word the police officer spoke "Is this the Rome residence?"

"Um, yeah, yes that's us" Donovan hesitantly replied.

"Are you Donovan Michael Rome?" the cop questioned with a lack of forcefulness.

"Yes ma'am, I'm Donovan Rome" he hesitantly replied again. Without a chance to question why she was here she kindly says "May I come in Donovan?" Donovan was now slightly scared; his mind raced frantically, "I'm in trouble, my parents are going to find out, they're going to take away my car before I even get a chance to see it, I won't be able to step a foot in public".

"Let's have a seat, is that ok Donovan? I need to talk to you about something that happened today".

Donovan gulps "Um, yeah sure, yeah come in" his heart is racing, his palms becoming sweaty "I'm in so much trouble" he thought to himself. The cop examines the couch a little then proceeded to sit right in the spot he jerked off in before he had a chance to direct her towards the love seat just under the window. He sits down slowly, his stomach is in knots, he can barely open his mouth but eventually murmurs "So what's up, what's going on; am I in trouble?"

The officer replies quietly "No son, you're not in trouble, but I'm afraid I have some terrible news for you". Donovan hates when older people call him Son but the anger he feels is replaced with worry because he still doesn't know why the police are at his house and why they want to talk to him.

"Terrible news, are my parents ok?" Donovan asks frightfully.

"I'm afraid not, they were involved in an accident today and rushed to the hospital," the cop says as she slowly removes her cap from her head, placing it in her lap as her thumbs caress the brim.

Donovan's mind starts racing again, "why is she just sitting there, why is she not taking me to the hospital to see my parents".

"Can I go see them; can you take me to see them?" Donovan asks.

"I'm sorry son, I'm afraid they didn't make it, I know it's hard, but you have to understand that we tried to save them, we did everything we could, but it just wasn't enough; it was too late," she says quietly.

"You mean my parents are dead, my parents are dead?" Donovan says as his eyes begin to well up.

"Donovan, we are so sorry, we are so very sorry about what happened. Do you have any other family members or friends we can call to let them know what happened?" She says as she peers into his confused eyes.

"Um, no, no; I don't, no, I don't think so; I can't, I don't know" Donovan stammers trying to hold his composure. By then it was hard for him to hold back his tears, his mind raced with all the bad things he has done, how he was just jerking off while his parents were dying; it pushed him over the edge.

She can see him shaking, she knows he is about to break; break like so many others she has had to tell about loved ones passing. She gets up off the couch only high enough to clear the armrest and sits down on the loveseat next to Donovan. She wraps her left arm around him, with her hand resting on his shoulder. Donovan caves in, a large sigh of anguish escapes his lips as tears start falling from his cheeks, the woman pulls him closer and Donovan proceeds to lay his head on her shoulder as her right hand comes around and rests on the top of his head. Donovan starts speaking incoherently the words "Sorry, Oh My God, No, Why and Please No" all mush into one dreadful sound of pain and suffering.

"Do you have any friends you can stay with tonight, any family members that might be able to come here?" She says as her chin now rests on his head.

Donovan started to speak "Jason, I can call Jason" the words come out so fast only Donovan knows what is being said. "Jason is going to Paris I can't call Jason his parents can't take me Jason has wanted this trip and I don't have money to go and my parents would never let me go with him" he catches his breath, he can barely remember what he said. "I don't have any family members or friends I can stay with, my grandparents are dead except for my Grandma in the nursing home, I have an Aunt in Florida, and my friend is leaving for Paris at 5am." It took everything in him to spit out a cohesive sentence she could understand.

The officer pulls her hand down to her side and removes her radio from a clip on her belt; she picks it up and presses a big black button protruding from it. "This is officer 228, I'm 10-23 requesting a 10-44, over" the sound of static as she finishes is quickly cut off by a woman on the other end "Copy that 228, your clear for 10-44, over" "Copy that, over and out". Donovan is only slightly confused, his mind still coming to grips with what he has just been told, he could care less about cryptic police codes.

"Donovan, I called the station, I'll be able to stay as long as you need me since you have nobody to be with you, we are trying to make contact with your aunt," the officer says. "By the way, my name is Janet; I never told you my name" she immediately replies. "I'm here for you if you need anything but if you would prefer to stay someplace else, if you would rather not be here let me know" Janet says. "Thank you, I'll be ok here, I have my things here and I know where my things are" Donovan forces out.

A few hours pass and Donovan's eyes start to regain the coloring they once had, before they became bloodshot by crying and wiping away tears. He sees Janet is in the kitchen, looks as though she's trying to be a mother and make something for him to eat, but he's not hungry; his stomach is too sore from the contracting of muscles caused by his whimpering. "I'm going to go to bed." Donovan proclaims towards Janet's direction.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat something first, you could probably use a good meal right about now" Janet answers back.

"It's ok, I'm not hungry. I just want to go to bed." Donovan says as he walks towards the staircase leading upstairs. He lands at the top of the stairs, bypassing the family photos of him through the years, many of which include pictures of his parents. He goes past a room on his right; inside you can see a neatly made bed, dressers that look antique and bottles of cologne and perfume nestled neatly on a vanity in the corner of the room. He approaches another doorway on his left; he takes his hands and places them down towards his waist, clinching his now half-soaked vintage t-shirt. He slowly lifts up the shirt as the cold dampness of it brushes his chin and nose, he can smell the salty aroma of sweat and tears. He lifts the shirt over his head and pulls his arms though the now inside out shirt one at a time, he balls it up and with his right hand throwing it into a dim room straight ahead. The shirt falls on the floor covering what looks to be a baseball only slightly used. He turns the corner, enters the room on the left, and with the flick of his left wrist the lights come on, filling the crevices of tile decorating the bathroom wall. He turns around and grabs the door with his right hand, slowly closing it as he kicks off his shoes; left first, then right. He reaches down to unbuckle his belt when he notices the position he was sitting on the couch with Janet caused his belt to leave an indentation right below his belly button. He reaches through a blue curtain depicting lighthouses and sailboats, the smell of the curtain was musty and the texture was of thick plastic. With his right arm, he pushes the curtain to his right, with his left hand he reached in and turns the single dial all the way to the right, then backs it off a little. Water spurts out of an old shower head at first, then, followed by a steady stream that brings with it a slight smell of chlorine.

He pulls his belt forward with his left hand; it makes a slapping sound as it hits the wall to his left side. He unbuttons his pants and then pulls his zipper down, he takes both of his thumbs and nestles them between his boxers and his abdomen then bends over while pushing to remove both in one fell swoop. As he raises his body back up, he lifts each leg out of the pile of clothes and proceeds to kick them off to the side, resting against his shoes and the wall that props them up. He can smell the aroma of semen, the scent of sex as he would imagine it "I hope Janet didn't smell that" he thought to himself. He placed his right leg into the shower, he was lucky enough to set the temperature perfectly, then again, seeing as it was his shower he knew the exact position it needed to be in for it to be comfortable. He then places his left leg in the shower and quickly, and almost viciously, closes the shower curtain to the side of him.

He reaches over to the alcove to his right side and grabs a bottle of body wash, it is not his; but his Dad always had good taste in that department. He turns around so the water is hitting him in the back, it's easier for him to wash himself this way; the water doesn't rinse away the soap he is using. He lathers up his hands and places them on his chest; the hair on his chest is not very full, it is doubtful he will have a hairy chest like he remembers of his father's. He slowly moves his hands down his stomach, washing in circular motions; using just enough pressure to feel his hands but not enough to feel he's being handled.

He washes his abs, not very pronounced while relaxed but he flexes them nonetheless to admire his physique as he lathers them up. He reaches into the alcove again and grabs a bottle of shampoo, tilting his head back under the water; splashing the steamy chlorine scented stream across his face and hair. He tilts his head back down and lifts his left hand up to his face, his hand cupped in the same manner he cups it to hold his spit. He tilts the shampoo bottle over and squeezes out enough to fill the palm of his hand, immediately raising it up and placing it in his now soaked hair.

He lathers his hair for a few moments and then moves his soapy hands down and starts rubbing his abdomen again, slowly moving down to his thick lock of pubic hair. His pubic hair is a light brown, almost the shade of the hair on his head and although curly, not tangled, as one would imagine. He then reaches in the alcove and grabs the same body wash he used earlier, he puts a small amount in his left hand and then proceeds to stroke his limp dick. As he's washing his dick with his left hand and washing his pubic hair with his right hand, blobs of soapy suds fall from his forehead and land on the head of his dick.

The sight of him stroking himself is starting to turn him on, he can feel it growing in his hand; he can feel his heart beat as it travels through his veins and fills his cock with vitality that pulsates his hand. Suddenly he remembers jerking off earlier, remembers the officer arriving and then the guilt he felt when he thought of his parents calling for his help, but he was jerking off instead. Immediately his cock goes completely limp in his hand, his eyes start to well up again as he exasperates a "Fuck!" then tilting his head back to rinse the soapy froth encompassing it. He turns around and rinses his body, his hands moving swiftly; whisking away all the suds that once covered his chest and abdomen.

The halls are darker now since he went into the shower; the humidity from the hot water makes what is usually a cool crisp hallway now billowed with heavy air. He exits the bathroom with a relatively small towel wrapped around his waist, holding it to his body with his left hand. The flower print that covers it suggests that maybe the linens and towels that are normally present are sitting downstairs in the pile of laundry his mother usually does every evening. He approaches the room at the end of the hall; you can see his t-shirt lying on the floor as he moves to reach inside. With a quick motion with his right hand, he shuts the door behind him and immediately slides his left hand up against the wall until it reaches the light switch that suddenly fills the room with a dingy glow. The towel that was once covering his waist is no longer supported by his clenched hand, and as such falls gently to the floor, leaving him fully exposed to his belongings.

As he takes his first step into the room, his foot hovers over his t-shirt and without knowing it he places his foot directly on top of the baseball. His movement is chaotic; his body twisting and arms flailing trying to regain the balance that's been thwarted by the presence of such an innocent toy. He desperately tries to place his left hand on a small dresser against the wall, hoping it will give him the extra balance he will need to keep from falling. As his palm hits the top of the dresser, the dampness of his body against the cold highly polished wood creates a slick surface. His hand slides off the dresser, his body twists; he's falling to the floor and now all he can do is brace himself for the impact.

Suddenly a loud "THUMP", his pride is hurt more than his backside and although frustrated and slightly irritated he starts to let out a slight giggle. At first it is quiet as if he was trying not to laugh at someone else's misfortune, then it grows until he gasps and lets out a single but much needed sigh. Suddenly the door opens, and Janet is standing in the doorway peering down at a naked body on the floor, her eyes filled with worry and at the same time satisfaction that this was not another suicide. Donovan's caught off guard; at first, he does not feel embarrassed as if for a moment he forgot he was completely naked on the floor.

Janet says, "I heard a loud noise, are you alright, are you hurt, did you break anything?" She takes a few steps into his room; her initial reaction is to help him up as she would any fallen person she sees. The site of him naked on the floor however jolts her back into reality; he will have to ask for her assistance, she will not touch his naked body without it.

Donovan still slightly giggling says "Nah, I'm alright; I just slipped on something, I'm ok Janet; thank you."

Janet carefully closes the door behind her as she moves down the hall remembering the sight of his naked body lying on the floor. She was glad he wasn't hurt, glad he hadn't tried to kill himself as suicides are always the worst for her to deal with. Janet wasn't like many cops; she was fairly new to the force and she hasn't been able to separate her emotions from some of the horrendous things she has seen. She wanted to stay with Donovan, to comfort him, as he had nobody to talk to or anyone to tell him that everything eventually would be ok. Maybe it was the mother quality many women have that wanted to support Donovan, maybe it was just human nature for her to want to help him.

As Janet reaches the bottom of the stairs she pulls out her cell phone from her pants pocket, flipping it open she quickly presses a few keys and then places it to her ear. "Hey, I'm at the Rome residence" a slight pause as someone on the other end converses back. "Yeah, yeah, I know, look; I'll be leaving in just a few minutes; I just need to wrap something up real quick" she says hastily. The look on her face becomes annoyed; she rolls her eyes while placing her hand on hip. "Jesus Christ, he needs to know what happened. What you want him to find out in the papers?"

Donovan hearing her heightened voice brings him to the top of the stairs; his hair still damp and his frumpy clothes clinging to his body in different places. Janet turns around as she closes her phone, and her eyes make contact with Donovan's, looking him over; if it was any other circumstance it could be painted as a sexually tense scene. Instead her eyes and body turn back around, both of her hands on her hips as the look of frustration is scattered across her face. Donovan moves down the stairs, following her into the living room as she stares up at him from the couch motioning him to sit down.

*************

Two days have passed, the funeral was very quiet; Donovan doesn't have many family members and his parents only had a few friends. His aunt Kristen flew in from Florida; she has been staying with him in the house ever since the police contacted her the night her sister Kimberly and Donovan's father Elliot died in a traffic accident. Donovan was able to get some more information about his parent's death prior to the funeral; Janet was kind enough to answer his questions before she left that evening.

As Donovan was told, his parents just left the car dealership after picking up a present for his eighteenth birthday; his father in Donovan's new car and his mother in the family car right behind him. While sitting at a stop light a semitrailer approached the intersection directly across from his mother and father. The truck driver was older and on plenty of medications; he suffered a heart attack as he was approaching the stop light; the convulsions he was having caused him to press harder on the gas pedal instead of the break as he intended. The semi cleared the intersection as cross traffic was light that day and headed straight for Donovan's father.

The truck struck Donovan's Dad and pushed him back into his mother's vehicle that was sitting in front of another Semi truck. The sheer momentum of the Semi was enough to crush his father's car between his mother's and the other truck behind her. Elliot died instantly but Kimberly sustained very severe injuries as the front end of the vehicle was crushed enough to push pieces of the engine compartment into her body. The cops raced past Donovan when he was at the crosswalk to answer the call of an automobile accident, his parents; pronounced dead at 3:18PM.

Donovan gets out of a Taxicab followed by his Aunt Kristen who hands the taxi cab driver a twenty-dollar bill before shutting the door behind her. He looks up at the sign sitting above the doorway; it is made of what looks like brass hammered into the old stone masonry work that surrounds the large building. He squints his eyes so he can focus on the sign, it reads:Law offices of Berger & Strom.He looks behind him as his aunt reaches for his hand, "Well, this is it, let's go in and get this taken care of as quickly as possible so we can move on, hey?" she says in a quaint voice. His Aunt is a petite woman; she resembles his mother with her long brown hair and light brown eyes. Her eyebrows penciled in like models in magazines; her makeup applied just right as if she was going to a photo shoot and her lips covered with a dark shade of red lipstick. His mother never got dressed up like this; Kristen was the younger daughter and her job at a law firm in Florida meant she could afford nice clothes and nice things. Donovan reaches over and pulls open a heavy door that looks as though it came from some old castle; "I hope this doesn't lead to a torture chamber" he jokingly thinks to himself.