This is a story that I helped my friend write eons ago, back when we wrote BSB together, and she gave me full permission to rewrite it as a Spencer/Remy story. So, that's what I'm doing :D It's a helluva lotta fun, let me tell you. Mais, I'm not sure if any of you will like it, so now that I've got the first chapter fully fixed. This is NOT a death fic, even if you feel that way sometimes, so hold on to that. But it IS a rape fic, so if you're triggered by that, please don't read. I'm warning for: rape, graphic depiction of rape, the aftereffects of it, suicidal thoughts, depression, drug use, alcoholism... yeah. This isn't pleasant at first. It does end happy in the long run, though, I promise!
I'm posting this to see if y'all are interested in it. Depending on the response I get, I'll either finish or take it down. So, s'il vous plait, be honest and let me know what you think!
The sky was a gloomy color that perfectly matched the mood of the person standing on the balcony of his hotel room. A bottle in his hand, he leaned on the railing and watched the clouds slowly darken across the sky. There was nothing like a good thunderstorm. The first droplets of rain splashed down, but he didn't bother going inside. Instead he stood there as they came, faster and faster, until it was a downpour. Within minutes he was soaked. The water felt good on his skin.
Overhead, the thunder started to rumble. Standing against the railing, the man spread his arms, letting the storm fill him. A bolt of lightning lit the sky for one second in all of its deadly beauty. Here, witnessing this, standing in the midst of a raging thunderstorm, he felt alive. He felt human for the first time in almost six months.
So much of his life anymore was meaningless. Each day he went through the motions, but they weren't good enough. None of it was ever good enough. Others had started to notice it and call him on it. What did he care? What did they know? How could they understand what was going on in his mind? He hadn't told them—could never tell them. They would never understand. How could they? You couldn't understand something like that until you lived through it. Until you had to crawl out of the other side on your hands and knees, trying to get back on your feet.
They wanted to judge him for the things he'd done lately. Maybe they were right in that. Nothing he did seemed to help take the pain away; or at least, not for long. Never long enough. Always his mind would go back to that night. One night of his life that would never go away. The one night that had ruined everything, including him.
There was nothing left inside of him anymore but what they had left there. A shattered heart and a torn soul. Pain, always the pain, and fear. The fear that never completely leaves you. The fear that woke you up at night and had you gripping your sheets and biting your pillow to stop yourself from screaming until your voice was gone. It left you trembling when someone looked at you a certain way, or brushed up against you when you least expected it.
They attributed it to nerves, or a paranoia that was a side effect of the drugs they all knew he had started doing again but never acknowledged. He didn't have the heart to tell them that the drugs had once helped control it. They had once taken the fear and brought it to a level he could manage. He couldn't tell them that he had started taking them again not because he wanted to, but because he had needed a way to survive and it had been all he could think of. Nor could he tell them that it wasn't working anymore.
Sometimes he wondered if he was sane anymore. He didn't feel like it. Here he stood, a bottle of Jack in one hand, staring at a thunderstorm in the pouring down rain. He found his eyes traveling over the balcony. Dark thoughts entered his mind—not for the first time. One quick move and it would be over.
He stepped up on the bench against the wall, the railing now barely sitting at his knees as he stared down. Through the rain he couldn't make out the ground, but he knew that it was a ways down. This room was on almost the top floor of the hotel. One step, one small jump, and he would never have to do this again.
While the storm raged overhead, another one raged inside of him. Staring at what he felt was his only release, Spencer Reid found himself thinking about the one moment that had brought him here. The one night that had led him to this.
*Six Months Earlier*
The club was packed and the music was loud. Usually, this wasn't Spencer's kind of place, but he was smiling as he made his way through the front door. The team had just gotten back from one of their more gruesome cases, one that they'd thankfully 'won', and their Unsub was in jail. Right now more than anything they needed to go out and celebrate their win. They'd caught the Unsub while he'd been with his victim and they'd managed to save her. That was definitely cause for celebration. So just barely an hour back home, the group headed out to a local club they liked to enjoy now and again. Sometimes, Spencer would cry off from these gatherings. Tonight, he was more than willing to come out. Mostly because of the man walking at his side.
"C'mon, mes amis." Remy LeBeau said with a smirk, twisting so that he was walking backward into the club so that he could grin at them. Somehow he managed to do it without actually crashing into anyone, which was amazing. Over the top of his shades Spencer caught sight of the red and black eyes that Remy always hid, currently lit with the warm glow of mirth. "Let's dance!"
Remy's presence was another reason to celebrate. The two best friends had been planning to get together for a while now. He'd managed to make it to DC just an hour before Spencer and the team did.
The two men had been close friends since they'd met in a museum back when Spencer was in college. Spencer had been there by himself to simply enjoy the art work. At fifteen, he'd been both a nerd and extremely shy, just starting to find himself attracted to other people. He'd stood no chance against the hot guy who had come up next to him and started discussing the atrocious painting that Spencer had been standing in front of. At the time, Spencer hadn't known that Remy—Master Thief—had actually been casing the place. All he'd known was that an attractive, funny, surprisingly witty man was talking to him. They'd run into one another a few more times there before Remy asked him out to coffee.
That had been the start of a fantastic friendship. Remy often told people now that the only thing that had kept him from pursing Spencer in a more than friendship capacity had been his age. He'd been fifteen while Remy was nineteen at the time. But they'd become extremely close friends and that hadn't faded over the years. If anything, it'd grown stronger. Remy was one of the most important people in Spencer's life. The BAU team had discovered that the first time that Spencer had ended up in the hospital for the job and Remy had rushed in only hours after his admittance. It took maybe fifteen minutes before Remy had charmed them all. None of them cared that he was a mutant. Emily had told him once "He cares about you, Reid, anyone can see that. That's all that matters to us."
He often came out to hang out with Spencer, spending a night or even a few weeks there. Spencer had no clue how long he was going to be sticking around this time. But he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.
Remy caught hold of Spencer's wrist and dragged him out with him towards the dance floor despite Spencer's protests. The others were laughing and then Emily was there as well, pushing against Spencer's back to force him out there. "Remy!" Spencer called out laughingly, trying to tug his hand free. "I don't dance! You know I don't dance!"
"Y' just aint had enough t'drink yet." Remy said, tipping his head so he could wink at Spencer.
Somehow Spencer ended up with a drink in hand. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised, not after all these years. Remy lifted his own glass in a gesture of 'cheers' that Spencer couldn't deny. He clinked their glasses together even as he was laughing. "You're a horrible influence on me."
The two downed their drinks together and Spencer fought back the urge to cough. Remy didn't even seem fazed. He grinned broadly and took Spencer's glass from him. "Let go a lil, cher! We're celebrating y'r finished case t'night!"
Derek appeared through the crowd with four drinks in hand—one for him, Emily, Remy and Spencer—and amidst their cheers and laughter, Spencer found himself downing yet another shot. What's the worst that could happen? His friends were with him. They'd keep him safe. As if to echo that, Derek reached over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "There you go, kid. Let go a little! We got your back."
A look over to the bar showed Aaron and Dave sitting together, watching them sort of fondly, the two parents watching their group of kids. It gave Spencer a little more confidence to just relax. His friends must've sensed it because they were grinning at him and Spencer found himself dragged right out to the middle of the dance floor.
The music was loud and it felt like Spencer could feel the beat of it throbbing away inside of him. He wasn't one to dance typically, not without a few more drinks than were already in him, but Remy's good mood was infectious and soon the four of them were dancing with the crowd, laughing at one another and just having a good time. Remy kept close to Spencer, he and Emily both, and between the two of them they helped keep Spencer moving, Remy even reaching out once to help Spencer move his hips just the right way while Emily took hold of his hands and danced with him. The lights of the club helped to hide the blush that burned through Spencer's cheeks, yet they highlighted the wide grin he wore.
The touch of Remy's hands on his hips was a pleasant thing. Though they'd been friends for so long, both had always admitted how attracted they'd been to one another at the start, and that little attraction had never gone fully away. It had started to sit between the two of them recently. Spencer was shyer about it than Remy; he was hesitant to say or do too much. Fear kept him from trying to pursue anything. Remy had no such qualms. Under the cover of dancing with everyone, he was letting himself brush up against Spencer, holding him and twisting with him in ways that should be illegal and in which Spencer had absolutely no protestations.
Dance after dance—and shot after shot—Spencer built up a pretty good buzz. It loosened him up quite a bit more than normal and relaxed him in ways he usually didn't achieve in public. The others kept him out on the dance floor despite his laughing protests. He was still dancing with them when Dave and Aaron decided to call it quits. They were the first to leave. Not long after, Derek found a woman to dance with, and he was gone.
By the time that one a.m. rolled around, the club was still moving, but Spencer was definitely almost done. This was more human interaction than he usually had in a month. Plus, he was moving well beyond buzzed and into 'drunk'. It showed as he stumbled his way over to the bar, almost tripping over the people there. Emily's arms had to catch him, which made the two of them laugh. Remy came up snickering behind them, having caught the tail end of that. "I t'ink it might be time t'get y' home, mon ami." He teased Spencer.
"I think you're right." Spencer said, slurring and grinning. "But, bathroom first!"
Laughing, Emily let him go. "Thanks for the info."
"You're welcome!" Spencer laughed. He pushed away from the bar and started to head in the direction of the bathrooms. "I'll be back in a minute and then we can go home." With another laugh, Spencer made his way through the crowd and toward the restrooms. The hallway was deserted, which wasn't unusual. By now people were either on the floor, tucked back in a hidden room, or heading home for the night.
It didn't take long to use the bathroom and take care of business. Even if the floor didn't seem to want to quite stay still. He amused himself with walking across it; it was like walking on a ship.
After washing his hands, he stumbled his way back out of the bathroom, laughing lightly to himself. Why on earth had he let Remy give him so many drinks? The man knew how Spencer could get when drunk. That's probably why he did it. He liked to get Spencer to loosen up now and again. Well, this had done it. Spencer snickered as he turned a corner and leaned into the wall a little. He was most definitely too drunk for public. It sure felt good, though. Even if he knew he'd be paying for it a bit tomorrow.
He never noticed anyone else in the hallway until it was too late and he bumped into someone. It sent him stumbling so that he barely managed to catch himself on the wall. "Oh! I'm so sorry." He said immediately, turning to look at whoever he had hit.
A tall, well-built man was standing there staring at him, and he had a group of guys with him. "Look what we found, boys." The guy said, stepping toward Spencer. Something about him had Spencer's stomach jumping. When the others moved forward, that bad feeling in Spencer's stomach grew, making him feel just a little nauseous. Whatever look was on Spencer's face had the guy grinning. "Would ya look at him! He's a small little thing, isn't he?"
"Look, I'm sorry about stumbling there. I've had just a bit too much to drink and I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Spencer apologized, sidestepping against the wall. One of the other men stepped forward, blocking him from going any further and that bad feeling grew worse. This wasn't good; it wasn't good at all. Spencer tried to move the other way, but they were all around him suddenly, each one of them smiling.
The first guy had the biggest smile of all. "You're right, Al. Almost skinny as a girl!"
Even drunk, the profiler in Spencer was working, looking these men over and cataloguing important things. One of the first things he took note of was how drunk they were. That was rather obvious. It showed in their voices and in their body language. But they weren't just drunk, they were drunk together, a group of friends all under the influence, and that was a very dangerous thing. Especially considering the way they were looking at him and the grins they wore. Spencer's fear grew and he tried to taper it down. Carefully, he held up his hands, hoping to go for peaceful. "Now, gentlemen, I don't want any trouble."
The group of guys laughed, the sound making Spencer even more nervous. He looked from one to the other, counting their numbers in his head and feeling sick with what he saw. There were six. Six. Even sober, he'd be in a lot of trouble. Spencer had been beaten up enough times in his life to know pretty well what he could and couldn't handle and how good his chances were of being able to get away. This right here? This was trouble. If this turned in to a fight, there was no way in hell he could hold his own against six men, especially when he was drunk. Adrenaline was burning away the alcohol though, and he could feel his muscles tensing as his body prepared to do the only thing he could do, the only thing that might afford him a chance—run.
"He doesn't want trouble, you hear that!" The leader of the group said, laughing. "You think you could fight us, pretty boy?" The leer on his face made Spencer feel sick. "What if we don't want a fight? We just wanna have a good time, that's all."
It took a second for the meaning of those words to kick in. When they did, Spencer's adrenaline fueled body snapped into motion and years of training and experience in fights kicked in. Instead of running sideways, as they would have expected, he dropped low and shot past their legs. The element of surprise was on his side, and he managed to make it past them and a few feet down the hall. If he could just get to the main area there was a chance that someone could come and see him and these guys would back off. They wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything with an audience that could see, or could hear Spencer scream. But before he got too far, someone grabbed his arm in a tight grip. No matter how he yanked, he couldn't break free. Pride be damned, he shouted as loud as he could, praying that someone would come. No one did.
Another person came up behind him, reaching around to grab one wrist and pin it against him while the other hand covered his mouth. In the dark hallway Spencer could barely make them out, but he felt as hands grabbed his feet and his other arm, and then he was hoisted in the air and they were carrying him away. He bucked underneath their hands and tried his hardest to scream past the hand that was muffling him. Even if he had managed to get one out, with the music pumping in the other room no one would have heard him. Still, he tried, knowing that he had to do something, anything, to get help. Images were flashing in his mind of countless cases that he'd worked over the years and reports that he'd read that started like this in some dark hallway in a club. The only thing that did was send his fear higher.
He didn't know where they took him but suddenly the music became more muffled. Amidst loud laughter he found himself being thrown to the floor where he connected with a solid thud that jarred his teeth and made his hip and shoulder throb. The fighter in him had him pushing back up to his feet quickly, refusing to be cowed down. It was stupid, he knew, to show fight to this group, but he'd never been able to bring himself to stay down when bullies knocked him down. He couldn't do it now, either. Not even when he knew this was going to be a beating much worse than ones he'd taken before. Still, he pushed up, trying to look everywhere around him at once. There were tables lying around, and extra stools. A storage room, maybe? Nothing much in the way of weapons here to help defend himself. He wished desperately that he still had his gun at his hip.
The guys were spread loosely around him, blocking his exits, and they looked extremely pleased with themselves.
"Lookee here, boys." One of them joked, laughing at Spencer. "We gots ourselves a fighter!"
"Come here, pretty boy. Let me show you a good time." Another one said.
"Come over here, little girl."
"Over here, baby! Let papa show you some fun!"
The comments came from all around him, voices mixing together so that he couldn't figure out who was speaking and from where. It was a disorienting feeling. Forcing his focus away from that, Spencer kept scanning the room, trying to find a weapon of some sort. The only thing he saw close was a barstool. If he could just get to it, he'd have a something as a weapon. He just needed to distract them a bit. Talking had always been what he was best at. It was time to try and put that into practice. "Listen, gentlemen, whatever you're planning here, I promise you, you don't want to do this." He twisted himself so that he could try and look at them all while at the same time moving just slightly in the direction of the stool. "My name is Spencer. SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, with the FBI."
"Ohh, kid thinks he's some fancy agent." One of the guys said. The smirk he wore showed that he didn't believe it; not in the least. None of them seemed to.
Spencer tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He hadn't really thought that would work. He knew how things like this worked. Big tough guys like this weren't going to believe that someone scrawny like him was FBI. They wouldn't be able to picture that, not with the way he looked. Most likely they were assuming that he was only saying it as a way to get out of this. He'd had to try, though. As he looked at them now, he knew that words weren't going to work. It was time to try other methods.
There was only one other one to try. Spencer knew he didn't have much of a chance but it was his only hope. Praying to a deity he didn't even believe in, he tried to make a leap for the stool.
He'd barely made one step in that direction when suddenly they were on him. His survival instinct kicked in as soon as they grabbed him and he started swinging his fists and kicking his legs at anything that came within reach. It only seemed to amuse them more. Later, it would burn him even more, just how easily they overpowered him. Someone managed to get ahold of his wrist again and Spencer found himself spun around with his arm halfway up his back. The pressure on his shoulder raised him up to his tip toes and brought tears of pain to his eyes.
"Look how feisty he is, boys!" The ringleader called out. He pulled higher on Spencer's arm, until he was barely able to stand and his shoulder screamed for release. Someone stepped in front of Spencer, popping the buttons off the front of his shirt so that it hung open. Mortified, Spencer closed his eyes when someone ran their hand across his stomach, around to his back and forward again. His mortification seemed to amuse them even more. The guy gave his side a squeeze and chuckled. "Skin's as soft as a baby's!" He announced to his friends.
"Please." Spencer tried. It burned at him to beg with these bastards but he couldn't stop himself. Even knowing it wouldn't work, he couldn't stop it. "Please, don't do this."
Something was being moved; Spencer couldn't tell what through the tears of pain that welled up in his eyes as his arm was jerked even higher. Then he was being shoved forward and bent down over a hard surface. His face slammed into it and the coolness of it pressed hard against his chest as he was forced down. Reality kicked in; this wasn't just a beating. This was more than that. The fear of that raced through Spencer's veins. He tried to twist and turn, shouting for all that he was worth, giving up any semblance of pride as he begged them to let him go. He shot his legs backwards, trying to kick the person holding his arm. Again, they all laughed. Someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head up only to slap him across the face. Spencer tasted blood where his teeth cut the inside of his cheek. The guy slapped him again for good measure.
Hands grabbed at the belt of Spencer's pants and he could feel as they started to unhook it. The sound of their laughter and taunts echoed loudly in his ears. He wasn't screaming anymore, but he still kicked and twisted, fighting for all that he was worth. He ignored the pain in his shoulder; it was unimportant. He had to get free. He had to! Still, despite his best efforts, they managed to get his pants and boxers both down even with his legs kicking. Then someone was grabbing one of his legs and no matter how hard he tugged they still managed to yank it sideways and bind it to the leg of the table with what he thought was his own belt. Someone else was doing the same to his other leg. God, oh God, please no. Please! He didn't realize that the words he was saying in his head were spilling past his lips.
Where were his friends? Where was Remy? Emily? One of them had to have come looking for him by now! They had to be searching for him. They'd realize that it was taking him too long in the bathroom and they'd come find him. They had to. All he had to do was hold out until then. That was what Spencer told himself, over and over. He just had to hold out until then. The young genius swung out again with his free arm, trying to find something to hit, anything to do but lie there and take what they were going to give him. But the man behind him just grabbed that wrist too and twisted it so that both of his arms were bent up behind his back. In that moment, Spencer wanted nothing more than to have the powers that his best friend had often lamented having. He wished with everything he had that he possessed the ability to do something.
Multiple sets of hands were running over Spencer's bared skin. His stomach rolled as they groped at him, pinching and squeezing without any care, laughing when it made him cry out or twist to try and get away. One of the hands slid down over his backside and Spencer heard the man laugh before he told the others "Nice as a woman, this one!"
"Who wants the first ride on our little lady here?"
No, no, no! Spencer's whole body shuddered with the terror that gripped him. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening; not to him! Someone was going to find him. Remy would notice he was gone. He'd come and he'd find him and Spencer wouldn't even protest being the damsel in distress here. Remy was going to find him and rescue him. This wasn't going to happen. Please, God, don't let this happen to him! Maybe…maybe he was too drunk. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe someone had slipped something into his drink and he was just high! He'd hallucinated all the time back when he'd been on the Dilaudid. Maybe he was just hallucinating now. That had to be it. This was all a dream—a hallucination. It couldn't be real.
He tried to buck his body again, tried to fight what was going to happen, but the hands that held his just pushed upward so that he was forced to stay still or risk dislocating his shoulders.
What happened next felt like it really was a dream. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be. The sound of belts being undone behind him, the feel of something wet slipping onto him—lube, his mind told him, that was lube—and then any chance of it being a dream all faded away as the pain roared to life and Spencer felt as if he were being split in two. The only thing that kept him in place were the hands on his hips and the ones holding his wrists. He opened his mouth to scream, only to find it stuffed with something that muffled what would've been an ear-splitting shriek of absolute agony.
The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before. There was absolutely no time to adjust to it before the man pulled back and then thrust back in, again and again and again.
Spencer threw back his head and screamed through the gag. He couldn't take it. It was too much. God, oh God, it hurt, it hurt so damn much. He screamed for Remy, for Emily, for Derek and Dave and Aaron, for anyone. Anyone to come in here and stop this.
But no one did
The sound of his muffled screams only made them laugh. They mocked him for it, laughing together, the pack mentality taking over. A few of them came up in front of him, hands pulling at his hair, fondling over his face. One man grabbed hold of Spencer's hair and shoved his face into his crotch. If it hadn't been for the gag and the man's jeans, Spencer would've it for all he was worth.
The pain behind him was never ending. It seemed to go on for hours. The only pauses were as one man switched to make room for another. His mind was hazed. He could think of nothing but the pain; hear nothing but their laughing voices taunting him. "Look at him squirm, he likes it!" "Ride that horse!" "God, just as good as any woman! Feel that skin!"
He was dizzy when they flipped him over. He hadn't even realized that they'd unhooked his feet. Then they were being held in the air, and someone was gripping his thighs, sliding into him, and the pain started all over again. The only relief was that now his hands were held on either side instead of jerked up behind him and people were pressing him down on his chest. That eased the pain in his shoulders to a more tolerable level.
They spit on him as he lay there, like he was nothing to them, like he was dirt in the streets. Everything was going fuzzy at the edges for Spencer. His arms were twisted, and he was flipped again, bent this time without the table to hold him up. The man behind him was thrusting so hard Spencer almost fell over every single time. He vaguely heard a sickening pop as one of his shoulders gave way, but he was too far gone to pay attention to it. Everything was pain. What was one more?
How long it lasted he didn't know. Minutes, hours, days. His brain shut down on him, locked away in a safe place. He barely noticed when he was tossed to the ground. A foot connected with his ribs and he grunted, curling around himself. Another foot, then another. Then someone was taking hold of his hair again, pulling his face up to theirs. "You tell anyone about this, pretty girl, and we'll finish what we started with you here tonight. An then we'll visit each and every member of your family. You hear me?"
When Spencer said nothing, the man shook him. "Do you hear me?" he asked, pulling a knife out and holding it in front of Spencer's face. That was enough incentive to have him respond. "Yes." He rasped out through a throat gone sore with screaming.
The man dropped him back to the ground. Someone threw a towel at him, telling him to clean up before he left, and then as quickly as they had found him, they were gone.
It took a while before Spencer was capable of moving. He lay there, waiting for it all to start back up again, not believing that they were really gone. After ten minutes passed and nothing happened, he opened his eyes and looked around the storage room. They were gone. They were really gone. He felt numb, mentally. One thing clicked into his brain and one thing only. He needed to get out of there—fast.
The room still smelled of blood and sex, and it made him sick.
On trembling feet he finally managed to stand. His backside felt as if a million razors had been shoved deep inside of him and were cutting through him with each move he made. His legs felt no stronger than noodles but somehow he managed to stay standing. When he tried to move his arms, though, the one shoulder screamed loudly in protest. Spencer remembered the popping sound and he knew what had happened. He also knew, from years of bullies and from field training, just what had to be done. Without anyone to help him it was going to be kind of tricky. But in the numb state his mind was currently in, he just planned around it. Mechanically he moved, finding an empty space of wall. He put his back to it, ignoring the pain that flared back to life, and then took a deep breath before pulling forward and then slamming quickly backwards. With a loud, sickening pop, his shoulder slid back in to place. Spencer moaned and almost went down under the wave of pain, but somehow he managed to keep his feet.
How he got through the process of cleaning up, he never really knew. A part of his brain shut down, and he went into autopilot. Mechanically he cleaned up the best that he could, only absently noticing just how red the towel they'd given him now was. It was almost scary, the state of mind he was in. It was like any sense of humanity had fallen away in that moment. He was the scientist, calm and cool, looking at everything from a distance. Seeing it but not feeling it.
He dressed again, mindful of all the sore spots on his body. Since the buttons on his shirt had been popped he wasn't able to close it. But if he was careful, he could hide the bruise that was forming on his side. He disposed of the towel in a garbage can and then straightened back up.
Part of him wanted to race out of the room and go and find his friends. That part of him also insisted that he needed to call 911, report this to the police.
That part was being drowned out by a much louder voice. One that was insisting that he couldn't see his friends like this, that he couldn't let anyone know. Don't tell them, it hissed at him. Don't say a damn word. They can't know about this! No one can know! What would they say? How would they react if they knew this had happened? He was a federal agent. He should've been able to defend himself. He should've been able to stop them!
There was only one thing that Spencer could think of to do. Leaning against the wall, he fished his phone out of his pocket, staring down at it. At this little piece of machinery that might've saved him if he'd been able to get to it just a little bit sooner.
His hands shook slightly as he typed out the text message and sent it to Remy.
Roar! – SR
It was an utterly ridiculous text but it was one that Remy would immediately understand. The man had implemented the use of it a long time ago when he'd come to stay with Spencer. It was a way of telling the other person 'Hey, I've picked someone up and we're going to have sex, so don't come to the apartment/motel/hotel'. Basically, it was telling Remy that he'd picked someone up and he was going to go have sex, so Remy should find somewhere else to stay tonight. His friend would understand and he wouldn't come back to Spencer's place.
Sure enough, a second later Spencer got a text back from Remy.
;) I'll be at Em's. WTG! – R
That was all the time Spencer wasted here in this room. His skin was almost crawling with the need to get out of here. Wrapped up and covered as best he could, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and hurried out.
As soon as he opened the door the music was pulsing in his mind again like a wakeup call. Some of the haze lifted from his mind and he stared down either direction of the hall, panic licking at him. What if they came back? What would he do then? He hadn't been able to stop them the first time. There was no way in hell he'd be able to stop them a second time. He had to get out of here, now! He could barely move faster than a stroll, though, or else the pain throughout his body had him gasping.
The idea of going out into the main club had Spencer's heart pounding in his chest. He didn't hesitate to continue down the hall towards the door he saw there that he knew would drop him out into the alley. It brought him outside, far away from anyone and everyone.
He burst through the doors into the cold night air, shivering slightly. It was freezing outside, but he could breathe again. Staring around him, Spencer realized that he was standing outside, at night, by himself. The panic came back again, clawing its way through his stomach, leaving him nauseated. What if they were watching him and waiting? Waiting to come back, to do it again, or to kill him? The man with the knife had been serious, that much had been plain in his eyes. Given the right reason, he would have no problems finishing him off. Spencer's brain easily supplied him with countless cases where the rapists had come back to finish off their victim.
Only by sheer will did he keep the panic down. Gritting his teeth, Spencer forced himself to keep walking, to find his way out of the alley and to the back of the club where he could find a cab, one that was far away from the front of the club where his friends would most likely be finding their own cab. All he could think about was getting home. He had to get home.
By the time Spencer stumbled his way through his front door, his legs were barely carrying him. His arms shook as he slammed his door shut and quickly did up all the locks. He slid the deadbolt into place and then simply leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. God, he hurt! Every part of him just hurt. Walking in the cool evening air had forced his mind to wake up, and with it, sensation came back in spades. He felt sore, exhausted, and absolutely filthy. He swore he could feel the disgusting fluids that sat on his skin.
Suddenly he shoved away from the door. With jerky movements he shed his clothes, tossing them straight in the garbage can on his way towards the bathroom. Then he headed straight to the shower. After turning the water to an almost blistering heat, he climbed inside and stood underneath the spray. The water washed over him, across his face and down his body. He closed his eyes, so he was unable to watch as the water that pooled in the tub turned a bright red that slowly washed away, fading to pink, then to nothing.
When the tears started he didn't know. But suddenly they were pouring down his face. They burned trails down his cheeks, lost in the spray of the water. Spencer wrapped his arms around his waist as the tears turned to sobs. Each one sent a shaft of pain through him, echoing up from his ribs, but he wasn't able to stop them. His legs melted underneath him and he sank down until he was on his knees, his body bent double with the force of his crying.
God, this wasn't fair! It wasn't right! What had he done to deserve this? What had he done to those men to earn that kind of a punishment? He'd never even met them before! The facts and statistics tried to push their way in but his pain and agony shoved them back out. Facts couldn't comfort him right now. Not when he was shattering into thousands of little pieces.
Their words echoed around him in the shower, seeming to bounce off the very walls. 'Look at her! Isn't she just a beauty?'
How long it took for that part of him to cry itself out, he didn't know. But by the time he got out of the shower, the water had gone lukewarm. He wrapped himself in his robe and limped his way out of the bathroom. After carefully bundling up the bag of trash that held his clothes, and making sure any evidence was gone from the bathroom, he made his way towards his bedroom. He went straight to the bed and climbed in, robe and all. Burying himself under the covers, he stared around the dark room, eyes wide, and mind alert. There would be no sleep that night, he knew.