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There were only snippets of consciousness.

Someone whispering something unintelligible in his ear.

Darkness.

A heavy weight on top of him.

Darkness.

Pain where he’d never felt pain before. But where he’d always secretly wanted to.

Darkness.

Disgust at himself.

Darkness.

Shame.

Darkness.

Pleasure.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

* * *

There’d been a moment where he’d thought for sure this was over. The taunting and teasing. The jokes at his expense spoken loudly enough to be overheard. Cal had been careless, had given in to temptation in the locker room, and had been caught. He’d hated himself for his urges, but it was different when someone else openly hated him for them.

When someone else proved those internal whispers that told him he was a broken freak.

“We all know how dirty you really are,” a sharp laugh.

A sharp laugh and then…

His foot on the gas.

Calix on his knees, his hands stained red.

The last words Sister Grace had spoken to him when he’d left the orphanage with the police echoed seemingly all around him, thumping from the walls and out of the mouths of the onlookers.

“Good Light. May the gods have mercy on that poor boy's soul.”

That poor boy.

That poor boy.

May the gods have mercy on his soul.

His soul.

His.

May the gods…

* * *

“…mercy on…” Calix came out of the dream already speaking, uttering the words on autopilot. He didn’t notice. Didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, only that there was a searing pain somewhere and a rush of accompanying euphoria he’d never felt before. “Mercy…on…his…mercy on…mercy…”

“What was that?” a voice, harsh and out of breath, spoke directly against the curve of Calix’s ear, causing him to flinch.

He moaned and turned his head away, whimpering when the pain got sharper.

“Repeat that,” the voice demanded, louder when he wasn’t immediately obeyed. “Say it again.”

Say what?

Calix shook his head, not comprehending. The room was dim, and he couldn’t make anything out other than shapes and shadows. He could tell something wasn’t right, but couldn’t say what, only that he was uncomfortable and it was hard to breathe. Something heavy held him down, crushing his chest, and between his legs—

“Don’t…stop.” Weakly, his hands lifted, and he grabbed onto silky material.

“What?” the voice sounded shocked, but not disgusted.

That wasn’t right. He should find Cal grotesque. Everyone did, once they truly got to know him.

“Hard…er,” he said, clinging to the man’s shirt. “Make me…suffer. I want…to.”

“Repeat that,” the voice growled, losing his patience, and Calix struggled to follow, wanting the pleasure to return to mix with the pain, knowing from experience that obedience was the way to achieve that.

But…what was going on?

Where was he?

Why was he…

“I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done,” the voice said. “Don’t you get that?”

Oh.

For what he’d done.

Was this retribution then?

His comeuppance?

“…mercy…” Calix didn’t want to die. Or maybe he did, and he was simply too out of it to realize. Maybe his resistance was really just born of survival instinct.

A strangled sound was pulled from him when the heavy weight over him started to move again.

May the gods have mercy on that poor boy's soul.

Clearly, they weren’t going to.

If only he could tell Sister Grace her precious gods hadn’t listened to her pleas.

“…the gods…” Before he knew it, he was muttering out loud again. “…have mercy…”

The heavy weight came to another stop, but Calix was already slipping back into the darkness, welcoming it with open arms since it’d mean escaping the agony of being awake.

The agony of being him.

“Gods?” the voice laughed, the sound manic at best, demonic at worst. “I’ll…”

Calix didn’t catch the rest of that sentence.

The darkness encased him once more.

* * *

“What kind of freak gets hard while they’re raped?” There was a dark sound, a chuckle maybe. “You came all over the place. Was that why you were spared? Is that why you’re still breathing?”

Nimble fingers brushed sticky strands of hair off his forehead, and Calix blinked, momentarily pulled back to the light. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but the intense pair of pink eyes weren’t it.

“Finally awake?” the owner of the pink eyes spoke, and his voice was familiar, instantly setting Cal on edge.

Had he been dreaming of that voice? Telling him to…do something?

Repeat…something?

His hand twitched at his side, but even that little movement caused shooting pain throughout his body, and he whimpered.

There was a flash in those eyes, almost like interest mixed with something more terrifying. Something soulless and black.

But before Calix could pick it apart, his vision winked out, and he disappeared into the abyss all over again.

* * *

“Stand back!”

“Make room!”

“He’s coming to, Doctor.”

Calix groaned and then hissed at the sudden onslaught of agony in his lower region. He shifted in a poor attempt to rid himself of it, but all that did was make it ten times worse.

Someone shushed him, someone close, and when he growled defensively and lifted his head to curse at whoever was there, the word got caught in his throat.

“Detective Valimir, are you with me?” A pair of ethereal pink eyes held his for a moment, and when he got no response, his worried expression deepened. “The drugs are still in his system, and he’s most likely in shock. Has a room been prepared?”

“Yes, Doctor,” a different voice, this one female, spoke on Calix’s opposite side, and his head rolled to face her. She wasn’t as attractive as the pink-eyed man, but that same look of concern was painted over her face.

And pity.

Calix bristled the second he identified that emotion, trying—and failing—to sit up. He fell back onto the gurney, finally processing that’s what he was lying on and that he was currently being wheeled down a bright white hallway.

“Detective,” the pink-eyed doctor called out to him, waiting until he had his attention once more. “You’re at the hospital right now. I know this may be difficult, but I really need you to try and focus and tell me where it hurts, all right? Can you do that for me?”

Calix frowned and wet his throat, a bit surprised by how raspy he sounded when he asked, “Hurts?”

Well.

His throat certainly didn’t feel great. It felt like he’d been screaming for a week straight.

He hadn’t…had he?

Actually…

“What,” he coughed, winced, and tried again, “What happened?”

The doctor wore a pinched expression and then glanced over him toward the female nurse accompanying them. “Make sure the officers wait until I’ve done a full examination. He’s still too confused at the moment to answer any of their questions.”

“Yes, of course, Doctor.” They reached a wide-open doorway, and she let go of the gurney, bowing to the pink-eyed man before turning on her heel and speeding off, no doubt to follow his order.

Which had been strange.

“Officers?” Calix waited while the doctor brought him into a large private room, closed the doors behind them, and returned to his side. When he tried to sit up a second time, the doctor placed a gentle hand on the center of his chest.

“I wouldn’t.” He gave him a serious look. “I apologize if this seems intrusive to you, Detective, but I have to ask in order to properly do my job. I’m sure a man in your position understands that well enough to sympathize with me, no matter how…embarrassing it may be to talk about.”

“Embarrassing?” Calix really wished he knew what the hell was going on.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” the doctor asked.

“Um…” He thought back, worried for a second when his mind came up blank, then sighed in relief when something clicked into place. “I was at my dumb high school reunion. It sucked. I shouldn’t have gone.”

“I’m sorry to hear you had a bad time.” The doctor stuck close but pulled over a wheeled tray and started to organize items on its surface. His motions were meticulous but casual.

“You’re going through a lot of trouble to try not to spook me,” Calix observed. “Just give it to me straight, Doc. What happened to me?”

“You really don’t remember?”

“I don’t—”

“A few people saw you leaving with another man. You disappeared upstairs with him. Does that ring any bells?”

He’d what? Why would he have gone anywhere with anyone? No one at that school liked him. They all—

Oh.

The doctor noticed his change almost before he did, turning to set his palm on the center of his chest once more in a move meant both to hold him down and provide some sort of comfort.

Calix’s lungs constricted, and he gasped.

“You’re hyperventilating,” the doctor explained calmly. “It’s all right, Detective. It’s over. You’re safe now.”

“I…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. Not yet.”

Yet implied that eventually he would. As in, the doctor expected him to talk about it to other people and—

“No.” No, he was done being the social pariah. He’d put that role to bed years ago and he refused to allow anyone—even Heathe D’Leo—to drag him back to that place. Calix didn’t need or want the spotlight.

He knew all too well what happened to the people put there.

“Detective—”

“I won’t be pressing charges.” Even though it hurt like a mother fucker, Calix forced himself to shove up into a seated position, pushing against the doctor’s hand until he had no other choice but to let up.

It hurt, and he momentarily swayed, at risk of toppling off the table like an idiot.

The doctor caught him, his hands steady on his shoulders. “Breathe. There you go. Just breathe through it.” He held him still as Calix focused on quelling the pain in his rear.

“I’m okay,” Calix said, once he was certain he could sit there without passing out. He brushed the doctor's arms aside, smiling at him lightly to show that he appreciated the help even though a part of him was mortified. By all of this.

The only blessing was that the actual violence against him was a blur. There were blips of memory here and there, but nothing substantial, all more feelings than anything.

Feelings he would much rather bury deep inside and forget.

How ironic, considering how often he’d fantasized about something like this happening to him. But fantasies were safe. Controlled. He’d felt gross about even wanting those and now—

“Detective Valimir,” the doctor retreated a full step to give him space, “a horrendous crime was committed against you. It’s understandable that you’re a little confused, but—”

“I’m not confused,” he cut him off, gripping the edge of the table hard enough his knuckles went white. The pain was still bad, and he just wanted this to be over. Wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere to lick his wounds. He just had to make it through this first.

This, which was somehow more torturous than what’d been done to him in that classroom.

But maybe not more so than what he’d done to someone else in the parking lot that could be seen from the window in that room…

May the gods have mercy on that poor boy’s soul.

Sister Grace, the head of the orphanage where Calix had spent most of his adolescence, had prayed for him when he’d been taken away. He’d never forget the look on her face, the pity in her eyes as she’d reached out for him. He’d explained the whole thing before the cops had arrived. Of course she’d believed him. She’d practically raised him, after all.

That was probably why it’d been too hard for her to bear. Why she hadn’t been able to show up at the courtroom, not even once.

Why she hadn’t even seen him off when he’d left for the Academy.

The thing was, Calix didn’t blame her. Even if it had been a mistake, because of him, some guy was never going to walk again.

He deserved to be punished.

Foolishly, he’d believed all this time that’s what giving up on his dreams had been. The punishment. But now he realized that wasn’t the case.

Not only was he not going to allow himself to be thrust into the center of a brutal case again, he also wouldn’t stoop so low as to take even more from the one person he’d hurt.

Because there was only one person who would send someone like Heathe to do something like that to Calix.

Honestly, he should just be grateful that was all that was done, and they hadn’t also taken his life or a limb.

He should be, so he would be.

Simple as that.

Calix cleared his throat. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, Doctor, but it won’t be necessary. I won’t be pressing charges because a crime hasn’t been committed.”

The doctor with the pretty eyes went still. “Excuse me?”

He steepled his fingers and set them in his lap. “It was consensual.”

“Consensual?” his tone was dumbfounded.

He was probably changing his mind about Calix now. Probably considered him vile, like everyone else on this hell hole of a planet.

But that was fine, too.

After today, the two of them would never see each other again.

What did his opinion of him matter?

“You’re trying to claim that was sex between two consenting adults?” He motioned wildly at him. “You can’t see yourself right now, Detective, but if you could, you wouldn’t be spouting nonsense. You’re suffering from blood loss, and—”

“It was consensual,” he insisted firmly. “Things just got out of hand. We were drunk. That’s all.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Who is we? Who were you with?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He wasn’t going to be played that easily. “What happens now?”

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, if you insist on this narrative—”

“I do.”

“—then I suppose, now I take a look at your injuries and patch you up as best I can. I’m meant to be using a rape kit, but—”

“No.”

He let out an annoyed breath. “You really must stop interrupting me, Detective.”

“So that you can convince me to change my mind?” Not a chance.

“No,” he surprised him by stating. “Because it’s rude and I don’t like it.”

Oh.

“Sorry.”

The doctor rolled a finger in the air at him. “Lay down on your stomach. It’ll hurt too much if you try to remove your pants on your own, so I’m going to have to do it for you.”

“My what?” He grabbed at his belt, only then realizing it was missing. With a frown, he glanced down at his pants…which weren’t his pants. “What am I wearing?”

Not pants at all, it turned out. Two dark brown aprons with dried paint smears on them were tied securely around his waist, covering his private areas from view.

“It was the only thing I could find,” the doctor told him, the apologetic and gentle tone from earlier no longer present. He pulled the wheeled table and stepped back in closer.

“You could find?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, grabbing a tube of cream and twisting off the cap as he spoke. “I was the one who discovered you in the art room.”

“You were there?” His confusion deepened for some reason. He tried but couldn’t remember. The last thing he recalled was stepping into a room after Heathe and then…nothing.

“I was invited to the reunion, yes. I heard the sounds and got curious. By the time I found you, the assailant—my apologies, your consensual sexual partner —had already finished and was in the process of getting ready to leave. In my haste to check on you, he managed to get away.” He tipped his head at Calix. “Interesting that your lover didn’t stick around to make sure you were all right. If he’s your boyfriend, might I suggest breaking up with him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” He hung his head, not wanting the other man to see how red his cheeks had gotten.

The doctor let out another sigh, this one sounding more annoyed than the last. “I already did a physical examination at the scene, Detective. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“Somehow, the fact that you’ve already seen me naked isn’t as comforting as I believe you intend for it to be.” Still, he forced himself to inhale deeply before lifting his chin back up. He gave a single, curt nod of his head. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“You seem to get over things rather quickly.” It was hard to tell if he was impressed by that or simply making an observation.

It was difficult, but Calix somehow managed to drape himself over the table, resting his head down on his folded arms. “I just process things and accept them as they are.”

“Accept them as they are?” He chuckled. “How very quaint.”

Calix angled his head to stare at the doctor as he stepped right up to the side of the table. “Doctor?”

“It wasn’t an insult.” The corner of his mouth turned up reassuringly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes—Wait.”

He quirked a brow.

“What’s your name?” Calix asked, hating how that sounded but needing to know. To save face, he decided to spin it into something funny, chuckling humorlessly as though he’d made a joke when they both knew he had not. “I’d just like to know the name of the guy who’s about to have his hands on my ass, that’s all.”

The doctor smiled back and then reached for the end of one of the aprons, not even bothering to untie it from around his waist.

Calix felt a gust of cold air stinging his torn flesh, but the doctor’s fingers were on him in a second, running numbing cream over him that worked instantly to soothe the burn.

He almost moaned. Would have, if not for the doctor’s next words.

“Aodhan Solace,” he introduced himself, kindly ignoring the way Calix’s breath hitched. “I look forward to working with you, Detective.”

He’d seen that name before, scrawled on the documents sent over by the chief about the case. There was a doctor who was meant to liaison with them to help make things run more smoothly.

What were the odds it happened to be the same doctor that was currently buried knuckles deep in Calix’s torn asshole?

He squeezed his eyes shut and rethought his earlier relief.

Had he thought it a good thing he hadn’t been murdered?

No, because at least then he wouldn’t be in the process of dying right now.

A slow and agonizing death via mortification.