Toby watched through the window as Charlie approached Hannah's bed, barely lit in the dim room. He watched her lips move, a flash of sorrow ripping through him at the expression on her face—a look that was too knowing, a look of empathy, not sympathy.
He closed his eyes.
His body was so heavy on top of hers, his hands rough on her wrists as she struggled against his weight. But even the adrenaline of fear wasn't enough to fight him off and he tore at her shirt, the fall air flashing across her chest, and then his hands were at the buttons of her pants, his breath hot on her face and the gloves cold on her stomach and then he was unzipping his pants, the sound of the zipper unbelievably loud and he tore aside her underwear and then there was something… and then he was inside her and it hurt and she thrashed but he was too strong, rutting against her relentlessly as she cried—and he couldn't breathe from the weight on top of him, his nose full of sour breath, his wrists pinned by large calloused hands and it hurt and hurt and he knew the body on top of him was full of pleasure and power and the mind felt slimy and dark and the borrowed pleasure felt sickening against the pain—
Toby opened his eyes, shaky and pale and feverish-feeling, his stomach roiling, his mind in chaos and barely saw Charlie's eyes on him, brow furrowed, before he was wheeling around, stumbling to the next empty room, dark, blinds drawn, smelling of disinfectant. He barely had the will to close the door before he was collapsing into the corner by the empty garbage bin, stomach clenching. He barely heard the door click open and then closed again as he began to retch uncontrollably, the rancid taste of bile and coffee mixing with his lunch as it returned, splashing into the bin.
"Toby?"
That was Charlie's voice ringing distantly in his ears and he willed himself to stop, to return to composure, but he was shaking and still retching, vomiting until there was nothing left in his stomach, dry heaving painfully then, the ghost of hairy arms, legs, chest still rubbing against his small body, mingling with Hannah's memories, the doubled memory of penetration… Finally the heaving stopped, his abs aching from the effort, and he fell against the wall, trembling violently, his breath gasping.
"Toby?"
Her voice was closer—too close. He flinched.
"Jesus, Toby, what happened?"
A shadow shifted, and Charlie was in front of him, her blurry figure resolving into wide brown eyes, her hair falling across her face.
Toby was hardly aware he was speaking until Charlie answered the thought rocketing around his brain.
"What do you mean you were wrong?"
She had only just finished asking Hannah the question before she glanced out at Toby, intending to signal to him to start listening, but he already had his eyes closed. He looked pale, his face full of tension, and she was about to look away when his eyes snapped open, flickering in her direction—and then he was turning, lurching away, and alarm washed over her.
"Just give me a minute," she said to Hannah, already heading for the door. She pulled it open and stepped into the hall just in time to see Toby disappearing into a dark room. She went after him, pulling open the door and pausing to scan what appeared at first to be an empty hospital room. Finally hers eyes landed on the dark shape of Toby, curled into the corner. She shut the door behind her, not taking her eyes off her… friend? She was opened her mouth to speak, and then Toby lurched forward and the room was suddenly full of the sound of horrible retching and the wet splash of vomit in plastic, and she stopped, thrown off balance. The retching paused for a moment, leaving only the sound of Toby's harsh breathing and in the second before the retching continued she spoke.
"Toby?"
But he was retching again, great painful-sounding heaves, and her legs unfroze finally. She stepped closer, crouching down closer and ignoring the sour smell coming from the bin. He was dry heaving now, gasping for air in between and she hovered, wanting to reach out to him… but something kept her still and quiet until the retching finally stopped. Toby fell heavily to lean against the wall, gasping for air.
"Toby?"
The alarm grew as he flinched violently at her voice.
"Jesus Toby, what happened?" She murmured, almost to herself. She shifted closer, drifting into his line of sight and in the dim light she could see that he was shaking. And then he spoke, barely louder than a whisper.
"I was wrong."
Her heart skipped a beat, did he mean about Litvak? But why this reaction?
"What do you mean you were wrong?"
Toby's eyes shifted to her face, pupils blown wide, his eyes still unfocused.
"I was wrong." He repeated, voice raspy. "I was wrong. He did… I didn't remember… But then Hannah… I was wrong."
Tears spilled from his eyes, still so blue despite the darkness.
"Toby, I don't understand. What were you wrong about?" But something was taking shape in the back of her mind, something that couldn't be true…
Finally Toby's eyes seemed to focus on her face, wide with shock.
"I thought I set the fire to stop him, but"—he gasped, and Charlie felt dread pooling heavily in her stomach, the thought becoming clearer. "But I, I set it because, because he, he did. I was wrong, he did, I…"
Toby dissolved back into heaving breaths that grew more and more desperate and Charlie's head was swimming with horror. He'd been wrong. Something about listening to Hannah's thoughts, seeing her memories, must have shaken something loose. He hadn't set fire to the garage to stop his foster father from raping him. He'd done it because his foster father raped him. Oh, god. Toby had been raped. When he was a child. Jesus.
Toby was still gasping for breath. Charlie knew a panic attack when she saw one.
"Toby, listen to me. I need you to slow your breathing. I know that sounds impossible, but you can do it. Just breathe with me, in… and out… and now in… and out… good, even slower now, just focus on me. In… and out. In, and out.
Finally his breath began to slow, though the trembling remained and his body was wound tight.
"Toby, can you look at me?"
His breath hitched, and then slowly, his jaw clenched tightly, he turned his eyes to meet hers.
"Good, thank you. Are you with me?"
He nodded jerkily.
"Okay. Can I touch you?"
A pause, and then he swallowed hard and nodded. Charlie let out a breath and then slowly reached for him. His eyes followed her hand warily until she let it rest gently on his shoulder. He shuddered under her touch but didn't flinch. Carefully she shuffled closer, watching his face. He was still so pale. She knelt beside him and slowly move her arm to wrap around his shoulders. He tensed for a moment and she froze, but then he relaxed, seeming to sink into her arm. His breathing was quieter now, more even.
"He raped her. Hannah," Toby murmured. "I saw it, and then… then I remembered. I set the garage on fire the next day. I must have blocked it out, just like…" He trailed off. Charlie's curiosity spiked at his last words, but now wasn't the time to press, she told herself.
"I'm so sorry Toby. I'm so sorry that happened to you."
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and he opened them again to look at her, his eyes had cleared.
"We need to convince Hannah to get the rape kit," he said firmly. "You've got to catch him."
"We will," Charlie said fiercely. "We're gonna get this asshole one way or another." She paused as Toby shifted as though to get up. "And Toby… I don't know if you have people you can talk to about this… but you've got me."
He looked up at her and offered her a tired smile.
"Thank you, Charlie. Just… Thanks."
And that was the beginning really, the beginning of something beautiful… and tragic.
Toby watched through the window as Charlie approached Hannah's bed, barely lit in the dim room. He watched her lips move, a flash of sorrow ripping through him at the expression on her face—a look that was too knowing, a look of empathy, not sympathy.
He closed his eyes.
His body was so heavy on top of hers, his hands rough on her wrists as she struggled against his weight. But even the adrenaline of fear wasn't enough to fight him off and he tore at her shirt, the fall air flashing across her chest, and then his hands were at the buttons of her pants, his breath hot on her face and the gloves cold on her stomach and then he was unzipping his pants, the sound of the zipper unbelievably loud and he tore aside her underwear and then there was something… and then he was inside her and it hurt and she thrashed but he was too strong, rutting against her relentlessly as she cried—and he couldn't breathe from the weight on top of him, his nose full of sour breath, his wrists pinned by large calloused hands and it hurt and hurt and he knew the body on top of him was full of pleasure and power and the mind felt slimy and dark and the borrowed pleasure felt sickening against the pain—
Toby opened his eyes, shaky and pale and feverish-feeling, his stomach roiling, his mind in chaos and barely saw Charlie's eyes on him, brow furrowed, before he was wheeling around, stumbling to the next empty room, dark, blinds drawn, smelling of disinfectant. He barely had the will to close the door before he was collapsing into the corner by the empty garbage bin, stomach clenching. He barely heard the door click open and then closed again as he began to retch uncontrollably, the rancid taste of bile and coffee mixing with his lunch as it returned, splashing into the bin.
"Toby?"
That was Charlie's voice ringing distantly in his ears and he willed himself to stop, to return to composure, but he was shaking and still retching, vomiting until there was nothing left in his stomach, dry heaving painfully then, the ghost of hairy arms, legs, chest still rubbing against his small body, mingling with Hannah's memories, the doubled memory of penetration… Finally the heaving stopped, his abs aching from the effort, and he fell against the wall, trembling violently, his breath gasping.
"Toby?"
Her voice was closer—too close. He flinched.
"Jesus, Toby, what happened?"
A shadow shifted, and Charlie was in front of him, her blurry figure resolving into wide brown eyes, her hair falling across her face.
Toby was hardly aware he was speaking until Charlie answered the thought rocketing around his brain.
"What do you mean you were wrong?"
She had only just finished asking Hannah the question before she glanced out at Toby, intending to signal to him to start listening, but he already had his eyes closed. He looked pale, his face full of tension, and she was about to look away when his eyes snapped open, flickering in her direction—and then he was turning, lurching away, and alarm washed over her.
"Just give me a minute," she said to Hannah, already heading for the door. She pulled it open and stepped into the hall just in time to see Toby disappearing into a dark room. She went after him, pulling open the door and pausing to scan what appeared at first to be an empty hospital room. Finally hers eyes landed on the dark shape of Toby, curled into the corner. She shut the door behind her, not taking her eyes off her… friend? She was opened her mouth to speak, and then Toby lurched forward and the room was suddenly full of the sound of horrible retching and the wet splash of vomit in plastic, and she stopped, thrown off balance. The retching paused for a moment, leaving only the sound of Toby's harsh breathing and in the second before the retching continued she spoke.
"Toby?"
But he was retching again, great painful-sounding heaves, and her legs unfroze finally. She stepped closer, crouching down closer and ignoring the sour smell coming from the bin. He was dry heaving now, gasping for air in between and she hovered, wanting to reach out to him… but something kept her still and quiet until the retching finally stopped. Toby fell heavily to lean against the wall, gasping for air.
"Toby?"
The alarm grew as he flinched violently at her voice.
"Jesus Toby, what happened?" She murmured, almost to herself. She shifted closer, drifting into his line of sight and in the dim light she could see that he was shaking. And then he spoke, barely louder than a whisper.
"I was wrong."
Her heart skipped a beat, did he mean about Litvak? But why this reaction?
"What do you mean you were wrong?"
Toby's eyes shifted to her face, pupils blown wide, his eyes still unfocused.
"I was wrong." He repeated, voice raspy. "I was wrong. He did… I didn't remember… But then Hannah… I was wrong."
Tears spilled from his eyes, still so blue despite the darkness.
"Toby, I don't understand. What were you wrong about?" But something was taking shape in the back of her mind, something that couldn't be true…
Finally Toby's eyes seemed to focus on her face, wide with shock.
"I thought I set the fire to stop him, but"—he gasped, and Charlie felt dread pooling heavily in her stomach, the thought becoming clearer. "But I, I set it because, because he, he did. I was wrong, he did, I…"
Toby dissolved back into heaving breaths that grew more and more desperate and Charlie's head was swimming with horror. He'd been wrong. Something about listening to Hannah's thoughts, seeing her memories, must have shaken something loose. He hadn't set fire to the garage to stop his foster father from raping him. He'd done it because his foster father raped him. Oh, god. Toby had been raped. When he was a child. Jesus.
Toby was still gasping for breath. Charlie knew a panic attack when she saw one.
"Toby, listen to me. I need you to slow your breathing. I know that sounds impossible, but you can do it. Just breathe with me, in… and out… and now in… and out… good, even slower now, just focus on me. In… and out. In, and out.
Finally his breath began to slow, though the trembling remained and his body was wound tight.
"Toby, can you look at me?"
His breath hitched, and then slowly, his jaw clenched tightly, he turned his eyes to meet hers.
"Good, thank you. Are you with me?"
He nodded jerkily.
"Okay. Can I touch you?"
A pause, and then he swallowed hard and nodded. Charlie let out a breath and then slowly reached for him. His eyes followed her hand warily until she let it rest gently on his shoulder. He shuddered under her touch but didn't flinch. Carefully she shuffled closer, watching his face. He was still so pale. She knelt beside him and slowly move her arm to wrap around his shoulders. He tensed for a moment and she froze, but then he relaxed, seeming to sink into her arm. His breathing was quieter now, more even.
"He raped her. Hannah," Toby murmured. "I saw it, and then… then I remembered. I set the garage on fire the next day. I must have blocked it out, just like…" He trailed off. Charlie's curiosity spiked at his last words, but now wasn't the time to press, she told herself.
"I'm so sorry Toby. I'm so sorry that happened to you."
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and he opened them again to look at her, his eyes had cleared.
"We need to convince Hannah to get the rape kit," he said firmly. "You've got to catch him."
"We will," Charlie said fiercely. "We're gonna get this asshole one way or another." She paused as Toby shifted as though to get up. "And Toby… I don't know if you have people you can talk to about this… but you've got me."
He looked up at her and offered her a tired smile.
"Thank you, Charlie. Just… Thanks."
And that was the beginning really, the beginning of something beautiful… and tragic.