Author's Note:

This chapter is pretty sketchy. Probably won't make much sense either because it's reflecting on Seth's thoughts. Kid's a mess. Give him a break. Oh and in my story, Seth has his own bathroom which is connected to his room. Got it? Swell. I knew you would. wink.

Suddenly, he finds himself in the minivan with a crying Peter behind him and a pensive Shane to his left. Seth has convinced himself that what had just occurred no less then ten minutes earlier, in fact… did not.

Absentmindedly, he clutches his worn-out backpack to his chest and reaches a hand out to turn the radio on and up. Didn't matter what was playing.

For some reason, a part of him was hardly shocked. He'd noticed the looks Murney had given him and some of the other, more weaker teammates like himself.

He wondered if he'd done this to them too and tossed the ridiculous idea of asking some of them the next time he'd see them at school.

School…

God, the idea of having to step foot on that campus again made his head spin and it forced him to shut his eyes.

"You alright, Seth?" Shane inquires but the boy was so deep in his thoughts he hadn't heard him.

All Seth could hear was Murney's husky voice threatening him,

"Don't you tell…"

"Seth, you-"

"What?"

Seth snapped at Shane's voice, half his face covered by his book bag.

Shane's mouth gapes, eyes settling on Seth for just a second before returning back to the road.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"No" Seth quickly answers, his body tense, forehead slightly beaded with sweat, "No, I feel sick."

Truthfully, he was feeling ill but in a different kind of way. A way he couldn't quite name.

"Murney wasn't too rough with you, was he?"

The question nearly sends Seth into a fit of maniacal laughter but he's so fucking afraid he just shakes his head, so sincerely.

The kid really could act.

His eyes would lower down to his clothes, noting that he was missing his Morrissey shirt and his flannel was inside out. His shoes were barely on his feet and his beanie was no where to be found.

And like a tidal wave he recalls it all:

The way his breath made him shiver...

The satisfied huffing he made when he forced himself inside Seth...

Snatching whatever clothes he could after Murney let him crumble to the ground, alone.

His slender shoulders spike with a sharp intake of air. His heart clenches, eyes tighten so much it hurts.

And all Seth wants to do now is scream until he goes hoarse. Break everything around him that could be broken.

He was broken...

They haven't even come to a complete stop in the driveway before he opens the door, stumbling out, trotting convincingly casual toward the house, as his backpack dragged and bobbed against the inner of his calf. His body was hunched over oddly as well.

It hurt...

Nevertheless, he's through the door and midway up the stairs when Lulu collides with him.

"Watch it!" She shrieks. She gives him a glare, sidesteps and pounds her way down, while Seth skipped a step the rest of the way up.

He locks the door and now the kid is pacing.

"Don't act like you don't want this"

Pace, pace, pace, and don't you dare fucking stop or you'll dwell- acknowledge it, accept it, and justify it.

Justify it!

He blinks, stopping in front of his radio long enough to turn it on and loudly, though not suspiciously loud.

Didn't really matter what was playing.

And he's pacing the dark wood floor yet again.

How can one rationalize a man your father's age slamming you against a wall and fucking your brains out?

Emotions are plowing down on him so hard, he barely even identifies them. There's hues of reds flashing in front of his eyes: anger, resentment, fear, abandonment, he guesses they are. But what's that one there? Bluish- it's turquoise. It's lukewarm, almost ... proverbial.

I didn't want it...

He's gasping now as the bass of the music is traveling through his feet, up to his heart to pound at it.

...right?

Zoe is shouting, "Seth, turn it down!" because she wants to be a brat and her fists are connecting with the door for added emphasis.

He wants to cover his ears, not ever hear anything ever again but knows that would only bring thinking, bring remembering.

He finds himself rummaging through his drawers. Retrieving boxers, a t-shirt and pants. He darts into the bathroom, closes the door and locks it. He quickly turns the water on in the shower, not caring to direct the nozzle into whatever temperature he desired. He just needed it on... more noise... more distractions.

Trembling hands pull at tainted clothing. First, the shirt. Not slow but not quick. Gingerly maybe. Then next, his pants. He's exaggeratedly interested in unbuckling them just the right way.

Actually taking them off though- that part, well, that part was done as if he were dealing with a highly sensitive bomb. Lowering the jeans an inch or so only to pause for a few seconds. He was working in levels. Down to his thighs- a shaky breath- then just above his knees- a suppressed sob- then they'd sink the rest on the way on their own. His boxers- well, he simply couldn't bring himself to take those off. They'd just have to stay on.

The water is cold but he doesn't notice. Just stands there, not really knowing what to do. Lets the pressure jab at his back, soaking his boxers so they plastered around his thighs and detailed his...

He peers down at the indigo background with white polkadot pattern of his boxers. Something catches his eye. There's a substance that the water didn't wash away. It looked fresh though. He squints, and lets his hand reach down at it, scratch it with his nail.

It's... it's cum.

And now Seth is down right confused. What did that mean? Had he gotten off on his reverie of being raped?

God, no. He wasn't gay and he surely didn't enjoy it.

But even as he thinks these things, he's jerking off. Didn't even recall slipping a hand down to his groin but, hey, there it was and there he was. Eyes fluttering, teeth sinking ravenously into his bottom lip, breath caught in his throat and he comes again with a grunt.

He doesn't understand at all. Where was this coming from?... no pun intended. He knows he didn't want it. Knows it more then anything he's ever known in his short life. His head is spinning, shaking to and fro, as he feels he's losing his damn mind.

And he laughs, a bark really. It turns into more of a giggle, then it's hysterical and just when he's about to start howling, his heart collapses into his stomach and he's crying. Sobbing, shoulders shaking so bad, he has to lean against the tiled wall for support. He slides down it until he's in an uncomfortable sitting position.

Incoherent words are being said through tears. His hands ball up into fists and he starts hitting, knocking down the shampoo, the conditioner, the shaving cream and the razor. The glint of it catches his eye and man, he's thankful.

He rolls it into his palm, shifting so he can stretch his legs out but never takes his eyes off it. Mesmerized and man, so thankful.

He pulls up the leg of his boxers just a bit, presses the blade onto his flesh and yanks it to the side. A ghost of smile appears and he does it again. A few more times and he frowns at the thought of his other leg feeling left-out. He switches quickly and without hesitating starts at it again.

Good, good, good.

He smears the blood around, almost playing with it, watches in awe as it dissolves into the water, turning it pinkish as he pools around him.

He wants to sit there forever and ever. But he gets up then, drops his pal and steps out of the shower to stand directly in front of the steamy mirror. He wipes it with his hand and stares into his empty eyes. They bore for a while, then lower to his arms. They were bruised at the bicep where Murney had held him still. His gaze continues downward to linger on his hips, bruised as well. He brushes his fingertips across the green tinted skin there then stops, letting both hands rest at his sides.

His eyes would move up to his flattened dark locks that he loved dearly but not anymore.

Murney had played with his long jagged hair as if he were a fucking doll.

So Seth cuts it… bleaches it even. Whatever it took to make that gut wrenching feeling go away… and that smell, the stench of his cologne over all his body that would never go away no matter how many showers he endured.

And when he's done, he pats himself dry down to his bloodied yet hardly damaged legs, changes into warm clothes, finally turns the music down but not off and he crawls into bed, curling up on his side. As soon as he head hits the pillow, he's fast asleep and truthfully hopes he'll never wake up again.

To Be Continued...

R & R 'cause it's nice.