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The Terrible broom Cabinet Fic	By : varenoea Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1840 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Boah.

I feel bad.

I feel thoroughly bad, I would kick myself in the balls if I could. Well, I tried. But it didn’t work.
For the entire day, like, I’ve been sitting in my room, nursing my bad conscience.

How on earth can randyness get you to do something this stupid?

It would have been stupid enough to hump his leg when he was stoned. But to… get him undressed and… do this to him!

I can hear myself swallow in the silence. Louder than usually. I’m afraid of myself now. I can’t believe I would do anything like this. Not that I didn’t dare to. I didn’t want to at all.
On top of everything, I’m so frightened I could just pack a suitcase and run for it.
The ringing of the doorbell nearly gives me a heart attack.

Slowly, I get up. With my breath and my heartbeat loud in my ears, I slouch down the stairs, through the empty living-room, towards the door. I’m all alone in this house. Nobody here.
Trembling, I look through the spyhole.

It’s him. Till.

He rings again. No use pretending hat I’m not there. He looks right at me. Though he can’t see me, of course.

I breathe deeply and straighten my spine. He could want anything from me. Even if he felt something was wrong, he couldn’t know who it was. No DNA tests without any DNA, right?
I swallow and open he door. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He looks distracted, but – not angry. Very exhausted and drawn. As he shoves his big body past mine and heads for the kitchen, I hardly can help inhaling his smell that rushes by. Magically drawn toward him, I follow.

I know what is under that dark blue turtleneck pullover. I’d die to be that pullover right now. Although, when you think about it, I’m probably going to die anyway.

“I just take a glass of water.” He does, then comes back toward me. I automatically yield and find myself in the living-room, sitting on the couch.
He leans against the cupboard and looks at me for a long time.
He hasn’t killed me yet. That’s a good sign. Maybe - just maybe….? Nonsense. You can’t get raped without feeling anything the next day. The only thing that makes you believe it’s possible is a huge rush of hormones to the head. He isn’t gonna notice at all, I’m real careful and he won’t know when he wakes up…. God, was I stupid.
But he doesn’t seem to suspect.

Getting almost deparalysed with relief, I try a weak little smile and cock my head. “Sit down, why don’t you.”
“No, thanks.” He smiles, but only with his mouth. And it cuts into my stomach how unable he is to really smile. The answer can only mean one thing: It hurts, it still hurts and that’s why he doesn’t want to sit down. I never meant to make him feel bad. In one big revelation, it occurs to me how terrible he probably feels because he knows someone could abuse him.
But I’m not suspicious to him. His voice is totally calm.

“What is it?” I ask. “Why did you drop by?”

He looks very, very sad. “I just wanted to ask you, Flake”, he says and stares into his water glass. “As a friend. You know. Have you ever tried opiate?”

“Sure”, I say. “Once or twice. But I didn’t like it, so I didn’t take it again afterwards. What is it about opiate you wanted to ask?” God, am I talkative. Here speaks my nervous bad conscience. Less talk next time. Play it cool, damnit!

He opens his mouth, then tries again. “Did you notice that it has…. funny… results?”
Where’s he going with that?

“Depends on what you call funny”, I explain and look at him as honestly as possible. The trick is not to look into his eyes. I couldn’t do that. I stare at his eyebrows instead. My back is bent somewhat and I’m looking up by craning my neck. I look like bad conscience personified, I guess, and swallow. “I just blacked out, and then I came to and felt funny. But that’s it. Nothing more. You know, that’s why I don’t like it. Blacking out is so boring.” I grin and try a little snoring laugh.
He looks up at me with that poster look. Only this time it’s not for the poster. He means it. And I hate to be stared at like this.

“You know”, says he and puts the glass down on the table, “it can also make you look totally out cold while you’re fully present. You notice everything that goes on around you. It’s like these wake coma patients when the doctors stand beside the bed and say things like “He’s never gonna make it” and they just can’t move. Must be just terrible. – What’s the matter? You’re white as a wall.”

He walks towards me, very slowly. And his nostrils are wide open. Now he’s trembling too.
How could I believe, even for one second, that I’d get away with it?!

Oh my god. He saw me. And what’s worst, he felt it all. Everything. It must have been terrible. And it’s terrible for me too. I never wanted to hurt him. I never wanted him to notice at all. I’m so embarrassed. Hate myself. I didn’t want him to be hurt, for heaven’s sake!

He stands before me. I press my back into the cushion of the sofa. He leans over me, his hands on the couch beside my shoulders, and his face not far away.

“Till”, I say, my voice trembling. “I…. I don’t know what you plan to do with me…. and I probably deserve it too… but…” I have to swallow, because my voice breaks, “before you… do that, I just want you to know that…. I’m sorry – and that I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…. I’m just a huge idiot. I never wanted to be a rapist. Really, I’m sorry…”

“Is that it?”

I nod, and he lifts me up by the collar. The next thing I know is rather funny. I don’t even get that something hit me until I’m on the floor and the pain floods my head, especially the left side. I see stars, red, yellow and green.

It shouldn’t look like I’m acting hurt to get some mercy. So I get up on my elbows, still can’t see a thing, and get flung up by a violent kick in the stomach. I gurgle and nearly choke as I have to throw up.

This is the end, my friend….

Not that it is too bad. I’ve mentally prepared for dying all noon. Just in case.

“You fucking disgusting piece of shit!” He picks me up by the collar and pulls my face close to his. “Why? How can you do that to anybody? You’re just the lowest filth on earth. You don’t get any, so you go and take it from people who can’t put up a fight, right? You… coward. I wish I even had a fitting word for a fucker like you!” He spits the words in my face and hits me again. So hard I get thrown against the wall. I hear the joints in my skull crack. Was that my jaw? If that would be all that gets broken I would be grateful.

I mean, he’s right. With the stuff he says about me. I’m the lowest, poorest scum at all. I don’t know how I can ever make amends for it. I would do anything, literally anything, to turn back time.
“Your daughter, how old is she? Four now? Five? Do you do the same with her?! Because you CAN??!” His voice gets lunatic.

This hurts. This is to much. How can he even DARE to drag my girl in the mud? How can he badmouth something…. something so honest and real? Holy, almost. I love my little girl. The most important female in my life, she is. And always will be. This can’t be altered or taken away. A crush can leave. But she will always have me and vice versa. How can he even SUGGEST I would do anything of that kind to her?

I get up. It’s painful and hot easy, but I get up. “YOU.” I hiss and breathe hard, spluttering a little blood out. “You. You fucking… fuckhead. Don’t EVER take her name into your dirty mouth, no matter what you do. You leave her out of this. It was MY fucking mistake, so have it out on ME!” I almost expect another hit. As it doesn’t come, I snort and look up at him, towering over me, looking down on me like on a beetle you can crush with your boot if you want to. He isn’t saying a word, but his grimace shows that he is by no means finished or distracted.

This might be the only chance to talk. Not that it will make things better. Not that I want to make my punishment less hard by talking. But I’m so full of anger that I can’t keep it inside. I need to defend myself from any reproach. Just to show that nothing has got anything to do with this but he and me.

“You… arrogant git. Do you know why I did fuck you? Do you want to know?!” I draw myself up a little higher. He grabs my collar again, looking inquisitive in a way that shows that he doesn’t need to know. “What do you think you are, anyway? Do you know what it feels like for me?! When you grab my arse every bloody evening, every bloody show, with the zipper down? Do you think I’m made of wood, or what?! You fucking floozy, you snog with every man that can’t run away quick enough, you cuddle with Richard, you snog with Schneider, and you let them photograph you when you do that, just for proof! Do you think I didn’t see it when you went on stage last show and slapped Paul’s butt? You’re one slut. And me? You don’t even see me. I’m just good enough for being mock-fucked on stage. Nothing else. What is it? Am I too skinny? What is it?!”

For a moment, when I scream my rage and frustration into his face and can barely keep back tears of humiliation, he is taken aback. He stares, open-mouthed, and then swallows. “If”, he manages to say almost calmly, “I’ve hurt your feelings with that, then I’m sorry. I understand if this is too crass for you. But why, you idiot?!” He goes back to roaring. “If you hate it so much it made you rape me, WHY didn’t you say a word about it??!”

I almost laugh, snorting up more blood and saliva. “You don’t get it. You don’t get a thing. I don’t hate it. I don’t hate it. Don’t you notice that? You’re fucking hot. You’re the hottest thing since Jennifer Lopez. I wanna go to BED with you!!”

Now he is completely off track. His hand almost lets me down, and I sink against the wall. He is just staring at me and swallowing again.

“I’d…” I continue, somewhat softer, and try to regain control over my bleeding nose, “I’d spread my legs for you. Or bend over, if that’s what you want. I’m just a man, hell, don’t you get that?!”

“Uh”, says he, lets go of me and sits down on the couch, sinking back into the cushion. “Oh. Oh shit.” And he covers his face with one hand in realisation. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” I get up and drag my body over to the couch. If he hits me again, I don’t care.
“You”, say he, breathing hard and shaking his head with a sad little snort, “are totally taken in by a tragic fallacy.” He almost laughs at the absurdity.

“What? Why?” I don’t understand a word any more.

“It’s just fun. That snogging and grabbing men. It’s nothing to me. I don’t feel a thing. It’s just show. You may be bisexual. I’m not. I like women. Only women.”

I gulp the hardest I have ever in my entire life. How stupid. How bloody stupid. My testosterone-soaked brain didn’t even consider that he earns his money with being deviant. That it might all be a show.

“Oh”, I say, very weakly.

“Yeah.” He looks up at me. His gaze says clearly: Yeah. And now look what you’ve done because of your fucking stupid jealousy- without a reason. Look where you have gotten us.

I’m so embarrassed. I just want him to get his punishment over, and then forget it all. Or never go out of this house again, and live in the dark with the blinds down.

“Okay”, I say. “Can we please continue? I just…. I want this to be over as soon as possible.”
He looks up, suddenly incredibly sad. And I understand: He’s not in the mood for hitting any more. He’s too shocked and feels too bad. Most importantly, after all, he’s hurt, and a lot worse than me (although not visibly).

I look down on my fingers, my hands playing into one another. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
“That you…. fucked me?” He looks up incredulously. “How stupid. ‘ve you never been through that yourself? It hurts, it bloody hurts even now!”

I shake my head.

He looks at me, his jaw hardening. He is about to do something out of despair, despair over his own feelings.

“You know”, he says and gets up. “For a moment or two, I almost liked it.” And he walks towards me.
I stumble back until I drop into an easy chair. He leans over me again.

“Take off your pants.”

“W-what?” For a second, my breath dies, and the room is so silent that I think I’ve gone deaf.

“You said you wanted to go to bed with me.”

“Yes, but….”

“Take it off.” The tone of his voice leaves no other possibility for a nearer future. I start fumbling with the buttons as fast as I can, and struggle them down.

“And the rest.”

I pull the t- shirt over my head, take off my socks and underpants while he still hovers over me. God, I feel vulnerable now. I’m frightened. I don’t know what he is about to do, but I would prefer some layers of cloth between him and my most sensitive parts if he is in that mood.

Without any feelings showing in his face, he undoes his belt and unbuttons his pants. I swallow. This was what I wanted, right? But not in this mood. I’m frightened.

But I don’t have the right to say no, and I’ll be damned if I do.
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The Terrible broom Cabinet Fic