11 Of Broken Hearts & Mended Wounds

by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps

"Brandishing the knife with an air of brutality, Kyle grinned an ugly grin. "Do me a favor, and don't try to get away," he told Newt. "I'd hate to have to ruin that pretty face."

1. Chapter 1

-Of Broken Hearts & Mended Wounds-

-Okay, well, the only thing I can say about this one is please don't hate me. The idea for this has been running through my mind for a while now and I finally decided to write it. I wrote this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, to show how awful and wrong something like this is. Never ever accept what Kyle does in this fanfiction; although it's never happened to me, it's still very wrong. Secondly, to show that relationships are not always perfect, like what I made Minho and Newt seem like in other stories. I wanted to show that they had some fights too, and didn't agree over everything. No one is perfect and this story tells you that.

This is a two-part fanfic, for all you multi-chapter lovers out there. Rated M for a Minewt scene later, and mentions of violence and rape (though, as always, nothing graphic at all). I think I speak for all of us when I say that my heart really broke for Newt in this one, even if I was the one writing it.

I hope you enjoy this story, because there is a happy ending for you. Reviews are greatly appreciated :)-

Newt wasn't allowed to drive, thanks to the Flare. He could manage pretty well now, with his medication, but the doctor insisted he wait a while longer before he tried driving again. It was always because of the fear of the hallucinations. If one hit him while he was out on the road, it could be deadly. Since he couldn't drive, he'd had to quit his job at Framed. Sonya had been devastated, and promised him a place back when he could work again. He was grateful for that. He wanted to work. He felt bad watching Minho working so much harder now.

Besides, not being able to leave home had other problems.

That day, Newt was the only one in the house when someone knocked on the door.

He was in the kitchen, standing in front of the marble island. It was another one of those lazy days, when he dressed in only sweatpants and a white tee, and his hair was ruffled. On the island in front of him, was a glass half-full of water and a white bottle of pills. Newt had to take the medicine three times a day, or his symptoms would worsen, fast. The Flare was relentless, and had to be fought off constantly. He'd just downed the last pill when the knock came at the door. It was steady, almost too hard. Blinking, he set the glass down again.

Who would be coming by now? It was the middle of the day. Minho was at work and Belle was over at a friend's house. Unless she was getting dropped off early, Newt couldn't think of anyone who'd visit now. Turning back to the medicine, he screwed the cap back on and slid it across the counter to its place by the toaster. Then he made his way to the sink to set the glass down. The knocking came again, more insistent this time. Newt huffed, blowing white-gold bangs out of his face. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," he muttered under his breath.

Padding over the hardwood floor in his socks, he walked down the short hall to the front door. Without a second thought, he unlocked it and pulled it open. He was already taking a breath to say a greeting of some sort. But as soon as he saw who it was, the breath caught in his throat. His entire body froze.

"Well, well, look who it is," Kyle drawled, that old, familiar sneer curling his lips. Black hair, streaked through with emerald, flopped down into his eyes. "I didn't really think I'd be lucky enough to find this place, but look's like my luck's changing." He had just as many piercings, and just as much leather clothing as he'd had that day back at the bar. The day he'd hit on Newt and Minho had broken his nose in response.

Newt couldn't think of one thing to say. What WERE you supposed to say, when some random guy from a bar showed up at your door? He gaped at Kyle in astonishment, hardly believing that this guy had had the nerve to track Newt down.

"You won't believe it, but it was too easy to find this nice place you got here," Kyle went on conversationally. He scanned the white-walled house in faint approval, thumbs slung in his pockets. "Just had to ask one person and they pointed me in the right direction. Though to tell the truth, I thought I'd get the wrong house at first." Everything he said seemed perfectly polite. Except there was an undercurrent of dark intent in his voice and his gaze fixed wickedly on Newt.

Newt managed to find a voice again. "What're you doing here?" was what he came up with.

Kyle shrugged nonchalantly. "I just wanted to talk," he replied, "about a certain night a while ago. Remember that? When your boyfriend humiliated me?" Anger edged into his words then.

That was when Newt knew he was in trouble. He tightened his hold on the door. "What do you want?" he demanded in a low voice. He was prepared to slam the door shut at any moment. Newt wasn't a weakling, but Kyle had once held his ground in a fight with Minho. Newt couldn't take him on.

Kyle's sneer began to fade into something more like a snarl. Taking one step forward, he answered, in a slow, dangerous tone, "you."

That did it. Newt glared at him. "Get out." He started to swing the door closed.

Faster than he could react, Kyle planted his hand on the door with a bang and slammed it back against the inside wall. Newt stiffened. They stood like that for a moment, facing each other with only a foot of space between them. Newt told himself to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. He had to get to a phone, call the police, call Minho. Keeping his hand on the door, Kyle's teeth showed in a deadly smile. "This isn't so bad, now is it?" he asked, stepping farther over the threshold.

Newt's mind raced. Belle was with Katie. Minho was at work. They were safe. That was good.

"You don't have to act like I'm gonna kill you," Kyle chuckled savagely. "Like I said before, it's not like you and I couldn't have some fun..." He advanced farther into the house.

"Get out. Now." Despite his words, Newt took a step back. It was a mistake.

As soon as he did, Kyle was in the house. He shoved the door, hard, behind him and it crashed shut. Before Newt could move, Kyle was in front of him; he slipped a hand to his pocket and when he pulled it out, a wicked blade glinted in his grasp. Brandishing the knife with an air of brutality, Kyle grinned an ugly grin. "Do me a favor, and don't try to get away," he told Newt. "I'd hate to have to ruin that pretty face." Then as fast as it'd come, his grin vanished.

He seized Newt by the collar and wrenched him forward, oblivious to the blonde's gasp. Striding down the hall, Kyle's black boots rang out against the floor as he found his way into the living room. He dragged Newt behind him like he was nothing more than a dog on a leash. And Newt didn't fight back. Kyle had a knife and Newt had nothing. He wouldn't win if he started a fight now. His heart dropped at the thought. He'd have to do whatever Kyle said.

Gritting his teeth, Kyle hauled Newt into the center of the room. With nothing more than a heated glance, he backhanded Newt across the face. A muffled thud sounded and Newt's head jerked to the left. A choked sound escaped him as pain blossomed in his jaw.

"You think it's all right for your boyfriend to EMBARRASS me like that?" Kyle demanded angrily. "Huh?" He hit Newt again, this time hard enough to bruise. The pain in Newt's face was throbbing in waves now. "Where is he anyway?" Kyle asked next. "I wanna talk to him too."

Newt was silent.

Kyle snarled. "Answer me!" He pulled back one hand and the fingers curled. Then he drove his fist straight into Newt's stomach.

Newt couldn't help the strangled cry he let out. Doubling over, he let his weight be supported by Kyle's grip on his collar. Fire spread through his abdomen and made him see stars. Breathing heavily, he shook his head. "He's not...coming," he managed. He would not let Kyle get to Minho.

Kyle snorted. "Don't lie to me, you little—" He broke off suddenly. His fingers knotted in the front of Newt's shirt and he jerked the blonde's head up so that he'd face him. His green eyes blazed. "What's this?" he demanded, snatching Newt's wrist and wrenching his hand up. His wedding ring glinted in the light. "Don't tell me you were MARRIED to that bastard," Kyle scoffed. At Newt's silence, he let out a bark of laughter. "Figures. This'll make things a lot more interesting then."

Newt felt a surge of panic as Kyle tucked his knife away to bring his other hand up to Newt's. "No, don't—" He watched as Kyle painfully ripped the ring off and threw it. Newt flinched as it pinged against the wall and dropped to the floor.

Kyle then dug his fingers hard into Newt's shoulders and thrust their faces close together. "You belong to me now," he growled. He arched a brow. "Understand me, angel?"

Newt swallowed hard and forced himself to meet Kyle's gaze. "Don't call me that."

"Excuse me?" Kyle asked testily.

"Don't call me that."

"I can call you whatever the hell I wanna call you." With that, he shoved Newt back roughly. Newt stumbled backward, but stopped himself before he fell onto the couch. Smirking evilly, Kyle speared his fingers through blonde hair and knotted them in it so hard, Newt cried out.

Yanking the blonde back by his hair, Kyle forced Newt against the couch; Newt sat with his head tipped back because of the hold on his hair and Kyle bent over him. Newt curled his fingers in the couch cushions, fear and despair crowding his mind in equal measures. Maybe he could just get through it, and then call the police, when he was safe again. Then he felt Kyle's awful breath and the press of his mouth on Newt's neck, harsh with rage. Newt whimpered, a sound like that of a dying animal. He had no choice but to let Kyle leave horrid, angry kisses down his neck; had no choice but to let Kyle have him. He'd never wished so much for Minho to be there.

And for the first time in his life, Minho wasn't there to help him.

-x-x-x-

Glade Hospital got a nice surprise that day when Minho practically kicked the door down and strode straight through the lobby to the desk. Planting his hands on it, he leaned toward the very flustered woman seated there. "Where is he?" he demanded breathlessly. His black hair was messily spiked and his dark eyes showed nothing but worry.

The woman's eyebrows shot up into her hair. "I—I'm sorry, I don't know who—"

"Newt!" Minho interrupted impatiently. "Isaac Newton, what room is he in?"

She hurriedly typed in something on her computer and squinted at the screen. Minho waited anxiously, twisting his wedding ring around on his finger. Finally, the woman glanced up again. "Room 104," she answered. Then he started to jog away and she sat up. "Wait, are you friend or family? I can't—"

"He's my husband," Minho called back, without even glancing over his shoulder. He continued straight down the hallway, the bright yellow walls flashing past. Heavy doors lined the hall, with their numbers printed across their fronts. A few white-coated doctors and hobbling patients passed him with curious glances. Minho didn't even look at them. He read every door number desperately, growing more frustrated and worried by the second.

He'd gotten the call at work, though the specifics were never explained. All he knew was that someone had broken in the house and attacked Newt. Whoever it was thought he'd killed Newt and could escape, but Newt had lived. Minho thanked every god he'd ever heard of that Newt had survived. And that Belle hadn't been there. His daughter was safe at Brenda's for the moment, where she could be watched over until it was her turn to visit the hospital. Now wasn't the time for that, unfortunately. Minho had to see him first.

Please, he thought, please be okay. Please don't let this be awful.

The number 104 gleamed from the second-to-the-last door. Minho grabbed the doorknob without hesitation and threw it open. Stepping inside, he glimpsed clean, shining medical equipment and the curtains of a window. The steady whirring of machinery met his ears. It smelled too-clean, like pain and suffering had been scrubbed tediously out of the walls. It reminded him of when he'd been here after a car accident, and then for Newt's broken leg. It was then that he glanced at the bed and saw him. His heart stopped.

Newt was sitting up in bed, his back against an impressive pile of pillows. He was hugging himself as though he was cold, wearing only the loose, white shirt and pants the hospital staff must've given him. He stared at the sheets sightlessly. He looked absolutely awful. His arms were colored with purpling bruises. A bandage had been wrapped around one wrist, and it was stained a sickly pink. His face was marred with a series of scratches along one cheek and a bruise swelled from his eyebrow, making one eye strain to stay open. Judging by the second bandage at his neck, it seemed like someone had attempted to slit his throat.

Minho could barely look at him. "Newt..."

Newt jerked and glanced up then. As soon as he saw Minho, his shoulders slumped, a weight lifted off of them. "Minho."

Minho crossed the room to the bed and took a chair next to it. He couldn't stop looking at those horrible marks on Newt's skin. "Angel," he said softly. "What happened?"

And Newt buried his face in his hands and began to cry. His shoulders shook with his sobs. It was physically painful for Minho to watch. "Oh, love, please don't cry," he cooed. "Please." Instinctively, he reached out to touch Newt's shoulder.

To his shock, Newt jerked away from him. "D—don't touch me!" he choked out. "You don't kn—know what he did. You'll n—never want to touch me again."

Minho stared at him. "You know that's not true," he said gently. "I'd never hate you for what he did."

"You will once you f—find out what it was," Newt hiccuped in response.

Minho's heart twisted with pain. "I could never hate you, Newt," he murmured. He searched Newt's gaze, but his husband wasn't looking at him, wiping the tears away. "Newt?" Minho was desperate for Newt to look at him, to let him know he believed what Minho said. Newt closed his eyes. "Newt, I love you," Minho said pleadingly. "I've loved you since I was seventeen years old. Nothing can change that. Please believe me."

Newt sniffed weakly, and gave a little nod. Relief made Minho sigh under his breath. He would't be able to forgive himself if he made Newt think he didn't love him anymore. He ached to hold Newt in his arms, but he guessed that it might be a bad idea right now, when the blonde was feeling so vulnerable and upset. Instead, he laced his fingers together in his lap. His thumb rubbed absently over his ring. Glancing up, he looked for its twin and was surprised when he saw that Newt's hands were bare. "Where's your ring?" he asked concernedly.

"Oh." Newt reached for his ring finger, touching the place where his ring would've been. "I—I lost it. When he, um." He broke off abruptly.

"It's okay," Minho assured him, before Newt's tears would spill over again. "We can get a new one." He watched Newt's face for a moment. He hated seeing Newt like this. He wanted to end whoever had done this to him. Quietly, he asked, "do you know who it was?"

Newt was silent for a long long moment. Then he reluctantly nodded. "I can't tell you though," he murmured.

Minho blinked. "Why not?"

"Because then you'll go after him."

Minho wanted to argue, but deep inside, he knew it was true. He'd go after anyone who had hurt Newt. He let the subject drop and moved on to another, maybe more sensitive one. "What did he do to you?"

Newt shut his eyes. He turned his face away from Minho.

Minho decided to try a different tactic. "Did he...beat you?" he asked very quietly.

Newt exhaled shakily. "...yes," he whispered, eyes still shut.

Minho felt the fury flare up inside of him, but he forced it down again. It was useless right now, and besides, anger would get him nowhere with Newt in this state. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm down. "Okay. Okay. Um." He glanced at those bandages on Newt's neck and wrist. "Did he do this to you?" he asked, carefully taking Newt's wrapped wrist in his hands.

Newt opened his eyes and watched Minho's fingers ghosting over his skin. "Yes," he answered in that same, hushed whisper.

"Okay," Minho said again. "It's all right. We'll—"

"That's not all he did," Newt cut him off. He sat very still, his body suddenly tensed.

Minho blinked. "What else did he do?"

Newt didn't move for another minute.

Minho felt the beginnings of dread in his heart. "Newt?"

Newt closed his eyes again and dropped his head in shame. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "I wanted him to stop, I swear, but he had a knife."

At first, Minho didn't get it. But he saw the utter mortification in Newt's expression and remembered how Newt was terrified of Minho touching him. He looked at Newt with new understanding. "Newt...did he...rape you?" he asked very softly.

Newt let out a pained sound when he heard it and brought one hand up to his eyes. "I'm sorry," he managed thickly. "I'm sorry I let him. I didn't have any other choice."

Minho couldn't comprehend the words at first. His mind wouldn't let him even think of it. Wouldn't let him believe that after eight years of them being together, someone else had seen Newt like that. Had touched him like that. Touched him in ways that only Minho had. Deep, black rage made him clench his jaw. Newt was HIS. No one else was allowed to do ANYTHING to his angel. He lowered his gaze so that Newt wouldn't see the anger there.

He wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of anything to say. So he wordlessly bowed his head and placed a tender kiss to Newt's hurt wrist. Pausing, he waited to see if Newt would shy away again. When he didn't, Minho continued to trace a line of kisses along Newt's wrist to his palm. Stopping there, he moved his mouth to Newt's thumb and let his lips linger.

Suddenly, Newt's hands were on him, one curling in his neckline and the other burying itself in his hair. His breath hitched as Newt dragged him, almost too roughly, up to the blonde's face. Newt didn't say a word before he crushed their mouths together. Minho cupped Newt's face with a hand, the other bracing on the mattress. He tried to stay gentle, mindful of Newt's injuries. But Newt was desperate and needy, kissing Minho in a way he'd never kissed him before. Growling in frustration, he ran his tongue along Minho's lips, asking him to part them. With a gasp, Minho did; Newt's tongue found his and forced a low moan out of Minho.

We're at a hospital, he told himself. We're in public. A nurse could walk in. But he didn't care. He didn't care.

Newt was practically forcing Minho on top of him in the bed, leaning up and catching Minho's lower lip with his teeth whenever Minho tried to pull away. His hands couldn't decide where they wanted to touch more; they grasped at Minho's broad shoulders, his waist, his thighs, his back. At the greedy touches, Minho kissed Newt harder, deeper. Newt whimpered in the back of his throat. This was what he wanted. This was why he was so pleading in his kisses. He wanted Minho to erase what Kyle had done and make Newt his again. Newt needed it so badly. Without thinking, he clawed at Minho's shirt, tearing it up to his chest.

Minho broke the kiss immediately, gasping for air. Eyes wide, he glanced down at Newt's fingers trying to rip his shirt off. His entire back was showing, along with a long stretch of skin from his belt to his chest. "Newt," he said, voice unintentionally husky from their kiss. "W—we can't."

It was the stutter that made Newt grab at his belt and tug him down again. "I don't care," he whined. "I don't care." He lifted his head to meet Minho's mouth, but when Minho leaned back, Newt switched to his neck. He kissed pleadingly at the smooth skin of Minho's throat. He nipped and Minho mewled.

"Angel, please," Minho breathed, trying to edge away. "We have to stop."

"I don't wanna," Newt begged breathlessly. He tugged at Minho's shirt again, but Minho only inched back farther. Newt made a sound close to a frustrated sob and fell back against the pillows. "Minho, please. Please just kiss me."

Minho studied him, studied his bruised face and the brokenness showing through. Bending down, he pressed his lips to Newt's. Newt sighed in relief, but the kiss was only a moment long. Minho then moved to gently kiss the bruise on Newt's cheek, then the one on his forehead. Newt froze. He started to tremble as Minho continued, kissing the mark on his jaw, and then the bandage on his neck. Then Minho slid up again to meet Newt's eyes. "I'll get to all the rest later," he whispered.

His words made Newt realize what he was doing and why he was doing it: acting like a crazy person, tearing at Minho's clothes because he wanted to feel like what Kyle had done could be swept away by Minho. And it couldn't. No matter what he did, nothing would change that Minho was no longer the only person to have seen Newt at his most vulnerable. It killed him inside. Tears pricked at his eyes. "I love you, Minho," he gasped out.

Minho smiled and thumbed Newt's tears away. "I know," he murmured soothingly. "I love you too, sweetheart. Nothing he did will ever change how I feel about you. Okay?"

"Okay," Newt sniffled.

Minho raised an eyebrow at him in a faint spark of playfulness. "Can I put my shirt back on now?"

Newt gave a little laugh. "Yeah." He let go of Minho, albeit reluctantly. He watched as Minho slid off of him and stood up, tugging his shirt back down into place. Newt's head fell back against the pillows as he admired his husband's fluid movements. Minho was here. Newt's heart didn't feel so broken anymore.