Everything around me was spinning. I couldn't focus on anything except the constant click of a clock in my ears. I felt the bruising grip of a pair of hands on my legs, digging their fingertips into my flash as they forced my legs apart. I tried to scream but my throat was growing raw with every exaggerated breath I took. Sharp, stabbing pain blossomed in my lower half, a deep scream burning my throat like it was made of legitimate fire. It felt like my throat was so burned it was fusing together, sealing off my air as my body tried to coil into a ball, the strong hands easily pushing my week frame back down.
When my eyes finally focused on something it was the face I dreaded. Spack was in his early twenties; he was the trainer every girl already had the hots for. Ever since that day he looked like a monster to me. The look in his almost black iris' only made me tremble in fear. His blonde hair consumed my vision like a blinding white light, taking over my head so I couldn't forget what he was doing to me. Another deep scream left my throat as I clawed at his hands as one of them grabbed my breast, a new feeling of torture pulsing through my veins.
"Danny!"
Like a light switch everything went black, only the pain in my throat and my chest was real. My eyes shot open like a dear in headlights with gasps for air. "Danielle, hey, hey. It's alright, Baby, I got you," a familiar voice assured me, huskier than usual. My entire body jumped in surprise, my arms going up in front of my face as a gut reaction for protection. Eventually, my vision focused on the raven haired law student with his brows pulled together in worry. "Danny, you're safe. I got you, I'm right here. I'm not going to hurt you."
I let out a breath of relief, dropping my arms from protecting my face. I needed a moment to collect myself, letting the tears in my eyes dissipate as my palms rested on my forehead. My raspy voice spoke up, "I'm sorry, Beckett." I was sorry for a lot of things. Scaring the crap out of him. Waking him up. Making him deal with my shit. Beck seemed to disappear for a week after his brother had surgery, which was understandable. Then the first night he's not at the hospital I wake him up screaming bloody murder.
"Hey, don't apologize. Everything is alright, I got you," Beck reassured me. He was sitting up in his bed beside me, looking down at me but not touching me anymore. He had shaken me awake but was quick to remove his touch, not sure how I was going to react. I sat up and made the first move for him, leaning my head against his hard chest. "Do you want to talk about it?" Beck whispered, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me into him.
"Six years ago today," my raw voice cracked. I didn't want to be a burden on him. It was two in the morning. "I'm sorry, Beck. You haven't slept a full night of sleep in at least a week. Just go to bed."
I tried to pull away again but Beck firmly kept me close to his warm torso. "I care more about your well being than an extra hour of rest. If you don't want to talk about it, than you can just tell me. I'm not going to be offended. I just want to help you. Danielle, you are one of the most important people in my life and I want to help ease your pain. It hurts me to see you like this; let me help you, Baby."
I exhaled deeply, closing my eyes and letting the tension leave my muscles while I tried to calm my heart rate. I don't know what I would do without Beck in all honesty. Seb knew how to comfort me when I woke up screaming but it was different. Seb understood me, I could say anything, and he was protective of me. With Beck it was the same, but there was something else there; another tinge of warmth that I didn't get with Seb. Maybe it was because I had feelings for my best friend, but I didn't want to think about that.
Especially not now.
"I don't get these nightmares often," I told Beck but he already knew that. For the almost two months we shared a bed, I'd never had this reaction. Not after my panic attack, or my confession, or even after Beck had fingered me. It was a periodic thing and I knew that. Maybe my initial thoughts about starting to wean off of therapy were wrong. I still needed it. PTSD didn't just go away. "But uh, it's periodic. Six years ago today is when my rape happened."
I had to swallow the lump in my throat to avoid repeating the obvious. "I usually get like this around this time a year. It's like something in the back of my head that's constantly nawing at me relentlessly. I was back in that room in my dream. I couldn't do anything all over again. Beck, I can still feel his hands on me. It hurts so much, it haunts me every day. I can act like it never happened but that doesn't change the truth."
"Every time I think I've escaped it, I haven't. It's all perfectly clear in my mind how he grabbed me, what he said, what he did. I can't forget it and that's all I want." So much for controlling my breathing. I was bawling all over again with only the feeling of Beck rubbing circles on my back to soothe me. "I fell so stupid because I can't even handle it correctly. Sylvia never tried to kill herself. She doesn't need to go to therapy. She doesn't take medication anymore. It's not her intention, but I feel weak. Like I can't even be a survivor the right way."
"There's not a 'right way'," Beck's chest rumbled against my cheek. "Everyone is different and every rape is different, Danny. Don't compare yourself, you're still a strong woman for even talking about it. You testified in court; that takes more courage than a lot of people will ever understand."
"Is the right way sleeping with every guy I come across because I want to get over it? Is the right way drinking myself stupid to the point where I'm begging the world for someone to hit me with their car? I do everything wrong, Beck. My mother hates me, I was raped by one of my teachers, I've slept with more people than I can count, I've tried to jump of a bridge three times;?The pain never stops, Beck. I don't know what to do," I sobbed. I felt trapped, like there was nothing else for me to do. I was hurting and I don't think I would ever heal. Time doesn't fix all wounds, no matter what they say. Time immortalizes them so you can never forget.
"You're doing everything you can, Danny. You go to therapy, you open up to people like Seb and I; you're taking all the steps. It's alright to be in pain and I can't promise that it will get better, but remember the good times. All those moments during the day where you get to play hockey, or laugh at Axel's stupidity. It's not much, Danielle, but that's what your medication and your therapist are for. And most importantly, it's what your friends and family are for. Don't compare yourself to Sylvia. Danielle Riley is perfect the way she is. It doesn't matter how many guys she's slept with or how many times she's almost drunk herself into a coma. What is important is that now you have support and together we'll get through this. Spack can't hurt you anymore. Everything will be alright, you just have to trust yourself and the people around you. Do you trust me, Danny?"
I didn't need to hesitate with my answer no matter how hard I was crying. I would trust Beck with my life and that was a fact. Since the moment he almost knocked Jones out, I knew Beck had my back. He was everything to me. "Yes. I trust you, Beckett."
"Then hold on to that, because we will make it through this together. I'm here for you in any way you need me, because that's what best friends do. We love each other and we take care of each other," Beck spoke softly to me. I loved him, I really did. In a platonic sense. I didn't think I loved Beck romantically yet, and I know he definitely didn't feel that way about me. But I didn't say anything back, because I was falling for my best friend and I couldn't tell him I loved him without meaning it in a different way than he wanted.
So I let Beck hold me, because it was the only way I felt safe. I could say anything I wanted and Beck would be supportive while, try as he might, Sebastian would freak out. I didn't have feelings for Beck because he helped me with my PTSD; that's a horrible reason to fall for someone. I had feelings for him because I could express anything and he would understand. Beck always made me laugh, he always made me feel safe, and he always made me think that anything was possible. The only problem was the one thing I wanted was the thing that was impossible.
Having him.
"Do you know why I got my Medusa tattoo?" I asked eventually, my tears drying and the silence growing too thick.
"I think I might have a pretty good idea," Beck muttered to himself. The skin of my bicep on Beck's chest burned, reminding me of the moment I got that tattoo. I was nineteen when I got it and not a day went by where I regretted it.
"It seems you know her myth then," I whispered back. "A woman raped in Athena's temple by Poseidon for how she looked, only to be punished for 'choosing' to disgrace Athena. Cursed with a head of snakes and eyes of stone so no one could ever love her again."
I paused, letting it sink in. "If I was a true pessimist I would see her as a memento of my sorrow and self pity, but I'd say I'm more of a realist. To me, Medusa is a reminder of the systemic problems I need to stand up for. A reminder that one in six women are victims of attempted or completed rape. I got her as a reminder to be strong, because she might be cursed but that made Medusa one of the strongest and most threatening women in mythology."
"That's a beautiful sentiment," Beck spoke honestly, almost like he was surprised that I had somehow made a tattoo of a rape victim positive.
"It has to be, or else I'll just feel sorry for myself. It might sound ironic coming from me, but that's no way to live," I let my words sink in for a few moments, contemplating whether I should ask Beck about his tattoo or not. Sometimes they have meaning and sometimes they didn't; I didn't want to strike the wrong cord by accident. But in the end I needed a distraction, so I took the leap of faith. "What about you? Why the plague doctor and the hawk?"
"I got the doctor first," Beck said softly, keeping his left arm around me as he moved his right, looking down at his forearm with me. It was a beautiful greyscale tattoo like mine. I wasn't one for color and I guess Beck wasn't either. "I was eighteen when I got it. Aras had been diagnosed with leukemia a year earlier and I was starting to lose hope. I had always loved history, I mean I'm a liberal arts major, so it seemed kind of fitting. The plague killed hundreds of thousands and no one could definitively find a cure. I guess it felt the same way, it was almost a pre-memorial tattoo. Now it represents making it through the darkness." Fitting considering the doctor was walking through piles of skeletons that banded around the underside of Beck's forearm near his wrist.
"I only got a hawk last year. I'm not religious; my father was raised by a Christian family and my mother moved here when she was young. Her parents kind of forgot to show her their culture, I suppose. They were too busy being focused on getting jobs. So both my parents were raised in Boston, forgetting about the country they were both born in. That's why I have an English name. Then my dad remarried Aras' mom, Badia."
"I spent my summers there and she quickly became a second mother to me. It felt completely different, though. She cooked food from Syria, she practiced her faith, and she named her kid after his background. Part of me wanted to commemorate where my parents came from, even if I've never been. The hawk represents the Quraysh hawk, one of the symbols of Muhammad. It's on many flags of Islamic countries including many of Syria's both past and present, so I thought it was a nice representation of my heritage."
"That's really beautiful, Beckett." I never through about that, how his brother was raised in a different style to him. It made sense though. Their names were drastically different in origin and that only scratched the surface. I felt bad that as the first generation American in his family, he would probably never get to see his parents home country with the treacherous civil war happening. At least Beck was finding a way to keep his culture close, if not through his mother then through his step mom.
"So is yours, Danny," he whispered back, tilting his head so his forehead was touching the top of my head. "You should try and go back to sleep now. We have practice tomorrow morning and nightmares take a lot of energy."
He was right. Breakdowns did take energy. I slowly untangled myself from his arms, laying back down in bed. Beck did the same but he didn't pull my body close to his like he did before. "You can touch me you know, I'm not going to freak out."
"I know, Danielle. I'm just trying to make you comfortable," his husky voice tickled my ears before Beck's strong forearm wrapped around my waist and pulled my body back against his chest. "Goodnight, Danny."
"Night, Beck."
I don't know what I'd do without you.