A/N: Based on a scene in episode six. Some dark/sexual content ahead.
…
Heather is moaning loudly in Rob's ear. He wishes she would stop, it makes it harder to pretend that she's someone else. It's the same noise she makes whenever she's in her bedroom with her latest beau, exaggerated cries of ecstasy designed to make Rob jealous. He has no idea if her responses now are genuine, maybe she doesn't know either.
Yet if he closes his eyes he can forget he's out by the bins next to a seedy nightclub, can pretend he's still in Cassie's bedroom with her beautiful face in his hands, smiling at him like he's not a broken, damaged, thing.
He keeps up a steady rhythm with Heather as the memories flash through his brain. Cassie, kissing his shoulders. Cassie, burying her face in his neck. Their noses brushing as they kissed, his hands in her hair, her whispering his name against his cheek—
Then another memory intrudes, of Sandra in the woods, sobbing and begging for Jonathan to stop what was happening as her tights got ripped. He and Peter and Jamie had just watched, Adam not really understanding what was happening but knowing it was to do with that thing his parents must have done, that they all talked about at school. Somehow he hadn't imagined that it would be like what he was witnessing now.
He can see Jamie's stricken face as they had turned to each other, then to Peter, the leader, knowing that they had been seen. They had ran. Straight into the clutches of—
Suddenly his neck spasms and he lets go of Heather without thinking, doubling over in pain. He staggers against one of the bins, clutching at the wall. He can hear Heather yelling at him — he must have dropped her quite hard — telling him not to come home. Call an ambulance, he wants to say, but he can't speak. Heather is straightening her clothes and walking away. Swaying on his feet, he staggers back towards the nightclub, looking for help.