A/N: Originally posted on the boards. Reviews are always appreciated.

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He awoke to the simple rustling of bedsheets and the sound of someone’s heavy breathing, gasping in his ear. The neon numbers of the bedside clock blinked 3:42 at him, and he bit back an involuntary groan of disbelief. He was confused and unaccustomed to waking up at nearly four o’clock in the morning, and he turned his head and blinked, peering into the heavy darkness in a blind effort to identify the presence in the room.

Don’t move, a voice hissed into his ear. Don’t make a sound.

The words sent a cold chill down the length of his spine and he arched his back against the sudden weight that settled in between his legs. He was still half asleep, still barely aware of his own consciousness, and he had the sudden urge to push at the weight until it moved away.

Be a good boy, Mike.

In the silence of the room, the words seemed to reverberate around inside his head, and he strained to catch a momentary glimpse of the weight that pinned his legs to the mattress. The bedsheets remained as a barrier between him and the unknown voice, but a sudden burst of unbridled fear and apprehension seized him, and he felt as if a giant hand was squeezing his chest in an effort to crush him.

Something smooth brushed at the curve of his cheekbone, and he blinked at the whispered I love you that drifted through the silence. Unexpected, unwanted, but the touch was there, and he was too afraid to push it away. At the same time, the words caressed his skin, pushed him closer to acceptance, and he found himself closing his eyes in a silent effort to savor their meaning…

Don’t fight it, the voice whispered. Let me love you…

His mind screamed a warning, but he ignored it and found himself shifting ever so slightly, eager for warmth in the touch of another human being. He wanted warmth, and he wanted love, but in the next instant, a hand struck him across the face and he gasped. The blow was unexpected, as were the tears that began to leak out of the corners of his eyes and trail down his face and drop into the soft fabric of the pillow.

I told you not to move, the voice hissed.

He was confused, and he wanted to be left alone, but the heavy breathing in his ear resumed, infuriatingly rhythmic and unwavering as a hand slipped beneath the covers and touched him. He didn’t want this anymore; he didn’t want this kind of touch or warmth, but he was too afraid of the voice and its punishment, and he lay still in the darkness and listened to the steady rhythm of the heavy breathing…

The next time he woke, the breathing was gone. Light crept through the cracks in the shutters and fell across the bed in odd lines and shapes, and the warm, sticky wetness between his thighs made him grimace. He was grateful for the light, but at the same time, he wanted to hide from its prying rays and pretend that the voice had never come to him and he had never willingly submitted to…

Don’t think about it, he told himself. Pretend it never happened.

He pushed the comforter away and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, wiggling his toes once they touched the carpet. A dull pain shot through the whole of his lower body and he cringed, rubbing half-heartedly at his chest as he sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window into the blue of the morning sky.

When he tore his gaze from the emptiness of the sky, he realized that the room was empty, completely devoid of any trace of the unwelcome visitor. And he was glad. The sunlight seemed to change the shape of each piece of hotel furniture; it became a different room altogether, and it was no longer the place in which someone had whispered I love you into his ear before brutally tearing him apart…

Biting at the inside of his cheek, he dragged his aching body up off the mattress and shuffled into the hotel bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror, opting to pull his T-shirt over his head and to carefully step out of his boxers before drawing back the shower curtain and stepping into the bathtub. The movement sent a sharp pain up through his spine and into the back of his neck, but he ignored it and twisted the shower knob.

The stream of water was cold, and when it hit his skin he gasped and twisted the knob as far to the left as it would go. In a matter of seconds, the water was so hot that it burned his face and scorched the skin of his chest, but he didn’t care because he wanted the pain; he wanted to punish himself.

He groaned as the pain radiated through the rest of his body, but he reached for the bar of soap and began to scrub at the skin of his arms and his shoulders, and he didn’t stop until his skin was irritated and tinged with red. Then he moved on to his chest and his stomach, and then down to his legs; the water continued to burn him, but he was so intent on making himself clean again that he ignored the pain and focused on washing away all traces of the nightmare.

When he was finished, his skin ached and burned and it was rubbed raw in a few places, but he felt cleaner. Dropping the bar of soap into the dish, he turned off the water and pulled back the curtain. Again, he avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror as he reached for one of the towels hanging on the rack beside the shower.

As he shuffled out of the bathroom, the ringing of the phone cut through the silence of the room. He shuffled to the bedside table and picked up the receiver with a shaking hand, putting it to his ear and taking a deep breath before he said, “Hello?”

“Mike.” It was Chester, just as loud and impatient as ever, and he had to hold the phone away from his ear as the voice on the other end of the line plunged ahead into conversation without waiting for a response. “Did I wake you up? I thought you’d be up by now, since you’re always awake before ten. I didn’t want to call…Rob made me, you know. Anyway, he and I were going to get breakfast. Want to come with us?”

“Alright,” he replied, closing his eyes and clutching the towel even tighter around his waist. Chester’s voice faded a little; he’d probably turned away from the phone to talk to Rob. After a moment of muffled words, a bark of laughter that made Mike’s head spin, Chester returned and told him they’d be waiting downstairs in the lobby. And then the connection ended and the room was silent again.

He dressed quickly, pulling the cargos up over his hips and then reaching for the T-shirt and pulling it over his head, wincing as the fabric touched his skin. His arms were still red and there was a raw spot on his left elbow, but he ignored it and decided that Rob and Chester wouldn’t notice. As he shoved his feet into his sneakers and grabbed his room key, he thought he felt a puff of air on the back of his neck; but he turned around and found that the room behind him was empty, and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach returned.

I’m imagining things.

Had he imagined the night before? Had the voice been a figment of his imagination? He didn’t want to consider it, but the thought wouldn’t leave his mind. Making his way down the hallway and toward the elevator, he tried to push away the tiny voice in his head and failed miserably.

You imagined all of it.

Maybe he had. The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside and pressed the lobby button. His back ached and his elbow stung, but he ignore the pain and focused his attention on the elevator doors. As soon as the doors opened, he stepped out into the lobby and spotted Rob and Chester standing at the door of the hotel.

They smiled as he reached them, and Rob lagged behind and fell into step beside him while Chester took the lead. The sun shone down on them and the world seemed to light up around them, and Rob plucked a rose from a nearby bush and held it in between his thumb and forefinger, studying the color of its petals and the shape of its thorns.

“Beautiful,” Rob said. Then he dropped the rosebud on the pavement, stopped and crushed it with the heel of his sneaker, lifted his gaze… “Just like you.”

Something in Rob’s eyes made his blood run cold, and the sickening feeling returned. His mind raced and his breathing quickened and he shivered as Rob reached out and touched his arm because he wanted to move away, to pull away as if he’d been burned. But it was too late because Rob’s grip on his arm tightened and he couldn’t get away…

The rose was crushed and broken on the sidewalk, and the voice in his head was silent.

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Fin