Zero
by: sweet_dreams
“What’s wrong?” I ask, and Justin just shakes his head tightly, walking into the kitchen and putting the coffee maker on. He’s hardly said a word all the way home, and that’s just so not him.
It’s Saturday night…or Sunday morning by now…and as usual we went to Babylon. Somewhere around midnight I came back from the backroom and Justin was on his way out with a really gorgeous trick. I winked and that was the last time I saw him. Until it was about four and when I decided to head home I found him standing shivering in front of the corvette, obviously waiting for me.
Usually I can’t get him to shut up. But not today. Today, I can’t get him to talk. He was silent on our way home, just staring out the window. And he still is. So, I know SOMETHING happened; now I just have to find out what. I could come straight out and ask, but somehow, the mood he’s in, I don’t think that’s gonna work.
Justin walks past me, heading toward the bedroom, shrugging off his sweater and slinging it on the floor.
“Hey,” I say reproachfully, picking it up and folding it carefully. I bought him this sweater. It’s blue. Cobalt blue. Like Justin’s eyes.
I know that because the sales girl mentioned it several times. Mostly as she gazed longingly at a completely oblivious Justin.
I trail along after him, seeing clothes lying in his wake, and I gather them up as I go, wondering what the hell he thinks he’s doing. I think Anita must have sold him something that short-circuited his brain.
He knows I HATE mess. Can’t stand it. The whole loft is spotless. … and most importantly, I am not his goddamn maid.
When I eventually get to the bedroom, I can hear the shower running, so I pile his neatly folded clothes on the edge of the bed.
I head back to the kitchen, just in time to switch off the coffee maker. Justin, as usual, has made it light and watery. I don’t know how the hell he drinks this stuff. But it’s how he likes it, and coming between Justin and his coffee is just unwise, so I gave it up long ago. Better to admit defeat and stay alive.
I pour him a cup, adding a splash of milk and two sugars. May as well fix up the sweet tooth at the same time.
But, twenty minutes later, the water in the shower is still running, and his coffee is far too cold to drink. Okay, this is just too strange now.
I throw the coffee down the sink, and set the cup on the bench.
“Justin?” I yell, making my way toward the bathroom. He doesn’t answer, and I suddenly get a very bad feeling about all of this. This really isn’t like him.
“Hey, Justin?” I call, opening the bathroom door just a crack.
The mirror is all steamed up, and so is the shower door, I can’t see a thing in there.
I push the bathroom door all the way open, stepping into the misty room, surprised at how warm it is. Justin must have the water hot.
I tap gently on the glass of the shower door, not wanting to give him a fright, then open it.
Justin’s standing under the spray, facing away from me, leaning against the wall, with his head bent down. His skin has already turned a deep shade of pink from the heat of the water, and I can see little rivulets running down his back, across his hips and buttocks, before making their way down his legs. Any other day, the sight of that would be enough to make me strip off and dive in there with him, but today, there’s something else that makes my blood run cold. There are bruises.
Bruises that look an awful lot like finger marks. I can see them on his biceps and hips. And I know, I KNOW, I didn’t put them there.
“Justin?” I say, much more gently this time, reaching a hand out to lightly touch his shoulder.
He jumps, turning around to look at me with wide eyes. I’ve startled him, and he looks down dazedly at where my hand has slid round his body, ending up against his chest. I remove it slowly, not really sure why, but somehow, right now, that simple touch seems… invasive. And I get the terrible feeling he’s already had too much invasive shit happen to him today.
“You okay?” I ask, looking at his face, not wanting to make a big deal of something he obviously didn’t want me to see. Not yet anyway.
“Yeah… just, you know, tired,” he answers, turning and stretching up to finally turn off the water.
When he does, I just can’t help it. I stare in horrified fascination at his body. I don’t think he even realizes yet, but there’s a bruise on his thigh. Right on the inside of his thigh. Right where I would normally press my hand to get him to spread those beautiful legs wide for me.
He’s watching me, and his eyes follow mine down, his upper body leaning forward slightly, so that he’s looking at the same thing I am. He stares for long seconds, before looking up, his face suddenly gone blank. I’m scared.
Four hours. I’m sure it was four hours that I didn’t see him at Babylon. What can happen in four hours? I mean… something must have happened, but… surely nothing like… like… FUCK. Maybe it wasn’t four hours. Maybe it was only three and a half. Fuck, even three and a half hours would be long enough. Get a grip, Kinney!
Long enough to make him… force him…? FUCK FUCK FUCK.
“Brian?” I hear him say quietly, his voice sounding tired and shaky.
“Yeah, I’m here. Just let me… I need to get you a towel,” I say, feeling my hand tremble as I reach behind me, snaring one off the rail.
I still can’t look away from that bruise. I want to. I really do. But it’s on Justin’s body. His body that I know so well. His body that’s so precious to me. And someone else has left that fucking mark on his beautiful, precious body. I want to scream at him to tell me. Tell me what happened. Tell me who did this. When? How? Because I’m going to kill him. I’m going to hunt him down, find out where he lives, and make him wish he’d never been born. FUCK.
Justin takes the towel from my loose fingers, scrubbing it over his skin before wrapping it around his waist, finally covering that horrible, purplish mark. And at last, I can look up. I can let myself look away from it. His face is still a blank mask.
I hate when he does this. I used to be able to read him like a book. He was so open, everything just… out there. But now he’s learnt to be more like me. And he hides behind that damn mask when he wants to keep things from me. I always get it out of him in the end, but it takes time. And I don’t want to waste time, not today.
Because as soon as he gives me a name, or a description, I’m out of here. I’m going to hunt that son of a bitch that did this down. Then, I’ll cut out his heart. Slowly. Making sure he feels every second of it.
Justin walks out of the bathroom, into the bedroom, staring with horror at the pile of clothes I’ve left, as if they’re contaminated by something too awful to name.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he doesn’t ever want to put them back on, and I shudder as I think of why that might be. I walk around him, grabbing the blanket from the bed and cuddle him in the warmth’s.
He looks at me with a pathetically grateful expression, as if I’ve just done him this huge favor, and suddenly, I want to be sick. Someone hurt Justin. Again. And I wasn’t there…or I was too late…or just too fucking ignorant…or too proud…to go and look for him.
He sighs deeply, pulling the covers over his body. I’m so afraid to ask. I know I need to. I even know he’ll tell me. Because, in the end, he tells me everything. But I’m afraid. Oh God, I have to know.
“Justin? What happened?” I ask as gently as I can, sitting down next to him on the bed.
He shakes his head, reaching out one hand toward me, and I take his fingers in mine. He’s shaking slightly, so I put both of my hands around his, trying to help stop the tremors, and warm his cold flesh at the same time. I’m shocked at how cool his body is, when his skin is still pink from the heat of the shower.
“There were three of them,” he finally says, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him. “Two of them grabbed me… held me… while the other,” he chokes out, before his voice cracks with emotion. No. No, no, no.
This can’t be right. It can’t be. I hear the sharp intake of my own breath, and the ragged sobbing sound that’s slipping from Justin’s throat. I grab him, pulling him up so that he’s held tightly against my body, his face pressed into the hollow of my shoulder. I’ve seen Justin take so much shit before.
He’s been bashed, abandoned by his father, a fucking therapy to get his ability to draw back…he survived me…and through it all, Justin’s never been broken. He’s cracked. He’s had bad times. But he’s never been broken.
I hold him tightly; silently praying to make that true this time as well. Please, I beg, please, don’t let this be the thing that crushes his spirit.
After a short time, I realize he’s not actually crying. There are no tears. But he’s gasping for breath, his body shaking hard in my arms, and I think it’s probably shock more than anything. He’s definitely in shock, and I really need to do something about it.
I start to loosen my grip around his shoulders, wanting to go get him another blanket and a sweet drink, something to stop his body shivering convulsively like it is. But he tightens his arm around my neck, burrowing deeper into my body, and I think, maybe, all that other stuff can wait. For now, Justin needs me. And strangely enough, though nothing happened to me, I need him just as badly.
When he finally pulls away, I let him go, but keep hold of his hand. I want him to know I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere.
“They didn’t… they tried, but I fought… they only got…” he stumbles over the words, his voice empty and hollow. Does he mean they didn’t…they didn’t manage to…? Oh Christ… I can’t even think the word. I just don’t want that word and Justin’s name occupying the same space in my head. But I HAVE to know.
“Justin, did they force you? Did they make you… are you hurt?” I ask pathetically, ashamed with myself for not asking the one question I really need answered.
It’s easy. Did they rape you? There. That’s it. Did they rape you? Four words. Four of the simplest, single syllable words there are. No confusion. No misunderstanding. It’s a straightforward question, completely devoid of any chance of misunderstanding or hidden meaning. And I just CAN’T ask him, because I’m a coward who’s deathly afraid of the answer. I’m so afraid of what being raped by another man could do to Justin.
I’ll help any way I can, do anything I can to make it easier for him, but I’ve seen the way people hide their real emotions when this type of thing happens. The thought that Justin might shut me out, try to deal with this alone, something I’ve definitely know him to do in the past, is terrifying.
Somehow, the very thought of hearing him say the words, is loaded with dread. I know it would never change how I feel about him. But if Justin has been violated in such a terrible way, there’s a very real possibility it’s going to change how he feels about himself.
This time, no matter how difficult, I’ll find the right words. If it kills me, I won’t lose Justin, not again. When I finally come back to myself, I can see Justin shaking his head, his eyes wide with horror.
“No… oh no… I’m sorry, Brian, I’m sorry… it wasn’t… no, they didn’t,” he finally gets out.
I feel almost faint with relief, and press my palm against my forehead for a brief moment, trying to get myself under control. I can’t fall apart now, because this isn’t about me.
It’s about Justin. Justin who’s obviously been scared badly. But it wasn’t rape. It wasn’t that, and I feel a huge amount of the tension that’s been silently gathering in my body, release.
“That’s… that’s good,” I manage, my voice shaking.
He’s watching my face now, and I know he’s seeing everything I’m feeling. I try and stay composed, wanting to keep it all together, but it’s not easy.
“What did happen?” I eventually ask.
“It was… well…I’ve had worse…I’m just being stupid,” he shrugs, trying to pass it off, his face slipping back into that mask I hate so much.
I let my hand move to his thigh; squeezing gently against the bruise I know is there.
He flinches slightly, and I know he hates the reminder, but I need him to talk to me.
“It’s not stupid. Someone hurt you. Someone put their hands on your body, and they tried to do things you didn’t want them to. How does any of that make you stupid?” I ask with the appearance of calm, feeling my stomach churn on the inside.
He starts to speak slowly, haltingly, and I listen carefully to every word. Usually, when he’s giving me a long explanation about something, I tune out about half of what he says. But this time, I memorize every word, because I want them burned indelibly into my mind.
I want to remember every detail so I can find those sons of bitches and make them pay. After I had gone to the backroom, he had started looking for a trick as well and found this really cute guy. Apparently they started talking and turns out that this guy owns a Audi TT, which apparently is Justin’s favorite car at the moment. He invites Justin for a ride and that’s where they were heading when I saw them leave Babylon.
The car is a few blocks from Babylon and Liberty Ave. When they went into the alleyway, three guys were waiting in the shadows. Three very big guys.
While Mr Audi could make a run for it. Justin was trapped. One grabbed his arms, the other tripping him over by taking his legs out from underneath him. They muttered filthy comments to him, words he won’t repeat to me, but I get the message clear enough. He remembers one sentence very clearly, and my blood boils when he repeats it, the words sounding foreign and filthy coming out of his mouth.
“Dirty faggots like you don’t get to hang out where our kids go to bible study, we’re gonna teach you a lesson, queer boy.” He thinks they said it was going to be a lesson he’d never forget, but he can’t be sure.