Part One, Chapter Four

She must have made some sound in exclamation, because he halted his progress of trying to peel the shirt away, and turned his gaze questioningly towards her. Thunder echoing as to rolled outside.

She had seen the marks on his wrists a couple days ago, but she hadn't had a chance to study the ones on his chest. The sight literally made her heart ache.

The reason for her expression clicked with him, and she saw a look in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. Pain.

Oh, she had seen pain in his eyes before, but this… this was different. Deeper. Uncomplicated by other emotions. Later she would hate Richard for putting that particular pain in his heart. Later she would hate that man even more than she had a few moments ago. But not now. Now she only wished for some way to erase that look from John's eyes.

He pulled the edges of his shirt back together. His expression changing to nothingness as he pulled his gaze from her. Attempting to hide.

"John," she whispered in denial. Eyes stinging at the way he tried to turn away from her. She stepped back over to him, the distance only that of a few feet. Her hands reach out to touch him in comfort, to get him to look at her, but he tried to evade her touch like he had in that alleyway a couple of days ago after the ambulance incident. She wasn't that easily put off this time, though, and she went after him.

He turned back around to face her so suddenly that it was only because of the way he shackled her wrists in each of his hands that kept her from stumbling backwards. He held her hands there firmly. Mere inches from his body, but not letting her close that distance. His fingers were warm and still damp from the rainwater on his body as they pressed into her tender skin. She could feel the bruising strength running through them, even though he held her so carefully.

His eyes looked into hers, and she couldn't help the small gasp on her part. She wanted to turn away from the internal hell she saw reflected there, but she didn't. She couldn't. If he had to endure that much pain, than the least she could do was witness it.

She felt the tremors then that ran through his hands. Tears gathered in her eyes as a knot formed in her throat. He looked down at her, raw agony painted on his features, and she knew then why he had come to her tonight. She knew what had driven him almost to a point of madness that previous night when she had barely managed to stop him from killing his uncle. It was a hatred borne from a trauma that could never be explained. Not in words.

She was whispering his name repeatedly, and hardly even aware of it. With growing sorrow, she saw every humiliation, every cut, and every scar. She saw the wounds that only a brutalizing event could create, and she could see its still bleeding edges upon his psyche as surely as she had just seen the bruises upon his skin.

That's why he had come to her. He had felt them. He had felt them bleeding, and had been lost on how to stop it.

She twisted her wrists in gentle reminder, and he let them slide reluctantly through his fingers. Gently, ever so gently, she slowly peeled the shirt open. Knowing what it took for him to let her do it.

Biting her lip to keep her tears from falling, she pushed the shirt open further. Studying the bruises crossing over his chest caused by the leather straps he has been restrained with.

The worst one cut over his upper pectoral muscles. That was the one he had strained against the hardest, and the skin was so dark a blue, it looked almost black. Time had not improved its coloring, and she knew it would look even worse as it went through the different color process over the next few days, before it ever looked better. 

The second ran over the lower section of his chest. Most noticeable where the skin and muscle had been ground harshly into the bones of his ribcage. A third line ran over his stomach, but was the palest of the three.

The tips of her fingers came to rest ever so gently his chest. Uncertain of where to touch him for fear she might accidentally hurt him. And it was only when he had reached out to touch her cheek that she realized that a tear had indeed managed to slip free.

"I'm sorry, John." She whispered hoarsely. Voice breaking slightly. "I'm so sorry." She didn't know what else to say. What could she say? What could she say that could possibly ease the abuse heaped upon him by his uncle? If these bruises were an example of only a couple of days in his care, what had six months been like? It wasn't fair. None of this had been fair. John didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be treated like this. Why couldn't his uncle see how wrong he had been in his treatment of his nephew?

She looked back up to him, seeing how his eyes were now like the brilliant core of a flame as they shone with suppressed emotion. She reached a hand up to cup the side of his cheek as he exhaled shakily. Closing his eyes as he leaned into her palm.

~*~