Long Way Home

Part 1

Author's Note: This is a story about rape, so please consider yourself warned. Thanks to my scrumptious beta, Thyme, for her unending support and hard work!

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The Loft

Justin

It's funny what goes through your mind in that instant between utter shock and pure panic. As something violently pushed me through the loft door just as I had opened it and turned off the alarm, all I could think about was Brian. And no, it wasn't that I was wishing he was there to save me, I was actually thinking how much this was going to fuck him up again. After we finally had gotten to some sort of state of normalcy. Well, normal for us, anyway.

Of course, that only lasted a few seconds, and then all I could think was "NO!" Because my attacker had just yanked my shirt over my head and grabbed my arms to hold me captive in my own pullover. I immediately went in to fight mode, because fuck if Cody and the Pink Posse weren't good for something. If nothing else I did learn some self-defense skills.

I began to kick out, trying to scrape a foot down my attacker's shin, anything to get him to loosen his grip on me, but then he punched me in the face, only padded a little by my cotton shirt, even as I felt the cold press of what could only be a large blade pressed against my bare chest and I went still. I could fight hand to hand, but there was nothing I could do against a knife. An obviously very large knife. It was clear that now this was about survival. Whatever my captor had in store for me, I needed to do everything I could to survive it. At least it seemed my attacker was intent on keeping my face covered so I couldn't see him. Maybe he wasn't planning to kill me.

The man pulled me in tighter, at least I was fairly certain it was a man, when I felt his hard chest press against my back as he pushed me forward. My head reeled as my shin hit what felt like a step and my stomach dropped when I realized he was pushing me up to the bed. Brian's bed. Our bed. He threw us both down onto the soft comforter, and as he grabbed for the button of my jeans I forgot the knife and started to fight again.

Well, I fought until he stabbed me, anyway. Yeah, the searing pain in my left thigh pretty much told me that this guy meant business, and I went back to my original plan to just try to remain alive.

I felt every inch of the blade slide out of my thigh as he yanked it back out, and then roughly yanked down my pants and turned me over. I almost passed out, but not from the pain, but from pure relief when I heard the condom wrapper being torn open. At least I was lucky enough to have a conscientious rapist. Brian would be so proud.

"Fuck knows what Kinney's whore has." My attacker spoke as he fumbled to put on the condom with one hand. It's the first time I'd heard him say anything, and it was shocking to hear him utter Brian's name. Even more shocking was that the voice sounded vaguely familiar to me.

Fuck! I lost all train of thought as he hoisted me up by my waist and his cock rammed into me with no preparation. He had his knife wielding hand around my chest and I could feel the blade digging into my bare skin. I had tried to be so brave, to take this like a man, but this violent invasion into my most private of space broke me.

"Please, no," I whimpered.

"Shut up, whore," he grunted in my ear, and only kept up the pace of his assault.

I felt him freeze and then moan as he found his release. He yanked out of me with the same roughness that he had entered, and then in a surprising move he yanked my shirt over my head so I was free of my suffocating prison. He immediately pressed my face into the blankets, though. "Teach you to mess with me, slut," he growled as his grip on me loosened.

Something violently hit me in the back of the head and I slipped into darkness.

 

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Brian

My first reaction to seeing the familiar duffel bag laying in the doorway of my loft was, admittedly, and in hindsight, ashamedly, a hard on. Justin hadn't told me he was coming from New York for a visit, and I have to say our surprise visits usually produced the hottest rounds of sex.

But it only took another moment for my anticipation to turn to slight discomfort when I realized the loft door was wide open, duffel bag half in, and Justin was nowhere in sight. Yeah, the kid was a slob, but he wasn't usually forgetful; especially about security in my loft. I saw that the alarm had been disabled, and I stepped inside tentatively. "Justin?"

I didn't even make it another full step before I saw him on my bed and then I fucking ran, because...Christ! "Justin!" He was face down on my bed, pants half-way down his legs, arms tangled in his cotton pullover, and God, laying in a pool of blood. There was blood smeared on the back of his thighs, but the majority of it was pooled underneath him, turning the duvet from blue to black.

"Justin! Justin, can you hear me?" There was no response from him, but I could tell he was breathing. The bile rose in my throat when I turned him over and saw the gash in his thigh, but I fought it back down so I could pull out my phone and call 911.

I tried to be patient with the emergency operator as I ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to press against Justin's wound. I wanted to hang up and call Carl Horvath, because I wanted him to know about this right now. I wanted him to find whoever did this right away, but the oh so friendly 911 lady wouldn't let me go, so I gritted my teeth and tried to answer her questions. Did he have any other wounds? Well, besides the obvious signs of rape? I didn't, couldn't, say anything about that to her. I gave us both a little more time before that ugly truth would have to be dealt with at the hospital. I did a quick inspection of the rest of his body, especially his head, trying to figure out why he wouldn't wake up. He had a black eye, another, more shallow cut on his chest, and, there...there it was, a raised bump on the back of his head. "He's got a lump on his head," I replied woodenly to the operator.

"Keep trying to wake him up, sir, and keep pressure on the leg wound."

No shit. Fuck! I felt myself start to lose it, but again I stuffed the feelings of panic and fear back down in that place where I always shoved that shit. I took a deep breath and called Justin's name again. I felt a small bit of relief when I thought I heard a soft moan, but Justin's eyes didn't open, and I thought that maybe for now, that was a good thing.

After what seemed like for-fucking-ever my downstairs buzzer rang and I ran over to push the button and let the paramedics in. While they swarmed Justin on the bed, the accompanying police officers questioned me, even while I tried to answer the paramedic's questions and make sure they had the full list of Justin's many allergies. We went through the usual bullshit that made me the prime suspect, being the faggot boyfriend and all, but I threw Carl's name around and they begrudgingly let me ride to the hospital with Justin.

Of course it was accompanied by the threats not to leave town and make myself available for questioning, but whatever. I had nothing to hide, and I was sure that once Debbie got wind of this, she would make Carl's life a living hell until he was assigned the case and found the fucker that did this to Justin. Good.

The blatantly gay paramedic on the team let me ride in back with him and Justin, and then proceeded to flash me sad sympathetic looks for the entire ride, which made me want to kill him. And to add insult to injury, beside the current horror, being in the ambulance brought on a whole new set of flashbacks related to the bashing. Wonderful. I ran a hand over my face, because seriously everything I had stuffed down inside was in grave danger of coming out at full force, but I couldn't let go yet. Not when there was a chance he could see me.

I reached down and brushed hair out of Justin's eyes and suddenly he woke up. His eyes roved wildly around as he tried to figure out what was happening. "Justin," I said quietly and wanted to kick myself when my voice cracked.

He looked up at me questioningly, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I saw the moment of realization enter his eyes, and I knew that we weren't dealing with any amnesia with this head injury. Everything that had happened to Justin was in his blue eyes for me to see. I closed my own eyes for a moment and when I opened them again, his were closed. I didn't bother to find out if it was because he was hiding from me or had simply passed out.

 

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