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fellowshippers2004-08-03 03:29 pm
elf-skitzo.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-08-03 03:29 pm
Haunted II
Title: Haunting Me - Part Two of the "Haunted" series
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elf_skitzo
Rating: R
Warnings: flashbacks of rape
Summary: Orlando is hit with what happened
Feedback: is appreciated
Notes: if the moderators are offended, they are free to remove this fic at their discretion. Lyrics featured in the title are from the song "Haunted" by Evanescence.
Disclaimer: I know nothing, own nothing, have nothing. Never happened; don't know Orlando Bloom, Dominic Monaghan, or Elijah Wood. Etc, etc.
sequel to Watching Me, Wanting Me
"Have you taken a shower or bathed since the attack?"
"No."
"Have you brushed your teeth or used mouth wash?"
"No."
"Was there successful penetration of--"
"Yes."
"And of the mouth?"
"No."
"Did he use a condom, lubricant, or anything else?"
"... No."
His voice was soft, and broken, and laced with pain. Orlando Bloom, whom most people accused of not being able to sit still for five minutes, didn't want to move ever again. He wanted to stop answering questions, he wanted to go home, drown himself in a shower, and curl up on the bed and never move. The pain throbbed through him and having to remain there and answer questions wasn't helping. He wanted to just forget.
"If you'd please just sign this we can collect the rape kit.."
He signed the form without a second thought of what that might actually entail and he didn't care. He wanted to get it over with, and he wanted to leave. They collected his clothes, hair samples, oral and anal swabs. They collected blood and semen off his skin, took pictures of the bruises and cuts he'd received during his struggle. They scraped under his fingernails - he had been biting his thumb nail earlier in the night, at one of the clubs.
Lastly they collected a blood sample and gave him some clothes.
It was so cold, so clinical and sterile that he wanted to curl up in a little ball and vanish. He felt worse after they were finished, and he hadn't believed that it was possible.
"Can I leave now?"
Something that might have been pity flickered across the nurse's face, but it was the doctor that spoke up. "Mr. Bloom, during the collection of the kit it was discovered that the lining of your rectum had been.. torn. You'll need stitches.."
Orlando just stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. He felt sick. Was that why it hurt so much? He wished they hadn't told him, he didn't want to know anymore. "All right."
The doctors finally let him leave the hospital the following afternoon after another visit from detectives assigned to his case. Orlando didn't want a case, he didn't want to know anymore more about it, he just wanted to go home and shower. The last blow to his sensitive composure was when the doctor encouraged him to get tested for various diseases, including HIV, since a condom hadn’t been used. Numbly, Orlando had consented.
A taxi picked him up and took him back to the hotel he had been staying in. Orlando checked his cell phone, seeing that both Dominic and Elijah had called him. He'd check the messages later. Slipping into the bathroom, he eased out of his clothes, his body feeling stiff and sore. At least the pain medication was starting to kick in. He had the bad luck to catch a look at himself in the mirror and for a moment he simply stared at the unfamiliar face looking back at him.
There was a cut on his temple; his bottom lip was split to the left and the side of his face was bruised. He touched the green and purple mark gingerly.
"Get off me."
"Fucking bitch!"
He cried out when his head was lifted, only to be shoved into the pavement once more.
Shutting his eyes tightly, Orlando tried desperately to shove that memory to the back of his mind, turning away from the mirror to start the shower. He climbed in, gasping softly at the shock of hot water. It was scalding - it felt like anything less wouldn't do. Grabbing the soap, he scrubbed every inch as if somehow he could just peel away his skin, as if that might take away the feeling of being trapped inside his own body. He washed his hair, getting rid of the smell of smoke and sweat that had lingered there since the night before.
He wanted to clean everywhere, but he didn't want to risk aggravating the stitches. In fact, he wanted even more just to forget that they existed. Orlando didn’t know how long he stood beneath the burning water, attempting to wash away the memory like dirt. But it was branded on to his skin.
Turning off the water, Orlando dried off carefully and eased into a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt. His cell phone rang and for a moment he considered just letting it. Then he answered.
“Hello?”
“Orli! Where the hell have you been, mate? Me and Elijah called you like twenty times..”
“Sorry, I lost my phone.”
“Of course you did. You should’ve stayed with us, man. We found this fantastic club just a few blocks after we left you.”
“I was tired.”
“You sound like shit. You all right?”
Orlando choked back the answer he wanted to give: No, I’m not all right. I’ll never be all right again.
“I’m fine, Dom.”
“All right, we’re going out for lunch, want to come?”
“No, thanks.”
“Talk to you later then. Take care.”
He ended the call, and put aside his phone. Orlando stared at it for a long time before he sank down to the floor, leaning against the edge of the bed. “I’m fine,” he whispered quietly, drawing a knee up to his chest. Arms wrapped loosely around his leg, forehead fell to rest against his knee.
"Fucking take it!"
Orlando's stomach lurched, hands struggled to grab something.. anything. He groaned when a pair of strong hands grabbed his shoulders, pushing him down against the damp concrete. His torso was pinned to the ground, each thrust feeling like it was tearing his body apart from the inside out. He felt like he was dying.
”Please... please stop.. please...”
"They all think.. they can't have you... but I have you.. I'm having you.. Fucking Orlando Bloom.."
Shuddering, Orlando felt hot tears sliding down his face. His grip tightened and he sniffled. “I’m fine..”
Then something inside of him broke; the last pieces of his fragile composure shattered into a thousand fragments, and Orlando sobbed heavily. He couldn’t believe that this had happened to him. Something had been taken from him and he didn’t know quite what it was. Stolen, taken forcefully, and all the while he had kept saying no and he wouldn’t listen.. There had been no mercy, none what so ever.
Shock and horror and revulsion swept through him. What if he had HIV? What would happen? Who could he tell? He didn’t want to tell anyone, he didn’t want to think about it ever again but every time he closed his eyes he saw his face and he felt his hands grabbing and bruising his neck, his hips, his waist. Orlando could hear his voice. Another convulsive sob tore through him and he gasped for breath after it, struggling to get control of himself again.
“I can’t believe this… I can’t believe this is happening… Oh my fucking God…” he whimpered and whispered to himself, trembling. How was he ever going to be able to look at himself again? How was he ever going to pretend that things were okay, that he was still his normal self. Orlando couldn’t imagine what he was going to say the next time Dominic or Elijah or anyone else asked him to go out clubbing for the night.
No, sorry guys, got raped the last time.
Orlando sniffled, running his fingers back through his hair to push damp curls away from his flushed and tear stained face. He panted softly for breath, trying not to let himself fall to pieces again during this semblance of regained control. It didn’t last very long, and soon he was crying again. He let it go until he felt absolutely exhausted. Somehow he managed to haul himself back onto the bed, wishing desperately that he’d been allowed to take some pain killers back from the hospital with him. Curling up on his side, Orlando dragged the blanket over him and stared at the opposite wall, unseeing.
His phone was ringing again. He didn’t answer it.
Author:
elf_skitzoRating: R
Warnings: flashbacks of rape
Summary: Orlando is hit with what happened
Feedback: is appreciated
Notes: if the moderators are offended, they are free to remove this fic at their discretion. Lyrics featured in the title are from the song "Haunted" by Evanescence.
Disclaimer: I know nothing, own nothing, have nothing. Never happened; don't know Orlando Bloom, Dominic Monaghan, or Elijah Wood. Etc, etc.
sequel to Watching Me, Wanting Me
"Have you taken a shower or bathed since the attack?"
"No."
"Have you brushed your teeth or used mouth wash?"
"No."
"Was there successful penetration of--"
"Yes."
"And of the mouth?"
"No."
"Did he use a condom, lubricant, or anything else?"
"... No."
His voice was soft, and broken, and laced with pain. Orlando Bloom, whom most people accused of not being able to sit still for five minutes, didn't want to move ever again. He wanted to stop answering questions, he wanted to go home, drown himself in a shower, and curl up on the bed and never move. The pain throbbed through him and having to remain there and answer questions wasn't helping. He wanted to just forget.
"If you'd please just sign this we can collect the rape kit.."
He signed the form without a second thought of what that might actually entail and he didn't care. He wanted to get it over with, and he wanted to leave. They collected his clothes, hair samples, oral and anal swabs. They collected blood and semen off his skin, took pictures of the bruises and cuts he'd received during his struggle. They scraped under his fingernails - he had been biting his thumb nail earlier in the night, at one of the clubs.
Lastly they collected a blood sample and gave him some clothes.
It was so cold, so clinical and sterile that he wanted to curl up in a little ball and vanish. He felt worse after they were finished, and he hadn't believed that it was possible.
"Can I leave now?"
Something that might have been pity flickered across the nurse's face, but it was the doctor that spoke up. "Mr. Bloom, during the collection of the kit it was discovered that the lining of your rectum had been.. torn. You'll need stitches.."
Orlando just stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. He felt sick. Was that why it hurt so much? He wished they hadn't told him, he didn't want to know anymore. "All right."
The doctors finally let him leave the hospital the following afternoon after another visit from detectives assigned to his case. Orlando didn't want a case, he didn't want to know anymore more about it, he just wanted to go home and shower. The last blow to his sensitive composure was when the doctor encouraged him to get tested for various diseases, including HIV, since a condom hadn’t been used. Numbly, Orlando had consented.
A taxi picked him up and took him back to the hotel he had been staying in. Orlando checked his cell phone, seeing that both Dominic and Elijah had called him. He'd check the messages later. Slipping into the bathroom, he eased out of his clothes, his body feeling stiff and sore. At least the pain medication was starting to kick in. He had the bad luck to catch a look at himself in the mirror and for a moment he simply stared at the unfamiliar face looking back at him.
There was a cut on his temple; his bottom lip was split to the left and the side of his face was bruised. He touched the green and purple mark gingerly.
"Get off me."
"Fucking bitch!"
He cried out when his head was lifted, only to be shoved into the pavement once more.
Shutting his eyes tightly, Orlando tried desperately to shove that memory to the back of his mind, turning away from the mirror to start the shower. He climbed in, gasping softly at the shock of hot water. It was scalding - it felt like anything less wouldn't do. Grabbing the soap, he scrubbed every inch as if somehow he could just peel away his skin, as if that might take away the feeling of being trapped inside his own body. He washed his hair, getting rid of the smell of smoke and sweat that had lingered there since the night before.
He wanted to clean everywhere, but he didn't want to risk aggravating the stitches. In fact, he wanted even more just to forget that they existed. Orlando didn’t know how long he stood beneath the burning water, attempting to wash away the memory like dirt. But it was branded on to his skin.
Turning off the water, Orlando dried off carefully and eased into a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt. His cell phone rang and for a moment he considered just letting it. Then he answered.
“Hello?”
“Orli! Where the hell have you been, mate? Me and Elijah called you like twenty times..”
“Sorry, I lost my phone.”
“Of course you did. You should’ve stayed with us, man. We found this fantastic club just a few blocks after we left you.”
“I was tired.”
“You sound like shit. You all right?”
Orlando choked back the answer he wanted to give: No, I’m not all right. I’ll never be all right again.
“I’m fine, Dom.”
“All right, we’re going out for lunch, want to come?”
“No, thanks.”
“Talk to you later then. Take care.”
He ended the call, and put aside his phone. Orlando stared at it for a long time before he sank down to the floor, leaning against the edge of the bed. “I’m fine,” he whispered quietly, drawing a knee up to his chest. Arms wrapped loosely around his leg, forehead fell to rest against his knee.
"Fucking take it!"
Orlando's stomach lurched, hands struggled to grab something.. anything. He groaned when a pair of strong hands grabbed his shoulders, pushing him down against the damp concrete. His torso was pinned to the ground, each thrust feeling like it was tearing his body apart from the inside out. He felt like he was dying.
”Please... please stop.. please...”
"They all think.. they can't have you... but I have you.. I'm having you.. Fucking Orlando Bloom.."
Shuddering, Orlando felt hot tears sliding down his face. His grip tightened and he sniffled. “I’m fine..”
Then something inside of him broke; the last pieces of his fragile composure shattered into a thousand fragments, and Orlando sobbed heavily. He couldn’t believe that this had happened to him. Something had been taken from him and he didn’t know quite what it was. Stolen, taken forcefully, and all the while he had kept saying no and he wouldn’t listen.. There had been no mercy, none what so ever.
Shock and horror and revulsion swept through him. What if he had HIV? What would happen? Who could he tell? He didn’t want to tell anyone, he didn’t want to think about it ever again but every time he closed his eyes he saw his face and he felt his hands grabbing and bruising his neck, his hips, his waist. Orlando could hear his voice. Another convulsive sob tore through him and he gasped for breath after it, struggling to get control of himself again.
“I can’t believe this… I can’t believe this is happening… Oh my fucking God…” he whimpered and whispered to himself, trembling. How was he ever going to be able to look at himself again? How was he ever going to pretend that things were okay, that he was still his normal self. Orlando couldn’t imagine what he was going to say the next time Dominic or Elijah or anyone else asked him to go out clubbing for the night.
No, sorry guys, got raped the last time.
Orlando sniffled, running his fingers back through his hair to push damp curls away from his flushed and tear stained face. He panted softly for breath, trying not to let himself fall to pieces again during this semblance of regained control. It didn’t last very long, and soon he was crying again. He let it go until he felt absolutely exhausted. Somehow he managed to haul himself back onto the bed, wishing desperately that he’d been allowed to take some pain killers back from the hospital with him. Curling up on his side, Orlando dragged the blanket over him and stared at the opposite wall, unseeing.
His phone was ringing again. He didn’t answer it.
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i love you, so much, and this... you know i think it's beautifully written but, emph.. i just want to hold you now.
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Just beautiful!! I really hope this wont be the end of this fic. There must be so much you haven't said here?!
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