Content note: rape


Claire kissed him deeply again and pulled away smirking. She ran a hand down his chest, eyes shining with mischief.

"You need to relax, Francis. Let me help."

Sinking to her knees, she sat primly back on her heels and smiled up at him, reached for the button on his jeans. He froze. Dumbly, he stared down at his fiancee on her knees, perfectly willing to take him in her mouth. The world blurred slightly as his head throbbed, tinting everything red.

Then a work-hardened hand reached back and wound her hair in its grip, and yanked her head back sharply to expose her throat. Purple bruises marred her face and tears slipped down her cheeks when she blinked, almost choking as he shoved his shaft farther into her mouth, nearly down her throat-

Frank stumbled backward like he'd been struck. It felt like his blood had frozen, like his whole body was cracking apart.

Perplexed, Claire got to her feet, studying him curiously. She might have set his name. Instinctively, his hand snatched around her wrist halfway to his face, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to threaten bruises. Stunned, Claire blinked at him in confusion. Eyes blank, his grip gradually loosened and fell away as he realized what he'd done. His hands were shaking violently. His heart twisted in his chest. The air around him seemed scarce, burning his lungs each time he tired to draw a breath. His brain screamed at him to run - towards her, away from both of them - but his legs had turned heavy and useless.

"Francis?" His head snapped up at the sound of his name - in a voice not his mother's. "What's wrong?"

She tried to take his hand, and he jerked away. His mouth drew tight and his tear-bright eyes hardened with fear.

"I can still see her," Frank managed, his voice breaking. "I can still see my mom on her knees in front of him, and she hated it-"

For half a moment, Claire's body went rigid as her blood froze, and he understood she knew what it was like to scream herself awake, heart icy and pounding with terror. He felt like he was suffocating, and, ashamed, he glanced away for a moment before he could look at her again. Silently, Claire extended her hands, palms up, for him to take if he wanted. He did, more desperately than he would admit even to himself. Her fingers were warm and oddly comforting beneath his. His entire body trembled, with some concoction of fear and shame and helplessness that rent his chest apart and threatened to gut him. She took him in her arms and tucked his tear-streaked face against her. Frank's fingers dug into her skin, like she could take the memories away. Like she could save him.

"I can't stop seeing her, Claire," he managed, desperate and undone. "It won't go away, no matter what I do. I can't stop seeing her like that."

"Francis…" She whispered warmly in his ear, kissed his temple as she held him back just as tightly. Her own eyes were burning now.

"Make it stop," he pleaded helplessly against her neck, his voice strangled. "He was going to kill her, Claire. He was going to break her neck. I saw the look in his eyes; she hated it and he wanted to make her suffer-"

Claire let his tears soak her skin and held him while his body shook under the assault of nightmares. She cried with him, because she knew how he felt, her own hands digging desperately into his back.

A long time later, when he could almost breathe again, Claire took his hand and led him to the couch. Curled up against him, her body felt warm and solid and real. They didn't speak for a long time, just held each other. Frank ran his thumb over her ring, trying to ground himself in the present.

"Is there anything else I should know, Francis?" she ventured at last. "Anything else I shouldn't do?"

"No." He tipped his head up to kiss her neck gently. Then, "I thought I was ok. I thought I'd gotten past it."

"I don't think you ever get past it," she admitted after a thoughtful moment. "I think you just learn how to not let it eat you alive."

Again, there was that flash of darkness in her eyes, and he knew she had her own living terrors to fight. He wanted to crush the throat of whoever had made her so afraid.

"Wine or bourbon?"

"Wine. Red. I'll get drunk too fast on bourbon."

Claire ventured to the kitchen for a bottle and two glasses. She nudged his shoulder and handed him his glass before settling herself against him again. He stared at the dark wine, the reflection of the bottle on the coffee table. When he'd drunk two and half glasses, tears burned his eyes again and made his voice rough, but he didn't care anymore. He was going to be Claire's husband; if he couldn't tell his wife this, he couldn't tell anyone.

"I was in junior high the first time I walked in on them. I could see into the kitchen when I came home, and she was on her knees in front of him. He had her hair wrapped around his hand and he'd wrenched her head back, with his cock shoved into her mouth. There were tears running down her face, but she was dead silent. Mamma was only ever that silent when things were murderously bad. I just, stood there. Staring. And the bastard looked right at me, with that goddamned smirk on his face. Like he was loving it. He loved making her suffer." His grip tightened perilously around the glass; his hands were shaking again. "He made sure I saw them every so often after that. Forced me to watch him rape my mother. I suspect he loved it even more than he relished beating us. And I never did anything to help her. It was like I was frozen and I couldn't breathe, and I was such a fucking coward-…"

He could feel Claire's muscles had gone rigid like stone against him, and he glanced up to find her gray eyes blank, shadowed. She took his free hand and laced their fingers.

"It makes you think of her." Stoically, he nodded, wishing he was drunk. Wishing he'd chosen the bourbon.

"I should have-"

"And what if he'd killed both of you?" she demanded, a little too sharply. "At least you're both still alive. Francis, you weren't a coward; you were a kid."

Her breath dragged hard into her lungs, scraping them raw. Now she was shaking too. Claire set her glass down and gently wiped the escaping tears from his cheeks. She couldn't imagine Francis having to see that once, much less having to watch it over and over and over. And what his mother must have felt for all those years, knowing it would never end. Once had been horrible enough, but at least it was over... Her stomach felt like she'd swallowed glass. She pressed her self a little tighter against his side, touching him from shoulder to hip to knee, and when he looked at her, Frank realized she was crying again too.

"Claire, I-"

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

They didn't sleep that night. The two of them watched movies all night in the living room with the lights on, working there way through another bottle of wine. As sunlight started to seep in through the windows, Frank and Claire finally drifted off, their eyes burning and heads foggy. Their hearts were still broken, and there would still be times when the night terrors would come, but they weren't alone. They understood each other's deepest fears and most terrible memories, and they could finally, finally feel safe.