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Upstairs? Auction. No. No. No.
Moving from between us, he steps behind Zeke, securing his arms behind him, holding him down. Zeke’s eyes and cheeks are swollen, and blood smears across his face. I can’t tell if the blood is coming from lacerations or a broken nose.
“Show him boys,” the man, who I’m coming to understand must be the head guard, barks out.
Bracing myself for a beating of my own, I’m startled when instead my pants and boxer briefs are yanked down, pooling around my ankles.
“See, we collect people for a purpose,” he starts. “This one,” he points at me, and I wish I could see his face but instead I stare into the dark mask wondering what hides beneath. “He’s pretty. We don’t deal in men very often, but I reckon the boss will get a pretty penny for him. Let’s see how much training he’s going to need, shall we?”
As the words swirl through my head, the panic settles in, but before I can even react, one of the men spreads my cheeks and something is shoved inside of me, tearing me apart. A scream escapes my lips as I’m invaded by some inanimate object that rips me open. I can’t see what they’re using but the man behind me laughs as he takes from me. He fucking laughs, and I have no will left inside of me to hold back the tears.
I can’t even beg. I’m so broken, so I just take it as the tears stream down my face, blurring my vision.
“Get the fuck off of him! Don’t fucking touch him!! I’ll do anything, I’ll do - just stop!” Zeke’s shouts turn to sobs and he fights against the grip of the man who holds him.
“Don’t, Zeke,” I cry low, trying to tell Zeke to stop, to just let it be over with. My voice is strained and I’m not even sure if the words made it through the sobs. My eyes meet his and I plead with him without saying a word. I watch his face fall. I watch a light go out in his eyes, and I close my own because the shame floods my entire body and no matter how hard I try to be strong, the truth is, I’m broken.
Chapter thirty-seven
Zeke
The door to the cell slams shut, clanging through the air, and I’m left feeling so many feelings that I can’t even comprehend. I’ve felt anger before. I’ve felt helpless before. But I’ve never felt this before.
Even all those years ago with Ellie, there was a wall between us. I never witnessed more than the crying and pleading, and that was enough for me. That was enough to rip my heart out.
But this?
I’m 14 years old again; too helpless to intervene. Forced to sit on the sidelines while someone I care about is violated, having pieces of them stripped away by brutal men. Pieces they can never get back. This time I had to watch it happen. A pipe. They sodomized him with a fucking pipe, and they laughed while they did it. No matter how hard I fought, I wasn’t strong enough and as a result we both broke in different ways.
You’re a fucking failure, Zeke.
Tears stream down my cheeks, and my face throbs as I wipe the blood and saline from my face. I’m pretty sure something is broken, but I can’t find it in myself to care. My heart clenches in my chest as I crawl over to Cole. The men uncuffed him before leaving the cell, but he just slumped to the ground, sobbing with his pants around his ankles, curled up in a ball.
Sitting on my knees, I hover my hands above his body. Terrified to touch him. Terrified to so much as breathe on him. It’s my fault that he’s here in the first place. My fault that this happened to him, and I wouldn’t blame him if he could never look at me again. I couldn’t protect him, and now all I want to do is fix him but I can’t even fucking touch him.
“Cole,” my voice comes out a shaky whisper, and I don’t know how I expect him to respond, but he doesn’t. Sobs leave him softly while his body trembles. My eyes roam the wounds on his back that aren’t healing properly, and the blood that’s beginning to dry between his thighs.
“Cole, please,” I choke out, “I’m - I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
When he doesn’t answer this time, I wipe my tears and push up to my feet, still crouching beside him. He may hate me, but I can’t leave him like this. Carefully, I pull his pants back up around his waist as best I can without moving him too much. Then sliding my hands beneath his body, I pull him close to my chest, carrying him over to the old mattress we’ve been sleeping on.
Lowering him slowly to the surface, I’m not prepared for the way he clings to my t-shirt with both hands. I’m even less prepared when he doesn’t let go.
“It’s ok, I’ve got you,” I whisper.
Slipping onto the mattress next to him, I’m barely laying down before he’s curled against my chest. His sobs grow louder and he trembles against my chest, soaking my shirt with his tears.
He doesn’t say a word and neither do I. I slip one arm beneath his head, careful not to touch the wounds on his back, and I stroke his hair while he cries. It takes every bit of strength in my body not to break down right alongside him, but he needs me to be strong right now. So that’s what I’ll do.
It doesn’t stop the fears and doubts from creeping in though. The knowledge that I have to be a force for him, doesn’t stop the voices in my head from reminding me how all I’ve done is fail everyone that’s ever needed me, and I’ll probably fail Cole again.
Cole’s sobs begin to slow down, his breathing becoming more even-keeled, and as the crying stops, his eyes shutter closed. Before long, he’s breathing at a slow and even pace, having cried himself to sleep.
So I pull him flush against my chest with one arm, holding him so tightly that no one can tear him away from me again. As my own eyes flutter closed, the fingers of my opposite hand dig into my hip, and that familiar feeling of scraping against my flesh lulls me to sleep.
“I-is he ok?”
The voice stirs me from my sleep, but when I open my eyes, Cole is still knocked out and when I pop my head up to look around, no one else is here. It occurs to me that with the conditions we’ve been subjected to, it’s quite possible that I was either dreaming or maybe I’ve finally cracked and I’m hearing things.
