Summary

"His words had the same effect on Cal as a punch in the stomach. Overcome by a horror that liquefied his insides and stripped him of all his strength, he widened his eyes and stifled a scream when he realized what awaited him."

A/N: /!\ Warning: this chapter contains a scene of attempted rape (without explicit description).

I thank melrosethecat for the beta-reading.

Chapter 4 – Abused

Cal woke up with a start. Unconsciously, his mind had warned him of the danger. But he didn't have time to look up to see what had made his heart race and his skin tingle: two big hands suddenly grabbed him by the arms to pull him out of his bed and throw him on the floor. His chin hit the floor painfully as he came to his senses. Instinctively, he raised an arm to protect himself when his eyes met the scornful gaze of his attacker. It was Vurtchaa.

"Get dressed," he ordered him curtly. "The boss wants to see you in his office immediately."

When Darzay asked to see someone immediately, it was best not to hang around.

Cal got up quickly and put on his old clothes. They were so dirty and worn that no one could recognize what had once been a Padawan's outfit. These rags were all he had left of his former life, even though he hadn't thought about it once in months.

He was no longer waiting for a signal from the Council – they were surely all long dead. He no longer wondered what Jaro Tapal would think of him – bad things of course considering how low his apprentice had sunk. The dreams to which he had clung during the first few weeks had vanished along with his naivety – only the nightmares remained. Hope had left him, leaving only emptiness. He had only one desire, to lie down and never get up again.

And yet, deep inside he still had faith. Faith in the Force. It was all that remained when all hope had fled.

Without a word, with his head bowed, he obeyed submissively when Vurtchaa motioned for him to go ahead. Cal tried bravely not to show his anxiety. What could Darzay possibly want with him at this hour? The last time he'd called on him in the middle of the night, Cal had taken the beating of his life – just because Darzay was drunk and needed a punching bag to vent his bad mood. But better that than falling into the hands of the Imperials, right? Even if Darzay abused him, even if he gave him almost no food – hunger had become his new companion – even if he hit him regularly, at least Cal was protected from the Empire. Better a painful protection than no protection at all.

Cal walked through the wide hallway adorned with rich carpets that led to Darzay's office, Vurtchaa on his heels. When he reached the huge wooden door, he knocked timidly on the door, waiting for the order to enter.

Don't pay attention to the teeth...

When the permission to enter arrived, Cal opened the door, and leaving Vurtchaa outside, he entered alone and trembling the devil's lair.

Because Darzay's office was indeed the color of hell. The walls were crimson, the windows were hidden by thick red curtains, and the floor was covered with a scarlet carpet. On the far wall hung shelves upon which were a series of heavy golden cups and bronze statuettes – trophies won by Darzay in his youth, when he was a renowned podracer pilot. On the other walls hung several huge paintings – all in very bad taste – depicting Darzay in various postures and outfits. In a corner of the room, a metal crate bore a Huttese inscription that Cal couldn't make out. In the center of the room was a huge black metal desk behind which was a large chair of the same color, and in which sat, proud and threatening, Cal's living nightmare – Darzay.

Cal lowered his head again in submission, staring shiveringly at the carpet. He knew very well why it was red. It was the best color to hide bloodstains. Cal had understood this the day – the only one, fortunately – when Darzay had used him as a subject to test his new whip. He had noted that it was thin enough to leave no visible scars – a significant advantage when it came to punishing slaves whose bodies were their main work tools and who had to stay in the best possible condition to satisfy their clients.

Darzay stood up and slowly stepped closer to Cal, staring at him with an impassive, steel-cold gaze. When he stopped in front of him, Cal was careful not to look up higher than Darzay's knees. Darzay curtly clicked his tongue against his palate to show his displeasure.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Cal. Cal, Cal, Cal," he repeated, shaking his head in dismay. "What am I going to do with you?"

Like a dangerous predator, he began to circle the boy without stopping to stare at him.

"I... I don't understand, Master," Cal stammered contritely. "What have I done wrong?"

Darzay ignored the question and continued.

"Tell me. How long have you been working for me, Cal? Eleven months?"

"Thirteen," Cal answered in a fearful whisper.

"Thirteen months," Darzay repeated, shaking his head. "Thirteen fucking months during which the money you brought me was barely enough to cover what you cost me in food."

"I'm sorry, Master," Cal apologized in a voice interspersed with worry and sobs that were beginning to rise in his throat. "But with the Empire, it's become difficult to find people rich enough to steal and—

"I don't know what saddens me more, Cal," Darzay cut him off sharply, stopping in front of him again. "That you are almost no profit to me, or that you hide behind false excuses."

Cal felt Darzay's cold, angry gaze upon him. Darzay suddenly raised his hand. Reflexively, Cal hunched his shoulders, bracing himself for the blow to come. But instead of hitting him, Darzay grabbed him by the jaw and forced him to lift his chin to look at him.

"But don't worry, Cal," Darzay said, watching his face from every angle. "I have other plans for you." He tightened his grip, digging his fingers painfully into Cal's jaw until his eyes filled with tears. "You're not ugly and you're young. I've clients who like that. Your mouth will bring me more in a week than you've brought me in thirteen months," Darzay suddenly blurted out.

His words had the same effect on Cal as a punch in the stomach. Overcome by a horror that liquefied his insides and stripped him of all his strength, he widened his eyes and stifled a scream when he realized what awaited him.

Then panic took over, and without thinking, he kneed Darzay in the crotch. He assumed he had aimed accurately because Darzay abruptly let go of him and brought his hands down to his lower abdomen.

Without waiting, Cal took the opportunity to turn and run for the door. He frantically lowered the handle, but his hope of escape vanished when he realized it was locked.

He didn't even have time to turn around and try to defend himself. A hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back, sending him crashing to the ground. He had just enough time to protect his head with his two arms before a rain of kicks fell on his back, his chest, his arms, and his legs. The beating lasted several long minutes. Cal was crying, begging Darzay to stop. However, he knew he had crossed the red line by daring to hit his master.

When the blows finally stopped, Cal lay prostrate where he had fallen, crying and shaking, his arms still above his head as if he were trying to sink into the ground. He looked in a daze at the blood dripping from his probably broken nose and his split lip. The scarlet drops rained down on the carpet before being absorbed by it, blending into its red color until they became perfectly invisible.

"This is how you thank me for taking you in," Darzay said sadly, looking pierced to the heart. "But what else could I expect from a scrap rat?"

With a peremptory gesture, he motioned for Cal to stand up.

"Up!"

But Cal didn't move.

"I said up!" barked Darzay as he grabbed Cal by the collar and pulled him to his feet.

He roughly pushed the boy against his desk. The edge of the desk painfully hit him in the stomach, cutting off his breath. Darzay grabbed Cal's right wrist and twisted it painfully backward to keep him still. With his other hand, he violently slammed his cheek against the black metal surface. Cal could feel the cold steel scratching against his cheek and Darzay's hot, alcohol-stinking breath against his ear.

"The lesson isn't over," Darzay said, pressing his nose against Cal's cheek. He let go of his arm and began to grope his buttocks. "You need to practice for your future clients. And there's no point in squeaking, little scrap rat. No one here will pay any attention to your cries."

He suddenly released his hold. Cal took the opportunity to straighten up and catch his breath. When Darzay opened his mouth again, his words were the embodiment of Cal's worst fears.

"On your knees. I'll start with your mouth, and then I'll take care of your ass."

Paralyzed by fear rising from those dark depths of the mind where nightmares are born, Cal froze, and his vision blurred. He could no longer see what was happening in front of him. He heard Darzay unbuckle his belt, but it was as if the scene unfolding before his eyes was light years away. He was there and not there at the same time. He could hear Darzay talking to him, but he couldn't understand what he was saying. He was not conscious of what was happening. He could only hear the panicked beating of his heart and the blood pulsing in his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if this would wake him up from the nightmare in which he was plunged – but it wasn't a nightmare, it was reality.

And suddenly, without knowing how, he felt it – the Force.

It was the last thing he felt before sinking into the darkness.

When he opened his eyes, Cal's first instinct was to stand up and check that he was still alive. He felt his body, reassured by this very real physical sensation. Yes, he was alive, even though he was sore from the beating he had just taken. Darzay hadn't done things by halves.

By the way, speaking of Darzay, where had he been?

Suddenly, Cal remembered the last moments just before he passed out. The desk, Darzay unbuckling his belt to force him to— Cal swallowed hard. He couldn't remember the rest. Had Darzay gotten what he wanted? Cal assumed not – he still had all his clothes on, proof that Darzay hadn't touched him.

As the anxiety returned, he looked around for Darzay. It was then that he noticed a 'minor' detail.

The heavy metal desk had fallen to the floor.

So had the paintings hanging on the walls and the shelves in the back. It was as if someone with superhuman strength had been unleashed into the room. Cal then noticed a black shape lying under the fallen shelves. He approached cautiously, as if it were a fearsome snake.

It was Darzay. He wasn't moving. Cal moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. Was Darzay passed out? Cal moved a little closer.

His eyes widened abruptly as he realized what a horrible sight he was facing. A heavy, bloodstained bronze statuette protruded from Darzay's smashed skull – his face was unrecognizable – and Cal could see around a few slimy chunks of brain that had squirted out on impact.

He stepped back hastily. The ground was giving way under his feet. He felt the nausea rise abruptly in his throat, and he leaned forward to throw up, though nothing came out of his empty stomach – one of the few advantages of having only two meager meals per day.

As he gagged, his memory came back to him. He saw himself, panicking, facing Darzay, his hands outstretched before him. He saw Darzay – and the furniture – flying through the air driven by the Force, and violently hitting the shelves behind him. He saw the trophies collapsing on him. He saw the statuette smashing into his skull, killing him instantly.

It was an accident, Cal thought in panic. I didn't mean to...

But it was too late. Cal was a murderer. He knew full well what would happen when, in the morning, Vurtchaa would walk through the door and find that his boss was dead. Cal was alone with him, locked up. He would know that he had to be the culprit.

Shaking like a leaf, Cal leaned against a wall and slid to the floor, hitting his head with both fists.

Don't reach within.

Why? Why had he lost control? Why had he used the Force? When he saw the scene, Vurtchaa would understand what he was – a Jedi – and he would give him up to the Empire without delay. Cal could see clearly, horribly, what was going to happen, but he had no way to turn back the clock. He knew he was screwed. He knew he—

With his knees scrunched up to his chest, he buried his face in his arms and burst into tears.

Only a miracle could save him.

A miracle, or the Force.

A/N: I hope you'll like this chapter! We are deep in the hurt, but I promise, the comfort is coming in the next chapter!