No one had to know.
He could try and pretend that it didn’t happen, just go about as usual, train, study, no nightmares, no memories of blood and pain.
Night had used to be his friend. He felt that he could relax more under the soft light of the moon, the darkness soothing his mind and helping him forget that he was scorned. Soft light had blunted the razor edges that cut at his soul of never being good enough. Yet now even the night had turned against him. Saionji couldn’t pretend that there was no fear inclosing his eyes, that nightmares didn’t threaten to choke him in his sleep. Darkness no longer brought solace and softness, only memory and terror.
Night was when it had happened. Saionji didn’t want to think of what had happened to him but it was always lodged behind his eyes and deep in his throat, the screams that he wouldn’t let loose that one evening.
“The brat needs to be humbled.”
Saionji had beaten them all in match after match so often that it didn’t even matter to him anymore. His technique and form were simply honed to a finer point owing to the arduous training. Winning in these tournaments couldn’t matter to him because there was always one who would beat him. That one who could tarnish his little victories with one smirk and a few well placed words. The one who never came to the tournaments. But the one didn’t hurt him that night.
“His hair makes him look like a girl.”
“He’ll be our girl tonight.”
If Saionji didn’t care that we won then they certainly did. They tired of losing to him, this sullen, arrogant, little boy who didn’t even appreciate his victories while they had trained so hard. They would make him pay.
Saionji didn’t want to think about what they did to him. But the traitorous night had brought it back to him in his dreams, behind every dark turn, in every corner during the waking day, even the solitude of the Kendo hall, and even then he wouldn’t scream.
“The girl is trying not to cry.”
“We’ll make him cry.”
He wanted to kill himself afterward for not fighting off, for not stopping it. He only wanted to go back to his dorm. Winning had meant so little outside the white walls of Ohtori.
But they had hit him. They beat him and tore at his clothes and when one had undone his own pants, Saionji had wondered dully through the bruised pain just what was going to happen. When his legs were forced apart and the first pain of entry tore through his shocked body, his eyes bulged and his mouth involuntarily parted, his stunned thoat unable to move.
“The little girly brat is bleeding.”
They took turns on him. They thrusted and he held back his screams from the tearing pain. They wanted to hurt him. They wanted to humiliate him, make him less than a Kendoist, less than a person. But they could not make him scream.
Saionji could feel the pain worsening and reaching a crescendo with each cruel thrust, blood running down his thighs onto the floor…..
He couldn’t think, his mind and body frozen in the shock and terror. What else would they do to him? He couldn’t beg, couldn’t cry, or call for help and no one was coming to save him from this…….
‘Does the girl think he’s strong now?’
“Has he learned his place?’
When they had finally finished, Saionji was left alone on the floor, silent and torn fresh in his mind, anguish leaking through the bloody mental wounds. The dark had not hidden the drying blood. It did not cool the heat of his soundless, building agony. Saionji noticed something moist and small in his eye. A tear. They had made him cry.
That wet little defeat was too much and he pounded on the unforgiving hard floor, scratched at the flesh that was now less than a body. More tears flowed and he still would not scream.
There were times now when the anguish and terror made him want to both explode and huddle in a ball, weeping in fear and hate of the world. He wanted to kill and to die, Saionji hated. He feared.
When he would try to calm his inner thunderstorm by wood carving he would throw the unfinished piece across his cold room and want to nick himself with the blade. When he showered he could never scour off the spiritual filth and scratched the broken cage of his body to exhaustion.
There were times when he wanted to strike out at someone else and let them feel how he felt. To just release the pain and rage a little and make someone else cry for once. And there were times when the black fog crowded his heart and he actually did hit someone else.
He could never tell anyone why. Who would understand or believe him? What counselor would try to help him? What friend would soothe him and tell him that his body was not a broken cage and that it wasn’t his fault, that he was still somebody?
Saionji had no one and that was who he would trust.
Note: Okay, I mostly wrote this because there are people who would like to see Saionji victimized and write it as humor. This fic was also written because I am weary of “non consensual sex” fics that crowd yaoi. I am also pissy about the assumations many have about male rape, namely that it doesn’t happen or if it does, it’s mostly to gay men or men who “deserve it” as some righteous punishment in prison. Do a search on the subject, read through Stop Prisoner Rape’s website and prepare to be disproved.