Chapter Text
He had no idea how long he lay there, staring into space, shivering but not with cold – trying not to process what had happened. Slowly, however, the pain began to seep through, forcing his thoughts toward what they most wanted to avoid. His wide, shell-shocked eyes came into focus on the blood-stained sheets beneath him, and he blinked, swallowing back the wave of nausea that swept over him at the sight.
Have to get up… can’t stay here. This is where… where it… happened…
He tried to stand up – and then immediately collapsed back onto the bed, his breath stolen by the sharp, shooting agony that tore through his body. He struggled to catch his breath, fighting back tears, before finally trying again. He couldn’t stand to be in that bed anymore, where his entire life had just been torn to shreds in the space of a few minutes.
He felt empty… sick… filthy.
Just need to… to get to the shower… wash it away…
But once he managed to get to his feet, he froze, his stomach lurching with fear as he remembered – he wasn’t in his own room.
Can’t stay here… he might come back… have to… to go… somewhere…
He adjusted his clothes, pulling up his jeans and fastening them, wincing at the pain it caused. He could feel the sick, wet heat of blood seeping into them from his torn flesh, and knew that he would have to throw them away.
It didn’t matter.
He’d never want to wear them again, anyway.
Once he had adjusted to standing, he stripped the bloodied sheets off the bed.
Can’t leave them here, for anyone to find. Can’t… can’t let anyone find out…
He picked up his jacket from where it lay neatly across the back of a chair, carrying it over his arm rather than trying to put it on – but first, he took the key card to his own room from the inside pocket. His heart was racing, on the verge of panic as he opened the door and looked out into the hall, half-expecting to find his attacker still waiting in the hallway – but the hall was deserted.
He let out a shaky sigh of relief as he limped slowly, painfully down the hall toward his own room. Only once the door closed behind him did he allow himself to relax a little, leaning against the door and trying to catch his breath. The pain was overwhelming – searing, tearing, like a hot knife stabbing into him with every movement – and it was only sheer necessity that kept him moving.
He had to make sure that no one ever knew what had happened.
He rolled the ruined sheets under his arm into as tight a ball as he could manage, then put them in the trash can under the sink. He would take that trash out a little later, when he was feeling better – when he felt like he could even walk without each step feeling like it was tearing his insides out.
Shower… just need to get clean, and I’ll be… it’ll be…
He couldn’t deceive himself into thinking that it would ever be okay again – but it would be better, once he had washed away the lingering scent and feel of strong, brutal hands, grasping and breaking and pinning him down. It would be better.
It has to be…
The hot water made him draw in his breath in a sharp hiss of pain – but he forced himself to take several slow, deep breaths, inhaling the fragrant steam and trying to allow it to soothe his frayed nerves and traumatized mind. The sting of the water against his broken skin hurt – but it felt good, too – like he was somehow undoing what had been done to him.
Just… have to get clean…
But it didn’t work.
He stayed under the heated spray for nearly an hour, his tears mingling with the rivulets that ran down from his hair over his face, waiting to feel a sense of release – to feel clean and whole again – but it didn’t happen. Finally, when the water began to grow cool, he reached down to turn it off with a trembling hand, then painfully straightened and, with an effort, climbed out of the shower. He wrapped a clean white towel around his waist, picking up another to dry his face and hair – putting off any actual examination of his injuries as long as possible.
Finally, when there was nothing else to do, he turned his back to the mirror with a grimace of pain, preparing to lower the towel and try to see how bad it was – but he froze, his eyes widening with alarm, before he could even take the towel down. The stark white of the towel was in sharp contrast to the deep red stain that had soaked into it, in just the few short minutes it had taken him to dry his upper body.
Still bleeding…
That… can’t be good…
He felt sick with the sudden realization that he was hurt worse than he’d realized, and was going to need medical care. His legs abruptly went weak beneath him, and he caught himself on the edge of the sink, biting down on his lip until he tasted blood, to hold back the anguished cry that tore his throat.
Careful… hold it together… anybody hears you scream like that and this won’t be a secret for long…
He tried to straighten up, hot tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he found that even that slight motion was agonizing.
Oh, God… I can’t even move… but I can’t let people know about this...
What am I going to do?
He nearly cried with relief when he finally reached the bed again, falling awkwardly onto his stomach and taking comfort in the cool softness of the pillow beneath his cheek. Unbidden, a sense memory filled his mind, of his face being pressed against an identical pillow in an identical room, but with violent force, holding his head down until he couldn’t breathe.
No… no, don’t… please don’t…
But it was already done – and none of his panicked mental pleas or attempts to pretend could undo it.
He raised his head, staring with dread at the phone on the bedside table, before finally reaching for the receiver and dialing the extension of a room down the hall – the room where the Idol tour’s public relations agent was staying.
“Hello?”
“Hi, um…” He frowned, closing his eyes, his mind too hazy with the panic of what he was about to have to do to even remember the right name. “… uh… A-Amy?”
“Yes?” He could hear the confusion and uncertainty in the young woman’s voice.
“Th-this is Adam,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and small, unrecognizable as his own, breaking over his quiet, pleading admission. “I… I need help.”