Do Unto Others
Chapter 16
Note: All past happenings are in italics.
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Author's Note: I know. It has been a long time coming. I am SO sorry. Feel free to kill me slowly. I intended for this chapter to be A LOT longer than this but it didn't work out that way. Now that the muses have decided to come back for this story I hope to update it more frequently. I hope you guys like it.
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Justin…
It's not supposed to be this hard.
I can feel Brian next to me and the feeling is heavy. I want to roll away but I swallow and will my body to relax. It's all too much too fast and I'm swallowing down everything. I can feel the pressure, heavy in my throat and I need to move, need to get up. His arm is across my chest. He's pinning me down and I start to struggle.
"I love when they fight," he says.
I'm pushing at Brian's arm and scrambling off the bed, hands and knees dropping like lead to the floor. I scream as pain shoots through my wrist. The floor is hard and I can hear a voice. I can't tell who is talking. "Justin?"
It's only a whisper. "Justin." I can feel his hands in my hair, pulling; his body heavy against mine.
I struggle to stand and my legs are throbbing. I back up, my back and head crashing into the frame of the bathroom door. My vision is swimming, my heart is racing and I'm falling backwards. A hand closes over my arm and steadies me and I pull my arm free, my skin burning. "Don't… touch me," I manage to gasp.
The smack to my face is fast and I can feel the burn, the sting, immediately. "Is that any way to talk?" He's standing over me. I'm shaking and blood is warm and cooling fast as it floods its way down the side of my face. I can feel it soaking heavy into my shirt.
I'm running out of words. My tongue is heavy. My hands are clenched together in my lap. "Well, I'll have to teach you a few lessons then," he tells me and his voice is light and full of excitement and expectation.
Just breathe.
"Please," I whisper. It's all I have left and it's futile. He shakes his head and pulls his belt from around his waist, through the loops of his jeans.
Just breathe.
I flinch when he touches me and he smirks, slipping the leather around my hands and pulling tight. His lips are pressing into my ear and he's biting, hard. I scream and the radio, blasting loud and constant muffles my cries. "You think you know pain," he says. And he touches the side of my face, It's gentle and its worse than torture. "You can't even begin to imagine."
He pulls on the belt, pulls me to my feet. My stomach lurches as he moves me, positions me where he wants me and tells me, "Don't even think about moving." My arms are above my head, strapped to exposed pipes. My breathing is shallow. I don't watch him move.
Just breathe.
He steps closer to me and I can see what's in his hand. Cold washes over me and I struggle against the belt. He doesn't smile. Before the first blow I push it out of my mind. I don't want to feel. I don't want to remember. I don't want to know where the scars came from.
Just… Please
I close the bathroom door and take deep breaths. My chest is burning and I sink to my knees. Everything comes up and when there is nothing left I feel my stomach start to cramp, missing the little that was there.
I can feel Brian on the other side of the door and tears pool in my eyes. The bathroom floor is fading fast. I can feel the cold under my left hand, my right hand cradled against my chest. My head is throbbing and I'm gasping, pulling at the oxygen that I know should be there.
I'm vaguely aware that I'm not wearing clothes, but I can feel silk wrap around my neck and I panic, tearing desperately at my skin, trying to loosen a knot that isn't there. I'm gasping and crying and my vision is blurred. I can't see. I hear the door open and strong fingers close over my wrist.
"Stop," he says. His voice is firm and commanding, bathed in distress and urgency. "Justin, stop." I hear, but I can't breathe. I hear moving, rummaging and something slides over my mouth and nose. He's holding me to his chest. I can feel the material of the sweats he's slipped into. I struggle against his grasp and his grip tightens.
The paper crinkles with each shallow breath. "Breathe," he says. My left hand is holding tightly to his forearm, my fingers leaving bruises. My heart is racing.
I can't stop the tears, the loud gasps of air. I'm struggling to push down the panic. He's breathing in deep behind me. His grip never wavers. Please.
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Jordan…
"Is there someone we can call?" I can hear voices and see lights, blinking fast blue and red. My head is swimming and I struggle to sit up. "Whoa, take it easy there," a voice tells me and a strong palm gently presses into my chest and pushes me back down.
"Wait a minute there, kiddo. You've got a pretty nasty gash going on. Let's get you all cleaned up," my father says. He lifts me up and sits me on the edge of the sink.
I blink rapidly when he presses the cotton ball to the cut on my forehead. My heart is beating rapidly and my legs are moving back and forth with the adrenaline. "But I did good, right? Right, Daddy?"
He leans in close to me and smiles. "You did great."
"I…." I open my mouth to talk but I can't remember. "I… don't… I…"
"It's okay," the voice says and heavy doors are slammed shut. I can feel us moving; hear sirens cutting through the air. My head is heavy and I let my eyes close. I let my body relax, let fingers press into my skin, poking and prodding.
My heart is hammering in my chest. I'm struggling to piece everything together. The heavy doors open again and we're moving. "My God," I hear another voice say. "Are the police on their way?"
"Yeah, they're right behind us, should be in any second. Take care of this one, she's been through hell." I blink and force my eyes to open. I can see white, white everywhere. The air is sterile. Someone in the distance coughs. One voice changes to another and I'm being wheeled through the halls and into a private room.
A woman, a doctor, leans into my line of vision. A nurse is in the room, pulling things out of drawers and opening and closing cabinets. "Hello. I'm Doctor Rellia, do you think you could tell me your name?" She sounds nice.
I open my mouth and my tongue is heavy. I can taste copper and I wince. "Let's get some water over here," the doctor says and the nurse moves quickly to fulfill the request. When she comes back I let her help me drink. The water is cold, but not too cold. "Better?"
"There. Is that better?" Daddy asks.
I touch the tips of my fingers to the bandage on my head and frown. I shrug.
I manage a nod.
"Jordan," I tell her. I swallow and let the nurse take the pitcher away. "Jordan." She nods and writes it down on the chart in her hand.
"Jordan," she says as she comes to stand next to my bed. "Do you remember what happened to you tonight?" Tears well up in my eyes and I nod.
"Okay. We're going to need to take a rape kit," she says gently and I can't stop the sobs from coming. "We'll get you examined, cleaned up and changed. Then… when you're ready… you can talk to the police. They're waiting to talk to you." She delivers the information fast and I'm grateful.
My head is pulsing.
"Is there anyone we can call?" The other voice, he asked me the same question. I couldn't remember, couldn't think.
I close my eyes and shake my head slightly. "My husband," I say. I'm starting to shake. I'm cold. The doctor smiles at me and touches my arm. She nods at the nurse and the nurse leaves the room again. I didn't give her a number.
"We're going to try and get him on the phone, okay?" I feel a tear drop from my eye. The tear streaks through the blood on my hands and I can't tear my eyes away. "Why don't you lay back and just try to relax," the doctor says.
I walk into the bedroom and sit down on the bed, my hair still wet. Dean is lying on the bed watching TV and flipping through the channels. "I just don't see what the big deal is," he says as he turns to me, running his hand up my leg.
I smile as he turns over completely and lies on his back. "Yeah," I say as I drop my bottle of lotion and move to straddle him. "I'd like to see how relaxed you'd be if it was you that had to sit on a table and spread your legs."
He's leaning up and pressing his mouth to mine. "Oh baby. You make it sound so sexy. Say it again," he moans with a laugh.
I don't move. I can hear her take a deep breath. "It's okay. We'll take it one minute at a time."
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Brian…
Nothing is ever easy.
I'm holding onto him and he's fighting. My first instinct is to let him go but I tighten my grip. He's breathing into the paper bag; shallow breaths. "I'm right here," I tell him. He's crying, loud sobbing tears and I can feel him trying to calm himself down. It's not working and every sob makes every breath harder.
He's gasping and I move the paper bag. He's holding onto my arm and pulling at his chest. I don't have time to think. I'm on my feet and the phone is in my hand. I tell the woman on the phone what's going on. I give her the address and she tells me to just stay calm and stay on the line, someone will be there soon.
I never really did like the color blue.
His lips are impossibly cold, like ice. "How long has he been like this?" the paramedic asks me. I'm sliding a shirt over my head and pulling on shoes.
"Three or four minutes," I say, "since I called you guys. He just stopped breathing." They're wrapping him in a thick blanket and putting him on a gurney. I lock the door behind me, don't bother with the alarm.
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Jennifer…
"He's blue, Craig," I say frantically.
"I know, Jen. Move those things off the table and turn on the heater," Craig tells me. He sits Justin on the top of the table and pulls him in close, rubbing his arms up and down Justin's body, trying to give him heat.
"I think we should call 911, Craig," I say. My heart is tearing at my chest and I swallow. I press my hand against Justin's back and Craig's fingertips graze mine.
"He doesn't need an ambulance," Craig tells me. Justin starts to cough and I grab his inhaler. Craig takes it and his fingers are strong. "Okay, there you go, take a deep breath," he says and he presses the inhaler between pale lips.
"Justin," I say. I can't think of more words.
"I told you not to play on that ice, Justin," Craig says. He's afraid of what could have happened and he's tightening the lid down on his emotions. Craig wraps the blanket tighter around Justin's small body and sighs.
Justin is still trembling with cold but the color is draining back into his face. "M' sorry," he says weakly.
"It's okay," I say.
"Jeez Jen, don't baby him. Could ya get him some dry clothes?"
I nod. "Yeah, okay." I kiss the side of Justin's head and smooth my hand over his hair. It's getting too long. "I'll be right back."
"You know you scared me, Justin," Craig says. I stop in the hallway, fresh clothes held against my chest and I wait and listen. I see Craig move, pulling Justin into his arms and hugging him tight.
I want to remember this.
"He looks so small." My purse feels heavy on my shoulder. Brian's right hand is on his hip, his left running slowly across his mouth. His wedding ring is pressing into his skin and I cross my arms over my chest.
"Fuck," Brian says and I let my eyes close and then open slowly. "Fuck. It was too much too soon," he says.
"It was just a panic attack. He'll be fine," I say. We're watching the doctor move around Justin's bed, listening to his breathing, talking to him. Brian nods and steps closer to the observation window.
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Brian…
He looks afraid. "Mr. Kinney." I turn to look at the doctor. Wait. "His breathing is stabilized now. He had a panic attack, pretty severe from what I can tell. He should be fine now. We'll give him a couple minutes and then he should be okay for you to take home."
"And if it happens again?" I need to know what to do.
"Do exactly what you did. Try to calm him down and call 911," he smiles. "I'm going to give him a prescription for the anxiety. I know he's had one for Xanax before. You can go in and see him whenever you're ready."
I look at him and turn my attention back through the window. Justin is pushing the nurse away from him and running his left hand through his hair.
This shouldn't feel this normal.
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Dean…
I'm running on empty. "My… wife… they told me she was here," I pant. My pulse is heavy in my ears, my tie loose around my neck. "Her… her name is Jordianna Anderson. She…."
"Okay, calm down, sir. Your wife is here, she's in the emergency room. Take this hallway and make a right at the third door." The nurse is nice and she smiles and points me in the right direction. I walk blindly, counting the doors and bracing myself for the impact.
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