Okay, so for everyone who skipped the last chapter, Shawn was raped and then left alone by his captor who has decided to keep him. There will be references to rape throughout this chapter and the rest of the story, but no more explicit M rated stuff.
Hope I didn't put anyone off.
Shawn was left alone, lying on the bed, wet with blood and cum and tears. He hated this. He hated the man who'd done this too him. And he hated himself, for not being able to stop him. He lay there, not feeling for a while. He just couldn't deal with it.
But, he could only lie there in pain and self pity for so long. As much as he wanted to just shut down completely, he knew that if he did, he'd never get out. He looked up at his wrists, then down at his feet. His legs were bent; to let him be put in the right position for... he shook himself. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Just... don't think about it. He straightened his legs, feeling his ass burn as he moved. He stuck to the sheets which made him feel ill. But, he'd gotten some slack in the rope around his wrists. And now, he could reach up with his mouth and get at the knots. He didn't notice until he put his mouth on the rough cord that his wrists were bleeding. He looked at the flesh and saw that it was pale and had a dusky blue tinge to it. He'd pulled the rope tight with his struggles and cut off the circulation to his hand and abraded the skin of his wrist.
He ignored the blood, and just clamped his teeth down on the hemp and pulled. It took a while but he got the knot loose and pulled his hand free. Immediately he felt the shock of blood returning to the deprived limb. It hurt! It almost felt like the blood was boiling and fizzing beneath his skin. He bit his lip, and reached up to undo the other hand. It was in a similar state, and so were his feet when he got to them.
He was free. He was untied. He stumbled over to the window on feet full of pins and needles, and slippery with blood from his rope-bitten ankles. Day was dawning on the distant horizon and Shawn felt nothing.
He'd been there all night. How had that happened?
He noticed that the pick-up truck was gone. The madman must have taken it into town to get things for Shawn's "room". His bike was there though. Maybe he could fix whatever the guy had done to it and get out of here that way...
First things first. Clothes. He went over to the closet but it was pretty bare, with just a few hangers inside. Shawn sighed. It couldn't be that easy, could it?
He went to the next room and found a small bathroom. He looked at the shower longingly, but he knew that if he got in, he'd never want to get back out again. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of himself in a full length mirror. There was blood drying on his upper chest, and the long, thin cut on his throat was still bleeding sluggishly. That was worrying. It must have nicked a blood vessel. He had a dark bruise blooming on his face which he'd expected but the small bleeding lump just above his ear surprised him. It must have been from the initial blow when the nutcase had first lifted away the knife. Shawn thought for a minute and realised that he remembered seeing a large ring on one of the guy's fingers. It must have cut him when he was punched in the side of the head.
He looked at the bites on his chest, both bleeding and swollen. They made him feel sick.
There was blood and cum running down the inside of his thighs, though thankfully not as much blood as there could have been. And of course, he was wearing bracelets and anklets of blood from where the rope had rubbed his flesh raw.
He pulled himself away. He had to get out of there. He went into the next room and found a second bedroom. The bed had obviously been slept in. He went over to the closet and pulled a large button down shirt out and pulled it on. He didn't want to wear his rapist's clothes, so first thing, he had to find his backpack and saddle bags. He'd seen his bike outside, and he could only hope the madman had left his belongings behind as well. If they were in the truck with him then he was...well, fucked, to use precisely the right word.
He went downstairs and found his things had been brought in and were lying on the bottom step. Shawn grabbed his backpack and rummaged inside. He got dressed quickly, flinching at the feel of the liquids from his body soaking into the fabric.
Shawn rushed over to his bike, but it still wouldn't start, and he couldn't see what was wrong with it.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
He'd taken auto-shop! He should be able to fix this! Not to mention that he'd taken a crash course on motor-bike mechanics before he left home. He should know what to do!
What was he going to do now?
He sat there for a moment, trying to think.
"Stupid!"
He had a cell phone. HE HAD A CELL PHONE. Gus had insisted.
"Shawn," he'd said. "If you're going to run off and disappear on me, you are going to buy a cell phone. And you are going to call me."
So, Shawn had bought a cell phone and he'd kept it charged and in credit. He pulled it out, and paused, fingers poised above the keypad. He could call 911. He could call, and the police would come and arrest the psycho. He could call, and an ambulance would appear with the good drugs that would make him feel better. He could call, and the authorities would fix everything.
He dialled.
"Hello?"
"Gus?"
Shawn was shaking. He was looking at nothing.
"Shawn, come on. Come out of it." Dr Stevenage was shaking him gently. He hadn't anticipated this level of trauma. It was probably compounded by the years of repression, combined with the shock of the more recent event.
Shawn blinked. He looked around him, and then shook his head.
"Shit." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"There you are." The doctor ran a hand up and down Shawn's arm in a soothing motion, but Shawn leaned away from him. "Does this happen often?"
"No. This is the third flashback I've had since the second attack. The seventh I've had over all." His voice was devoid of its usual life.
"It's normal." Doctor Stevenage assured. "I want you to take a sedative, just a mild one, and have a lie down for a little while. And I want to talk about this flashback when you wake up."
"I don't want to."
"I know. But you're tired and I want to talk about this before you leave, and I don't think you're ready to discuss it just yet, are you?"
"Not really, no." Shawn winced.
"So, you'll come and lie down?"
"And if I don't?"
"Then I will have you admitted for a 72 hour evaluation."
"You can't do that! You have to prove I'm a danger to myself or others!"
"Well, you did just have a rather vivid flashback. You almost knocked my block off when I touched you. And if you had one of those while driving, you could cause an accident. I could also claim that the overdose was a result of depression, and deliberate."
"You... you..." Shawn was at a loss for words. It was an unusual feeling for him, and he didn't like it.
"So, I think it would be best if you had a little nap, don't you?"
"I... Lassie will be coming to get me soon."
"Lassie being Detective Lassiter? The experience didn't drive you apart?"
"Look, I just want to go home!"
The Doctor took a good look at Shawn and decided to let him go. He was just making the young man more agitated. He was worried that Shawn might slip into a depression due to the resurfacing of whatever had caused his flashback, and he wanted to keep an eye on him. But, he knew that if he forced Shawn to stay now, he'd lose what little trust the man had in him, and the therapy would be worthless.
"Okay."
"What? You're just saying okay now? You were all 'I'll have you committed' and 'look I'm Nurse Rachett' a minute ago, and now you're just letting me leave."
"Yeah. Sorry about the whole threatening you thing. I just... you had me worried there."
"I don't react well to threats, especially not to threats of being locked up."
"It was a stupid move on my part." Stevenage admitted. "If I prescribed a mild antidepressant and mood stabilizer, would you take it?"
"I'm going to go for... Hells no! I like my thinking to be clear."
"I thought that's what you'd say." He gave Shawn a long look. "Are you sure?"
"Definitely."
"Alright. Then I won't prescribe one yet."
"Yet?"
"Yet. I will however set up sessions every two days. I want to keep an eye on you."
"Aw, every two days? Can't get enough of me, can you Doc?"
"Watch it. Or I'll make it every day." He joked. Then, he suddenly became serious again. "I know you may not feel like talking to me. Going by today's session that seems likely. But I hope you have someone you feel comfortable talking to." He paused for a moment and then said, tentatively: "It's sometimes easier to talk to someone on the outside, a stranger who you don't have to spare the details."
Shawn thought about Gus, and Lassiter. He thought about Josephine and Molly. He thought of his Dad, of Buzz and Francine. Juliet and Chief Vick.
Then he thought of the Priest at the hospital. Father Michael.
"Yeah. I'll think of someone."
I know it's a bit shorter than the others (only by about 300 words though) but I figured I'd better not leave you in suspense. And Dr Stevenage... I can't decide if I want him to be a good guy, misguided or evil. The Flashback with Gus will probably be resolved during the next couple of chapters.