Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Integration ❯ Living the Nightmare ( Chapter 1 )

Integration

By: Bane's Desire

Warnings: This story is a bit different and will probably confuse you as you slowly become aware of the main character's plight as he, himself, awakens to the true reason for his unhappy state. Hang in there, it becomes more clear as each chapter progresses. There is yaoi in this story, angst, NCS, and various pairings. This story is set after Endless Waltz and is not an AU story nor a death fic!

Chapter One: Living The Nightmare

The slap of his face and his hands as they hit the cold, wet shower tiles seemed overly loud to him, but he knew this rough treatment at the hand of his lover was merely a prelude to what was coming next. He closed his eyes, utterly detesting his life and hating the man pressing his naked body against his own.

"Why am I doing this?" The deep familiar voice in his left ear asked the question in a menacing manner just a scant second before his right ear was harshly grabbed and pulled, forcing him to expose the left side of his neck. Lips latched onto the exposed skin and they were almost instantly replaced by the feel of teeth that began to sink into the tender skin. And just like he knew they would, they paused momentarily, a reprieve he knew his attacker allowed only as he waited for an answer his question.

"Because I was late," he answered, sickened at hearing how pathetically shaky his voice sounded. From past experiences, he'd learned from the man threatening him that there was never a legitimate excuse for breaking one of the many rules imposed on him. The punishments from even an unintentional infraction were usually immediate and harsh. It looked like tonight he would suffer his tormenter's favorite form of penalization: rape.

He experienced a brief moment of relief when his abused ear was released, but his body tensed again, still pinned firmly against the tile wall as the other man's hand began to slide with deliberate slowness over his shoulder, building the fear within him as it moved down his arms and slid over to his hips. He knew what was about to happen, he'd endured such punishments at least once a month no matter how well he tried to behave. Even with that knowledge, he resolved not to resist or fight back. Hell, he'd learned that lesson early on and suffered the consequences from when he'd tried to defend or protect himself from the abuse. The consequences didn't always come from his lover either. It was his own body that consistently failed and betrayed him on those rare times when he'd had enough and made an attempt to defend himself as he was being abused. After failing, succumbing to the pain in his body, his so-called lover usually proved to be heartless and even more brutal in his punishments.

Large, rough hands continued the path from his hips to his spine and traced without tenderness the crevice there. "Why were you late?" The lips, still pressed against his neck, moved a bit lower, a constant presence against his skin as his abuser spoke. Then suddenly, without warning, the dreaded teeth clamped down and bit the exposed skin at the juncture where his shoulder and neck met.

Gasping from the pain, he had to force himself to answer. "I had to stay late at work and missed the bus," he cried out, his eyes tearing. "I didn't have enough money for a cab so I walked home." Relief finally came as the teeth were removed.

"You couldn't have asked someone for a ride?"

He tried to shake his head in reply, but the position of his face, plastered against the shower wall, prohibited the movement. His tormentor then moved his mouth to another area of his neck and pressed his teeth against that yet unmarred area of skin as he waited for his answer.

"Everyone was already gone," he replied in a rush. "I had to make some last minute calls for Mr. Krantz for the office Christmas party."

"You know the rules."

He shuddered. Of course he knew the damn rules. They'd been drilled and beaten into him for longer than he cared to remember. He closed his eyes and tried to relax his body as his legs were pried apart and a soap slicked finger was forcefully pushed inside of him. He was not going to cry out, he determined stubbornly. He would not give the bastard behind him the satisfaction.

He pressed his lips tightly together, sucking in his lower lip to keep from crying out while pushing the pain at his anus to the back of his mind as he focused instead on his ever-burgeoning hate for his so-called lover. He'd used that term loosely for a long time now, having only a vague recollection of why he was in this abusive and seemingly inescapable relationship, the memory that answered that question seemed almost like a dream, dulled by years of fear and pain.

His vaguely recalled his initial attraction to the Japanese man, drawn instantly to him by his exotic looks and obvious physically fit body. His abuser had been and still was proud of his own body, with ripped muscles that had been sculpted from countless hours of rigorous workouts. It was that cursed body that had initially appealed to him as was the way the older man bore himself with an air of dignity and self confidence that he, himself, had always lacked. They'd met at the University, though his lover wasn't attending classes, merely visiting a friend. The man appeared to be instantly attracted to him as well and began to actively pursue him. He'd more or less been swept off his feet by the Japanese man who wined and dined him for over a month. He remembered thinking that everything seemed perfect, that his life was finally falling into place after the death of his parents. It was at the end of that blissful, romantic month that he spent the night at the other's apartment and gave up his virginity to him. Shortly after, at his lover's insistence, he also gave up going to school and moved in with the other man to begin a life together.

A small sound, just short of a moan, escaped his throat as his body was further violated. A whisper in the deep recesses of his mind sarcastically remarked that it wasn't as bad as usual, that his rapist boyfriend must have used more soap to ease his entry; how considerate. He duly noted that his sarcastic side came out at odd times.

The bruising grip on his waist tightened, and with each painful upward thrust into his body his hated grew. If he ever loved his abuser, that feeling was long gone. Springing uninvited to his mind came a mental picture of ways in which he could end the abuse. He knew he had only to raise his foot and smash it down onto the top of the other's vulnerable foot to break the fragile bones there in order to get an immediate reaction. If he moved quickly enough after that, he could use the same foot to land a kick to the knee that was currently holding his thighs apart, effectively crippling the other man. Then spinning, he could land his fingers, the palm of his hand or a closed fist to the man's trachea, crushing it, resulting in his abuser being brought to a state of unconsciousness and unable to breath. Unfortunately, the self-defense lessons, taught at work, were only put into action within his mind.

The brief mental image of taking down the man behind him, lasting no more than a few seconds, brought about the pain that always accompanied his violent and dark thoughts regarding his abuser. He slid his hands down from off the tile to clutch at his aching chest. The doctor said the pain came from a weak heart, a condition he'd suffered since childhood but had only become noticeable as he grew older and was put into more stressful situations. The pain was crippling and his knees buckled under him in reaction to it. Slowly, he began to slip down to his knees, regardless of the hands bruising his hips and the instrument of pain jammed inside him.

"Stop! My heart!" he gasped in pain as his knees crashed to the shower floor, the sharp ache in his chest blinding him to the fact that the invading member that had been in his body was gone. Tears leaked from his eyes, mingling with the water from the shower above and behind him. He curled his body into a ball on the tiled floor, trying to deal with the pain and instinctively trying to protect himself from whatever the man behind him might decide to do to him for interrupting his punishment.

"Stop it," the angry voice barked from above him.

Pulling into a tighter fetal position, the spray of water from the showerhead fell onto his head and shoulders. "My pill," he managed to gasp in a hoarse, ragged whisper as his heart threatened to pound out of his chest.

The other man snorted with disgust as he turned and left the shower stall. A moment later the sound of the squeaky medicine cabinet door being opened could be heard. Even with the sound of his heart beating unbearably loud in his ears, he still managed to hear the other man say, "I should just let you suffer."

He wouldn't beg any further, he decided. He might not be able to leave the abusive relationship he was in, but he had some small amount of pride left. Even if it killed him he wouldn't let the other man break him completely. That last thought only intensified the pain in his body and he cried out despite his intentions not to. Suicidal thoughts also seemed to cripple his body with pain.

He felt fingers fumbling at his lips and a pill he knew was small and white was pressed between them; the relief was almost instantaneous. The sharp ache in his chest lessened dramatically and his breathing became a bit easier.

"Clean yourself up and go to bed," the other man ordered. "No dinner for you tonight."

The slam of the bathroom door was no surprise, but it made the pitiful man, still lying on the shower floor, flinch. Taking a few moments to compose himself, he stood on thin, shaky legs and finished rinsing off his hair and body, a task that had been violently interrupted. Trembling hands turned off the spray of water, and holding onto the wall, he cautiously climbed out through the frosted shower doors to grab a towel with which he used to quickly dry himself off, wincing at the pain radiating from his posterior as a result of the other man's abuse.

Once dry, he took the corner of his towel and wiped off the moisture from off the fogged mirror. Standing in front of the sink, he looked into the reflecting glass to assess the damage to his face and body. His body, of course, would be bruised in the morning, that was a given after one of his so-called punishments. He leaned forward to examine his upper lip, split and swollen, his initial punishment for returning home late from work. After picking himself up from the living room floor, he had immediately been order to go to the bathroom and take a shower where he received his formal punishment. His lip looked as ugly as it was painful, he thought. That was going to be hard to explain at work in the morning. Deb was going to give him a bad time and hound him again to call the authorities concerning the abuse he regularly suffered from his lover.

He sighed, knowing it didn't matter what she said. He knew she was right, that he didn't deserve to be beaten and raped like this on a regular basis; but he couldn't leave. Each time he threatened or even seriously contemplated leaving in the wake of the violence, he'd experienced a panic attack that effectively crippled him and left him helpless to defend himself from the other violent man.

His eyes strayed to his left wrist, to his ultimate attempt at escaping his miserable life. But the first slash of the razor blade to his wrist resulted in one of his frequent debilitating attacks and he was discovered before he could attempt to finish the job.

Gazing back to the mirror and to his reflection, he looked at himself with the same sense of disgust that he'd heard in the other man's voice. His frail health and panic attacks kept him in the role of victim, and he despised himself for it. Narrowing his green tinted eyes, he sneered in a whispered voice to his reflection, "I hate you... almost as much as I hate him." His eyes strayed to the ugly, red teeth marks at the base of his neck, and thought that at least his shirt would cover that mark. "That bastard," he hissed just under his breath while studying the damage.

Reaching his hands up, he put a finger to the corner of his eye and with his other hand, caught the green contact lens as he popped it out. He set it into its open case and repeated the process to take out the other one as well. He supposed if he were to look for the silver lining in his miserable existence, it would be in form of gratitude that the fist that had connected with his face hadn't hit any higher. As a rule, his tormentor was generally careful to only hurt him in places that weren't visible to others or anywhere that might cause permanent damage. A broken contact in his eye would definitely be cause for a visit to the hospital and the unwanted questions that would follow.

With his contacts put securely in their case, he looked up again and ran his fingers through his hair that his keeper insisted he keep short. It grew so fast that he needed a trip to the barber every couple of weeks. He hated keeping it so short, feeling the style left him looking unattractive and exposed.

Knowing he couldn't do anything about it, he sighed and took out his toothbrush and paste and began the task of brushing his teeth. During the process he avoided looking at his reflection, specifically his eyes. For some unknown reason, looking into his own eyes, an odd blue, almost violet color, caused his chest to constrict tightly, so he purposely kept from looking into them. He'd had enough pain for one day.

He didn't put a towel around his waist for modesty's sake or place the clothing he'd worn earlier back on his body. His sense of modesty had long been stripped from him and he was never allowed to wear anything to bed. He walked the short distance from the bathroom to the bedroom, keeping an ear out for any sound of the other man. The faint sounds of the television came from the living room and he hoped it occupied his abuser's thoughts for few hours. He entered the shared bedroom and felt a moment's relief in seeing that it was empty.

Turning off the bedroom light, he managed to make his way to the bed in the dark, then pulled back the covers and climbed onto the queen-sized mattress. He lay down on his assigned side of the bed and stayed as close as possible to the edge as he pulled the covers up to his chin, willing himself to fall asleep before the other man came to bed.

Sleep, it seemed, was the only peace he had left. His time at work was hectic and demanding, though the people he worked with were nice enough and he'd even made a good friend with a sympathetic ear. It was his supposed love life that was a mess. No, it was a literal nightmare, one he couldn't seem to escape.

On the edge of sleep, his body tensed and brought him to full wakefulness when he felt the shift of the mattress and heard the slight squeak of the box spring as the other man climbed into bed with him.

A naked body pressed up against his back and a possessive arm wrapped around his chest to hold him in place.

"Feeling better?" The tone of the other man's voice displayed his lack of concern.

"A little," he replied meekly, knowing that not answering would result in some negative repercussion.

"I just worry about you," the voice in his ear spoke insincerely. "Don't break the rules and I won't have to punish you."

"I'll be good," was his weak reply, a nightly promise. He knew even as he spoke them, that his trite, repetitious words did not speak the truth. He pushed at the restrictive rules, sometimes gathering up the nerve to even break them, just to prove to himself that the other man hadn't broken him, that he had some small amount of free will left. He could have hitched a ride home or bummed a couple of dollars off some of the people he'd come to know that worked in businesses near his place of employment, but that stubborn side of him that refused to buckle under the other man's rigid rules wanted to show a bit of defiance by taking the long walk home. In doing so, he knew full well that he'd be punished for being late. At the time, the extra hour and a half of peace and freedom seemed well worth his punishment. Now he wasn't so sure.

The same hands that had bruised his flesh a short time ago, once again began to stroke his back, causing a shiver of revulsion to shoot up his spine.

"I'll make you breakfast in the morning." The warm breath on his neck did nothing to warm him as the hands moved down his back, rippling against his ribs on their way to his hips. "You're losing weight again," the other man continued, still too close. "You'll have to eat more because I don't want Dr. Clark breathing down my neck about it."

Feeling a pull on his hip, he allowed himself to be turned over to lay on his back, his tormentor leaning over him. The Japanese man's face was barely visible in the dim light that came from the alarm clock and moonlight streaming through the window blinds. The shadow of the dark, thick hair stuck out at odd angles after having gotten wet in the unfinished shower. He couldn't see the eyes staring down at him, probably contemplating his next punishment. He knew those hateful brown orbs would probably reign over his nightmares after he fell asleep.

"Good night, Jason," the man said a moment before he swooped down for a kiss that wasn't harsh but neither was it tender. Thankfully, it was short.

"Night, Scott," he replied in a timid voice, knowing his response was what the other man expected. He was then released and allowed to return to his original position, curled on his side at the edge of the bed where he hoped and prayed to find the freedom he craved which, at this point in his life, only sleep could bring.

Continued soon.