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Rush	By : Kiniaq Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Depeche Mode Views: 1670 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Depeche Mode. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
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4.

The party was in its full blossom. Lots of booze, lots of weed and coke, barely dressed girls, giggling and squealing as staggering guys were trying to chase them all around the suite. Dave downed another glass of bourbon and sighed wearily. He wasn't interested in all that shit. He didn't give a toss about that tart on his lap, about delicious angel dust or all that wild crowd of roadies and groupies. The only reason he came here at all was sitting in the far corner of the room, all alone with his bottle.

Silently Dave put his glass forward for the girl to fill it up and drank all of it at once. He needed something to give him courage to approach Martin. This was the perfect opportunity for them to talk – the first real one he had in almost two months now. Since that dreadful night.

He tried to talk to Martin many times, tried to tell him how sorry he was, but the blond didn't want to hear any apologies and was avoiding him like a plague. Finally it got on Dave's nerves. So ok, Mart got his ass kicked pretty bad, but it wasn't like he was beaten for the first time in his life. When they were young, they both had their share of beatings because they looked like queers. And since Martin *was* a queer he should have, sort of, gotten used to it. His fault or not, Dave found that cold treatment far too exaggerated, even for the drama queen Martin always was.

And maybe this whole story would end at this point, but there was still the desire Dave felt towards his band mate. It didn't disappear, it didn't grow bigger. It just was there, surfacing from time to time, especially on stage, maybe because it was the only place he could get physically close to Martin. And because of that desire Dave's anger slowly subsided and now there was only the need. To be close to Martin, to touch him, to watch him move, to listen to his beautiful voice. Now, the roles reversed, now he was the one to observe his friend openly or secretly, but still with admiration. Not that he had many opportunities to do so. Martin was still avoiding him and choosing to be in places Dave surely wouldn't appear, like this party for instance.

But tonight Dave felt he didn't have any other choice than to confront his friend. Earlier this night he had a fight with Daryl, the last one of his friends who was still talking to him. It started with petty argument, but at the end it almost came to blows, and finally Daryl yelled right into his face the whole truth about that feral night.

Dave sighed again and stood up, chasing the girl away from his lap and snatching almost full bottle from her hands. He felt tipsy enough to try and talk to Martin once again. He just had to know why his friend did what he did, why he let those nasty blokes had their way with him. Was it supposed to be some kind of revenge, a way of showing how much he was displeased with Dave choosing the drug over him? Still, it was so unlike Martin that it intrigued Dave even more. He wanted to know, wanted to ask – why did you have to be so careless? You see where it got you?

And do you know where you could be with me right now?

Dave slowly approached his friend, who was sitting all alone on the sofa and drinking his beer in a haste. He looked pretty much drunk already, but it seemed like he still hadn't had enough. “Mind if I join you?” Dave asked standing in front of him. The blond looked up, tensing a little but then he shrugged lightly. “Not at all,” he mumbled and took a long swig from his bottle.

“I see you're not enjoying yourself very much,” Dave said as he plopped onto the cushions. Martin said something, but his voice got lost in sudden roar of laughter. Apparently a group of guests was playing some kind of drinking game involving girls undressing and guys answering stupid questions.

“See? That's what I was talking about,” Martin motioned his head towards the crowd as he drained the rest of his beer, threw the bottle carelessly onto the floor and immediately produced the next one right from the crate that was standing next to the sofa. “Stupid gits.”

“Why are you wasting your time here then?” Dave sipped at his drink, observing Martin from behind curtain of his hair. It was so nice to sit here, so close to this nice shaped body, though now it was hidden so good under too large t-shirt and baggy jeans. Lately Martin developed strange fondness for shapeless clothes, leaving his sexy outfits only for the stage. It actually bothered Dave a little, but not now, when he was so close he could actually smell Martin's scent, feel his warmth. That was more than enough to compensate the lack of visual effects. “You could go out with Al or something.”

“I don't feel like going out,” Mart shrugged again, his voice slightly slurred. “I've got here everything I need.”

“So,” Dave stirred a little in his seat, moving himself just a little closer. “You still angry at me or what?”

“Angry?” Martin looked at him for the first time this evening, his bright eyes visibly clouded with alcohol. “Why do you think I'm angry with you?”

“You don't talk to me, you don't look at me, hell, you don't even seem to want to be in the same room as me,” Dave stated bluntly. “That's not true,” Martin lowered his head, gripping hard at his bottle.

“Yes, it is,” Dave leaned in his direction and put a hand on Martin's thigh. It was a simple gesture – this time he didn't mean anything by that, although it felt nice to have those firm muscles under his palm. But he couldn't miss the fact that Martin tensed under his touch. If he didn't know better, he could think Martin flinched. “Mart, we have to talk,” he insisted.

“No, we don't,” the blond shook his head. “There's nothing to talk about, really.”

“Well, maybe for you, but *I* need to talk,” once again Dave felt that slight streak of anger towards his band mate's stubbornness. “Listen, I know I screwed up big time. I should kick those fucking pushers out of the room right after I paid them. I should have met them long before you even came. I know I ruined our night, but did you really have to get even with me this way?”

Martin snapped his head up, looking at him with wide eyes. “Get even with you?” he asked. “What... what do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Dave waved impatiently. “I know what had happened. Daryl finally spilled the beans. And if you still say there's nothing to talk about...” he stopped suddenly, realizing that Martin is staring past him, his face going white and his breath starting to hitch. “Hey, Mart, are you ok?”

“I... I have to... get out of here...” the blond stumbled to his feet, tripped at one of the empty beer bottles and fell onto Dave's lap. “Whoa, easy there!” Dave grabbed his arm and didn't let him slip onto the floor. “Here, let me help you.”

“Let me go!” Martin tried to break free but he lost his balance again. He struggled against Dave's arms panting, his eyes wide open but obviously unaware of the surroundings. Oh no, not one of this fucking panic attacks, thought Dave as he tried to calm Martin down without letting him go and risking his completely pissed friend to hit the floor. “It's all right, Mart,” he slowly got up, pulling Martin with him. “I just want to help you get out, ok?”

As soon as Martin stood on his own feet he tried to push Dave away once again, but it appeared he was too weak and too unsteady to do so. “Out... I want to get out...” he mumbled, finally accepting Dave's arm around his waist, but the singer could feel that his whole body tensed and strained like a rope. “You're not going to be sick all over me, are you?” he tried to joke as he led him across the room, but Martin didn't laugh. He just lowered his head and leaned heavily against the singer, he still seemed repulsed by the very idea of Dave touching him. “Out,” he repeated as he shuffled his feet, urging Dave to move faster.

“Yeah, out and to your room,” Dave sighed quietly. “You need to sleep it off.”

***

Ok, so maybe after all he drank too much. No, not too much, but too fast, that's for sure. It was all Dave's fault though. Seeing him, talking to him, having him so close – that was just too much to take. He had to escape somehow, and another bottle seemed so nice and certain escape route.

So, he managed to set himself free. He gave in to the sensations, he gave in to his bodies demands, and he let himself just relax. His head was floating like a big balloon, so light – full of air and nothing more, while his feet were dragging his heavy, sleeping body forward, more from the reflex than from the real need. The only real need he felt was to lay down and fall unconscious, preferably next to this warm, strong body that was hauling him along its side, forward and forward.

Martin didn't mind, he liked the feeling of being supported, he liked the warmth and safety of those arms around him, he liked the musky scent of the skin he was nuzzling with his nose every now and then. He felt almost good, almost perfectly lost in his own cloudy space, without fear, without uneasiness, without anything.

He wasn't surprised when he felt his body being put down on something soft. The bed was his greatest desire but this warm, safe body... he just couldn't make himself let go of it. So he used every single bit of his will to order his numbed fingers to grab at the arms that were encircling him and clutched at them as tightly as it was possible.

If he could, he would chuckle at the surprised grunt he heard as the body lost its balance and landed on him. But he was far too busy burying his face in that warm, soft place where the neck joins the shoulder. It felt so right to touch it with his lips, to feel the taste, smoky and salty taste of the man's skin. Desire lazily started to crawl along his spine, slowly sinking deep into his flesh. I was so lonely, he thought as his lips traveled up, along stubbly jaw, seeking the softness of the lips and finding it finally, and nibbling at it and licking it and coaxing the kiss that tasted like cigarettes and whisky and something else, something sweet and intoxicating. He heard a soft gasp, he felt that lean body pressing itself hard against him, grinding its hips into him and letting him feel the hot desire awakening down there.

Hot, hard piece of flesh pressed aggressively into him.

Hard.

Pressed.

Pain.

"Oh, we gonna fuck you like a girl, sweetheart! And you gonna like it!"

“No!” suddenly he wasn't sleepy and detached any more. Suddenly his body regained its strength. Suddenly the panic came back.

He pushed his aggressor forcefully off of his body, backing off immediately, up and away until he was sitting against the headboard, legs drawn to his chest, arms stretched, hands clenched in tight fists.

They won't get him. Not again.

“Jesus, Mart, what's wrong?” the question caught him by surprise. He blinked, focusing his mind on 'here and now' with a little difficulty. Ok, he was in his hotel room, on his own bed, and on the other side of the bed there was Dave, sitting on his heels, with messed hair and the look of absolute bewilderment on his face. “What's the matter?” he asked again. “Did I hurt you?”

“Don't!” Martin flinched at the sign of Dave reaching for him. “Don't touch me.”

“But why?” Dave seemed even more surprised. “I thought you wanted it.”

"Say you like it, bitch, say you like it!"

“No, I didn't,” Martin closed his eyes, fighting the sudden wave of nausea, but then quickly opened them again. He hated those images he could see behind his lids. And he hated his own pathetic words, but they came out anyway. “I didn't want any of it.”

“So, now you're acting like I came here and took an advantage of you?” Dave narrowed his eyes, obviously his short temper getting the better of him. “God dammit, how can you tease me like that and then just say no?!”

Again, Martin flinched at the harsh tone of his voice. He couldn't help it, he was getting scared. Dave never was the patient one, and he's snorted a few lines this evening. The coke tends to make people impatient, Martin experienced that not so long ago, didn't he?

I was dreaming such a wonderful dream, he thought, watching his friend with wide open eyes. Why did I have to wake up to another nightmare?

“I know what this is all about,” Dave tossed his long hair from his forehead impatiently. “You're still angry at me! You're punishing me now just like you punished me back then by screwing those guys, aren't you?”

For a moment Martin forgot all about his fear, about his pain, about everything. For a moment he just forgot how to breath. “What?” he managed to say, though it rather sounded like a hoarse whisper. “You... you think *I* screwed *them*?!”

“I don't *think*, it's a fact,” again Dave tugged at his tangled hair. “Daryl told me everything, which, by the way, I wasn't considered good enough to know about. He told me how you invited them to a little game and how it got out of hand so you ended up black and blue. So you said yourself – what am I supposed to think, huh?”

Martin's heart squeezed painfully. Every breath felt now like thousands of needles coming right through his heart. Does he really think of me like that? Does he really despise me so much?

“Tell me, Mart, was it worth it?” Dave's voice suddenly became softer, a silent plea hidden underneath the words. “Is my guilty conscience was worthy of your suffering?”

There was no more anger in singer's eyes, now there was only hurt there, but Martin failed to notice. He was looking at Dave, but all he could see was his own pain. Suddenly those words he denied the right to exist for so long found its way out.

“Is this how you see me?” he asked slowly, his throat painfully clenched. “Am I nothing more to you than a hot stuff? A piece of ass to fuck? Or to share with your pushers?”

“To share?” Dave stared at him, furrowing his brow. “What do you--”

“That's what they were telling me, over and over again,” Martin interrupted him, his voice slightly stronger now. “They were telling that you offered me to them as something special, something they are free to use. And they did, Dave. They did... use me.”

“But how...” something like a glimpse of understanding came across Dave's face only to be replaced by pure terror. “You don't mean... Tell me they didn't...”

And again Martin failed to see the change on singer's face. He couldn't see it because suddenly his vision became blurred.

“Yes, they raped me!” he spat the word like it was something foul that he kept in his mouth too long. And he didn't feel any of that satisfaction or relief they all tell you should feel after taking the heavy burden off of your shoulders. The only thing he could feel was that annoying aching in his chest. He blinked furiously trying to clear his vision, but he only felt hot moistness trickling down his cheeks. He tried to stay silent, but the words were just flowing out from his trembling mouth.

“You were getting bloody high and they raped me! They beat me and they used me in every bloody way they wanted, just like you tough 'real' men always do! I thought you were different, I thought that I meant something to you! And I waited for you to come and save me, I was calling you, but you... you never came! And they laughed at me, and they kept fucking me, over and over again... And you never came...”

Finally, he couldn't speak any more, all the words drowned in tears and swallowed with hysterical sobs. Dave was reaching to him once again, his face like a mask of guilt and pain, but Martin backed away even more, just like he was trying to melt into that god damned headboard. “Don't touch me,” he managed to say. “Get... get out!”

“Martin, please...”

“Get out!” Martin yelled, “You left me then, you can leave me now! I don't need you any more! Get the fuck out!”

Dave didn't even try to argue or insist. He was silent, his hands falling limp to his sides and then he slowly got up and left the room. And Martin watched him leave, hatred and pain boiling within him. He hated him so much right now, for leaving him then, for being a fucking junkie, for being too blind to see how much Martin needed him right now. For being too stupid to know he should ignore his demands and stay, and touch him, hold him tight and never let go, no matter how hard Martin would struggle to break free and push him away.

He hated him, because in spite of everything, he still loved him.

***

He slowly, carefully closed the door and leaned against the hard wood, his wide open eyes staring into the darkness of the suite. His hand half consciously wandered up his torso, fisting tightly into his shirt, up there where the pain was biting at his heart. For a while he thought that, perhaps, he was having a heart attack, but then he decided he didn't give a damn. He was already dead.

“You offered me to them.”

“What have I done...” he muttered, through his clenched teeth. It was all of his fault. Now he started to recall all those bits and pieces he didn't think were important.

“I've got something special in the bedroom, feel free to use it.”

“No!” he put his hands to his ears, but the voices were still there, still in his head, and no matter how hard he'd bang it into the door, they wouldn't go away. The pain wouldn't go away.

He sucked in his breath, feeling like something sharp was jabbing right into his shuddering heart along with the air. Yes, you have to suffer, you bloody bastard! You destroyed probably the last thing in this shitty world that still made sense. You destroyed the very person that still had some feelings for you. You did it again! Hope you're happy now!

Another breath, another flash of pain in his chest. And a flash of ugly visions behind his closed lids. Martin, naked on his bed, beautiful Martin beaten and humiliated. Used. Violated. Over and over again...

Dave swayed, almost loosing his balance and falling to the floor. He felt sick, at the verge of throwing up, but he managed to get hold on himself. He waited for a long moment, bent over and braced against the wall, till the dizziness passed. Then he slowly stumbled to his bedroom, to his suitcase. To his toiletry bag.

How could he be so fucking blind and stupid? How come he didn't recognize all those signs? Martin hiding his body in those ridiculous baggy clothes. Martin skipping meals and getting thinner every day. Martin drinking like a bloody fish before every show and coming to the stage – coming to be near Dave – hardly conscious at all.

He was so stupid, so fucking stupid! Even tonight, when Daryl told him those words of truth, he was too thick to understand them properly. When he heard words naked, tied and beaten, the only thing that came to his mind was that Martin decided to use those bloody SM stuff to get even with him, because he knew Dave hated it. And it never even crossed his mind that...

...that Martin was raped.

Dave knelt beside his suitcase, his hands trembling so much he couldn't open it. “It's not my fault,” he whispered to himself. “How could I know... It's not my fault...”

“You offered me to them!”

“I was calling you, but you... you never came!”

No, he didn't want to hear those words, over and over again. He didn't want to see Martin's beautiful face grimaced with pain and streaked with tears. He didn't want to see those nasty images Martin had planted in his brain. He didn't want to feel his pain!

He didn't want to feel anything at all.

His hands were shaking so much that he had trouble opening his bag. He put it upside down, shaking all the things out onto the carpet and rummaging through them impatiently. Pretty soon he found what he was looking for. A small plastic bag with white powder. The rest of the stuff he got from those two fuckers. That god damned shit, too pure and too strong. Too dangerous.

Why did he keep it? He should have used it by now, or better yet throw it away.
But no, he kept it. There wasn't too much left, just enough for one usual shot, or in case of that deadly shit, two smaller ones. Dave slowly pulled the bag close to his eyes and looked at it intently. Such a small thing and it caused so much pain...

Fight fire with fire. Kill the pain with someone else's suffering.

It is Martin's suffering in that bag, he thought as he started to prepare the fix. He brought it for you. He paid for this with his own body, his humiliation, his blood... That's why this shit is so strong, because it's his pain in the purest form. You can taste it, you can embrace it, you can make it yours. And when those two pains collide, everything will disappear.

Soon the fix was ready, but his hands were still shaking badly. He gripped the full syringe, but it didn't help much. He held his breath as he stuck the needle into his flesh but he missed the vain. He tried again and this time he succeeded, so he pushed the valve, too hard and too fast. Painful jolt, just like from an electric shock, shot through his arm making his fingers twitch. The torn the vein, he would have a nasty bruise by tomorrow, but he couldn't care less.

The room spun before his eyes, the drug once again taking him in that insane dance, round and round in his own head where only shadows now reigned. He slowly leaned back and against the bed, throwing his head backwards, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, but in his reality he couldn't see anything. The darkness came and closed him in its tight embrace and started to sing him the words he knew so well.

Cry for you
Seen the tears
Roll down from my eyes for you
Heard my truth
Distorted to lies for you
Watched my love
Becoming a prize for you

Once again, those were only his words – Martin's words. Martin was the one who should sing them now. And he would be, because soon he was going to be the only voice of his lyrics. Dave smiled inwardly, feeling like his heart, which until now was pounding furiously against his ribcage, finally started to slow down its rhythm. His heart felt it already. He was already half way down to that dark and cozy place. There will be no more pain there, no pain for him, no pain for Martin, or anyone else for that matter.

That was so easy, he thought, as the darkness became thicker, so thick now he could almost feel it with his skin. Black fingers stroked at his heart making it slow down a little more and that purring, inner voice continued with the song.

Seen the tears in my eyes
Heard my truth turn to lies
Seen the tears in my eyes
I'm not proud of what I do

Yeah, I'm not proud, he thought, but at least you can be proud with me. Because I fixed it, I fixed everything. I finally got rid of my pain. And I'm taking yours with me.

His lips twitched lightly, forming a small smile.

It's for you, Mart. I did that one last thing for you.

When I rush
I rush for you

THE END
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