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It had all happened so fast.
Well, he know it hadn’t actually happen fast. But it felt like it did.
It didn’t feel like he was the one that got shoved against a wall and violated in the school bathroom.
It was like he wasn’t even in his body for a while. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening.
Even an hour later when he was left in the bathroom in his boxers and t-shirt with bruises all over his body and messy hair, nothing felt real.
Because this couldn’t happen to him.
You hear about being assaulted all the time, but you never expect to be the one it happens too.
Drew put back on his clothes and did his best to cover the marks on him and brush out his hair with his hands and pray no one saw the haunted look on his face.
The day passed in a blur.
When he got home he was met by a letter on the counter.
His parents were on another business trip.
He went to his room and layed on his bed.
He layed for a long time.
What else was there to do?
Nothing felt normal anymore.
How could anything feel normal after what just happened to him?
He could do something.
Anything.
Call someone.
Tell them what happened.
Report it.
But he doesn’t.
His body feels rooted in place.
All he can do is stare and relive the moments leading up to it.
There is a knock at the door.
+++
When he opens it, he’s met with Zoey’s face.
“Hey Drewy-Bear~” Her voice is upbeat as it always is when she wants something.
He’s familiar with their little song and dance.
She’s a decoy, a distraction, a blockade from prying eyes. A status symbol, something to show off, a reputation booster.
He is paid bills, expensive gifts, chocolates and flowers. A status symbol, something to show off, a reputation booster.
And yet there’s more to it.
Something lying underneath their regular relationship.
Something more.
A friendship? A mutual understanding? A confidant?
He is not sure.
He’s sure she isn’t either.
“Uh… Drew?” She raises an eyebrow at him, expectantly.
He must’ve forgotten to respond to her.
“Oh, uh,” His brain is hardly keeping up with what’s happening.
She must see a crack in his demeanor, because her face changes.
“What happened to your arms?” Her voice is different now, and so is her body language.
This is what Drew has come to associate with the real Zoey,
not the one who plays up everything for a little more spare cash from him.
For a minute, he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
He’s quickly reminded of it when he looks down, however.
The bruises, right.
They decorate his arms, his thighs, his back. Everything.
He doesn’t know how to respond.
Could he even tell her?
Men don’t get assaulted. They’re the ones doing the assaulting.
If he says anything, she’ll probably just think he’s weak.
That he didn’t fight hard enough.
And so he bites his tongue and looks away.
+++
Despite his lack of communication, Zoey is intent on staying.
She coaxes him to his bed, before moving to the bathroom, and Drew thinks he can hear the sound of running water.
He’s proven right when she comes back a few minutes later, leading him to the bathtub with gentle hands.
He’s undressed infront of her before, he shouldn’t be as scared as he is.
Maybe Zoey sees that fear, because she lets him take as much time as he needs. She doesn’t move to help him take off any of his clothing like she usually would,
and he’s thankful for that.
Her eyes widen at the marks all over his body.
He pretends not to notice.
He sits in the tub. She’s gone the extra mile, as usual, putting putting bubbles and bath bombs into the bath.
She runs careful fingers through his wet hair, digging in her fingers at all the right places, and making sure to linger in places she knows he likes while rubbing in the soap.
His eyes flutter closed and he sighs contentedly when she uses her nails.
She talks nearly the whole time, trying to fill the silence.
She talks about little things, irrelevant things.
A cat she saw earlier that morning, the test in history, Henry’s newest attempt to flirt with Lia, a sunset picture she took yesterday.
Little things.
Not huge, impactful, life-altering things.
Things that take your control and use you.
Things that pin you against the wall and cover your mouth with their hand and whisper awful disgusting things in your ear—
…
When his tears fall, she wipes them.
+++
She dries him off when he gets out of the bath, and takes extra time to treat all of his wounds before helping him get dressed.
He feels like he’s living in a dream.
When his breaths become uneven and all he can feel is his back against the school bathroom wall, she talks him through it.
When he goes to sleep that night, she’s pressed against his back, brushing her hand through his hair.
When he wakes up the next morning, she’s called in sick for him from school.
Things are not okay.
He does not think things will ever be okay again.
But he will be alive.
Maybe, eventually, that can be enough.