Author’s Note – All
characters and situations herein belong to myself
(GhostHelwig) and darthelwig. Take
anything, and die a horrible, bloody, prolonged
death.
I feel I should mention
that this is a ‘thoughts’ fic that might not make sense without knowing the
whole story – I have a hard time judging that, as I do know it. The subject
matter discussed in this story is very serious, and nothing in it is intended
to make light of or validate such terrible things in any way. Again, taken out of the context of the story
in my head, it may or may not seem ‘bad’.
I assure you, it was not intended that way.
Yes, the boy in this
story is named Ghost. I took his name
for my penname. I seriously doubt he
minds.
Rated R for adult
subject matter, including rape and slash, as well as adult language. Special thanks to my first reviewer for this
fic at fictionpress, Unfearless, who told me that I should
up the rating. A billion times, thank
you.
Anyway, enjoy. Peace, all.
***
Love, In All Its
Permutations
by Ghost Helwig
***
“I love you so fucking
much.”
When his father was raped, those were the words that
accompanied it, usually. With Blade,
with Bret-
“I love you so fucking
much.”
Ghost had always thought it sick, that those men could think
love should manifest itself in such a way, but for the longest time it was the
form of rape he was familiar with. I love you, so I’m going to take you.
But when it came his turn to be raped, to be violated as his
father had been, the words were far, far different.
“I’m so fucking pissed
at you.”
“You fucking disgust
me.”
“I hate you so fucking
much.”
He couldn’t understand, couldn’t grasp what he’d done
differently – done worse? done better? simply done? – than
his father, to provoke such diametrically opposed responses. He was quieter than his father, this was true
– quieter, and sweeter, and (though he’d never realize it) a touch more
sane. Huck had been tainted by the chaos
and pain of his childhood – he would never be fully healed, nor
fully normal. Though Ghost, too, would
never be normal, he had grown up in love, in peace-
He had grown up in faith.
Was this why his father inspired love, and he inspired hate?
He could never quite figure it out. And it was one of those things that he
couldn’t ask, couldn’t speak of, couldn’t even mention
to his
“I love you so fucking
much.”
He’d never heard those words in that way, not from
anyone. Which was
good, really, even though it did leave him wondering. But it’s very lack lead to confusion,
too, especially when it was those he loved who said those other words, the only ones he ever heard.
“I’m so fucking pissed
at you.”
Draco had never said that, but it was obvious – anger in every
line of his body, in his suddenly haunted eyes, in his throat when he spoke to
Ghost as they both lay sprawled on the floor, Draco’s hands hovering over his
head, his body stiff from the pain Ghost’s panicked brain had accidentally
shoved in him.
Who was the real rapist there, Ghost wondered. Who?
“You fucking disgust
me.”
Jadan had said
that, if not in those exact words than in others. In fact, his declaration had been the
beginning of it all; he was the one who spoke a permeation of all three damnations
that lay on Ghost’s slight shoulders. He
judged first, and ever since then all had found Ghost wanting.
“I hate you so fucking
much.”
More than anything, Wood had said nothing – but in his
silence, Ghost could feel his betrayal, his pain. How
could you love Tuck Andros Andrea more than me How could you Why would you You left me You hurt me You let me
down let me go How could you I hate you
You hurt me
You hurt me, Ghost
could have said back, had he been another Ghost, one capable of saying such a
thing.
But neither said anything, Wood just sitting there wounded,
Ghost broken and heartsick, a
thousand-and-one never-spoken, never-to-be-spoken things between them, and it was
then, sitting there lost and hopeless, that Ghost realized what he truly was.
Yin to his father’s yang. Black to his white. Dark to his light. Bad to his good.
Hate to his love.
Huck could be saved, could save, could
cure. Ghost could do nothing but show
those who touched him how to drown.
In that instant, he simply accepted it - he had never been
one prone to ignoring his lot. If this
was how things were, then that was how they were. He would cry later. He always cried later.
But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he almost wished
that, if he had to be raped, it would, just once,
not somehow be his fault-
And maybe, just maybe, it would not be something borne of
him being such a loathsome person.
Because to be touched with a perverted love, in a strange
way, would at least still be love. Not this hate he was so good at
inspiring. Generally, rousing hate in
someone, especially someone you loved and who had previously professed to love
you, made one a vile person – inspiring love did nothing of the sort. That it was a sick form of love had nothing
to do with the person so loved, but all to do with the person doing the loving.
These were the things he thought when he was able to think
at all.
But usually, in the silence of his mind he didn’t think
things through – he simply remembered, and felt.
Draco’s hands on his skin, digging in, angry.
Jadan’s lips crushing his, a touch that made Ghost feel like
Jadan was spitting on him, would spit out his flavor if he could.
Wood’s body simply overpowering his, a body he had always
trusted to be gentle around him (a body that had always been careful to be gentle around him, until this night)
crushing him down into the ground, twigs poking his back, leaves catching in
his hair. Wood’s touch, despite all
Jadan had done to him, despite the week of being Jadan’s (sex-slave) willing-but-not-at-all-willing lover, was the one both
closest to sex and undeniably rape. He
would have given Wood this before, if asked – he would never have given Wood
this then, if begged.
But Wood neither begged nor asked – nor spoke, once it began. And yet his touch was always the one Ghost
had the most trouble erasing from his mind.
Draco hadn’t kissed him.
Jadan hadn’t either, at first.
Wood had. Once. Probably just to shut him up. A kiss that seared and
tasted of salt. Ghost had cried
enough to recognize the flavor. But he
hadn’t been crying then.
Somehow that had made the unbearable pain okay, in a way he could never
explain. Wood sorrowed; therefore, Ghost
could not hate him.
But he could hate himself.
And this he did freely.
“I love you so fucking
much.”
Because sometimes it seemed okay to want to hear those
words, no matter how they came about, or from whom. Better to be raped out of love then this
vicious, curdling hate. He’d never
wanted to be hated.
“I love you so fucking
much.”
And that... that made him sick in his own,
special little way. A way he
could also never explain, never talk about – and most especially, never tell
“I love you so fucking
much.”
And I will never love myself.
“I really fucking love
you.”