~ Now I lay me down to sleep, Pray the lord my soul to keep, If I die before I wake, Pray the lord my soul to take -- Hush little baby, don't say a word And never mind that noise you heard It's just the beast under your bed, In your closet, in your head ~ Metallica

There were so many faces floating before his stinging eyes -- so many hushed whispers and hands grazing over his body -- so much confusion and noise -- Justin wanted to scream.

And he did scream, silently and inside, his voice reverberating inside his head. It bounced from side to side causing a headache of monstrous proportions.

Not one person cared.

JC was there with wide blue eyes which were teary in shock.

Joey was there with wild hair which was constantly being raked by his fingers.

Chris was there with wild mannerisms which scared him.

And Lance.

Lance was there with towels to wipe up the blood and a voice that was lightning quick with words that seemed awkward and muffled to Justin.

Bodyguards made it worse. Tour managers made it horrific.

Justin felt his eyes roll back in his head as he heard “Cops” mentioned.

Only then did he claw out from the sofa inside the bus he’d been so gently placed on. Only then did he dig deeply enough to shove Lance out of his face, grasp his sweats with one hand, dash past JC and trip over Chris to the front of the bus.

Only when he himself forced the bus doors open and hurried down the steps and out into a field did he take a breath.

His body ripped with each step he took. It was a metaphoric rip -- a tear so bottomless he feared madness. His legs were sticky and his chest felt constricted as his legs carried him in protest.

Fresh honeysuckle crushed beneath his bare feet as he continued to plow onward. He heard voices in the distance calling to him -- voices that came closer and closer with each step.

He dared his dispirited body to run -- to flee the blanket of concern that tried to smother him.

Because, he thought, the concern may or may not be real.

Justin broke into a jog as JC’s panicked cry snaked its way into his gut. JC could catch him easily, he realized.

And he paused to lift his face to the heavens and look for God. “What’s real?” he whimpered softly. “What’s real God? Is this real? Am I really here?”

Insanity planted itself inside of him and he grabbed a jagged pebble, smashing it violently against his knuckles. “Make. Me. Feel.” Justin grunted as he sank to his knees, pressing the tiny rock deeper and deeper into his flesh, muttering to a God he wasn’t sure was there, asking the stars and moon for help.

JC’s body crushed against his suddenly. Justin grunted at the force of the older man’s tackle. The pebble fell to the side and the pain did indeed come -- along with more blood.

“Justin, Jesus God. Stop.” JC’s arms were thinner, Justin noted, thinner than Lance’s but more defined. They wrapped him up and Justin sat very still waiting patiently for the comfort that accompanied such a move.

Comfort that Lance’s arms gave him.

“Get off me,” he finally said, realizing the feeling was not forthcoming. “Get the FUCK off me, Joshua. Now.”

But he never resisted. His body rested against JC’s, perfectly still. Only his lips moved, hurling words that he *thought* he meant. Words he *wanted* to mean.

Faces assaulted him again, this time in shadows of the meadow -- in blue moonlight. Joey. Lance. Bus Driver. Two bodyguards. But not Chris.

Justin smirked with lunacy -- Chris was it. Chris was his attacker.

It didn’t explain much, he knew, but it would explain Chris’ obvious absence from this little party in the honeysuckle.

And he felt peaceful that at least he suspected someone -- it added up.

But when Lance helped him up, and back to the bus away from the blaring lights of the rest area, and Justin made eye contact with Chris, he doubted.

Chris was sobbing into his hands.

“Chris?” Joey was the first there to lay a large hand on his shaking shoulder. “What’s up?”

Chris shook the hand off and sniffled, lifting his head to see Justin standing there, bloodied sweats and tear stained face -- knuckles that were cut open and feet that were dirty.

“This is my fault,” he wailed as all eyes fell upon him. “All my fault. I mean, not *this*, but the rest of it. Justin’s nightmares. This is me!”

Justin twisted his head slowly -- methodically. He stared at Chris, narrowing his gaze and yanking out of hands that steadied him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Chris,” Justin insisted. “This blood is real. This is no nightmare. This is *no* fucking nightmare.”

Chris ducked his head, folding back like a ruined man. “I talked to someone, Justin. A therapist who says you could be displacing what happened with us and harming yourself in your sleep.”

“Wait up, what happened with you guys?” Lance wanted to know. His eyes glowered, upset at being left out on something of this magnitude. “Well?”

Justin turned away, ashamed. “Nothing happened. Nothing important.”

But no one missed the grief in Justin’s voice. No person crowding around him missed the *secret* behind his words.

And JC seemed to get it first.

“Oh no. Please. Don’t tell me.” His tears cleared and his fists clenched. “DON’T TELL ME!” he shrieked insanely.

“Easy, JC,” Lance warned, stepping in to surround Justin with his body. “Easy until we hear.”

Joey frowned. “Hear what?” He waved his hand in dismissal of the ‘outsiders’ that milled around -- the bus driver and guards.

And Chris said the words. “I. Fucked. Justin.” He said it evenly yet refused to lift his head from the safety of his hands.

Justin’s knees weakened as the words spat out of Chris’ mouth. Words that sounded dirty now. Dirty and lowdown. But back then, back when he had given himself away, it seemed so good, so right.

He realized now that it wasn’t.

Lance rushed Justin down the aisle to the back lounge and shut the door firmly. He knew what hell was about to erupt.

The bus began it’s slow lurch to life with all five members on board.

And forward they went with Lance cradling Justin’s head in his lap -- and hands covering his ears to block out the rage whirling around outside the tiny room.

Justin shut his eyes tight only imagining what hell was coming to face Chris at that moment.

Justin drifted off easily with Lance’s hands around his ears and the reassuring inflate and deflate of Lance’s belly against the back of his head.

He realized it was not a full sleep when he heard the door creak open, and heard Joey’s voice low and collected. “It’s over, Lance. We talked it out. Chris cracked. The theory seems right. If he was threatening Justin, well, it could happen. Justin could have been sleep walking.”

“Like how he talks in his sleep?” Lance whispered.

“Something like that. He could have just been causing harm to himself in order to deal with this secret Chris forced on him.”

The pause was infinite and Justin forced himself to continue his deep breathing.

“Chris didn’t .... rape him?” Lance wanted to know.

“No, no. Nothing like that. Thank Christ. Just drunken assholes. The two of them. So, we’re all going take shifts watching over Justin tonight at the hotel okay?”

“Not Chris,” Lance warned. And Justin could feel the anger radiate from his friend’s body. “Not Chris. No where near him.”

“No, not Chris. He’s dealing with enough right now. He feels like shit as it is.”

“He should. Jesus Christ, Joe. Justin was a fucking virgin, man. Does he get that?”

“I think he does now,” Joey replied with a bitter snort. “I’m *sure* he does now.”

Justin heard the door snap shut. He felt Lance inhale sharply. He didn’t for a second believe he was harming himself.

His inner blood curdled as he shifted slightly in Lance’s lap.

No. He *knew* there was much more to this.

The sleep surrounded him thickly and he barely recalled the hotel. Check in. Elevator. Security sweep.

Justin only vaguely remembered the hands that stripped him and wiped him clean. He had brief flashes of being tucked in between cool sheets and being kissed lightly on the forehead.

He did, however, recollect the musky scent of Lance’s cologne filling his nostrils.

And that was enough to render him useless to deep sleep.

This time he was shattered by binds on his legs, binds on his wrists. This time the demon had him spread eagle and the laughter that slithered through the room was evil -- pure God hating evil.

His voice was gone, lost in some state of fear where it hid.

And Justin longed to go there as well.

The assault was brutal. Hands scratched over his stomach and shredded his sports briefs. His nipples were bitten and his chest was crushed by the weight of someone -- someone who was *not* simply his imagination, nor was it himself.

“Thought I was gone eh? They thought it was you. I laughed at it, Justin.” The mouth lingered near Justin’s ear, forcing wickedness into his soul. “I win.”

Justin swam inside his himself. He lay still, waiting for the attack. He didn’t care. He was dead.

So when a thick cock inserted its way brutally inside of him, without preparation or warning, his legs instinctively tried to close. The ties were snug, however, leaving him little movement.

And his whimper died somewhere on it’s way out.

The pain, however, did not die. The pain was horrendous and consuming, and pure anguish raced inside causing his heart to double its pace.

Still, tears would not flow.

“Cry, Justin. Why don’t you just sob for your sins? Sob out for someone -- for your God maybe, to save you.”

The smell.

Lance’s cologne.

Pure abhorrence and fury rose violently inside of Justin -- mirrors of duplicity and of belief destroyed.

He gathered strength noiselessly as the thrusts continued their torment -- as his body was literally torn from the inside out and warm liquid seeped from his insides.

Lance.

The betrayer of souls.

Justin mashed his teeth together and waited for the slick skin to clap against his once again -- with each thrust he bade his time.

Waiting for an opportunity to strike in some way.

To cease being the victim.

The lights were unexpected and bright.

And Lance was indeed there -- but not pumping away inside of him.

His eyes widened in pure agony as he tried to adjust to it all.

It was too hard to believe.

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