What Love Is
Chapter Two: Scream
Warning: Non/Con
Eyewitness: Martin Fitzgerald
Whoever decided that all good things must come to an end should be killed. No, they're probably already dead. They should be resurrected, brought out into the street, and shot. Oh, and before they are shot, they should be made to take back what they said. That way, my cell phone would stop ringing, and I wouldn't have to leave Danny's warm embrace.
Alas, the ringing persists…"Fitzgerald."
"Hey, Martin, this is Steve."
I takes me a second to recognize the name through the still-present fog of sleep, "Hmm…Hey, Steve."
"I have a case down here I was hoping you would look at."
Not now! "What's up?"
"We just fished a body out of the river: teenage male. I was hoping you'd have a look and see if he matches the description of one of your missing people."
"You have access to missing person's files."
"Yeah…Yeah, I know. It's just, you know, better to have an expert on site."
"Okay, where are you?"
"Near the corner of West 33rd and 12th Avenue, just South of the Lincoln Tunnel."
"Give me two hours."
"See you then."
Hanging up the phone, I look beside me to see Danny still sleeping, arm wrapped possessively around my middle. I just want to lie back down and spend the morning listening to him breathe, but duty wins out.
I lean over his still form and place a kiss to his temple. He doesn't move, so I kiss his forehead, then cheek, then jaw, then lips, until he finally stirs.
"Hey, Danny," I whisper, letting him ease into the waking world.
"…Martin?" His eyebrows furrow in confusion, then rise in recognition, and for a second, I'm worried I'll see regret take over.
Danny just smiles and repeats my name, happy this time, and pulls me in for another kiss.
"Hey," I greet, "You don't have to wake all the way up just yet. I'm heading into work."
"But, it's Saturday."
"Which is why you can stay in bed. I'm doing a favor for a cop I know. I shouldn't be gone long. Sleep in, and make yourself at home." I hope I'm not being too forward.
"Call me when you're done."
"Will do," I can't help but kiss that sleepy face one last time before getting up. I grab some clothes from my closet, not really checking to see if they match, and head toward my bathroom. Danny's asleep again before I even shut the door.
I shower quickly to be sure that I'm not late…to do another guy's job…on a Saturday…
I tug on my clothes, still not checking if they match, brush at a tooth or two, pull a comb through my hair, and race out the bathroom door.
No matter how much I rushed to get out of the bathroom, I still can't speed by the sleeping figure of Danny. He's on his back with arms and legs splayed, taking up the entire mattress. His hair is a spiky explosion upon the pillow, and his face is absolutely serene. More than that, he's in my bed. There is no better scene in the world.
Work. Oh yeah. Rushing again, I make it out the door and in my car with an hours and half remaining. I pop in a piece of gum to make up for my recent poor dental hygiene.
I know I shouldn't be speeding, but I'm pretty sure that my four minutes and twelve seconds through the Queens Midtown Tunnel is a record.
Then I hit the traffic. All of New York has decided to go out for a drive this morning. I don't think Manhattan has ever been more crowded.
I try weaving through the lanes, knowing I'm doing more to annoy those around me than to make up time.
It's times like this I wish I had a personal siren. I'd abuse that thing to no end. I'd use it to go the grocery store.
I'm ten minutes late. I spot the grouping of black and whites and park nearby.
Before I'm even out of my car, Steve arrives, "Good afternoon, Martin, looking good."
I look down. What do you know, my outfit does match. Wait, did he really just comment on my attire at a crime scene?
"The corpse is over this way," he grabs my arm. Did I always have issues with Steve acting inappropriately at work?
"How would you describe the victim?" I correct his disrespectful use of the term 'corpse.'
He immediately picks up on my businesslike manner and matches pace, "Caucasian, dark hair, between the ages of fourteen and twenty. If you can't identify him, it looks like we might get a positive dental match."
Thankfully, Steve drops my arm. Apparently he has realized that I, an experienced FBI agent, have the ability to follow.
We reach the victim. He had to have been in the water for weeks. I want desperately to help the poor soul before me, but there are no discernable facial features.
I shake my head, "I'm sorry, I can't identify him. It looks like you'll have to depend upon those dental records."
Steve nods, "Okay. I'll call you when we find something. Thank you for your time."
I take one final sympathetic look at the victim, then turn around and head back to my car. At least he was found. He'll be identified and his family will know what happened to him.
As I reach my car, I hear footsteps fast approaching.
"Hey, sorry I called you out here for nothing, Martin."
"It's okay, Ste-"
"How about I make it up to you? Lunch?"
"Aren't you on duty?"
With his head, he points back to the victim, "He's not going anywhere."
That hits a nerve. I've never heard such disrespect for a victim by an officer of the law. "Go tend to your victim."
He takes a step back, "Hey, if you don't want to go, fine. Don't get defensive with me."
"Good-bye, Sargent Kramer," and before he can respond, I'm in my car and driving away.
The whole drive back home, I'm fuming. Never in all my years of working with FBI agents, police officers, SWAT team members, and all the other men and women whose job it is to protect the innocent, have I heard anyone tease a deceased victim. What did I ever see in Steve? Why did I ever consider him a friend?
Am I overreacting?
I know I was already annoyed with him for making me leave home on a Saturday to do his job, but my anger is primarily from a moral background, right? Insulting the dead is wrong in every culture. Am I just mad because he took me away from Danny, and now I'm using this as my excuse? Sometimes it's better not to look inside your own head, so I stop.
Miracle upon miracles, a parking spot opens up right in front of my building. I pull in and race upstairs. Maybe Danny is still there, adorably asleep in my bed.
One step into my apartment and I can tell Danny has left. There just isn't that electricity in the air. A quick check in my bedroom confirms the suspicion. Oh well, I'll just have to call him.
A knock comes from the door. I don't even let myself get my hopes up; it's not Danny's knock. It actually sounds rather angry. Oh, crap, the landlord? I open the door.
"Steve?"
He just looks at me in reply.
"If you found something out about the case, you could have just called."
"Can I come in?"
I reluctantly step aside, and he shuts the door behind himself.
He pushes farther into my home than invited, and leans against the far wall, "I wanted to apologize. I know I upset you at the crime scene today."
"Okay, thank you."
"I still don't get what you were so worked up over…"
"You were disrespecting the victim. He was a person-"
"Hey, hey, I apologized, didn't I? You don't need to lecture me."
"Okay, Steve." This is the worst apology I've ever received.
"I was just kidding around with you. You blow things out of proportion. Don't you get it?" He looks at me incredulously.
My returning stare is blank.
"You're so blind!"
That's right. Insult me.
"Argh! I'm in love with you, damn it! You just don't get it. You don't understand."
He's in love with me? He's got a strange way of showing it. Wait, he's in love with me? Did he just really declare that?
He continues, "How could you understand? You don't know what love is."
Now he's just being mean. I'm about to respond, when he lunges forward and grabs my arm.
He pulls me farther into my apartment before I even have time to react. It's at this point that I realize just how much bigger he is.
"I'll show you what love is."
He pulls me down the hall toward my bedroom. No.
No, this is not happening. He can't possibly…
I frantically try to yank my arm free of his strong grip, but only manage to make the hold tighter.
He drags me through the doorway and throws me onto my bed. Before I can get up, he lands on my thighs. Taking both my wrists in one of his hands, he holds them above my head.
I struggle with all my strength, but it's useless. I'm an FBI agent; this shouldn't be happening to me!
"Steve! Please, don't do this! Get off me!"
"No more talking."
The force of the impact stuns me. By the time I come to my senses, my cheek is throbbing, my shirt is gone, probably ripped apart on the floor, and he's unfastening my pants.
I bite my lower lip to keep from making a sound. How did I so quickly become a victim? I thought I was strong. Even when I can't rely on my strength, I thought I could be smart, but I can't think of any way to get me out of this.
I glance toward my closet. My gun is in there, safely and uselessly in its case. I hadn't bothered to bring it along with me today, figuring I wouldn't need it since I was only going to identify a body. If only I had known I'd need to protect myself from the very person I was going to help. If only I hadn't gone. I could have just spent the day with Danny, instead of…
Cold air rushes at my skin, and I realize that Steve has managed to get my pants off. I guess my shoes and socks had proceeded, but I don't remember.
He grabs my side and flips me onto my stomach. One more swift tug, and I'm completely exposed, at the mercy of the man who says he loves me…
I hear unzipping, and my breath is lost somewhere inside my chest. I want to try to prepare myself, but I don't know how. This has never happened to me before. Not knowing what to expect is almost the worst part.
Almost.
Pain! A scream is torn from my throat as he rips into my too-tight body. My reaction doesn't deter him. He simply pulls out and slams back in. I scream again. I can't control it. The pain is unbearable.
Someone…help…please…Ahh!
I feel my insides ripping with his thrusts, but I'm able to contain my screams. A few more moments and something wet presents itself inside me, lubricating his thrusts. I suddenly realize it's my blood, and that earns another cry.
I don't know why I don't just scream. My dignity has already been stripped, and Steve doesn't seem to care. Am I worried that Danny will come by and hear me? Danny…
Trying to escape into my own thoughts fails as Steve pounds harder. I don't know why the pain hasn't lessened.
With my face shoved into the covers, I soon realize I'm starting to suffocate. Straining my neck, I lift my face to breathe. I find myself staring into my bathroom mirror. I turn away immediately, but the image of my reflection is burned into my mind.
I didn't want to see it. Feeling it was bad enough, but to actually see myself being…
Steve's gruff voice forces me back into reality, "This is what love is, Martin. Do you hear me? This is love."
Then I don't want it.
His thrusts become erratic, and suddenly he's shooting his scorching seed deep within me.
I make some disgusted sound and don't care if he hears me.
He slips out of me, but I don't feel any better. I hear him fixing his clothes behind me.
"This is love. Understand." With that, he leaves. He just leaves me. The front door slams, and he's gone.