Chapter Text
Never before had Luke had this feeling in his stomach, a storm of anxiety and fear ripping away all of the security blankets he’d wrapped around himself. For the past 24 hours he hadn’t left his bedroom, he couldn't leave his bedroom - what if he was here? His mother was becoming worried, he doesn't usually spend this much time alone.
What’s wrong Luke?
Nothing. I’m fine.
And it was nothing. Because he’d bought it on himself. He’d gone to that party when his mum had told him not to. It’ll only end in tears she’d told him. And she was right in a way, but it had ended in so much more than tears.
He hadn’t really wanted to go to the party, but Calum was going and Michael was going, and he desperately wanted to impress Michael, so he had to go. Calum had helped him to sneak out without his parents or brothers noticing and soon he was stood in the middle of a group of people, his throat burning as he drank shot after shot of whatever people handed him.
The hands on his waist had startled him, but he was too drunk to push them away, they were quite comforting actually, in his drunken state. Parties weren’t his scene – he was more of an introvert – but his friends had insisted that he come, despite ditching him within minutes of getting there.
Turning to face the person with a hold on his hips, his bright blue eyes were met with deep brown ones staring down at him, studying his facial features.
You have beautiful eyes. They remind me of the ocean.
Thank you.
You’re cute when you blush.
They’d chatted a little about random things, like music and celebrities, the older boy touching him quite a lot, although he’d been too drunk to recognise the flirting at the time, he’d simply laughed as the boy’s hand travelled up his thigh.
Dude, he was slurring slightly, don’t do that it tickles!
When Monday came, he wanted to collapse. He’d stayed in bed since returning home in the early hours of Saturday morning, but he was still exhausted. Dragging himself downstairs to make breakfast, he was met with the faces of two overly happy brothers, which only increased his cravings of his bed.
"That party was awesome!" Calum and Michael ran over to him at the school gates, "Man I was so wasted!" Michael laughed.
"Where’d you disappear to? I didn’t see you all night!" Calum slung an arm around his shoulder, walking in the direction of the school building. He wasn’t sure he could do this.
Each day of the week was harder than the previous, the storm in his stomach escalating into a hurricane. It was a cycle: wake up, go to school, get home and sleep. His mother and father were worried, but he couldn’t bring himself to go downstairs to speak to them. Besides, he had no real explanation as to why he felt so empty, so broken – it’s not like it was… that.
Soon it was Friday again, and somehow he was in the middle of a group of people again, because Calum and Michael had dragged him to another party and ditched him at the door again. But this time he wasn’t having fun. This time he wasn’t taking shots, he was alone within a crowd of people from school, too many hands touching him, roaming his body and suddenly he was in that room with that man again. Soon he felt a sick sense of de-ja-vu which bought him to his knees in front of the toilet.
He wanted to call out for someone, anyone really; God he didn’t even care if Michael saw him at this point. He was always clingy when he was sick, probably linked to being the youngest of his brothers, but then the track changed and the speakers got louder and he couldn’t hear himself think.
It’s loud down here, wanna go upstairs and chat properly?
Another wave of nausea hit him and this time he couldn’t stop. There was nothing left in his stomach but he still couldn’t stop.
The man was tugging at his shirt, pulling it over his head before ripping off his own. Soon he was hovering over him, strong arms either side of him stopping him from escaping. Warm breath hit his face and he cried out as he felt a fiery pain engulfed him suddenly.
He didn’t know if it was the fear, shock or alcohol, but something made him forget how to form a sentence. He couldn’t say it, but he didn’t want this. Putting his fists onto the man’s chest, he put all of his strength into pushing the man away, but he wasn’t strong enough.
C’mon babe, you’ll like it once you get used to it.
No.
No.
No.
Get off me.
Stop.
I don’t want this.
Stop
Please.
Help me.
All words fell on deaf ears and by the time the man reached his climax, Luke’s voice had become hoarse. Crying out as the man pulled away from him, he’d sobbed uncontrollably. The next 30 minutes were a blur to Luke, but somehow he’d found his clothes and stumbled outside. He hadn’t wanted to walk, he was bleeding and every step sent a sharp pain shooting up his spine, but he’d gotten a lift there with Calum, Michael and an older boy that Michael knew with brown hair and hazel eyes, so there was no other way of getting home.
Somehow he’d made it home and upstairs without collapsing or waking his parents. Sitting in the bathroom that night, he reflected on the way he’d lost his virginity as he stared at the bloody boxers laying on the floor in front of him.
Only girls are supposed to bleed on their first time.
A week later and he was still pained by the thoughts of that night, which was stupid because it was only sex. But he hadn’t wanted it, so maybe it was-
No. I wasn’t that. It couldn’t be that.
"Jack?" He approached his older brother, who always had an answer for him, "If somebody has sex, but they didn’t want to, is that rape?"
"Yes, why? Did it happen to a girl at school? Was it someone you knew? Oh God, Luke you didn’t force anybody did you?"
"No of course not! I don’t even speak to the girls at school, I'd never do that! I just, um, read something."
So maybe it would’ve been that if it had happened to a girl at school. But it happened to him, so it wasn’t.
It couldn’t be that because he’s a boy and he could’ve fought back. It doesn’t matter that the 6-foot-2 man towered over his 5-foot-4 body, or that the man was 22 while he was only 15, he still could’ve - no, should’ve fought back. Because he was a boy.
So he had no reason to feel like this. He had no reason to be holding a bottle of pills in his shaking hand. He had no reason to spend hours every evening curled into a ball, hyperventilating in the shower. He had no reason to drag a razor blade across his wrist every night and he had no reason to wake up screaming every morning because of nightmares.
He had no reason. Because it wasn’t rape. It couldn’t have been rape, because he was a boy.