Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ A Matter Of Control ❯ A Matter Of Control ( Chapter 1 )

A Matter of Control

 

Rape is such an odd word really. Odd in the fact that it is such a short word, four letters long, yet its effects can last for decades. I know this for a very solid fact. At least in my own mind. The effects have lasted in me for at least ten years now. Most people don't understand that rape is even more a violation of the mind than it is of the body, though that is bad enough. It shapes your thought patterns, the way you view other people and sex in general. You never really trust another person's hands on you or their body close to you after that. I can't really stand it, even now. I hate that I can't enjoy myself on a night out because I'm always trying to second guess the person I'm dancing with, even though I can easily read what they're thinking. Wondering when they'll get pushy or start grabbing and I'll freeze up for an instant before I remember that I am perfectly capable of defending myself from the general population. I can puree some loser's grey matter to mush before they can lay a violent hand on me, I know this. But for some reason, in that instant, it doesn't help.

 

When it started, it hadn't been about sex, it had been about control. It's always about control one way or another but this just happened to be a method for getting control of me and keeping it for the time I was there. It proved to be a successful venture on the part of those individuals. At least partially. I protected myself in the only way I knew how; I shut down, closed off any and all attachment to my body in those moments of horror and pain. After the first few times I sealed myself off, refused to fight and went glassy eyed, I suppose. I ceased to be an amusement for them after that and the other incidents were few and far between. I was under control. Or so they thought.

 

For Brad, it was a different matter all together. I know this from hearing the thoughts of the others, not that he would ever tell me about it, the walled off bastard. The others were always so loud, not bothering to shield what they were thinking around me. I couldn't begin to count the times I'd heard in my head “that Crawford son of a bitch hits really fucking hard for a kid”. It was almost daily. Dear gods, I can't even begin to imagine it happening to me on a daily basis. If it had, I surely would have found a way to commit suicide. Where I closed off every time, Brad fought them. Always. It didn't matter that there were always at least three of them or that they usually had to beat him unconscious before they could get their hands on him any other way. They finally had to find other methods to try controlling him because the PTB were afraid if he kept being knocked unconscious on a daily basis he'd lose certain “talents” and they didn't want that to happen. They should have known that no one controls Brad Crawford, not even the order of Rosenkreuz.

 

Sometimes I wonder if those instances of rape are what spawned the iciness in him. Only a very privileged few have been able to get close enough to see the person beyond the glinting glasses and cold exterior. Even fewer have gotten to see the man really smile. Not the smirk or sneer he usually has for the rest of the world but a true smile. He's beautiful when he smiles. I also have to wonder if it was what spawned the obsession in him to remake the world. Not that any of that would matter to him. He'd simply say the path wasn't what was important but the end destination. But I know it weighs on him, it has to because as little as it happened to me it still shapes my life.

 

There are nights when I wake up and feel like someone is holding me down and I can't breathe properly. All of the old fear, revulsion and horror clawing its' way to the surface of my sleeping mind and making me relive it all. I can feel myself trying to scream only to find the sound closed off in my throat and the best I can manage is a pathetic squeak. None of the others could possibly hear me but somehow Brad always knows and comes to sit on the edge of my bed until the panic passes. In those moments it's so good just to have someone around who understands what you're going through even if you don't speak of it. We don't have to.