Hollow Body Got a Hold on Me

Stormy's POV:

Oh my God.
My head.
Shit.
I open my eyes slowly, immediately realizing that I have, once again, slept in Eric's bed.
I peek over the side to find Eric, curled up on the floor with a pillow, snoring softly.
Wow; he's so cute, when he's asleep.
I smile, and sit up in his bed, throwing the covers off of myself.
Shit.
Where are my clothes?
I quickly pull the blankets around my shoulders, covering my underwear-clad form.
"Eric!" I whisper, attempting to wake him.

Eric's POV:

"Eric!"
Hmmm?
"Eric!"
What?
"Eric!"
Aw, shit; I'm fucking talking in my head.
"Hmmm? Huh? What is it?" I ask sleepily, sitting up, and rubbing my eyes, before looking at Stormy, sitting on my bed surrounded by a mountain of blankets.
She looks absolutely adorable.

"What happened? How did I get here?" she asks. "...And where are my clothes?" she says, almost as an afterthought.
"Oh," I say quickly, blushing. "Yeah, you were pretty drunk last night. Uriah dared you to, uh, make out with Chaotic, and I gotta say, I thought you were gonna do it. But you took your dress off, uh, instead," I say, scratching the back of my head.
"I tried to get you to walk to your room, but you said, 'I need a drink', and then you fell flat on your face in Uriah's room. So I wrapped you up in a blanket and carried you here, it was a lot closer, and I was pretty fucking drunk, too," I admit.
"Oh," she says, blushing. "Yeah, sorry about all that. I'm new to drinking. I guess I don't know my limit yet."
"That's alright; absinth will do that to ya’," I say, chuckling and standing up. "Wait right there, I'll get you something to wear.”

I run to the closet next to my bathroom, and grab the smallest t-shirt I own. It's still going to be way too big on her.
I hurry back with the article of clothing, and she disappears under the covers.
I giggle, because, God, she's adorable. Even with her makeup smeared around her eyes; even with her hair a tangled mess.
Maybe, even more so, because of those things.
She pops out of the nest of fabric, and steps onto the floor, swaying a bit.
I reach my arm out to steady her.

"You okay?" I ask, concerned.
She smiles at me.
"Yeah, I'm fine, just a headache."
"Let me get you some aspirin," I say quickly, rushing into the bathroom, and searching the medicine cabinet, until I find what I'm searching for.
"Here you go," I say, as I hand her two of the white pills.
She pops them in her mouth, and swallows them dry.
"So, can I get you anything?" I ask, heading to the kitchen.
"Coffee!" she says, grinning. That girl really likes coffee.

******************************************************************************

"No way! I was there, too!"
"Seriously?" I say. "That's fucking awesome."
We've been sitting on my couch for a couple of hours now, drinking coffee, and just talking.
About anything, and everything.
Things we did, and places we went, and people we knew.
We had a few mutual acquaintances; we knew people, who knew people, who turned out to be friends.
I realize I haven't looked at the clock, not even once, since I woke up.
I'm not worried about it.
If they need me, they'll call me, and Stormy has a few weeks of down time.
I'm enjoying this.

I find myself wondering if she's remembers the kiss we shared last night.
It wasn't technically my first kiss, and that thought saddens me a bit.
I must be frowning, or something, because Stormy is looking at me in concern.

Stormy's POV:

We were talking a million miles a minute, and then Eric's face just fell; all of a sudden.
"Eric?" I say, softly. I really hate to see him in pain. "What's wrong?"
He looks up quickly, pulled from whatever deep, dark pit he had fallen into, and tries to compose his face back to what it was.
He's failing miserably.
"Nothing," he says, too quickly. "Just… spaced out, for a second, there."

I just stare at him, in expectance.
He knows he's not going to lie, or excuse, his way out of this.
He sighs, loudly, and runs his fingers through his short hair, leaving his hand on the back of his neck a moment longer.
"Do you remember, last night, before we went to Uriah's room?" he asks, nervously, avoiding eye contact.

Oh.
Shit.
I remember, now.
How could I have forgotten my first kiss?
I swallow, loudly, before answering.
"Yeah, um, was it bad? It was my first kiss, I probably suck at it," I pout. "But, I thoroughly enjoyed it."
He smiled a bit, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"It was my first kiss, too," he says, looking down. "Just not my first, first kiss."
What's he-?
The image of Eddie, forcing his tongue into Eric's mouth, last year, comes to mind.
"Oh," I say, and I can tell that he knows I just had that mental image.

He closes his eyes; the way I do when I'm stressed, and sad or angry, and am trying not to cry.
I scoot closer to him, so our knees are touching, and I weave my fingers in his, resting on his lap.
"Eric-," I begin, but he cuts me off.
"Please," he says, begging. "Don't say anything, yet. Just… give me a minute, okay?"

I nod my compliance, and he lays his head back, against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, breathing through his nose.
A few minutes pass, and he sits back upright, waiting for me to say what I wanted too.
How sweet.
He clearly doesn't want to hear what I have to say, because he didn't want to tell me what was wrong in the first place.
But, he respects me enough to listen, anyway.

"Eric, I just wanted to say, that a forced kiss is not a first kiss. If you don't consent, it doesn't count. Nothing they did to you counts," I say gently, reaching for his hand.
He pulled his hand back, quickly, looking up into my eyes.
He looks angry.
He looks furious.
I'm scared.

"It doesn’t fucking count?" he spits out, standing up. "It fucking counts, because every time I hear the phrase 'first kiss', or 'virgin', all I think about is that night. And it makes me feel weak. Every time I think about it, or I hear, or see something that reminds me in every, and any way possible of what happened there, I feel fear. Paralyzing, heart-stopping, inability to function fear."
He's pacing back and forth in front of the couch now.
"I was so confused, that night. So, fucking confused about what they were talking about doing, and then confused about what, and why they were doing it. I don't like to be confused!" he screams, pulling at his hair.
I'm afraid for him.
I'm afraid for myself.

"Three guys fucked my face, and my ass; three guys! Guys! Males! That's fucking confusing! I don't like to be confused! I don't understand, and I hate it! I hate what they did to me! Look what they fucking did to me!" he yells, pulling his shirt over his head.
"Look!" he screams, inches from my face.
I swallow thickly, and feel tears welling up in my eyes; he's falling apart.
And that's when I realize, he pushed everything away until he met me. He didn't allow himself to go through the healing process, at all.
Denial.
Grief.
Anger.
Acceptance.
He's at an odd in-between of grief, and anger.

"Fucking, look," he whispers, his voice breaking as tears fall down his face.
I owe him.
So, I look.
This is the closest I've seen the scar on his chest.
He's giving me free range to study it, and I can't look away.
God, it had to hurt.
It wasn't even a clean cut; it had jagged edges, and was about half an inch, wide, and about eight inches, long.
It was white around the edges, and the rest of it was different shades of mauve and dark pink, with blue where the serrated edges of the weapon pulled away sickening amounts of skin and flesh.

"Oh, Eric," I breathe, tears flowing freely, from my eyes. He backs away then, dropping to his knees, and placing his head in his hands.
"Fuck, Stormy," he says, hurt evident in his voice. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I-, I lost it. Fuck, I don't know why I said, or did, any of that," he says, looking up towards the ceiling, as he slides his hands down his face.
"I'm really sorry," he says again, looking in my general direction, but not making eye contact. "Maybe I should go."
I bite my lip.
"But, it's your apartment?"
"Maybe you should go," he says, quietly.
Okay.
That hurt.

I hesitate, before standing slowly, and moving towards the door.
I glance at him, one last time, before closing the door behind me.
He looks so broken.
I stand outside his door a minute, just listening.
It's quiet, at first.
And then there's screaming, and the sound of glass breaking.
"You're killing me!" he screams, and I hear a loud thud, as something was thrown at the door.

I turn to leave, tears streaming down my face.
When I turn around, though, Four is standing there, too.
"Get some rest," he says gently. "I'll make sure he's okay. Give him some time. He'll be okay, alright?"
"Yeah," I reply quietly, nodding.

I walk down the hall by myself, in a miserable state.
I just realized that I'm wearing Eric's shirt, still.
I stifle a sob of despair, and loneliness, as I hurry towards the dorm, Eric's screams haunting my footsteps.
"You're killing me!"