The Treehouse [BxB]

sixteen

River sat through breakfast with his parents, fiddling with the sleeves of Mickey's jumper, noticing how the collar still smelt like his cologne. His parents asked him what he and Mickey had been doing for the past couple of days. He told them they had played a lot of video games and watched a lot of movies. When they asked about Declan, he dodged the question.

He didn't eat much - he told his parents Dominique had already fed them. The truth was, he still couldn't keep anything down. His stomach was weak, just like the rest of him. Just because the drugs were finally out of his system, it didn't mean the memories were. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him. Those grey eyes and that smug grin. It haunted him.

He felt like a stranger in his own bedroom. Like he was stealing the life of a boy who had not been raped. Everything was different now. Everything was more bleak, and more meaningless.

After shutting the door behind him, he leant back against the wall, and started to cry. The tears quickly became uncontrollable, streaming down his flushed face, and onto Mickey's jumper. He collapsed onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow, and sobbing quietly.

He wondered what Casey was doing right now. Probably tending to his injuries, and praying that River wouldn't go to the police.

He wished he was brave enough to come forward. To show the world how much Casey had violated him. How much he had taken from him. How much he had hurt him. The bruises on his wrists, his hips, his heart. He wished he could show them all of it. But he wasn't strong enough, not even with Mickey at his side.

He wanted to hide it all away, bury it deep inside him, and never think about it again. That was proving to be difficult, when all he could see were those fucking eyes.

Had Casey done it before? Were there other boys out there, broken and destroyed by his actions? Were they sat in their bedrooms, crying, and wondering the very same thing?

But that wasn't the question which really irked him, instead it was the question of whether he would do it again. Of course he would. He was a monster in a pretty mask, hiding behind a costume of friendly smiles. He would find another boy just like River; he would slip something into their drink, and he would rape them. And that boy would never be the same again - but Casey didn't care.

If River reported him, maybe those boys would never turn into victims. Maybe River could prevent it from happening again. Maybe he was the real monster here, letting Casey continue on a path of destruction, ruining more lives all because River was too cowardly to tell anyone.

He hoped that those boys had a friend as good as Mickey, to pick up the pieces of their broken hearts and sellotape them back together. It would never be perfect again - there would always be cracks in it from this day forward - but at least it was all there. And over time, those cracks would fade into scars. Everyone had scars, so what did it matter?

He wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand, then rolled up his sleeve. The ring of bruises that circled his wrists had turned into a shade of bluish-purple. He still remembered the feeling of Casey's hands there, pinning him down to the bed with no escape.

He used to like being held down, choked, tied up. He used to enjoy it. And now, it made him sick to his stomach, just thinking about all the rough things he used to ask for in bed. He couldn't even imagine himself ever wanting to have sex with someone again. Letting them touch him, see him, use him.

He didn't want to belong to anyone but himself ever again.

He crawled under the covers, pulled them up past his face, and with the comforting scent of Mickey's jumper, he fell asleep.

He stayed like that for the rest of summer, cooped up in his bedroom with the blinds drawn, and his face in the pillows.

Mickey came round most days, brought games and snacks, and sat at the end of the bed, talking to River about anything and everything. He ran his fingers through his hair, and gave him old jumpers he didn't wear anymore. He told him he was worried about him, but River never replied.