Chapter Text
It was Eden's first night inside.
He laid flat on his back on the top bunk, staring up at the deep fissures in the plaster overhead, his hands clamped over his ears because no one had warned him about what happens after dark.
Before he'd got here he'd been under the impression this place was for hardened criminals and not crying little boys, only that’s all he could hear now; screaming, jeering, sobbing, someone calling out for his mama, someone else banging on the walls.
He pushed himself into a sit and leaned over the edge of his mattress, peering down into the bunk below. His cellie slept soundly through all the drama, long legs dangling off the end of the bed, lips slightly parted as he snored softly.
He was big, had to be over six-two at the least, and he was crammed to shit down there in that little cot. Eden supposed he must be used to that, because it hadn’t hindered him falling asleep; he’d been out like a light before they'd even had a chance to suss each other out.
Eden left him to his dreams and fell back to the mattress, lacing his fingers across his chest. His eyes were dry. He wouldn’t cry, no matter how fucked up things got. He'd promised Jon he wouldn’t cry.
No one had warned him about mealtimes either.
He stood there with his tray like an idiot, scanning the mess for a place to sit. Every table teemed with groups of boisterous young men, laughing, jostling each other, talking loud with their mouths full.
He spotted his cellie towards the back of the hall. He was the only one sitting by himself, which should have been a massive red flag, but Eden quickly decided he'd take his chances with one asshole instead of ten.
His cellie glanced up when Eden slid onto the bench opposite, and Eden could tell he wasn't happy about the intrusion. He glared through narrowed green eyes, a muscle working in his jaw.
"Don't remember sayin' you could sit here," he said.
Eden glared right back, aware the guy could wipe the floor with him but unwilling to look like a pussy too early on. In here, that'd be suicide.
"Don't remember giving a fuck what you think."
The guy leant back in his chair and swept him with an up and down glower, sizing him up. For a moment the atmosphere was so charged Eden had to hold his breath, priming to get up and book it should the guy decide he was worth a punch in the mouth. But the tension broke when he just snorted and took a long sip from his cup.
"What's your name, anyway?" he said, wiping at his mouth. "Didn't catch it last night."
"Eden."
There was a short huff of laughter followed by the guy repeating his name around a mouthful of food. And it was alright, because Eden had been expecting that. He never bothered trying to explain the story behind his name anymore. It was either funny or became the topic of unwanted conversation.
"That's funny, huh?"
The guy didn't even bother trying to hide his smirk. "Nah, it's just... You look like that and you got a real cute little name." He sniggered and added, "Shit, you're gonna cop it bad in here. Hope you like cock, 'cause you're about to be drownin' in it." He carried on eating like that was nothing, just an interesting little tidbit he thought he should share, while Eden tried to hold himself back from doing something dumb, like punching this guy in his jaw.
He thought he'd sussed him out now. The dude was full of himself. Tall with coppery skin and--Eden supposed, if he was being homo enough to notice--kind of ripped. The type of handsome that wouldn't have him out of place as the dark-haired, bad boy counter to a line-up of golden-haired Abercrombie and Fitch douchebags. But he was a smart-ass, and they were stuck together, and the guy was making it real clear he wanted nothing to do with all that.
Eden fell silent and pushed his food around on his plate, because whatever was on it didn't exactly look palatable, and tried to take the fact he hadn't been shoved to the ground on his ass yet as a win.
"Yo, Nikita," someone hollered from behind. Eden twisted around as some tall, gangly dude with bad face tats and even worse teeth tossed something over his head. "Sup, blondie," he added in Eden's direction, catching his eye. Eden averted his gaze, not wanting to engage anyone else.
At least he'd caught his cellie's name.
Nikita caught something in his fist and pocketed it before Eden got a chance to see what it was. When he caught Eden being nosey, though, his lip curled into a sneer and he stood, pushing away from the table. Eden watched him toss his tray down on a teetering pile before he swaggered out of the hall.
*
He spent the rest of the morning locked in a bathroom stall, knees tucked up under his chin, hoping he wouldn't be found.
He didn't budge from his spot atop the closed toilet lid until the buzzer went off and he was forced to haul ass, his schedule letting him know it was time for whatever passed for class around here.
And he was dreading it, because it had been months since he went to school out in the real world, too busy dealing with his brother's bullshit, but he reasoned everyone here was probably behind; that it wasn't like he'd be the only one.
Out in the hall, he drifted along in the direction everyone else was headed, hyper-aware of his own vulnerability, of the fact he was on his own now, no mean-looking older brother around to stand between him and anything that might hurt him.
He wrapped his arms around himself, couldn't seem to stop doing that lately, like holding onto his own body would protect any of the soft, squishy parts of him from violence.
In the line outside the classroom, he tried to make himself smaller without attracting attention, without outright announcing to everyone around that he was prey, fit to be fucked with. He avoided eye-contact with anyone who might look in his direction, just like Jon had told him to.
Keep your head down. Don't start trouble.
Jon had said it was real lucky they'd placed him in such a small facility; it was supposed to be safer, lower security, no one here over the age of twenty-one; only things are feeling anything but safe.
He was doing his best impression of a wallflower when the back of his neck started prickling, a silent warning his space was being invaded, and someone copped a handful of his ass, squeezing hard, fingers dipping briefly between his thighs before suddenly withdrawing.
Laughter broke out, and when Eden whipped around to see who'd fondled him, the group of guys milling around behind all had their hands to themselves, though most of them wore dumb smirks on their faces. Clearly, Eden thought, he was the joke today.
He recognized the tall dude from breakfast amongst the group, the one with the messy face tats who'd thrown something to Nikita, and he was the only one who wasn't laughing. He fixed Eden with a long, intense kind of stare, which caused his stomach to bottom out as his intuition told him that this was probably the same dude who'd just groped him. The fact he wasn't laughing along with the rest of them only made Eden feel worse, like he'd prefer it if he was. Absent the context of some fucked up little joke, the way he was being leered at felt way more sinister.
The air in the musty little classroom was freezing, the heating elements obviously on the blink. Eden picked a seat right up at the back of the room, where there was the least amount of people, and pressed himself solidly into the wall, where the chilled bricks drew the rest of the warmth out of his skin.
He could barely focus on what was happening up the front. The teacher -- some harried-looking, balding guy in his forties -- was giving Nikita a lecture over putting his feet up on the desk, telling him he wouldn't get his diploma if he didn't stop acting like a disrespectful dumbass. There was a work-sheet spread out before him, something about a book he'd never even read, but he couldn't maintain any focus.
He thought perhaps he was just paranoid after that shit out in the hall, but it was like he could feel eyes sticking to his body everywhere and it was making him unclean.
The second the bell rang he was out of there like a shot, retreating back to the safety of his room, where he could at least lock the door against everyone but the CO's, or Nikita.
The rest of the week, it was more of the same.
Eden kept his head down, didn't try to make friends, never hung around chatting with anyone too long. He called Jon every night, mostly just to reassure him he was still fine and that no one was fucking with him too hard. Jon seemed alright too, though Eden couldn't help worrying every night that his brother wouldn't pick up the phone, that tonight would be the night he was sacked out somewhere with a needle sticking out of his arm, no one around to help.
He sat with Nikita during mealtimes in the mess, which Nikita was benevolent enough to allow, though they barely talked unless Nikita wanted to say something fucked up, like asking with a smirk if anyone had had a go at his ass yet.
He knew he was being leered at sometimes, but he was taking all the right precautions. Keeping to himself, staying out of trouble, shutting himself in his room every second it was allowed.
Mostly, things were just painfully boring. He was generally at peace when he was in the room on his own, and not because Nikita ever paid him the wrong kind of attention. He didn't, but when he was around he was either working out, doing grunting push-ups and sit-ups until the whole room reeked like his Axe-tinged sweat, or chain-smoking his contraband cigarettes, which Eden hated because he was starting to enjoy the smell of them.
He knew Nikita was far from the worst dude he could be sharing with. There was always Logan, the guy who'd groped him on day one, who still let his gaze linger uncomfortably long whenever Eden was in his vicinity. Eden had little doubt how things would be going for him right now if he'd been unlucky enough to get paired with Logan instead, so he was grateful enough for small mercies.
Nikita never looked at him any type of way, which Eden was thankful for, but he was also brash and inconsiderate and seemed to view everyone around as just shit that was in his way. He used up most of the hot water in the mornings, which was set to a stingy timer, and only gave Eden the finger if he tried to talk to him about it.
Nikita woke up sometimes in the night, his groaning and thrashing interrupting Eden's sleep, but Eden had learned that first night that bad dreams were kind of a thing around here, so he left him to it without ever bringing it up.
The worst parts were Tuesdays, when he was scheduled to have his weekly meeting with the counsellor, Miss Harris. And it wasn't like she was the worst person in the world either -- he actually kind of liked being in her office; it was bright and clean with nice pictures on the walls, flowers on the desk and was almost entirely absent the aroma of dozens of other gross-smelling dudes -- but it was a waste of time sitting there talking about his fucking feelings, or his past drug use, when he didn't have an issue with either of those things.
Due to the nature of his charges, he was forced to talk a lot about drugs, and his plans for staying clean on the outside. He always knew what to say, because he'd had a lifetime's instruction on how to lie about that shit courtesy of Jon. How many times Jon had promised him, and the revolving door of social workers, he'd stay clean only to turn around and pump himself full of that shit the second he thought he was in the clear.
That part was easy, but when she started trying to root around in his head, asking about Jon, his mom, his 'unstable' home life, he had to shut her down because he wasn't doing any of that shit.
He'd always thought digging around in his own guts, dredging up things he no longer wanted to think about, was counterproductive at best and dangerous at worst. The past was better left where it was, where it couldn't fuck with his head anymore, and he told her that. Didn't stop her from continuing to poke though, thinking she might get a different answer one day.
Today, Miss Harris had another topic to explore, one she hadn't brought up before. Eden thought it'd be a nice change of pace if it weren't yet another thing he refused to talk about.
She watched him carefully over her red-rimmed glasses, hands folded in front of her. He looked at them instead of her face, because her fingernails were always brightly painted and decorated with sparkling gemstones, a different set each week. It was a nice little distraction.
She asked if he'd been experiencing harassment, and when he asked her to clarify what that meant, she said, "Any kind of harassment, Eden. Physical, emotional, sexual."
"What's emotional harassment? Like, bullying?"
"You're avoiding the question," she observed in that soft, gentle voice of hers. It threw him off sometimes, being spoken to so gently. Jon loved him and all but had always been kind of a dick when he was growing up, harsh and withholding and, a lot of the time, high.
Eden wondered if she was asking this because the way he looked -- petite and a little delicate -- made him an obvious target, or if she asked everyone the same shit, like her questions were out of a handbook or something. But then he couldn't imagine her asking Nikita the same things. He'd laugh in her face because nothing about him screamed easy target. Eden just thought he was lucky for that.
He supposed he could tell her about Logan, the way those shifty eyes followed him around the place, like the dude was just waiting for an opportunity to get him alone so he could start something. Or maybe some of the other guys, though they tended to be less obvious about what they wanted in the sense they tried to act like his friend first. But he didn't say any of that; he wasn't a snitch.
"No one's harassing me. No one's touching me."
She let that sit for a while, probably trying to decide whether or not he was telling the truth, before following up with, "And how are things going with Nikita? You two getting along alright?"
Eden shrugged. "Sure. He uses up all the water in the morning, which is pretty fucked up, but other than that we're sweet."
"I see. So would you say the two of you are developing something of a friendship?"
It was a weird question, and he couldn't really tell what her angle was there, but he said, "No. We're not friends. He minds his own business and I mind mine. It's a pretty neat deal, all things considered."
"I understand it's important in here to be seen as tough, to not get too close to anybody, but I can tell you from years on the job that your time in here will pass a lot easier if you at least try to branch out, form relationships with some of the other boys. They're all struggling, just like you, and we all need somebody, just like you. I'm sure there's plenty of people here you'd have a lot in common with. It's not weak to need a friend, Eden."
He didn't think there was much him and Nikita could ever have in common, so he shut that down fast. "I don't need a friend. I don't need anybody." He flicked his eyes up at the clock. "Look at that. Time's nearly up."
"Hm. I suppose it is. We'll pick this up again next time." She rummaged around in her desk draw, pulling out some pamphlets and handing them to him. More reading material on recovery from addiction to get him through the week ahead. He wanted to tell her to shove them up her ass but he didn't, just took them, because he knew he'd read them cover to cover anyway. It's not like there was anything better to do with his time.
A couple of days later he'd read those pamphlets dozens of times and was starting to go out of his mind with boredom. He refused to visit the common-area for entertainment -- too many dudes in there, too many opportunities for someone to fuck with him -- and Nikita wasn't much of a reader, owning only a single book, which was the copy of Lord of the Flies they were both using for their coursework.
He decided it might be high-time to visit the library, stock up on books and comics before retreating back to the relative safety of the room, where the most he had to worry about was choking on Nikita's smoke, having to listen to him huff and grunt as he flopped around the room doing push-ups, or sit-ups.
He kept his head down as walked, lifting it briefly if someone said his name as he passed, and then only because he didn't want to insult the wrong person by giving the impression he thought he was hot shit, too good to talk to anyone.
He pushed open the door to the library and was relieved to find it empty, likely due to the fact the sun was out this afternoon and most of the other guys were fucking around in the yard. It was comfortably warm inside, a reverse-cycle heater fanning noisily overhead. It made him wish he could hole up in here for a little while instead of his own room, where it was permanently glacial on account of Nikita constantly having the window open so he could blow his smoke out of it.
The walls were grubby but decorated in a variety of ageing, peeling posters bearing messages such as: 'good books can satisfy your curiosity!' and 'when in doubt, go to the library!'
He took a deep breath, inhaling the musty, papery scent of old books. It reminded him a bit of being little, hanging out at the elderly neighbor's apartment when his brother didn't come home for the night. She'd had books everywhere, stacked so high they'd almost touched the ceiling, and even though he hadn't been able to read back then, he'd liked looking at the pictures on the covers. Liked it even better that he felt safe there.
He was sure there was a CO lurking around somewhere in the back office, but he resolved to do what he needed to do as quickly as possible before getting the hell out of there. He wasn't familiar with who liked to hang out in the library, and he didn't want to risk coming across the wrong person.
He made short work of scanning the shelves, picking up anything that might be of interest to him. Fantasy, mostly, as the only thing he seemed to want to do these days was be out of his own head, preferably off the planet.
When he'd got a decent selection going, and he was struggling to clutch them all to his chest, he heard the library door open and close and figured that was his cue to leave.
He was approaching the end of the aisle when someone cut across his path, blocking his exit. His guts did violent somersaults when he realized it was Logan, and he was careful not to look too frightened when their eyes met. Something told him that would be equivalent in provocation to a shark scenting blood on the water, and the last thing he needed right now was to resemble prey.
"Eden."
He hated it when the guy said his name like that, like they were friends or something. Like he even knew him at all. All Eden saw when he looked at him was that gross hand on his ass, squeezing too rough, fingers dipping between his thighs; that dark gaze following him around, like the guy was waiting on an opportunity to get him alone so he could have his way. Eden thought he'd probably just given that to him.
He wondered how long Logan had been planning this, waiting for him to drift away from the crowd, be out of sight of Nikita so he could take his shot uninterrupted.
"What'cha got there?" Before Eden could answer, Logan snatched the stack of books from Eden's arms, went through each of them one by one and read the titles aloud. "You're into this kinda shit, huh?"
Eden nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He glanced over Logan's shoulder to see if anyone else was around, but it looked like they're alone, and he knew he'd picked the worst possible time to do this; that he should have just waited, swallowed his pride a little perhaps and begged Nikita to come with him.
"This one any good?" Logan asked, holding up a copy of Dragon Wing.
Eden shrugged and mumbled, "I dunno, I've never read it."
Logan set the books aside on a nearby shelf, freeing up his hands, and Eden tried to duck around him as soon as he spotted an opportunity.
He was too slow. Logan didn't allow that, instead planted his hands down on Eden's shoulders, where they were heavy enough to hold him in his place. He was probably about as tall as Nikita, which meant there was almost a foot between the two of them, and from this vantage the size difference was alarming.
Logan slid a hand from Eden's shoulder down his arm, fingers circling his wrist. He was staring at Eden's mouth, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Eden didn't want to think about what had got him all worked up like that.
He tried to tug his wrist away but Logan tightened his grip in response, throwing a quick glance back over his shoulder. When that confirmed there was no one watching, he stepped forward, right into Eden's space, which caused him to stumble off his feet. Logan corralled him all the way to the back of the aisle, until he was pressed up against the brick, nowhere to run, and both of them were well out of sight.
"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" Eden bit out, and he knew, of course he knew what Logan had on his mind, but he wanted Logan to tell him. If Logan told him, scared him enough, there was a chance he'd find it in him to snitch against his better judgment, scream until someone came running.
As if he'd read those thoughts, Logan clamped a hand over Eden's mouth and applied a moderate amount of pressure, enough that it caused Eden's teeth to dig into his lip and he struggled to breathe past Logan's hand.
Logan leant in close and evenly said, "If you scream, I'm gonna fuck you up." He reared back to look into Eden's eyes, gently brushing strands of hair off Eden's forehead. He was close enough Eden could finally get a good look at his tattoos: devil's horns on either side of his forehead; a crown just above his eyebrow; a single teardrop just below his left eye.
"Do you understand me?" Logan relaxed the pressure around Eden's mouth just enough for him to give a muffled, "Yes."
"Good boy." Logan pushed in closer, and Eden could feel him hard against his hip as he started to grind against him. "Listen," he breathed against Eden's temple, and his lank hair brushed Eden's face, making him cringe. His smell, like old sweat and stale tobacco, was claustrophobic. "If you're a good boy for me, do what you're told, I'll try not to make it hurt. But if you fight me, try to run from me, I'm gonna make you bleed. You got that, baby?"
Eden nodded, so choked by his own fear it was all he could do to keep himself upright, not throw up all over both of them. Logan bent his head for a kiss, and it was so repulsive Eden kept his lips sealed tight, hoping Logan would get the message and stop, take what he wanted but not that, not that.
His reluctance to open up his mouth and kiss back only seemed to aggravate the situation, because Logan growled and dug fingertips into Eden's hip, his other hand curling around Eden's neck as he flipped him around and shoved him back into the wall, where the coarse brick scraped his chin.
He wrapped an arm around Eden's chest to pin him in place as he rutted against him, breathing heavily into his ear. "A kiss'd be nice," he said low, nipping at Eden's earlobe, "but I can think'a somethin' I want more."
Eden tried not to make a sound during this next part, because he knew Logan meant it when he said he'd hurt him, make him bleed if he wanted to fuck around and find out. Logan stopped humping on his ass long enough to slip his hand between their bodies; Eden could hear the rustle of clothing and then Logan's cock, hard and free, poked into his back. Logan slipped his fingers beneath the elastic of Eden's pants and tugged them down, leaving him exposed.
When Logan's bare dick bumped up against his ass, leaving a wet trail across the skin, he hissed and raked his nails across Eden's chest. "God, you're so fuckin' cute, you know that? So fuckin' cute, walkin' around like a little tease and never puttin' out."
Eden kept his mouth shut, swallowing his scream when Logan pressed wet fingers up against his hole. A small yelp slipped out anyway and Logan growled, "You want to be wet, or not? Trust me, I think you wanna be wet before we do this shit."
He was right, but that didn't lessen the mounting horror, or the bone-deep disgust Eden felt at being touched this way, by him.
When Logan seemed to think it was good enough, he lined himself up and pushed forward hard, attempting to penetrate. Eden did let out a muffled scream then, because even the attempt was so much more painful than anything he'd imagined. And he'd imagined it, in idle moments sometimes, being fucked by someone; but this was nothing like it had been in his fantasies.
Logan started getting frustrated when he couldn't successfully penetrate him, hissing and shaking Eden like a ragdoll as he spat, "You're not makin' this fuckin' easy, you know. Relax, or you'll only make it harder on yourself."
Eden tried to relax. He wished he could. But the second attempt at penetration was so mind-splittingly painful he thought he'd rather die. He had to do something, find some way out of this; even if Logan made good on his promise to fuck him up, kill him even, because anything had to be better than this.
His options seemed limited, but he knew he had to take whatever he could get. When Logan stuck his fingers into his mouth, jamming them so far down his throat it made him gag, caused saliva to drip down his chin -- which was clearly the goal, making him suffer the indignity of getting himself wet for this -- Eden bit him.
It stunned Logan enough that he released his grip, staggered back, and then everything happened so fast Eden couldn't tell one moment from the next.
Logan yelled, filthy with rage, told him he was a little cunt and tried to drag him back by his hair, remind him that this time he was going to make it fucking hurt. He'd nearly got him when Eden pitched forward and threw his full weight into one of the bookshelves.
The resultant crash caused a kind of domino effect, shelves knocking into each other, books spilling everywhere, the commotion was so disturbing it sent one of the CO's skidding out from the front office and then it was over.
It was over.