“Justin? You okay?”

I opened my eyes, wiping water off my face, and peeked through the gap between the shower curtain and the wall. The door was locked. Good. I knew Daphne had a key that she kept on that little ledge above the door, but the lock made me feel just a little more secure, somehow.

“Justin? Answer me, right now,” her voice became immediately sharper, more insistent.

I cleared my throat, and forced myself to speak, still not moving from my position slumped against the shower wall. “I'm...here,” I said. I almost said 'fine,' but that was a lie and we both knew it. “I'll be out in a few minutes.”

“You've been in there for an hour. Is everything okay?”

The truth, of course, was no. Everything was not okay. Nothing was okay, and I didn't know if it ever would be again. I knew she meant it in a relative sense, but... I just couldn't say it. “I'll...be out in a minute, Daph.”

“I got you some clothes, if you want. I'll set them on the counter...”

“No, don't—” I began, but she'd already grabbed the key from above the door and turned it in the lock. There was an audible click as she let herself in. The curtain was drawn in front of the shower, but she didn't even glance in my direction as she set the folded clothes on the counter by the sink, just like she'd said she would, and left. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until I let out a low stream of air between my teeth, feeling my shoulders relax in relief.

With no small amount of effort and a great deal of pain, I picked myself off the shower floor, and shut off the water. I couldn't hide forever. She'd just come searching for me again, and it was better to be with her out there with clothes on than with her in this tiny space without them.

Purposefully avoiding looking in the mirror, which had steamed over at first but had since cleared as the water cooled, I grabbed a towel from the rack and pulled it around my waist, trying to avoid causing myself any more pain than strictly necessary.

I had become all too aware of the current state of my body in the shower. So many painful blemishes on my skin...bruises, cuts, welts...I'd had them for such a short amount of time, yet I seemed to know exactly where each one was now. It had been a sickening process at first...every time I thought I knew the extent of the damage, I'd find another bruise, another mark...

But now I was reasonably sure I'd properly acquainted myself with this battered version of my body. For example, I knew that if I moved my left arm too far outward, my shoulder started to ache. I knew there were three angry red welts, a half an inch apart, at the top of my right thigh, that I didn't even want to imagine the cause of. And I knew I hurt in places I've only ever hurt after an exceptionally long night with Brian.

I knew there were things that I could remember, but kept pushing away. Things I didn't want to remember, that I now bore the full physical indications of.

But as much as I tried not to know, I still did.

I couldn't forget them. They'd stuck me in that swing. They'd made me helpless. They kept me from fucking moving or doing a thing while they did what they wanted, took whatever they felt they were entitled to.

How could they think they were allowed that? Allowed me? After I said I didn't want to...made it perfectly clear they weren't welcome...what the fuck gave them the right to take it anyway?

What gave them the right to do this to me?

After I'd dried off a little, I turned my attention to the clothes Daphne had left me. An over-sized men's sweatshirt she liked to wear at night, and a pair of jeans I think must have been the ones I'd forgotten here a few months ago. I'd spent the night, spilled grape soda all over the jeans, and put on a fresh pair, while Daphne promised to wash the others. She'd gotten the stain out, I noticed, but had never got around to returning them to me.

As long as I didn't have to wear those clothes anymore... I'd rather wear jeans stained with soda than jeans stained with...with it. They had that filthy feel now. They had been part of it...they were the shirt that I'd reluctantly taken off and the pants that had been forced off of me...they were filthy and I couldn't wear them anymore. I may be stuck in my skin, but I wasn't stuck in those clothes. Though part of me wished I could just crawl out of my body the same way I had out of those pants...just leave it and find a new one. A clean one. Just shed out of it, fall out of my own life.

I emerged from the bathroom a little while later to find that Daphne had made me breakfast...some toast and a glass of chocolate milk. She sat with me at the table and talked about petty things while I picked at the toast, not remotely hungry. When I was finished, she cleaned up for me and sat back down, fixing me with a serious look.

“Look, Justin...” she began, in a tone that told me at once that I was not going to like what I was about to hear. “I know you probably don't want to, I wouldn't either, but...you need to see a doctor.”

“No,” I said immediately.

She didn't look at all surprised, as though she'd been expecting this answer from the very start. “You don't know what he did to you...”

“They raped me,” I spat. She was quiet for a moment as we just looked at each other, and I knew my choice of words had not gone unnoticed.

Meanwhile, a funny tingle of awareness had just run through me, as well. It was the first time it had been said it out loud. They raped me....

They'd raped me.

Suddenly it seemed...a whole lot more real. It was like all of this, everything I was feeling and all that would happen because of this, could be allowed to happen now that it had been validated with words.

“They?” she repeated hoarsely. “There was...there was more than one?” I nodded. “How...how many?” I knew she wanted to hear the answer almost less than I wanted to give it.

I shook my head. “I don't...I can't remember.”

“Two?” she asked. “Three?”

“More than that...I don't know, Daphne. I can't...fuck, I can't remember...”

I was crying lightly again. So was she. Not sobbing uncontrollably or anything, but tears fell freely from both our eyes, as hard as we tried to fight them back. Trying to rein in our pain, be stronger than our pain long enough to think.

I knew she wanted to hug me, hold me and comfort me by the way her hand kept twitching toward mine. My fist was clenched upon the table, and she kept reaching toward it, as though to hold it, then seemingly thinking better and dropping her own hand back to the table. After my little panic attack this morning, I couldn't blame her. And there was a part of me that wanted to be held and comforted and soothed but...I couldn't stand it right now. I hadn't minded it so much last night...actually, I'd craved it, just needed to know that someone was there, with me...but right now I just...I couldn't.

“That's even...that's even worse, then, Justin,” she said. Her voice shook with the effort of holding back tears. “More than...fuck, you need to go the doctor. You don't have to tell anyone what happened. You could say...I don't know, you could make something up. But physically, internally...you don't know what he—they—did. You could be seriously hurt.”

A part of me, a very small, angry part, snapped inside my head, so what if I was?

But that wasn't...right. There was a bigger part of me still that knew that, as much as I just didn't care right now...it was important, and I couldn't just pretend it wasn't. Even if I didn't think so now, even if I ignored it, I would regret it later when it became important.

However, I just couldn't do what I knew I needed to do. It was like my head and my body were operating on two different levels. And right now, with my head confused and frightened and spinning out of control, my body was the superior.

“They'll want to...they'll ask questions,” I said desperately.

She sighed. “How...how bad is it?” she asked tentatively. Again, I knew she didn't want to hear the answer. She couldn't want any part of this, but she was forcing herself through it for me.

I looked away. “Not bad,” I lied. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell her I just looked so...so fucking abused.

“You're lying.”

“I am not.”

“Then take off your shirt,” she ordered. I didn't move. “Justin...” she took a deep breath. “I need to see. If you don't want to go to a doctor, I at least need look at you. These kinds of crimes aren't...gentle, and...I'm not a doctor, but maybe we can do something for whatever injuries you have.”

I swallowed thickly—and slowly, ever so slowly—began to remove the shirt, avoiding her eyes. A sharp gasp greeted my ears.

“Justin...” she breathed.

I turned tear-filled eyes toward her, and my stomach clenched tightly when I saw her wiping away more tears.

“God...” she whispered. “What did they do to you?”

Whatever the fuck they wanted.

Tentatively, she reached out and grasped my hand firmly. I wasn't expecting to be touched, and jumped, but then my grip relaxed within hers. This wasn't...this was fine. Just my hand. Just her letting me know she was here.

It was a few minutes more before we said anything else. It was one of those instances where you say more with silence than you can with words. When just sitting there together, hands grasped tightly within each others, meant more than we could say. It was like, we were sealed together, somehow...in pain, in the knowledge of what had occurred...lost together in thought and emotion, not needing to speak and break it.

“Um...” she said finally, shattering our delicate silence. I glanced up at her. She was trying to be sensible. She was trying to take care of me, do what needed to be done, but...I wasn't sure I could do the same for myself. “Also...I know you probably don't want to think about this, but...you need to get tested, Justin.”

I blanched.

Tested.

Tested for...I hadn't even thought about... Fuck, what if...?

“I—” I couldn't speak. The words refused to form on my tongue, which didn't matter much since the breath seemed to have died in my throat anyway.

“I'll come with you,” she promised. “I'll stay with you the whole time. You don't have to tell them anything.”

More tears, distress crashing over me in waves, this time not from what had happened, but what could. “Daphne, what if I'm...” I started, the beginnings of a panic attack threatening to overtake me. “I don't remember if they...oh God...”

Had they worn condoms? Seeing as they hadn't hesitated to cause me pain however else they'd seen fit, I doubted very much they'd cared about getting me sick. And with those...those fucking sadistic sleazes...who knew what type of diseases they had? What type of diseases did I now have?

What if...what if I was positive?

Fuck, I was going to be sick again.

“You've got to do it, Justin. I'm not...I'm not giving you a choice. You're going. I'll come with you, but you've got to go.”

“I'm...I'm fucking scared, Daph.” It was something I never wanted to admit, but it was the only thing...the only thing I felt right now. The only words that came to mind and the only thought that existed inside my head. I was scared. Fucking terrified. And suddenly I couldn't stand our hands being the only thing touching, and practically threw myself into her arms.

It was another half an hour before we moved.

“You okay?”

Daphne gave my hand a squeeze as we made our way slowly down the sidewalk outside the health clinic toward her car. It was taking a while, as there were people passing in front and behind and around us, and every time one of them got too close, I would freeze up. I didn't even mean to do it, it was just...it was like a reflex. Any logical thought in my mind would be replaced by a total, immobilizing panic, until I deemed it safe enough to move again.

I'd first discovered this unpleasant involuntary reaction outside Daphne's apartment building on our way to her car. After a half an hour of the two of us crying and holding each other, and another hour and a half of her trying to convince me to at least go to a local clinic to get tested, I'd finally agreed. It had ultimately taken her threatening point-blank to call Brian and tell him everything, but I had agreed.

We'd gotten outside her apartment, through all the hallways and downstairs without meeting a single soul, but the moment we stepped foot outside the double doors of the building, I couldn't move. It was just like after the bashing. I was afraid...afraid of people and what they could and would do to me, afraid to let them touch me...every brush against my skin making me want to crawl inside myself and hide. Only this time, I had the memories. I had the memories of spidery fingers crawling over me, helping themselves to my body as though they had every invitation...I had the memories of their mouths on me, their skin on mine...I had the haunting sensation of being truly, utterly helpless. They had hurt me. Hobbes had hurt me. What was to stop anyone else from doing the same?

So I stood there, frozen, in front of Daphne's building for so long we were almost late for our appointment.

When we finally arrived, I'd nearly had a fucking panic attack right then and there in the front office. There were so many people...employees and patients and just so many people crammed in such a tiny space, and it was too tight and I couldn't breathe....then Daphne had lead me over to a chair in the corner, away from everyone else, and I'd relaxed just a bit.

When they called my name, Daphne accompanied me back to the room, and even requested that we keep the door open when the nurse made to shut it, and she caught my panicked expression. She sat there on the examination table beside me, spinning a lie as to why we were there, talking us through it all to the nurse...while I sat and said nothing. I let the nurse prepare her supplies, and pulled up my sleeve when I was instructed to, flinching when she touched my arm, just concentrating on the feel of Daphne's hand in mine...just wanting it to be over so we could get out of this suffocating room.

I relaxed a little when the nurse finished up, promising to return in a few minutes, and left Daphne and I alone. The silence had embraced us again, only this time it was tense and apprehensive, a million thoughts running through both our heads.

“What if I have it?” I asked flatly after a minute or two. I couldn't help it. I couldn't help asking. It had been on my mind since the moment she had mentioned getting tested, and I was scared shitless. Christ, was there anything I didn't have to be scared of anymore?

She took a deep breath and let it out, closing her eyes as though the idea was too much to even bear thinking about, and didn't answer. My question hung openly in the silence, impossible not to hear.

And mixing with the dread of what could be in me at this very moment, just biding its time...as if that wasn't enough...was the cold fear pressing in on my lungs, making it difficult to breathe in this tiny, enclosed space. Shit. I really just wanted...needed...to get out of there, just go and break from this sudden episode of claustrophobic panic. Just get out and away from it all.

The nurse returned a few horribly drawn out minutes later, and I sat quietly while she and Daphne conversed about something I wasn't listening to, until finally it was time to leave. The nurse left first, with the promise to notify me of my results in a few days.

“Ready to go?” Daphne asked, sliding off the examining table. I nodded, and let her pull me to the door. All I'd wanted since I'd gotten there was to just leave, but now that I was facing the prospect of walking through those narrow hallways again, I couldn't help wanting to just stay huddled up in this little room forever.

“It's okay,” she said softly, tugging me gently through the door.

On our way back outside, she filled me in on everything she and the nurse had discussed while I'd zoned out. How she had gotten me some post exposure meds, how there was a good chance that, if I did have something, it likely wouldn't show up this soon, how I was scheduled to come back again in a couple of weeks. I just nodded numbly through it all. My stomach sank a little when I heard that I was going to have to come back, but she promised to take me when I did, and while the idea still terrified me to no end, it would be just a little easier with her.

“She saw my arm. The bruises...” I said through clenched teeth as we made our way back to the car. There was a middle-aged couple walking a little way ahead, just a few yards from us, that were making me tense. Daphne squeezed my hand reassuringly, and I squeezed back, moving a little closer to her.

“She doesn't know what they're from,” she assured me, waiting patiently as I halted in the middle of the sidewalk. The couple had stopped walking to look in a store window, and I couldn't bring myself to get any closer to pass them.

Daphne had lent me one of those sports wrist bands to cover the red marks from what I could only assume were from being bound so tightly in that fucking swing, and I'd managed to stretch it enough to fit me normally. However, it didn't hide the half-a-dozen smaller bruises that looked as though they could have been from fingers clenching me too tightly, nor the single heavy bruise just above my elbow.

I felt Daphne take my arm gently, carefully avoiding the worst of the bruising, and lead me into the street, around the couple, and back to the sidewalk again, me clutching her hand tightly the whole time.

Fuck, I hated this. I'd gotten so much better since the bashing. I could walk in crowds on my own. I could touch people and be touched. I was doing so much better, and now it was happening all over again. And I knew it was ridiculous...I had known it then, too...I just couldn't help it. Like some people had snake phobias or bee phobias...I had a crowd phobia. A people phobia. Just something in me I couldn't control.

“We need to stop by the pharmacy. Get your prescriptions filled,” she was saying, as she lead me along.

I nodded, then...

“I want to see Brian,” I said randomly.

Her head jerked up so fast, she had to have hurt her neck. “You do?”

I nodded again, blinking against the ever present tears in my eyes. “I can't...” my voice broke painfully, and I berated myself for getting so emotional in public like this. But it was like my body just acted of its own accord; I had no control over it. I had no control over anything anymore, it seemed, and I fucking hated it. “I can't tell him...but I need to just...”

“I get it,” she said softly. “I think you should. Do you want to go there now?”

“What about my meds?” I asked.

“I'll get them filled and drop by later, if you want,” she offered.

“Okay,” I agreed quietly, my heart pounding with just the thought of seeing my boyfriend.

We had reached the car at long last. Thank fuck. Daphne fumbled with her keys for a moment before unlocking it, and sliding into the driver's seat. I slipped into the passenger one and pulled my knees up to my chest, forgoing my seatbelt. I knew it was stupid and needlessly dangerous, but I couldn't stand the restriction. Couldn't stand feeling trapped like that. Fuck, I could barely stand being inside the fucking car.

We barely spoke the rest of the ride. I turned away to hide my tears when we pulled up to the side of the drive-through pharmacy. I was just...so fucking scared, all the what-ifs running through my head...what would I do if I was positive?

I didn't even want to think about it right now. I didn't want to think about what might be in me, what was in me, what was still inside me. I didn't want to think about them, or last night, or anything to do with anything. I wanted to go somewhere else entirely, and just not have this in my life for one fucking minute, so I could remember what it was like.

It was one night ago, and I can't even think what it was like not to feel this. It's too much, to think about not feeling it.

Most of all, I didn't want to think about trying to hide this from Brian, how this would change us, what would happen if he found out...I didn't want to think about anything but falling into his arms and never leaving them, ever...as we pulled up in front of his building.