Sheraton Academy

Hell Hath No Fury

Rating: NC-17. Warnings: rape, aftermath of rape, ptsd, violence, and bullying

One

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Meara could tell the moment he got out of his last class, he could feel it deep in his bones, painfearmakeitstopohgodhelpmehelpmepleaseithurts–

Meara shook his head, taking a deep breath, running his shaky fingers through his mussed brown hair and pushing his violet-framed glasses farther up his nose. His tie was loose, his shirt ruffled and untucked, the top button undone, his slacks wrinkled beyond all decency, and he hadn't covered the scuffs on his shoes in over two months, but he'd stopped caring about his appearance long ago, instead trying to focus his energy on keeping himself from going insane, but something was so, so wrong and it was somewhere close by, so much pain –

When he walked by a door he always passed on his way back to his dorm, his heart started pounding harshly, palms sweating, a sharp pain searing straight through his body ohgodohgodhelpmehelpmepleaseohgodsomeoneplease –

His feet stopped as if shackled to the ground and he looked toward the door, placing his palm against the wood don'ttouchmedon'tfuckingtouchmeohgodstopplease – he jerked his hand back, his eyes going wide, his breath catching in his throat.

Muddy red, dirty yellow, blackish brown, and dark, dark green.

Meara grabbed the door handle, gritting his teeth as he tried to block out everything that screamed through him at the touch, slamming the door opened.

His hands flew to his mouth, his stomach turned like sour milk as all the blood rushed down from his face.

A boy there, bleeding and unconscious, gagged with his own shirt and tied with the sleeves of his own jacket, his trousers around his ankles.

"Oh my god," Meara gasped. "Oh my god."

Need a phone, have to call 999 oh bloody fucking hell–

But the boy was alive, breathing shallowly, surrounded by the darkest, muddiest, most painful colors Meara had ever seen and he dropped to his knees, crawling over to the boy, oh god, he looked so young, only fourteen or fifteen, how could someone do something like–

Meara carefully pulled the tape from the boy's mouth, trying to be gentle, not wanting to hurt him any more than he already was and the boy's eyes flew open and he scrambled back, awkwardly shoving himself against the opposite wall as hard as he could, pulling his legs up to his chest, his blue eyes wide and terrified, his breathing quick and panicked and uneven.

He screamed something in a language Meara didn't understand, Finnish, maybe, but Meara didn't know a word of it and he wasn't sure what to do but he did know he needed to get the other boy to the nurse, get him cleaned up and make sure he didn't need to go to the hospital–

"I didn't mean to scare you," Meara said, his voice as soft and gentle as he could manage, trying to be calm even though he was panicked and frightened all through his body and mind and into his soul. "My name is Meara. I just found you. I don't want to hurt you, I promise. I just want to help you. Please let me help you, I'll take you to the nurse, we'll get you–

"No!" the other boy screamed. "Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me, don't tell anyone, don't fucking tell anyone–" his voice was ragged and strained and laced with so many terrible, terrible things–fear, anger, disgust, denial, and so many other things Meara wasn't sure how to name.

"Please," Meara said, his own voice catching at the pain and fear that radiated from the boy in front of him, crawling and worming through his skin and burrowing deep into his soul. "Please. I promise, I won't tell anyone. I won't tell anyone. Just please, let me help you, let me take you to the nurse, I just want to make sure you'll be all right–"