Running for Home - 45. January 26, 2022

January 26 2022

This entry is difficult for me to write. I’m recovering now, but this latest crisis is going to take a long time to deal with, maybe even longer than my recovery from Iraq. But then again, maybe not. I have Bobby now. I have him by my side, holding me. As much as things are beyond fucked up now, I know I’m going to be alright and I can feel safe.

I never made it out to the bar with Jubilee that night. I was attacked just after I got off of the subway, knocked unconscious before I knew what was happening. I just heard movement coming up behind me and then BAM! I took a whack to the head and I was out cold. Never saw the assailant.

I awoke, groaning, somewhere dark, dank and cold. A basement, probably. The floor was bare concrete, but I had a mat of layered cardboard covering the area around me. I was naked and bound up in shackles with my wrists chained together and each foot chained separately. The chains extended away from my body into the darkness. There was also a choker around my neck with loops in a few different positions to attach more chains. My chest tightened and I had to choke back the scream that was rising in my throat. No. This was not happening. This was not happening again! I struggled hard against the restraints, panicking. They were too strong, and dug into me pretty badly. I had to force myself to stop it, to calm the fuck down, because I didn’t want to break my skin and be in danger of getting an infection in the wound or even worse, septicemia. I have no idea when my last tetanus shot was.

I was there for a while. I’d love to say I was strong, that my past had trained me well to deal with this situation. Yeah, no such luck. My PTSD started to kick in pretty quick and I knew it was over. It was so hard, fighting back the absolute terror that was threatening to spill over from deep inside me. In that dark room, all I had to distract me and keep me out of my head was that musty smell, the cold of the floor, the faint sound of something dripping, the soft roar of an HVAC system, and the sounds of vermin scurrying. That wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. I started having flashbacks, the worst I’ve had since the night terrors in the hospital and the first couple years in L.A. before Dom went to jail. It was an overwhelming, continuous panic attack that dragged on and on until finally my body gave out, too tired to endure any more of my mind’s self-induced torture. I lay there, coming in and out of consciousness, exhausted.

I’m not sure how long it was before anyone came, but you can guess who it was, of course.

Dominik.

I wrote a couple weeks ago about how much my life had changed in positive ways in the six months since he left me. It appeared to me in that moment that his life took much the opposite course, and for that he wanted vengeance. He kicked me in the gut and ribs a few times before hauling me up by the collar to look me in the eyes, his own bloodshot and twisted with rage. I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You think you’re so goddamn smart, don’t you? Think you can get one over me again, humiliate me even more?”

He punched me in the gut then dropped me back to the ground.

Coughing, I looked up at him, trying my damnedest to walk the line fine between assertive and defiant. I knew Dom, and when he was angry-drunk he wouldn’t respond well to aggression or defensiveness. But if I let the anxiety, the fear show through, it would be much worse. Much, much worse. The fact that I was bound up with no way to access my powers made this all too dangerous. This was a no-win situation.

“Dom, don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up!” he screamed and belted me in the face. “You’re just another pathetic piece of faggot trash. Not even worth the cum your father fucked into your mother to spawn you.”

“Says the faggot who’s slept with me on and off for more than a decade!”

That earned him another kick in the gut, causing me to fall on my side. I curled into a ball. I was trembling, shaking on the floor as Dominik began to rant.

“Fuck you, John! I’m nothing like you! You act all high and mighty, like you’re somehow better than me! I never should have came back after they let me out. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist it. I had to come back. I needed you.”

“Yeah, you needed my fucking money.”

“No! I needed you, goddamn it! You!”

“Then why did you cheat on me, Dominik? Why did you leave and then get so bent out of shape that you tried to take my ass to the cleaners with that goddamn lawsuit?”

Dom scrunched his eyes closed, the wind suddenly leaving his sails. His hands squeezed tightly into fists and trembled. When he opened them back up I felt myself pale. His eyes, they were full of grief, full of hurt. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be in love with someone who moans out another guy’s name in his sleep? The same name, for years on end? Do you have any idea how hard it is to know that no matter what you do, you will never be enough?”

Before I could even comprehend what had just been said, Dominik shook his head and stumbled away, swiping at his eyes.

“I’ll be back tonight. Get some sleep.”

The light that had been shining down on the floor around me flicked off, leaving me in darkness. I heard a door open and shut, and he was gone. In the darkness, I could feel the anxiety starting to rear its ugly head within me once again. I tried to push it down, forcing myself to slowly go over the conversation I’d just had with Dom. He said I’d been moaning out someone else’s name in my sleep. He said…

I shivered, not just from the damp coolness of the air. My thoughts started racing, replaying things, wondering, trying to find anything that could give a pattern, could make me see. I swallowed hard. Had I brought this upon myself? The breakup, the court case, everything? No, not on purpose of course, but had I?

Panic started to rise in my chest, and I curled into a tight ball once again. I’d never seen Dominik look that way before. He wasn’t lying. I’d hurt him. Really genuinely hurt him, and I didn’t even know I was doing it. How long was it happening? Why didn’t he talk to me about it? I shook my head at that thought, immediately discarding it. Of course he wouldn’t talk to me about it. Dominik didn’t talk about feelings, ever. Nothing beyond being hungry, being horny, being angry, and maybe sometimes being stoked with joy. I was completely and utterly thrown off by this turn. I had no idea what to expect, what he might do to me now.

What was I going to do?

What was I going to do?

That’s all I have in me to write about it today. It’s hard to even type because I’m shaking. I’m glad Cecilia let me have my laptop down here, though. I know the writing will help to get this out of my system, so I’ll continue on tomorrow. My writing has always helped me. It’s cathartic, and sometimes when I put things to paper they don’t seem so horrible or catastrophic anymore. Sometimes it helps me temper my feelings, my reactions. I’ll be alright. I’ll be okay in the end. I just have to keep the negativity at bay, keep the feelings of guilt and worthlessness and helplessness rolling off my shoulders. Easier said than done.

Some of the others snuck in a visit before supper because they were pretty sure the X-men were going to have to fly out to help quell the fallout of a protest in Atlanta that was turning more and more aggressive. Xi’an was also by earlier in the afternoon. She brought me a book she says I’ll like, one that she’s pretty sure won’t be triggering. I scoffed at that, even though I was really grateful she’d thought to consider that. She rolled her eyes, though, knowing me well enough to see through my attempt at defusing the gesture. I guess I’d forgotten for a moment that she was a rape survivor, though, and her attack had been about as bad as they come. It was when she was twelve, just before she came to the school. The bastards took her and her mother, threatening to kill her younger siblings if they didn`t comply. The rape was so vicious that it had killed her mother in the process. Xi’an probably knows better than just about anyone else on our staff what PTSD can do to you. We talked about that for a while, dealing with the symptoms, the night terrors, the flashbacks. I never know what to think about discussions like the one we had. I’m not sure whether they are a help, a salvation through solidarity, or a hinderance - an entrenchment of victimization.

Bobby will be back soon. He stayed behind, even though they probably could have used his help tonight. He told me he doesn’t want to be on their active roster, and thank god for that. I feel selfish wanting him to stay out of it as much as possible, but I know I have a right to feel that way. He’s done more than enough time as a hero, even if most of this country would refuse to acknowledge the contributions he’s made to keeping this world safer for everyone, not just mutants. I hope I can convince him to go upstairs and sleep in his bed tonight, since I’m doing better now and it’s probably been hell on his body sleeping in that chair next to me. It’s hard for me to believe that they still haven’t gotten at least one larger bed down here for situations like this. I know they say it increases the risk of infections or whatever, but goddamn it sometimes you really need to just feel your love next to you.