bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter thirty-one. 💛

The blizzard passed, the chill that had seeped into the basement easing away with the approach of spring. Along with the warmer weather, came the ominous rumble of wind and thunder. At night, even the nights Sir lay snoring and spooned behind him, Case listened for the  new encroaching threat: Tornado Season.

The only reprieve he could give his mind, was trying to determine why Sir was so reluctant to tell Case I love you. Sure, Sir had very specific intentions when he'd kidnapped Case. But hadn't they both proven something exceptional was happening between them? Sir was affectionate, attuned to Case's emotions . . . why couldn't he say three little words?

Because he doesn't love you, said the voice of reason. He saw your phone. He's probably seen the video, too.

Fragments of the party popped into his head: the darkness of the sky, the black silhouette of a car, the sour taste of raspberry vodka. His mouth went dry.

You're dirty, Case, said the voice. Tainted. That's why no-one can love you. Not Hannah, not Sir. No-one.

Of course. Sir must've seen the video. That was the only explanation he could come up with. But it was just a theory. A gut feeling. He had to know for sure. He swallowed, nerves rising up inside him. "Sir . . . ?"

"Mmm?" he hummed in response, stirring from his sleep. He sighed into Case's hair, knuckles beginning to idly stroke Case's arm. "What?"

Case's heart hammered so hard it left him breathless. "You know how you had my phone, and were on my socials?" Why was he doing this? Oh, god, why was he opening this Pandora's Box?

Sir's hand went still, his fingers curling inward as if they wanted to make a fist. "Yes?"

"Did you . . . there's . . ." He couldn't find the words. Good. He should stop talking. "There's a video . . . Did you see it?"

The power dipped, the basement light dimming and flickering. Sir didn't say anything, but his answer was in his silence. In the way his body went rigid against Case's. The way he tapped his fingers against Case's skin, contemplating. "I didn't see a video," he finally replied.

Relief rushed through Case. He let out a breath, as if he'd just broken through the ocean surface and could finally inhale fresh air. Sir didn't know. Thank god. There was still a chance Sir could love him.

"But I saw a photo."

No.

"A few photos. You were in a driveway. It looked like you were drunk, passed out."

No. No, please, no. Emotion clenched inside Case's throat. He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting against the sudden tremble in his lip. Stop it, he told himself. He had enough self-control to keep it together.

But then the voice reared from the shadows. Held the party—the video of him and the freshman girl—up to him, daring him to look. C'mon, Casey, the voice jeered. Push a little further. Dive a little deeper into the dark. Let it hurt.

"A girl was on top of you."

"No . . ." He clamped his hand over his mouth, wanting to stifle the sound, to stifle the tidal wave of emotions rushing to swallow him inside-out. Memories crashed onto the shore, leaving a swash of shame.

Shame over what had happened to him.

Shame that it had been filmed, shared, mocked by hundreds.

Shame that it had changed him, not just in the eyes of others, but at his very core. That night had changed Case—damaged him, dirtied him.

Look at it, Case, the voice demanded. Grabbed him by optic nerves, forcing him not to look away. Forced him to confront that night.

He'd told her he had a girlfriend. That he was drunk. He'd pushed her away after that first kiss. In over a year, he never could recall if he'd said no. But he knew he'd never said yes.

Case couldn't swallow this. Not anymore. If he'd never gone to that stupid party, he'd have never ended up in this fucking basement. Shock took over, his breathing a panicked in-in-in-in gasp for air.

"Hey . . . hey . . ." Sir gently rolled Case over to face him, pulling him into an embrace and stroking his hair. "Shhh . . . it's alright."

Case wheezed against Sir's chest, inconsolable. It's not alright, he wanted to say but couldn't. It's not alright. I'm not okay.

The power struggled against the storm. The lights waned, before the backup generator kicked in and they flared with a sudden brightness. Brightness unknown to the basement.

A gust of wind rattled the air vents. Unable to breathe, Case gasped:

"I think I was raped."

There is was. He'd finally said it. Put it out into the world, made it real. Instantly, a pressure eased from Case's sternum—and he wailed.

Why had no one taken him seriously? Why had no one cared? They laughed at him. Shared his assault around as if it was entertainment. If he was a girl, would the world have seen what had been done to him? He was raped at that party. Raped by a girl.

"I was raped," he repeated. Kept repeating, looping, sobs racking through him in growing intensity. "I was raped. I was raped."

Sir tried to shush him, but he let out a scream.

Case screamed and screamed. Purging a poison that had been coursing through his system for far too long. He cried until his throat was raw, and Sir's chest hair was damp with tears. His breathing slowed, and his mind settled.

"Was that your girlfriend?" Sir asked, quiet with concern.

Case shook his head against Sir's chest, exhausted. Drained. Hollowed.

Sir stroked the top of Case's head, cossetting him like a wounded pet. "I'd never do that to you," he said, the bass in his voice rumbling through his chest and into Case. "I'd never hurt you like that."

Sir was the only person who had asked Case for consent. Consent to be touched, fucked.

Sir was the only person made him cum so hard he thought he was dying.

Sit was the only person who'd told Case he was special, that their bond was so strong it was a force for destruction.

Only love can cause such destruction.

Case sniffed, his face hot and wet. He looked up, met Sir's sea-storm eyes, searching for a buoy to keep him afloat. "Do you love me?"

"Case . . ."

Case had to believe their relationship was real. That it wasn't built on rape. If Sir didn't love him . . . what was the point of surviving?

He had to know.

So, he pressed his lips against Sir's.