Remember that warning about traumatic material? This chapter has the entire works, take care of yourself, read carefully and please, talk to someone if you feel upset- my inbox is always open!

Aditya does not wear cologne.

For the past twelve years he’d see the small black box wrapped in cellophane in the nest of presents his family had sent his way, at first he’d open the package, screw up the clear paper in his fist and smash the bottle to pieces hoping it would mend as the liquid seeped beneath the floorboards.

It never did.

And neither did his heart.

He was seventeen when his heart crashed to the ground, the arteries splitting and allowing blood to flow into the river of doubt he’d stopped in front of to wash away the dirt and grime in his veins that only he could see.

On occasion when the cold bit his skin too hard he could still make out the impression of the buckle on his taut muscles, still feel the heavyweight of leather strapped to his wrists as he led there bound and at someone else’s mercy. With that came the familiar echo of his own screams, it never went away, but he always wished it would.

As the head of the shower splashes water down his form he recalls what else had splashed there before, the white, thick liquid of release that tainted his soul and scarred him for an eternity or more. Even now he scrubs it with salt rocks, not stopping till the brown turns red and the burn soothes the itch he longs to rip apart with his own hands just so his nails can be chopped away to rid him of what once was.

He’d always been told in not so many words that he was too masculine to be a victim, too coloured and too old. It was held in his parent’s eyes as he’d disclosed his trauma, it lingered on their hands as they brushed him away.

“Your uncle is not gay” his mother spat.

“With those muscles, why didn’t you just fight back?” His father yelled.

“That doesn’t happen in our culture” they both responded in unison.

But it did.

It had.

Because it had happened to him.

Paedophilia was a sexual attraction in itself, it did not care for gender. A thick stick of want and desire inserted into his most sensitive area did not equal gay, not when a child had been involved, not when that child had been him.

When his face was shoved into a pillow so his screams sucked in fluffy clouds of disappointment rather than oxygen and his uncle’s pent up frustration was spent over his shaking body, his contused hands forming bald patches as he ripped out shreds of his hair, he did not know how to fight back, his muscles had become stationary as the real battle took place in his head.

White, black or brown, was being a victim also being a colour? If he had to imagine, he’d pick grey. The colour of neither or, the shade of unknown. Aditya Hooda did not know who he was, what he was or why he was, all he knew was that he had pulled away every inch of brown to reveal red that soaked him from the inside out. Perhaps he is a victim now?

When he climbs into bed, the creaks of the mattress resound around him, drowning him in memories of shaking posts and lightning strikes against the windowpane. His tears mingle with the rain, the soil as wet as the dampness on his back when he finally makes it to the toilet and tries for the tenth time to let go of everything within.

It does not come.

He has not came since.

Far too disgusted with the habit of sexual endeavours that leave behind frugal beginnings because anything decorated in lavishness is an expense he can no longer afford, especially since he has already paid far too much.

“You were my first” he cries, over and over again until his throat is sore and his lungs are torn.

“Use it as experience” he pushes his thumb atop the gold button of spray so that it wafts around them to clear away the sweat, the blood, the tears, the end. “You’ll make some pretty girl very happy, someday”.

Someday. One day. But not today.

He had been alone long before he reached the ice cap mountains. Surrounded by so many, yet no one stood beside him.

They say after seven years what once touched you will have left no trace. Seven years had gone nearly twice, but still, he feels it all.

The pressure squeezing his insides each time he sits down, the tension of his ribs as they poke through his organs every time he sees a man with a beard that is slightly yellow from old age and the panic attacks that knock him out from dawn till dusk where he relives the night all over again.

Aditya had run away, but he could never quite run far enough.

Because what lived outside of him had found it’s way in. His uncle had penetrated his skin.

Now wherever he went, uncle Nadeem would follow in scent.

+++

Zoya awoke to yapping and nudges on her leg, blinking through the haze, she rubbed her eyes “Hey, what’s wrong?” Peering around the bathroom, she pulled herself to her feet.

Oatie ran into the bedroom, wagging his tail ferociously as he hoped she would follow suit.

Stumbling to the door, she awoke properly at the sight of Aditya tossing and turning rapidly, sweat wetting his hair and sticking to his bare chest. Inching closer, she frowned then reached out a hand “Aditya?”

His eyes shot open, hand cut outwards to grab her wrist before tugging her onto the bed so he could cover his body with hers. Wrapping a hand around her throat, he pushed her body down with his own “Who are you?”

Choking, she grappled against his hold “Z-Zoya” she was tossed to the side, her coughs overcoming her at the weight of his hand and chest.

“Shit” he brushed his hand through his hair and tapped on the lamp. “Zoya, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you, when” he paused, “When I sleep alone I have nightmares, I tried to wait up for you, but I must’ve been too tired” he sat up a bit more. “Have I hurt you?”

Scrambling back, she wrapped her arms around herself at the sudden flash of memories of what once was.

“When I say be ready on time” he flung her back so her spine crushed the plaster on the wall, then loomed over her, “I mean be ready on time” he snarled, hand cosy around her neck as he squeezed down.

Hot tears made their way down her cheeks. She had known this was coming, but still, she’d got too comfortable, she should’ve known better, should’ve lost more weight before she came here, maybe then he would love her? Maybe then she’d love herself too?

“Let me see” he grabbed her chin and tipped it up, “God, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” he reached for some baby oil he kept on the desk and poured a little on his thumb, then rubbed it onto her throat, the pads of his fingers flexing on the red marks. “This may be too forward, but” he held his arms out, “Let me fix this?”

Her eyes ran from one of his arms straight to the other, then her head shook “I, I can’t” seeing the way his face dropped, she rushed into his falling hold, she didn’t wish to anger him any more. Coiling into him, she shuddered as he led down, one of his hands cradling her head while the other wrapped around her waist. Before she knew it, she was finding relief in the safety of his arms that kept away the draft from the open window. Life had never been this way before, no one had held her close, she had a funny feeling that no one had done that for him either. The fact remained the same, Aditya was just like Saul, it wouldn’t be long now until her number was up. Grazing her glance over his hands, she shut her eyes tightly, she knew all too well what hands like that could do, she expected he knew it too. Because she may not be his first victim, but she definitely would not be his last.

Rocking her back and forth, he hummed lowly “I’ve got you, Zoya, I’ve got you” he hoped to never let her go, but he knew life was like an elastic band, if he wanted to see where she was meant to go, he’d have to let her wander, hoping she’d choose to stay with the broken man and his dog in the middle of nowhere rather than adventure on to a place elsewhere where he could not and would not follow.