Break the Silence

23-year-old Gus was curled up in a ball on the kitchen floor, waiting for his girlfriend/abuser, Boyana, to arrive home.

Gus knew the beating this time was going to be bad. Extremely bad. He always got the worse beatings when he didn’t have dinner ready and on the table the exact minute Boyana walked through that door.

He didn’t think he could truly be blamed for the event this time, though. He’d been trying to pour the Chili sauce into the bigger pot he was making the meal in, but his arms were so sore from the beating he’d received just days earlier and they were so weak/skinny from a lack of food that his hands had slipped and the sauce leaked all over the aluminum tiled floor.

He wasn’t going to get it cleaned up in time. He knew he wouldn’t. Boyana came home from work every day at 7:30 and it was 7:25 right now. Gus found it hard to even move because he just felt so frail and tired.

He buried his face in his hands and massaged his throbbing temples. He’d been having headaches every day this week, but he didn’t dare announce that to his girlfriend. Boyana hated it—loathed it—when Gus complained about some physical ailment, as Gus had once learned the hard way, so the young man kept his complains to himself.

He never even complained to his teammates. Not about the abuse, not about his sore muscles, nothing. Why should he? All that would do was make them believe he was a wimp and that he couldn’t handle playing the rough sport. No, the guys never needed to know.

The front door slammed into the wall (Gus was betting any money there’d be a hole there in the morning) and instantly Gus rose into the submissive kneeling position Boyana had whipped into him. At least he was doing something right.

“GUS! I’m hom……WHAT IS THIS FUCKING MESS?!”

Gus flinched at the angry tone Boyana had taken on and kept his gaze on the sauce- swathed ground, unable to say a word.

He heard the booming footsteps loud on the non-carpeted floor and felt a rough hand jerking up his chin hard enough for his neck to crack.

“When I ask you a question, you pathetic little boy, you fucking answer it!”

Gus made a submissive whining noise and blinked hard to keep the tears from falling down his cheeks.

“I…I dropped the….the sauce by mistake. My hands slipped.”

Boyana growled out an angry “Fuck” and yanked Gus up to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

“You can clean this up, Gus. And do it right next time. God, you’re so worthless. Never do anything right.”

She shoved Gus against the counter, ignoring Gus’s gasp of pain, and stormed from the room, head held high like the arrogant woman she was.

Tears stinging his eyes like a shot on the arm from a doctor, Gus—with a great effort because he was in so much pain—pushed himself away from the counter and snatched up the wet paper towel he’d left wrapped around the sink head earlier that day.

But, before he could make another other movement to get rid of the mess, a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and squeezed.

“I have a better idea,” Boyana, slimy as a snake and ruthless as a grizzly bear, hissed into the horn of Gus’s ear, yanking the paper towel out from between Gus’s finger tips and pitching it back onto the counter.

Gus didn’t even have time to loosen his tongue enough to ask what in the world Boyana meant by his comment before he was rammed onto his knees.

“You’re going to crawl on your hands and knees like a dog,” Boyana continued in the same merciless tone, holding Gus’s chin so tightly, Gus could feel their bones rub against each other, “and lick up all of this mess you created.”

Gus’s stomach churned and he resisted, as satisfying as that would have been, to puke all over Boyana’s new, fancy clothes because Lord knows what germs and diseases his tongue would discover. Doing that (because he had been stupid enough to do it before) would only earn him a nice night being chained to the wall. He didn’t want a repeat of that under any circumstances.

So, instead, he raised himself on his knees, pressed his hands to the floor, and started cleaning up the sauce with his tongue.

Singlehandedly, bar none, this was the MOST embarrassing moment of his life. Being on his hands and knees in front of a person he despised, licking up food from a dirty surface as if he had the value or worthiness as a hunting dog. What made it worse was Boyana walking behind him and petting his head every few minutes, muttering “Good boy” under her breath.

Finally, after an hour, the whole kitchen floor was licked clean and shiny by Gus’s assaulted, sore tongue. He needed to use a shit ton of mouth wash and toothpaste to clean off his teeth later.

“Alright. Up to your room now.”

Gus, fearing that another punishment was coming his way, bit back an angry retort and stormed up to their bedroom—the one place he hated more than any other.

It was in this same room that the abuse started. It was the room that gave him nightmares, but he was forced to sleep in the same bed as his abuser.

He was pushed down onto his stomach and a muscular hand squashed his shoulders down onto the soft bedding.

Gus didn’t bother asking Boyana what she was trying to do, but his breath did hitch at feeling cold fingers brush over his pale backside as his pants and underwear were pulled down to his kneecaps. This wasn’t good, nope, not at all.

“What are you doing?”

A razor-sharp laugh that sounded like nails on a chalkboard scraped against his eardrums and lips, cold as ice and twice as harsh, were pressed along the nape of his neck.

“Gonna show everyone you’re mine,” Boyana growled, sinking her pointy teeth into Gus’s skin hard enough so the iron taste of blood exploded on her tongue.

A soft whimper—a sound a dog might make if they are scared or injured—escaped Gus’s lips as he nestled his face into the silk pillows lining the top of the bed. This wasn’t new to him, as Boyana appeared to feel the need to do this sort of act every night, but it still caused cold chills to travel down his back.

He jolted against the sheets in surprise when a warm medal object was placed on the pale and freezing skin of his butt. Weren’t objects like that supposed to be cold and not warm? This must be another weapon Boyana had thought about using to torture her boyfriend.

“You’re mine and only mine and I want to make sure you remember that.”

Gus’s heart beat started speeding up and his breath once again hitched at Boyana’s threat. He knew Boyana was evil, but she couldn’t be that sick and twisted, could she?

“What you doing with that….thing?”

He should have known the torture would be arriving shortly and he shouldn’t have wasted his breath asking Boyana any questions, but his fear drove him to ask.

Suddenly, the white-hot, searing agony of being stabbed with a knife coursed through his body like tidal wave. Gus only gasped at first, but when the carving into his skin continued and the pain got more and more unbearable, he screamed. He screamed bloody murder.

“P-please let m-me go,” he begged through his closed-up throat and the tears that were making their way in droves down his cheeks.

Boyana only chuckled and renewed the torment on Gus’s buttocks.

“Afraid I can’t, babe. You need a good reminder that you’re mine and no one else’s.”

Gus’s breath become shorter, his stomach had butterflies in it, his hands and feet grew cold, the hair on his arms bristled, and his throat turned dry.

“I k-know I’m y—yours, Boyana. J-just l-let me g-go.”

Boyana, busy engraving the “A” of her name in the area closest to Gus’s under-curves, only smiled evilly.

She was, in Gus’s mind, the ultimate villain. He was unfeeling, sadistic, and selfish. She had no respect for others, especially Gus, and she’d use others to get things she wanted or to get her way. She was one of those people Gus never knew had existed out in the world until seven months ago when she’d shown her true colors.
“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

Gus, too busy crying and trying to slow down his hyperventilated breathing, couldn’t bring himself to answer Boyana’s question. Which didn’t make Boyana very happy.

“Dammit! When I ask you a question, you’re supposed to answer it,” she hissed into the horn of Gus’s ear, stabbing the knife deep into Gus’s skin.

Gus howled like a werewolf at the unbelievable pain and meekly nodded.

“Y-yes, I’m y—yours.”

Boyana threw the knife on the floor and rolled herself off the bed.

“Good. Now, you can stay here until morning.”

She stalked out of the room, slammed the door harshly behind her, double locked it, and moved away back down the stairs to the couch where she’d be sleeping that night.

Gus burrowed his face into the pillows and sobbed uncontrollably. His hindquarters hurt like a wild animal had bitten down on it, but the pain drumming through his heart was much worse. It was cracked into a million different pieces but it still was persistently beating.

He had to get away. He just had to get out of here. He couldn’t live under like this…….be tortured like this any longer. It was too much.

Trembling, he reached his hand under the bed and pulled out his cell phone. He kept it hidden from Boyana because he didn’t want it taken away from him like so many of his other things had.

He flipped it open and dialed Hank’s—his captain, teammate, and fellow Swede—number and pressed the phone against his ear, praying he’d receive an answer.

“Hello?”

“Hank? It’s Gus. You need to come and pick me up, now.”

Something in Gus’s tone—which sounded shattered and sad—made Hank frown.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“My girlfriend. She’s….um…..he’s abusing me. Please help. I’m in my room. Text me when you get here.”

With that, he hung up and dropped the phone into the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’d probably hung up on Hank too early in their conversation, but the fear of Boyana finding out about the phone overruled his need to tell Hank more information.

*fifteen minutes later*

A vibration against Gus’s leg and he blinked open his sleepy blue eyes to yank his phone out of his pocket. The yellow flash of the screen temporarily blinded Gus, but then he grew used to the light and squinted to read the words on his phone.

‘I’m here. What room are you in?’
After glancing around the room to make sure he wasn’t being watched (you can’t be too careful!), Gus rolled over onto his side and sent a quick text back to Hank. His hands were shaky, but he thought it was understandable.

‘Three room on right. Stand window under. I come out.’

His breathing was irregular because he was afraid, but he knew he had to escape. He’d hate himself forever if he stayed with this monster.

He slowly rose up from the bed—hissing at the sharp pain washing over his backside—and tip-toed to the window.

He froze with his hands on the window sill; ears wide open for any signs of noise coming from downstairs where Boyana slept. When he heard nothing, a sigh of relief brushed across his tongue and he opened up the window, being careful not to let it creak as he did so.

Then, inch-by-inch, he climbed out of the room (wincing in pain every step of the way) and dropped down to his knees. He froze again to make sure Boyana hadn’t heard anything, then closed the window behind him.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

*at the house*

Gus was unusually quiet as Hank steered him into the house, which didn’t feel normal to the older Swede. Gus was always talking and joking and smiling, so to see him so withdrawn and quiet, Hank knew something was off.

“Gussie, you’ve barely said a word to me since I picked you up. What’s going on?”

Gus stared at the floor, a blush of shame trekking over his cheeks. Hank would only think he was a pussy. No, he couldn’t tell Hank what was going on. Not one bit of it.

“Boyana and I just got into a fight. I needed to get away for a little bit,” he lied, his jaw clenched.

Hank internally scoffed. That was a load of bull. Gus had asked him for help. He wouldn’t be asking for help if it was just a simple argument between two lovers. Something else, something out of the ordinary, was happening inside that house.

“Don’t lie to me. I can’t help you if you lie to me, Gus.”

He hoped that was enough to motivate Gus into letting him what was going on, but when his friend finally lifted his chin to stare at him, he gasped and reeled back in shock.

Gus’s nose was broken in at least three different places. Both of his eyes were blue-and-black. There were lacerations on his cheeks that appeared to be from the blade of a knife. A fresh (maybe two day old) rope burn was scorched into Gus’s neck. Bite marks were scattered all over his collar bone. Not the hickeys one would find from someone who’d just had sex, but actual bite marks that were similar to things used to torture other people.

“G-Gus….oh my lord. How long have those been there? I didn’t notice them before.”

Gus swallowed hard and played with his fingers.

“I used make-up to cover them up, Hank. She broke my nose three times last week. The black eyes came just a few days ago. The cuts on my cheek have been there for about two weeks. The burn on my neck…that was delivered to me two days ago. As for the bite marks, well, she’s been giving me those for about two months I’d say. The new ones were from yesterday.”

Hank’s stomach was doing summersaults and his eyes were stinging with tears. He felt anger and hatred boiling in his blood. The rage he felt at an innocent, sweet boy like Gus being tortured was destroying him. How long has this abuse being going on? Why hadn’t Gus said anything? What reason did Boyana have to do this?

“This…is this the only thing she’s done to you, Gussie?”

Gus numbly shook his head. She’d done a thousand other tormenting things to his body. More things than he even knew could be possible in this world.

“Lay on the couch on your stomach, love. I’m not going to hurt you. I need to clean and patch up your injuries.”

Gus was trembling from head-to-toe but, learning from Boyana that hesitation would only heighten the beating he was receiving, he complied with Hank’s order.

“Take off your clothes for me, love. Again, this isn’t to hurt you. You’re too scared to go to a hospital right now, so I’m going to look at you here. Okay?”

Gus obeyed without a moment’s hesitation and then laid back down, his clothes folded into a neat pile next to the couch.

What Hank saw made him throw up in his mouth a little.

Gus had at least four broken ribs. He temporarily wonder how Gus played through that horrible pain but soon shook the thought aside and focused back onto Gus’s battered body.

Burns of all shapes and sizes overlaid Gus’s skin. Around the area of his stomach was a large bruise that was just starting to heal. Whip marks were sprinkled across his chest. Marks from a belt-buckle were splashed over his sides and hips. Scratches from long nails spotted his thighs.

In a tone that was trembling when it was supposed to be firm, Hank commanded, “Flip over, Gus.”

Gus followed the demand and laid on his stomach, tears trickling down his cheeks.

Hank noticed that Gus’s back didn’t look too abused. He only saw two marks that looked like they’d fallen off a frying pan, but other than that, he was cleared.

When his eyes traveled to Gus’s bottom, however, he froze and his eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates.

Blood was splattered all over the once pale skin and six carvings shaped like letters were etched into Gus’s flesh.

When Hank finally realized what the letters spelled out, he clenched his fist and battled the urge to go beat up this bitch, this monster, this unfit human.

Gus was the sweetest and nicest boy and everyone—in the community, on the team, and even the families of his teammates—adored him. He was always enthusiastic about the game he loved. Whenever the team took a trip to the hospital, often times Gus would have to step outside to compose himself because he loathed seeing kids who were sick and dying. His smile could light up a room. He was the team jokester and, if he got into a spat with a teammate, he was always the first one to say “I’m sorry.”

That cruelty and violence of a measure like this could be committed against someone like Gus went beyond Hank’s imagination.

“Gus…”
Hank started to say “I’m sorry” but then stopped. Saying sorry wasn’t going to help Gus.

Instead, Hank figured that turning his focus towards healing and the future would be the better option.

“Let’s get you cleaned up here, Gus. I’m sure you must be tired out,” he announced tenderly, leaning down to kiss Gus’s head before spinning around and hurrying down the hallway to get the supplies he needed.

Gus’s head was spinning, his heart was melting, his stomach had butterflies fluttering around in there, and a bashful blush spread across his cheeks.

He had assumed Hank would call him a liar. He had supposed Hank would beat him. He had believed Hank would be treating him in the roughest and cruelest way possible.

Instead, he received a Hank who kissed his head, called him ‘love’, asked in the kindest way to see his body so he could check for injuries, and even offered to clean him up. It felt good to be wanted for once.

The sound of footsteps echoed in his ear and, as if on cue, his brain switched from the kind thoughts about his Captain to the horrible ones.

Gus started to cry, his breathing became noisy and uneven, and he brought his knees up to his chest, rocking back and forth.

“P-please. I d-don’t w-want a-any m-more of t-this tonight. Boyana, y-you’ve done enough damage. P-please, no more.”

“Gus, shh. It’s Hank, love. Boyana’s not here. I’m here now. I’m taking care of you. Come back to me, love. You’re so good. You’re a good boy, love.”

The young man’s breathing slowed back to normal, he uncurled his knees, and his eyes stopped manufacturing tears like a factory. His brain started to fill with positive thoughts and he, on autopilot, flipped back onto his stomach.

A soft smile drew its way onto Hank’s face and he gently squeezed Gus’s shoulder.

“Good boy, Gussie.”

He flipped a bottle of soothing lotion out of the basket he’d carried out with him and popped it open. This he would use on Gus’s back to ease the tense muscles he felt there.

“You need to stay still for me, bud. I need to put this on your back and I can’t have you moving around. Got it?”

Gus nodded and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the crook of his elbow. For the first time in seven months, he felt safe enough to let his guard all the way down. It wasn’t like this at home, that was for sure!

Hank rubbed the lotion into his hands and then started to massage it into Gus’s back. It was a Strawberry-Banana scent and it, according to Momma, was good for calming people down.

At the soft and loving touch Gus, who was so used to being treated like he was a nothing, started to cry. It wasn’t so much a sad cry as it was a cry for release. To rid himself of the emotions that had been plaguing him for seven months.

Hank continued to rub the lotion into Gus’s heaving back and bent down to whisper encouraging comments into Gus’s eardrums.

“Let it all out, love. You need release. You need to wash away the pain with your tears. That’s a good boy. You’re a good boy.”

As Gus continued to cry and received release with his tears, he knew one thing. He had a long road to recovery ahead of him, but it had started by breaking the silence of his abuse. That, for now, was good enough.