Chapter Text
The music at Eden’s was disorientingly loud. That, plus the lights flashing from color to color on the dance floor, and having to wear his binder for an even longer amount of time than usual, made the already unsettling experience of being forced into this unwanted adventure that much worse.
“You sure you don’t want to dust with us? It’s fun! It’d loosen you up a bit,” Nicky says slyly, nudging him with his shoulder.
“Drugs are stupid.” Neil deadpans. Even if he didn’t have to keep in control of himself in order to protect his secrets, he still would never risk losing his life, his ability to play exy, over something so frivolous.
“Alright, party pooper,” Nicky said, pouting with faux disappointment. “You don’t have to take any if you don’t want. But you at least have to have a shot with us! Team bonding, and all that. Down on three.”
A shot of soda is slid over to him and he figures if he complies with this seemingly harmless request he may be able to avoid any more claims that he’s being uncooperative by not participating in their activities. He’s also quite parched due to the long drive and the warm, overcrowded club.
He throws the shot back and immediately feels dread pool in his gut as the sickly sweet drink slid down his throat before he could try to spit it out. He should not have let his guard down and made such a simple mistake. Should not have been so naive. Should have known they could easily have had somebody drug his drink at this place where they used to work, and still seemed to be known by every employee. He should not have backed down. Even if they’d held his mouth open and shoved it down his throat, he should have bit their fingers until they screamed and snapped and bled. He should have gone down fighting.
Neil’s head shoots up. The looks on their faces indicate each of their individual guilt. Nicky’s morbid curiosity, Aaron’s repeated glances at him replace his usual grumpy indifference, Kevin’s simultaneously guilty and fearful gaze glued to the table as he reaches for another shot, and of course, Andrew’s stare, somehow simultaneously smug and blank.
Neil tries to get up, get away, run, but the drug's effect on his body hits him quicker and harder than he anticipated, causing him to clumsily slide his way out of the booth, only to run straight into a body. There are hands on him, grabbing his too tight shirt and shoulders. Andrew’s apathetic face comes into view as he checks his pupils before passing him off to Nicky.
At this point Neil is so disoriented he can’t seem to hold on to a single coherent thought. He can feel Nicky dragging him to the dance floor, too warm bodies brushing against him, his feet stumbling for purchase and struggling to hold him up. Nicky’s hands wander: shoulders, back, neck, hips, ass. Dancing, touching, laughing as Neil’s uncoordinated attempts at pushing him away fail pathetically.
Neil sees Nicky’s face moving towards his in unsettling slow motion but doesn’t realize what’s happening until Nicky’s mouth is on his, body pressed against him completely, tongue shoving it’s way inside and depositing something in his mouth.
Dust. Drugs. Fuck.
A one two punch, the only positive point being that he hasn’t actually been punched. Yet.
All Neil can think is no . He doesn’t want this. The drugs. The touch. The invasion of space. The man. The loss of control. The unwanted memories. The loss of his bodily autonomy.
He tries to escape but Nicky only grips him tighter.
“No,” he groans out against Nicky’s lips “Please stop.”
He pushes against his chest weakly, his unsettlingly loose limbs unable to get leverage. He thinks he manages to scratch him in the midst of his struggling, because he hears a hiss before his arms are restrained by his wrists behind him with one of Nicky’s hands, wrenched back so hard he feels his shoulders strain.
Nicky’s body is rubbing against his uncomfortably, disgustingly sweaty and sloppy in his frenzy. The feeling of another body pressing against his chest, of hands pawing at him, of unwelcome memories coming to the forefront of his mind, makes his lungs seize and Neil cringe away, only to have his lip bitten in retaliation and his wrists gripped so harshly he can’t help but let out a whimper.
This continues until finally, after what feels like an eternity, Nicky recedes. Neil tries valiantly to escape the dance floor, but in his directionless wandering he only succeeds in bumping into Andrew.
Andrew grabs him, pushing him against a nearby wall to interrogate him at knife point, making Neil lose any last scrap of his ability to be present or rational to the blood stained basement in his mind. Andrew held him there for a while before releasing him where, once again, Nicky found him. Puts his tongue in his mouth, down his throat, biting his way roughly down his neck.
He’s groping him, grinding against him, huffing and grunting, making wanton noises of pleasure.
Neil is suffocating. He goes limp. He feels himself floating away; wanting to escape this all too familiar situation but having no way out leaves him helpless, with no option other than to leave his mind out of self preservation, ignoring the assault until it’s over.
At some point he comes back to his body, gaining enough control to finally wriggle himself free, Nicky’s grasp having become relaxed and distracted in his drugged up, aroused euphoria. He pushes Nicky off and shoves his way through the crowd.
As he staggers through the doorway into the restroom he runs directly into a person exiting, and gets knocked off his feet.
“Woah! I’m so sorry, bud. I didn’t see you coming.” The person wearing an all black ensemble, including short, thick heeled boots, has a lavender undercut, the long portion styled in an intricate braid.
It’s amazing that his discombobulated brain is able to come up with any idea, let alone one that is likely to succeed, but he’s used to pushing through much worse torture, forced to have a clear mind in the midst of extreme pain or risk losing his life, or worse, face the wrath of his mother.
“You look a little worse for wear. Is there anything I can do to help you? Maybe call a friend or something to take you home?”
He knows he can’t make it back to campus like this: he doesn’t know the area well enough to hide out anywhere safely, and he doesn’t trust anyone enough to call them, especially since they neglected to warn him about the drugging, knife-point interrogation, and sexual assault portion of this outing. So, he thinks of something that will at least keep him from spilling any more information than he already has, or remembering any more of each monster’s unique brand of torture.
“Knock me out.” Neil manages to slur out from his position on the floor.
“What?” The person sounds rightfully confused, crouching down in front of him.
“Hit me. On the head,” Neil forces the words out, despite the part of him that sounds suspiciously similar to his mother’s gravelly, deathbed voice, saying he should never let his guard down like this, especially in front of a complete stranger. But he clocked this particular stranger’s hair color and general demeanor, and almost immediately ruled them out as one of his father’s men: too noticeable, unique, unconventional. Too full of light. So he ignores that relentless voice telling him to keep your head down, never trust anyone, rely only on yourself, run , and continues.
“Knock me out. It won’t take much.“
“Oh, buddy… I don’t really — ”
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks. It’s in my shoe.” The drugs make him loose-lipped but he lets himself blabber on, knowing it’s his best shot at getting through the night; or, at least, ending it. “Just, please,” he begs, “knock me out. Leave me here. My — “ he almost says teammates, but after this, he’s not sure he wants to stay at Palmetto, even if it means giving up exy; because how can he trust them to have his back on the court if they were complicit and participated in such disgusting acts? How could he sleep in the dorms knowing a predator knows where he’s sleeping and could come for him at any moment?
“They’ll find me and remove me from here; you won’t have to deal with me. Just, please. I don’t, I can’t. I need you to — ” His binder constricts his breathing as he hyperventilates, and in reaching down to discreetly adjust it he feels a tear in his shirt that leaves the edge of his binder and a portion of his scarred skin on full display. He doesn’t know if this crack in his armor came from struggling against Nicky, or his encounter with Andrew’s knife, but either way, it only serves to worsen his panic.
”Wait. Oh god, no,” he moans, but he doesn’t allow himself to completely shut down, knowing that this is his only chance at avoiding any more time with Nicky, Andrew, and the other monsters while he is still vulnerable due to the drug's effects.
“They’ll see it. I can’t let them see it. Oh god, what am I gonna do?” he whines miserably, clumsily pulling at his shirt, almost forgetting the stranger in front of him who’s now looking down at what’s worsened his distraught state. A look of understanding crosses their face.
“Hey, buddy,” they begin in a significantly calmer tone, “I’m right here. I’m not gonna let anyone see you right now,” they say while taking off their black flannel. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to help put this on you and button it up. Would that be okay?”
Oddly, Neil’s heartbeat slows, breathing doing the same in response to this stranger’s very considerate response to the situation. He thinks about it before giving a small but sure nod. They do their best to gently put Neil’s uncoordinated arms through the sleeves without touching his skin, and swiftly button the oversized garment.
“Alright,” the person concedes, attempting to soothe Neil’s inconsolable anxiety “I will knock you out. But promise me you’ll come back here and let me know you’re alright. And tell me the truth about whatever the fuck is happening right now.”
“Come back?! No. I can’t. I — “ Neil very nearly loses his stomach at the mere thought of a repeat of this wretched night.
“Sorry! You’re right. Bad idea, if being here has you looking like this. How about this? I’ll write my number down, put it in your shoe, and you’ll call me so we can meet up. Somewhere that’s not a disgusting bar bathroom. No payment necessary.”
“Okay. I promise. Now knock me out. Quick,” Neil says, letting his eyes fall shut, unusually calm now in the presence of this kind stranger, with the knowledge that he’ll be unconscious soon, free from touch, torture, and tormenting memories. There’s a flash of pain on his jaw, and then finally: blissful nothingness.