Shattered (2/?)
A 7th Heaven Fan Fiction by CeruleanOctober
See chapter 1 for disclaimers and warnings. I need to credit ff.net author Cypher as well, for this wonderfully challenging idea.
Shattered
Chapter 2/?
He feels himself floating, a sensation not unlike swimming. Drifting. He feels a certain peacefulness, almost like a blanket thrown over him. He feels warm under the blanket. Safe.
But soon he feels the blanket slipping, leaving him exposed. He thinks of a piece of driftwood carried on a current, battered and bruised and at the mercy of some inescapable force.
His eyes open against his will, and full consciousness brings with it a surging panic. It collects in his chest. Heavy. Weighted. He can't move. His whole body hurts. Held down. Trapped.
Stickiness under his cheek. Puke. His puke. He can feel it in his hair, taste it in his mouth. A similar stickiness between his legs. Bile rises again, an undeniable force that erupts despite his protests.
He struggles for a moment, until full awareness hits him. His wrists are bound at his back. Unforgiving metal. Handcuffs. He remembers the click as they were locked in place. Incomprehensible fear. Fear like nothing he had ever known before. Fear of life, fear of death. Knowledge of what would come next. Indescribable pain. Tearing apart, ripping in two. Heat, like fire, building in him, burning, destroying, until there was nothing but blackness.
In his mind, he sings. Childhood songs. Songs like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and "Mary Had A Little Lamb." Songs that make him think of gentle streams and lambs going to school. Children skipping, going to market to buy fat pigs. Home again, home again, jiggity jig.
Home. Home, a place he had always felt safe. Wrapped in a protective cocoon. Never again. Shattered.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
He wakes to the uncomfortable feeling of being shaken. His eyes open. Slowly. His vision is blurred, like his mind. Consciousness ripples like waves on a shore, eluding him.
The first awareness is that his body hurts. Aches. Every inch of him. He feels weak. Unstable. Beaten.
He hears a voice. Words. Meaningless jumble of sounds. Hands on his shoulder. More shaking. Eyes close. His stomach gurgles like a ship at sea. Sea sick. He can't help it.
"Jesus, Camden!" Ben yelps.
He opens his mouth, but finds he has no voice to say anything.
He watches silently a Ben walks to a door he knows to be the bathroom. He stays in there, running water, no doubt cleaning the vomit from his clothes, before walking out. Naked.
The boy closes his eyes to the site. Too late. His mind burns with the memory. Face down on the bed. Weight bearing down behind him. Claiming him. Ripping into him. Filling him. Burying him alive.
He feels the need to puke once more, but swallows it down.
"Get up. You need a shower." Ben doesn't bother to get dressed, but approaches the bed where the boy lays unmoving. Still in the pools of his own puke. Ben pulls him up by the arm, tries to let go, but holds on because the boy sways, unable to find his balance or support his own weight.
Hands grip his shoulders. Eyes stare into his. Blank eyes. Dull eyes. "Listen to me, Simon. You have got to snap out of this. You're going to take a shower, and you're going to have to go to the house and get dressed. Lucy's getting married today. You can't ruin the day for her. It's her wedding day. Do you understand me?"
The boy can do nothing but nod. He can not, he will not, think of his sister. Lucy. Sweet, innocent Lucy. She has no idea who, or what, she is marrying. Hands holding him down, pushing him face-down into the mattress. Weight on his back, pushing into him, ripping, tearing, filling, claiming. Surging heat. Blinding, burying, suffocating.
Ben dragging him. Pulling him to the bathroom. Putting him in the tub. Under the water. Hot. Too hot, Burning. Scalding. Cleansing. Ben's hands caressing. Cleaning. Washing away the sin.
Can't reach what's on the inside. The real damage. The real nakedness.
Ben shutting off the flow. Cold. Shivering. Ben wrapping him in a towel. Patting him dry. Careful not to touch certain places. Bruises. Tenderness. Discomfort.
"You can wear a pair of my sweats and a T-shirt." Already there, on the counter. Ben turning him, sitting him down, dressing him like a helpless child. "Can you stand up?"
He braces himself on the counter, heaves himself up. Feels himself sway. Rights himself. Concentrates on the issue of balance.
"Good. Now walk."
One foot in front of the other. He knows how to do it. He's done it all his life Started walking at 10 months. Always ahead of his age. Advanced.
"Good. Now, what are you going to tell your parents?"
Frozen. Fear pumping hot in his veins. Parents. Mom. Dad. Dizzy. Going to pass out. Blackness. On the floor. Looking up. Ben.
"Damn it, Simon. Cut this out. Get up. Stand up and be a man."
Eyes close. A slap across the face. Hard enough to sting. Eyes open.
Ben glaring at him. "You are going to get up and you are going to go home and get dressed for your sister's wedding."
He shakes his head, feels his brain jarred, stops. Stares at Ben.
"Oh yes you are. You are not going to ruin this for Kevin. Now get up." Ben pulling him to his feet. Forcing him to stand. "Let's try this again. You are going to tell your parents we were up all night. You didn't get any sleep and you're tired. Say it. Tell me what you're going to tell them."
Hands on his shoulders. Gripping, Unrelenting. Holding him there. Demanding an answer.
"Up night. Not sleep."
"What the hell is that? Speak English."
"Sleep not tired."
"Damn it, Camden. You're not making any sense. Listen to me. Say I was up all night. I. Was. Up. All. Night."
The words spiral around his mind. He opens his mouth Nothing. No sound. Just blackness claiming him again. Ben shaking him. Bringing him back. Staring at him. Dull eyes. Dead eyes. Eyes full of…blackness.
"Say it."
"I up night all tired." He knows that isn't right. Doesn't make sense. Words. Just words. "I was up. All night. Tired."
"That's better. Coffee. You need coffee. Coffee will help you sober up. I hope." Ben leading him to the little table in the corner, sitting him down. Ben pouring a steaming mug of coffee from the pot on the counter.
Burns all the way down. Hurts. Scalds. Like the shower. Washing the sin from his throat.
"We were up all night. I didn't get any sleep. I'm tired."
Ben patting him on the shoulder. "You're going to be just fine, Camden."
*~*~*~*~*~*~
End chapter 2. This was a very difficult chapter to write. It is Simon's POV, Simon wrote it, but would not, could not, write it in first person. But the choppy sentences are his mind, disjointed, unstable. Please read and review, it means so much…Thanks!
A 7th Heaven Fan Fiction by CeruleanOctober
See chapter 1 for disclaimers and warnings. I need to credit ff.net author Cypher as well, for this wonderfully challenging idea.
Shattered
Chapter 2/?
He feels himself floating, a sensation not unlike swimming. Drifting. He feels a certain peacefulness, almost like a blanket thrown over him. He feels warm under the blanket. Safe.
But soon he feels the blanket slipping, leaving him exposed. He thinks of a piece of driftwood carried on a current, battered and bruised and at the mercy of some inescapable force.
His eyes open against his will, and full consciousness brings with it a surging panic. It collects in his chest. Heavy. Weighted. He can't move. His whole body hurts. Held down. Trapped.
Stickiness under his cheek. Puke. His puke. He can feel it in his hair, taste it in his mouth. A similar stickiness between his legs. Bile rises again, an undeniable force that erupts despite his protests.
He struggles for a moment, until full awareness hits him. His wrists are bound at his back. Unforgiving metal. Handcuffs. He remembers the click as they were locked in place. Incomprehensible fear. Fear like nothing he had ever known before. Fear of life, fear of death. Knowledge of what would come next. Indescribable pain. Tearing apart, ripping in two. Heat, like fire, building in him, burning, destroying, until there was nothing but blackness.
In his mind, he sings. Childhood songs. Songs like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and "Mary Had A Little Lamb." Songs that make him think of gentle streams and lambs going to school. Children skipping, going to market to buy fat pigs. Home again, home again, jiggity jig.
Home. Home, a place he had always felt safe. Wrapped in a protective cocoon. Never again. Shattered.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
He wakes to the uncomfortable feeling of being shaken. His eyes open. Slowly. His vision is blurred, like his mind. Consciousness ripples like waves on a shore, eluding him.
The first awareness is that his body hurts. Aches. Every inch of him. He feels weak. Unstable. Beaten.
He hears a voice. Words. Meaningless jumble of sounds. Hands on his shoulder. More shaking. Eyes close. His stomach gurgles like a ship at sea. Sea sick. He can't help it.
"Jesus, Camden!" Ben yelps.
He opens his mouth, but finds he has no voice to say anything.
He watches silently a Ben walks to a door he knows to be the bathroom. He stays in there, running water, no doubt cleaning the vomit from his clothes, before walking out. Naked.
The boy closes his eyes to the site. Too late. His mind burns with the memory. Face down on the bed. Weight bearing down behind him. Claiming him. Ripping into him. Filling him. Burying him alive.
He feels the need to puke once more, but swallows it down.
"Get up. You need a shower." Ben doesn't bother to get dressed, but approaches the bed where the boy lays unmoving. Still in the pools of his own puke. Ben pulls him up by the arm, tries to let go, but holds on because the boy sways, unable to find his balance or support his own weight.
Hands grip his shoulders. Eyes stare into his. Blank eyes. Dull eyes. "Listen to me, Simon. You have got to snap out of this. You're going to take a shower, and you're going to have to go to the house and get dressed. Lucy's getting married today. You can't ruin the day for her. It's her wedding day. Do you understand me?"
The boy can do nothing but nod. He can not, he will not, think of his sister. Lucy. Sweet, innocent Lucy. She has no idea who, or what, she is marrying. Hands holding him down, pushing him face-down into the mattress. Weight on his back, pushing into him, ripping, tearing, filling, claiming. Surging heat. Blinding, burying, suffocating.
Ben dragging him. Pulling him to the bathroom. Putting him in the tub. Under the water. Hot. Too hot, Burning. Scalding. Cleansing. Ben's hands caressing. Cleaning. Washing away the sin.
Can't reach what's on the inside. The real damage. The real nakedness.
Ben shutting off the flow. Cold. Shivering. Ben wrapping him in a towel. Patting him dry. Careful not to touch certain places. Bruises. Tenderness. Discomfort.
"You can wear a pair of my sweats and a T-shirt." Already there, on the counter. Ben turning him, sitting him down, dressing him like a helpless child. "Can you stand up?"
He braces himself on the counter, heaves himself up. Feels himself sway. Rights himself. Concentrates on the issue of balance.
"Good. Now walk."
One foot in front of the other. He knows how to do it. He's done it all his life Started walking at 10 months. Always ahead of his age. Advanced.
"Good. Now, what are you going to tell your parents?"
Frozen. Fear pumping hot in his veins. Parents. Mom. Dad. Dizzy. Going to pass out. Blackness. On the floor. Looking up. Ben.
"Damn it, Simon. Cut this out. Get up. Stand up and be a man."
Eyes close. A slap across the face. Hard enough to sting. Eyes open.
Ben glaring at him. "You are going to get up and you are going to go home and get dressed for your sister's wedding."
He shakes his head, feels his brain jarred, stops. Stares at Ben.
"Oh yes you are. You are not going to ruin this for Kevin. Now get up." Ben pulling him to his feet. Forcing him to stand. "Let's try this again. You are going to tell your parents we were up all night. You didn't get any sleep and you're tired. Say it. Tell me what you're going to tell them."
Hands on his shoulders. Gripping, Unrelenting. Holding him there. Demanding an answer.
"Up night. Not sleep."
"What the hell is that? Speak English."
"Sleep not tired."
"Damn it, Camden. You're not making any sense. Listen to me. Say I was up all night. I. Was. Up. All. Night."
The words spiral around his mind. He opens his mouth Nothing. No sound. Just blackness claiming him again. Ben shaking him. Bringing him back. Staring at him. Dull eyes. Dead eyes. Eyes full of…blackness.
"Say it."
"I up night all tired." He knows that isn't right. Doesn't make sense. Words. Just words. "I was up. All night. Tired."
"That's better. Coffee. You need coffee. Coffee will help you sober up. I hope." Ben leading him to the little table in the corner, sitting him down. Ben pouring a steaming mug of coffee from the pot on the counter.
Burns all the way down. Hurts. Scalds. Like the shower. Washing the sin from his throat.
"We were up all night. I didn't get any sleep. I'm tired."
Ben patting him on the shoulder. "You're going to be just fine, Camden."
*~*~*~*~*~*~
End chapter 2. This was a very difficult chapter to write. It is Simon's POV, Simon wrote it, but would not, could not, write it in first person. But the choppy sentences are his mind, disjointed, unstable. Please read and review, it means so much…Thanks!