She couldn't believe it when she had found him there. She just screamed and cried and held him until help came.
She had found him in the bathtub, wrists slit and bleeding everywhere. She knew exactly what had brought it on.
A few days ago, she had found him purging in the bathroom, fingers down his throat. She had yelled at him to stop, and made him confess what he was that upset about that he was starting to abuse himself again. He admitted that he had cum every time he had been raped, and that he thought that his suffering didn't matter, was negated by this fact. He asserted that he must have wanted it because he had done that, right? He had to have wanted that assault if his body had reacted like he reacted to pleasure. He had to have. He was nothing but a mess and a piece of shit and he must have wanted all that torture that he had gone through. None of it was actually abuse; he had wanted it. It couldn't have been rape if he had wanted it. All that pain, everything was a lie. he was just a little bitch. Worthless, weak piece of shit.
God, he was so upset. It had broken her heart to see him that way, and to think that he could have come to that conclusion just based on a biological fact that he couldn't control. He was so angry at himself and hated himself so much for that fact. He was disgusting, he had said.
She had explained medically why it had happened; the fault in male anatomy that forced that to happen. But he still blamed himself.
To top that off, Cutter had visited, and he and Otis had gotten into a spat. In his rage, Cutter revealed to the entire family that he had assaulted Otis, twisting the tale to make it sound like Otis had enjoyed it, had wanted it. She had had to straighten things out and explain what had really happened.
Apparently, that put him over the edge.
All his life, so long as he maintained that he hadn't enjoyed it, that it was abuse and he hadn't wanted it, he could deal with it. It was a burden, but he didn't want it. But now, in his mind, he had signaled to the people abusing him that he had enjoyed it, so they had continued. Again and again and again. It was his fault. The suffering had been his fault. He had been told often enough that he must have enjoyed it, so what if he actually had? What if he was just being a baby and couldn't accept that he had enjoyed it because of the fear?
And Cutter, on top of everything. He had never wanted anyone to know about that. Adoria knew, but that was because Cutter had revealed it to her against Otis's will, too. Otis really did blame himself for that one- he had put himself in the situation both times. Both were entirely too intimate for him to willingly tell anyone about. He thought he would keep that secret to the grave.
She should have known that he couldn't just accept it. He couldn't accept that it wasn't his fault, that he truly didn't enjoy it, and the feelings he had all along about it were okay, it was abuse. It was terrible. She should have known.
He couldn't deal with it. Couldn't deal with it alone, and he didn't want to talk to her about it anymore. He felt filthy, just hearing the words come out of his mouth. He couldn't let her be tied down by him. He was an anchor, and she deserved better. So, so much better. He didn't want her to have to deal with his shit anymore. She had to be tired of it. He was sick of it.
She had come home and hadn't gone upstairs right away, talking to Baby for a bit. When she went upstairs, she didn't see him at his usual spot, working on something, so she wandered into the bathroom and found him.
He had drawn water in the tub and just gotten in, clothes on. He figured the water would dilute the blood so she wouldn't have as much of a mess to clean up. She had already dealt with enough shit from him.
She wasn't angry with him...Many people filled themselves with fury after a loved one attempted suicide. Many of filled themselves with guilt. She just hurt for him. She knew he was hurting over the ordeal. He had to have been. But she didn't know how badly. And she blamed herself for not pressing on with him more, for taking the more hands-off approach that had worked in the past. He had always come to her, in the end. Not this time.
Waking up, he felt someone's hand in his. He wondered if he was still alive or if he had actually succeeded at one thing in his life.
He opened his eyes and saw her sitting there. His little angel, his only hope he had ever had. Her eyes were red and puffed, like she had been crying. She had one of his hands in both of hers, staring at him. He wondered if she still loved him. If she would leave him now because the depths of just how deeply he was affected by his past were revealed. It was a lie that he hadn't done anything right in his life- he had. Her. She was he best thing he had ever had, and the best decision he had ever made was opening up to her. She loved him unconditionally. Well, at least she had.
She stood and leaned over him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him.
"What did you do to yourself, you silly man?" She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, looking into his eyes.