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Over the next couple of weeks, Mel locked herself in her apartment and stayed there. She didn't answer the door for anyone and unplugged the phone, not wanting to see or talk to anyone.
After that first night, she couldn't even face Joey. She was thankful he'd been there, thankful he'd listened to her story, but now she almost felt like she couldn't look him in the eye anymore. She was embarrassed and ashamed and though she was glad to have gotten it off her chest, she wished she hadn't told him. Their friendship would never be the same now. Everything would be different. It was too much. It was all too much.
The day after speaking to Joey, she went to the doctor to get herself checked out. Sore and violated but otherwise fine, she went back home and started building up her mental walls to keep herself safe.
She knew that what she was doing wasn't a good method of coping, knew she was letting herself fall into a depressed hole that she might not be able to crawl out of, but she couldn't stop it. She felt herself slipping away and couldn't be bothered to care about it.
She knew people were worried about her. Joey and Mick and even various other members of Slipknot had been there, pounding on the door and demanding she answer. Every time, she just closed her eyes and pretended she couldn't hear them until they went away. She knew eventually she was going to have to face someone, probably a lot of someones, but the thought of it at that moment made her feel like she was going to vomit.
"Melanie, goddamn it, I'm going to break down the fucking door if you don't come unlock it. I'm fucking worried about you!"
Mick's voice boomed through her apartment, and the only thing that made her haul herself off of the couch and approach the door was the fact that she could hear the grumpy old woman that lived next door to her threatening to call the police on his screaming. Mick was yelling back at her as Mel peeked through the peephole and the only reason she opened the door is because the last thing she needed was her brother in jail for throwing an old woman down the stairs, which is what he was threatening her with.
Mick's gaze snapped to her when he heard the door open and his eyes widened in shock at the utter disarray that was Mel's appearance. It was fair; she couldn't remember the last time she showered. She'd tried her best to avoid mirrors altogether, but she knew her hair was a greasy mess and there were old makeup stains down her cheeks. She'd been wearing the same clothes for days and they were definitely covered in various stains of different sorts.
"Fuck," Mick mumbled under his breath, stepping quickly into the apartment like he was afraid she was going to shut the door on him if he didn't.
Mel sighed, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands in a feeble attempt to comfort herself and settling into the corner of the couch. She pulled her knees up to her chest to make herself as small as possible, watching cautiously as her brother sat beside her. He left a good-sized gap of space between them, and Mel wondered absently if it was because he sensed she needed space or because she smelled. It could've been both, she supposed.
Mick didn't say anything for a long while. Mel wasn't surprised; he wasn't a man of too many words normally, usually keeping most of his thoughts to himself unless she badgered them out of him. She wasn't interested in badgering anything out of him at the present moment, though. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know what he was thinking at all at the present moment.
"What happened, Mel?" he asked her finally, his voice quiet.
"What did Joey tell you?" she questioned, curious.
"Nothing. Just that something happened and he was worried about you. He wouldn't tell me any more than that," he informed her, and she nodded. Part of her was glad Joey hadn't told him everything, but another part nagged that it might've been easier than having to tell him herself.
"I... I was raped," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. She hadn't cried so much in her entire life and it made her feel weak and more raw than she was ever comfortable with. While she wasn't quite as closed-off and hard to read as Mick tended to be, she definitely still had those qualities about her. She much preferred keeping things closer to her chest, and this whole thing was making her feel so cast out, so vulnerable, and she hated it.
Mick's mouth fell open in surprise at her words and she watched as his hands balled into fists.
"When?" he asked, and she shrugged.
"Couple weeks ago. The night I went to that club downtown. I was drugged."
"Who?" he asked, immediately wanting revenge just like she'd assumed he would. She shrugged again.
"I don't know. I barely remember his face. A stranger."
"Fuck. Are you okay?" he asked, his fists coming unfurled and his gaze really settling on her again. She nodded.
"I went to the doctor and everything. I'm fine, just... not," she told him, motioning to the state of herself and the trash-covered apartment around them. He nodded slowly.
"We leave for tour in a few days," he informed her like somehow she hadn't known. She nodded back.
"I know. Are you forgetting that my job is on tour?" she asked, and he shook his head.
"No. I just... are you going to be able to go?"
"Yes. Fucking God, yes. I need to get out of this apartment, out of this fucking town. I've never needed tour as much as I do right this second," she informed him resolutely, nodding again.
Mick studied her like he was trying to determine the validity of her statement. Eventually, he sighed heavily and raked a hand through his long hair.
"I'm sorry. I... I'm so fucking sorry that happened to you, Mel," he told her, and she cursed him for making tears fill her eyes yet again. "I... I wish I'd been there. I wish I knew who he was. I would fucking rip him in half."
"I know. I wish you'd been there too, but you weren't. You weren't and it happened and I just have to deal with it," she said, sighing herself and realizing for possibly the first time how true the words were. Letting herself fall into mental darkness wasn't going to make any of it go away. Nothing was going to make it go away other than trying to live some semblance of her normal life.
"I'm supposed to protect you," he said quietly, and when she looked up at him, she was absolutely shocked to see that his eyes were misty with tears too. She hadn't seen him cry about anything at all since they were little kids.
She knew what he was talking about; it wasn't just a thing he was saying. When she'd first left for tour with the band years before, their mother had made him promise that he'd look after her and keep her safe, and she wasn't convinced he'd ever taken anything more seriously his entire life. He'd always been protective of her but ever since he'd made that promise, it had gone up about a million percent. It was sweet most of the time, but sometimes she wanted to strangle him for it.
"Don't you fucking dare cry, Mickael. I swear to fucking God. You let one of those tears fall and I'm going to rip your fucking head off with my bare hands and shove it up your ass," she told him, pretty sure that both of them knew that what she actually meant was that if he started crying, she wasn't sure she herself would ever be able to stop. He nodded, sighing.
"C'mere," he murmured, opening his arms. She scooted closer to him, hugging him tightly.
"You smell like puke and a trash can that needed taken out a week ago. Just so you know," he whispered into her hair, making her choke out a laugh.
"How sweet of you," she said, her grip on him only tightening.
