[TW: Foul language from the outset and throughout. Depictions of assault (sexual and physical). Use of homophobic, transphobic and misogynist slurs.]
Part 1 - Pupa
1
In the night air, the kiss of the smooth metal of the car bonnet felt cold against Luke's skin. Droplets of water from the recent rain spotted the metal, the colour indistinct in the light given off by the overhead street lamp. Blood trailed from his nose, collecting with the rain droplets and creating a little stream that flowed away.
Two pairs of hands gripped his wrists, holding him down. Forcing him down as the third pair of hands pushed his body and head against the car. One hand gripped his wig, ripping it from his head, and then slammed him back against the bonnet. He wasn't weak, wasn't feeble, but he couldn't find the strength to fight.
They laughed. Cruel, pitiless laughter as the one behind kicked his feet apart, a hand reaching up, under his skirt, and tearing at the new pair of tights he had bought only that morning. A morning that had felt filled with a promise of something new. Something right. Nothing felt right in this moment. Luke heard a sad whimper, to the side, and tried to lift his head to see if Toby was alright, only for that hand upon his head to slam him, once again, onto the car bonnet.
"Please." Lights flashed in front of his eyes as he tried to push away the pain. Tried to struggle free. "Please don't do this."
"You want to be a woman." Fetid breath touched his ear as the one behind leaned down. Smoker's breath. "I'll treat you like a woman. Relax. You'll probably enjoy it."
No. No! The new underwear, bought alongside the tights, ripped, tearing, exposing his buttocks to the cold of the night. Then he heard a belt unfastening. A zip becoming pulled down and Luke felt the edges of each one of the zip's teeth scrape against his skin. Then he felt something else. Something both soft and hard and Luke wished he had never listened to those thoughts that had whispered to him for years.
"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Another voice, now, coming from elsewhere. "I suggest you walk the fuck away, right now!"
"You wait your turn, bitch." More laughter, but at least the horror of what was about to happen subsided. If only for a second. "You walk away, before you get some, too."
"I don't fucking think so." The voice was nearer, now, and the hands holding Luke's wrists fell away. "Which one of you cunts wants it first?"
All the hands left Luke, now, but he stayed spread against the bonnet of the car. He couldn't let anyone else see him. Not like this. Not like any of it. As the sounds of scuffling reached his ears, the crack of fists upon faces, howls of pain and more cursing reached Luke's ears, all he could think about were the swirls of scratches he could see in the paintwork of the car. Unnoticeable from a distance, but so clear here. Circles upon circles from far too vigorous washing and waxing.
His legs trembled and, without thinking, he reached back to pull up his underwear. The sounds of fighting came to an end followed by the sound of feet running along rain-soaked gravel. As another pair of hands touched him, Luke's legs finally gave way, folding him toward the ground, but someone held him upright. Someone with far more gentle hands than those who attacked him. They turned him around, allowing him to sit against the car.
"Look at you. You're a mess, darling." A finger traced the edge of Luke's eye, a feather-like touch against the bruise already swelling. "Let's get you back in your drab and get you to a hospital."
"You're really tall." Such a banal thing to say, but Luke couldn't think of anything else to say.
She was tall. Incredibly tall, but also one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.
-+-
Two Months Earlier
"Put it in! Stick it in! Go on! Go on!" Andy bounced on the seat, fist balled as he glared at the tv. "Oh, for fuck's sake! You big fucking girl! How could he fucking miss from there?"
He sat back, balled fist now an open hand, rubbing his forehead as he shook his head. After a second, he peeked through his fingers before dropping his hand and sitting forward again. If anyone could see him now, the ridges in the forehead, the grimace upon his lips, the intense stare, anyone would thing he wanted to kill someone. He probably did, but only in his mind.
"It was the wrong angle. Greedy shit should have passed to McHale." Luke tried to take a drink, but the bottle, somehow without him noticing, had run dry. "Another beer? Not like I'll miss much."
"Yeah." Andy sighed so deeply, it could have signalled the end of the world, a terrible announcement from the doctor, or the mechanic. It was sadness personified. "Ralf. I ask you. What kind of a fucking name is 'Ralf'? No surname. Just fucking 'Ralf'."
"He's Brazilian, they all do it." In the kitchen, Luke removed two bottles from the fridge, replacing them with the room temperature ones from the case under the counter. "My great-great-granddad was called 'Ralf'."
"Exactly!" The bottles clinked as Luke handed one to Andy, who unscrewed the cap, flicking it in the general direction of the bin in the kitchen. He'd pick them all up later. "An old man's name for a bloke who plays like an old man. Brazilian my arse."
Saturday afternoons. Luke and Andy had bonded over their local team, years before, while working for the same firm. They had been friends for years. Watched each other grow older, each other's best man at their weddings. Luke was even godfather to Andy's daughter, Skye. Saturday afternoons were their time. Their's and their team's. Though neither could really afford to make the trips to away games anymore.
Play restarted, the ball thrown deep into the other half and anticipation gripped them both once again. The edges of the seats of the sofa folded beneath them as the team used their wingers like well-oiled machines. The switch, across the pitch, caught on the expert boot of the captain, slipped to the side, perfectly placed at the feet of Ralf.
Andy groaned, but couldn't turn his eyes away. Hips swivelled, sending defenders tumbling, that ball sticking to those boots as though glued there. Luke grabbed Andy's arm, fingers digging in. They both jumped, bobbed, weaved in time with Ralf's moves and, as it looked like he was about to ruin it once again, he passed. Right in front of McHale, who only needed to guide the ball past the keeper.
"You fucking beauty!" Beer erupted from the end of Andy's bottle, soaking him, as he jumped to his feet, Luke not far behind. They bounced in joy, arms around each other's shoulders. "Best signing we ever made, that Ralfy-boy! I always said so."
"Sure you did." The grin on Luke's face felt like it would break the muscles in his cheeks. "Never said a bad word about him. Ever."
"Yeah, well. We always complain about the ones we love the most." Andy looked anywhere but at Luke as he said that. Those complaints would come again in the very next game, no doubt. "Come on, ref! Blow the fucking whistle! Blow it! Blow it!"
The referee looked at his watch, the whistle clamped between his lips. Andy urged the man onwards, fingers rolling as though beckoning through the tv. A quick glance to see where play continued, whether an attack was in progress, whether it was safe to do so and the referee blew for time, raising his hand to point toward the centre circle. They had won! Today. They were still a good dozen points from the top spot, but still had more than a few games to catch up.
Now it was Andy's turn to look at his watch. They all had tight schedules, these days, but Andy had the schedule of a loving dad as well as a dutiful husband. People wanted and expected his attention and he gave it without question. Except Saturday afternoons, and, even then, only until the game ended. He had responsibilities that Luke no longer had.
"Your t-shirt's soaked. Cath'll be furious if you turn up smelling of beer." Luke watched as Andy tugged at the chest of his t-shirt, smelling it, giving a satisfied 'ah' at the smell. "Get a wash while the taxi's on the way and grab one of my t-shirts from the dresser. I'll clear up and text her you're on your way."
Without arguing, Andy turned toward the door to the stairs, pulling the t-shirt over his head. He gave it one, last sniff before disappearing, his feet pounding on the stairs. Luke loved Andy to bits. A brother. The best friend a man could possibly hope for. Never judging. Always there when Luke needed someone, and he had very much needed someone more than a few times on his life.
By the time Luke had cleared away the bottles, the uneaten food and found the tossed bottle caps, it seemed like ages since Andy had rushed upstairs. Frowning, Luke poked his head out into the hall but couldn't hear a sound. It was only when Luke remembered that Andy had only a passing acquaintance to paying attention to people that he thought he needed to rush upstairs.
As soon as he entered the bedroom, he knew he should have come for the t-shirt himself. Andy, as predicted, hadn't looked in the dresser for a t-shirt, he'd opened the wardrobe and now stood before the full rack of dresses, skirts, tops and the shoes below. Andy's head turned as Luke entered, a sad, confused look upon his face.
Luke had no idea how he could begin to explain this.