Chapter Text
The first time Andrew has sex he is seven years old.
The house he was placed in hasn’t been all bad so far. He’s fed three meals a day and he has his very own room. He waits for the other shoe to drop. He waits for the inevitable slap after he drops a glass. He waits for the shoves and the screaming and the hitting.
It doesn’t come.
Steven and his wife aren’t loving by any means. But they feed him and they don’t hurt him, and that’s enough for Andrew. Two months staying with them and Andrew doesn’t tense up anymore when one of them gets too close. He’s settling in. He has friends at school and a winter coat. It’s the best home he’s been in.
And then, when Andrew is sleeping at night. There’s the creak of his door opening. A heavy weight on the other end of his mattress.
Andrew starts to cry because he doesn’t know what else to do and he’s scared.
Fingers hook around Andrew’s elastic Thomas the Train Engine pajama bottoms, and his bare skin is exposed to the cold air and weight of the duvet.
He lets himself be flipped around, and in the dim purple of his night light, he sees Steven’s face. It scares him. It’s all twisted up in a way that Andrew doesn’t understand. A way that he will later find out is lust.
Steven flips him onto his tummy and Andrew is so, so scared. He feels something hard jut into his thigh and he whimpers.
“What are you doing?” Andrew croaks. His voice trembles. “Stop!”
A burst of pain and a stretch like he’s pooping. Andrew cries out but Steven shoves his head down and the noises are muffled by the pillow. There’s something inside of him! Andrew is panicking, he claws at the mattress with his hands. And Steven sinks in deeper and Andrew is going to break. His butt hurts, it feels like he’s being torn in half.
Steven moans. “Such a good little boy.”
Andrew cries freely now. “Stop!”
“If you beg me I’ll stop.”
“Stop! Stop!”
The hard rod inside of him starts moving in and out. Andrew chokes on his own saliva, keening in pain.
“Where are your manners?” Steven murmurs.
“Please! Please, stop!”
The noise Steven makes is inhuman. Andrew can feel his body shudder against his. In pleasure, Andrew thinks. Steven likes this. But Andrew’s butt is hurting so bad and he needs it to just end.
“Please, please, please…” He repeats it like a broken record.
Steven doesn’t stop. He moves faster, and it takes so long. Half an hour of Andrew begging, of his insides being torn apart.
But then, finally, Steven thrusts in deep. He shudders and moans and something hot spills into Andrew’s butt.
“Oh so good.” Steven groans.
He pulls out and Andrew cries out, he sputters around his dry tongue.
Steven pats his butt. “You won’t tell anyone will you? That would be pretty embarrassing for you. A seven year old slut begging for it.”
When Steven leaves, Andrew waits for hours before his body stops trembling and he can finally move. The sun has already risen, the golden rays peek through his blinds. Andrew reaches around himself and feels where it hurts. His fingers come away sticky with blood and white stuff.
And suddenly Andrew is filled with shame. He doesn’t want anyone to know what happened. He wants to forget this happened.
But he can’t forget. And Steven doesn’t stop.
It doesn’t feel real. But it is. And it’s real for another five months before he’s rehomed.
It happens again when he’s nine. He’s rehomed again to a man, Jesse, and his crackpot wife. There are five other foster kids in their care, which Andrew knows isn’t allowed, but the system is so desperate for homes, they’ll let any druggie with a spare room have a dozen kids. He shares a room with two other boys. The two little girls sleep in another room that probably doesn’t even qualify as a room.
When he arrives, his new foster brother, Lewis, moves to the top bunk so that Andrew can take the bottom. That should have been his first clue.
He shouldn’t be surprised when it happens. But he is. Maybe he thought that being in a room with two other boys would protect him. Maybe he thought that with two girls in the house, Jesse would never pick a boy like Andrew. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Because only two weeks after moving in, Jesse climbs into his bed and pulls down his pants.
He forces Andrew onto his back and then wraps his hands around his throat so that he can’t make any noise. It’s scary because he can’t breathe. Sometimes, Jesse grips too tightly and Andrew’s vision goes black for a few minutes. He doesn’t know why he thinks that choking Andrew will prevent the house from waking up. Andrew knows that the other boys are awake when it happens. Even if they don’t say anything, even if they don’t move. It’s because they don’t move. They’re too still to be asleep.
The boy on the opposite bed, Georgie, is eleven. Young enough that sometimes Jesse climbs into his bed instead. Andrew can hear strangled cries on those nights. Can hear Jesse’s moans and the shaking of the bed frame. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Because the noises are so pathetic, and Andrew is reminded that most nights, that’s him.
Andrew’s grades slip. It doesn’t matter because he’s still in elementary school, so he blends in with the other mentally challenged nine year olds. And he moves schools so often that the teachers don’t know it’s abnormal for Andrew to be average, much less below average.
Andrew stops making friends too. Because there’s no point when he’ll move again in a few months. Because he wants to avoid the pain of caring about someone and having them leave again and again and again. And because he’s too ruined inside to be around people. Because Andrew thinks about sex all the time now. He thinks about Jesse orgasming inside of him when he should be reading. He thinks about the night he lost his virginity during tests. The teachers tell Jesse and his social worker that Andrew spaces out too much. They say that maybe he had ADD. He doesn’t and they label him mentally challenged instead.
He cums for the first time with Jesse. He almost doesn’t notice because he can’t breathe and he’s on the brink of passing out. Jesse brings him to orgasm but Andrew blocks out the unwanted pleasure.
Then Jesse says. “Ew.” The grip on Andrew’s neck loosens and he gasps for air.
Andrew’s eyes flick down to his stomach where Jesse is staring. There’s a smattering of white spots of liquid.
“You’re disgusting.” Jesse tells him. “A nine year old cumming. Even Georgie can’t cum yet. You’re a slut.”
Andrew is so full of shame, it bubbles up inside of him like acid.
He hates himself. He hates his body.
Jesse leaves and he mops up the cum and blood with a handful of tissues. He thinks that nobody could ever want a slut like him.
He holds himself together, just barely, until one night, when Jesse has Georgie climb into his bed. Jesse gets himself off watching the two of them touch each other and no amount of whispered apologies from Georgie can scrub the shame from Andrew’s skin.
Andrew is miserable and so he finds refuge in the library. It’s only a ten minute walk from his foster home and the safest place Andrew can think of.
One night, he stays out too long, and Jesse tracks him down. Andrew chokes when he sees him and scrambles to pack up his work, when Jesse pins Andrew’s wrists to the table. He’s mad. His eyebrows are drawn together and his grip hurts. Andrew thinks he might hit him right there in the library.
But then Jesse sits beside him. Andrew doesn’t know what’s happening at first, and then, Jesse grabs Andrew’s crotch. Right there in the library. Andrew makes a horrible mortified sound, but a sharp squeeze reminds him to be quiet.
The table they sit at is against the wall. So nobody in the library can see anything other than their facial expressions.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing.” Jesse hisses lowly into Andrew’s ear. “If you wanted to come to the library so bad, you should have asked. We can come here every Wednesday.”
He reaches across Andrew’s shaking body and pulls down his pants and underwear to his midthigh. Jesse slides his hand into the space and fondles him.
Andrew has never been more humiliated in his entire life. He wants to cry. He sees some of his classmates wandering around, some of the regulars that he sees often. He wants them to help him. But he looks like such a slut, he doesn’t know if he could ever live it down.
Jesse brings him to orgasm and the safety net that Andrew had worked so hard to build around him shatters.
When he’s ten he’s moved with a couple. Samuel and Helena Cross. They’re kind to him at first, even if they are very strange. But this time, Andrew isn’t surprised when Samuel comes into his room.
Samuel likes to whisper filthy things to him during sex. “You fucking like this, you stupid fucking whore I know you wanted this.” And it’s difficult to reconcile him with the man who makes Andrew oatmeal in the mornings.
Sometimes, Andrew finds himself believing those words. When he cums by Samuel’s hand, how is he not asking for it? How is he not a whore?
In the mornings after, Helena looks at him strange. That’s how Andrew knows that she knows. Still, he isn’t prepared when Samuel comes into his room with Helena trailing behind like a robot.
Samuel tugs down Andrew’s pants and he stays still, limp. He touches Andrew until he’s hard but he still isn’t on top of him and Helena hasn’t moved. It’s weird and it worries Andrew. His jaw trembles and he grips the sheets with a white knuckle grip. He doesn’t like the feeling between his legs. Because it’s good in such a wrong way and it makes him think that if he can get off on this, there must be something wrong with him. He must be a slut.
Then Samuel stops. He turns to his wife. “C’mon now.”
And Helena strips her clothes. Andrew’s mouth goes dry. He knows what’s happening now. Helena climbs over him and settles over his penis. Then, slowly, she lowers herself.
It doesn’t hurt like it does when they use his butt. But she rocks back and forth on top of him, and he hates it just as much. He hates the fleshy woman using him, and the disgusting feel of her around him. He hates Samuel muttering filthy things as he touches himself at the bedside. Andrew is stimulated anyway and he cums inside of her with a sharp inhale.
It becomes a regular occurance. Samuel will slide underneath Andrew and Helena will perch on top. There are so many hands, too much touching, and Andrew feels like he can’t breathe.
He cries a lot afterward because he’s so scared and he doesn’t think it will ever end.
And then one night, Helena and Samuel are late coming home from work. Part of Andrew hopes they died in a car crash.
They didn’t. They come in through the door and Samuel pins him with his stare.
“You got my wife pregnant.” He snarls
Andrew freezes. He’s scared and shaking and oh god, he’s ten, he’s ten and he’s going to be a father.
Samuel stalks up to him and grabs him by the front of the shirt. “You fucking whore! Goddamn stupid slut! You liked it! That’s how it happened, you fucking liked it!”
And now Andrew is angry. Because he’s been abused all his life. People have been using his body for their pleasure like he’s some sort of object. And he’s never once liked it.
“You raped me!” Andrew says. “I’m not stupid! Both of you raped me and now you’re trying to say it’s my fault!”
It’s the most Andrew has spoken to them all at once and Samuel stills for a moment. And then the moment is over. He lunges at Andrew, hitting him, beating him. Andrew is ten and he’s as small as a six year old. He can’t fight Samuel no matter how hard he tries. He’s too weak and he sprains his wrist trying to break away.
That night, Andrew sleeps in the hospital. His face is swollen beyond recognition and there’s a tube down his throat to help him breathe. There are restraints on his wrists and ankles because he freaked out when they tried to touch him.
He hurts all over and he trembles with fear throughout the night, but he doesn’t cry. He isn’t going to cry anymore. There’s no point.
Nobody comes to see him except his disappointed social worker the next morning to rehome him.
They think that Andrew is unstable after Samuel’s assault. So they place him in some rehabilitation program to shadow a cop named Phil Higgins.
Andrew doesn’t trust pigs. It’s a law among most foster kids that the cops can’t be trusted. But Pig Higgins is so naive, so sickeningly hopeful that he can turn Andrew’s life around after he was so thoroughly beaten by a man who was meant to be a father figure to him, that Andrew doesn’t feel threatened.
They don’t do much. They sit around the station and Higgins talks and Andrew pretends not to listen. But Higgins doesn’t bend him over his desk and he rarely touches Andrew at all so that makes him okay.
“You’re smart, know that?” Higgins tells him while Andrew’s working through his homework.
Andrew stills. He knows that he isn’t stupid. But this is the first time anyone has ever called him smart.
“Didn’t you read my file, Pig? I’m mentally challenged.”
“I don’t think so.” Higgins replies easily. “I’ve met a lot of kids over the years. You’re smart.”
Andrew doesn’t reply, but when he gets back to the group home he’s in now, he doesn’t crumple his papers into a ball and stuff them into his backpack. He smooths out the wrinkles and slides them into his completely unused folder.
Higgins treats him like an eleven year old. It’s strange. Because he’s only ever been treated like he was two or twenty. To Higgins, it doesn’t matter that Andrew rarely has a word to say. He seems perfectly content just to share a comfortable space with Andrew.
It’s to Higgins that Andrew shares some of the most fragile pieces of himself with. Never enough to start anything official. But enough that Andrew has some outlet.
They’re watching a movie on Higgins computer at the station. It’s kid friendly but Higgins feels the need to skip the scenes of the main characters making out anyway.
“You don’t have to skip it. I know what’s happening.”
Higgins chuckles. “I don’t think you do, AJ. But you will when you’re older.”
“You think I don’t know what sex is. I think I probably know more than you.” It hurts to get the words out.
Higgins looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Do you?” There are so many more questions underneath those two words.
“Yes.”
Higgins doesn’t say anything further and the coiled tightness in Andrew’s chest eases a little.
That doesn’t mean Higgins stops trying.
“Has anyone ever… touched you in a way you didn’t want?” The Pig asks while they’re walking through a park one day.
“Well Samuel beat me into unconsciousness.”
“No.” Higgins revises. “I meant in a more… sexual way.”
“Don’t test me.” Andrew hisses.
Higgins doesn’t. But now he sees more of Andrew than anyone else ever has. There’s a new sort of vulnerability between them that Andrew hates. But the wholehearted acceptance, Andrew relishes.
There’s a community dance for the local elementary and middle schools. Higgins practically begs Andrew to attend. He’s being stationed outside as security and if Andrew didn’t like the dance, he could sit with Higgins instead.
Andrew agrees. Because he’s weak for Pig Higgins.
They go out shopping and Higgins buys him a nice outfit. Slacks and a button up and shoes without holes in them. Andrew isn’t stupid, he knows that Higgins only wants him to go so that he has an excuse to buy Andrew new clothes. When he puts on the outfit, Higgins gets all emotional.
“You’re such a handsome young man.”
Andrew stills in front of the mirror and fiddles with his collar. “I’ve never been called handsome before.” He muses. “Only pretty.”
“Pretty-“ Higgins repeats, voice strained.
“Because I’m small. And blond. I’ll always be pretty, never handsome.”
Higgins seems to have untied his tongue. “I don’t think so. When you grow up, I think it won’t matter how small you are. It’s your personality, AJ. That’s what makes you handsome instead of pretty.”
Andrew says nothing further and Higgins pays for the clothes.
The dance is a disaster.
There are so many people. So many bodies. He hides away in a corner, counting down the minutes until he can escape to Higgins. He’s just watching everyone else.
One boy thinks he’s watching too much.
The boy stalks up to him. “What’re you looking at? You looking at my ass, you faggot?”
The word makes Andrew’s blood boil. “If I were looking at anyone’s ass, it wouldn’t be yours.”
The boy spits on Andrew’s face. “You’re so fucking gay .” The boy’s friends circle him. “Look at that gay outfit he’s wearing.
“I’ve heard about people like you.” Andrew says. “You’re projecting. Only saying these things because really, you’re the gay one.”
In a split second, the boy punches Andrew in the face and his friends shove him to the ground. He knows how to curl up on himself to minimize pain. But there are people on top of him, prying him apart so that their kicks land better.
Andrew won’t scream. He refuses. And so it takes longer than it should have for others to really notice.
The boys tear open his new shirt and tug down his pants, and Andrew feels like he’s back in their beds. He feels like he’s about to be flipped over and fucked. And Andrew hasn’t been this scared in a long time.
They tear at his clothes and claw at his face. Kick him and hit him.
And then finally.
Finally.
Pig Higgins is there and there’s nobody hitting him anymore.
“AJ.” Higgins sounds desperate.
Andrew opens his swollen eyes. His clothes are in tatters and he feels so guilty because he knows what Higgins paid for them. “I’m sorry.” Higgins holds his breath, it’s the only time he’s ever apologized to him. “The clothes are ruined.”
Higgins chokes on something that isn’t quite a laugh. “Forget about the clothes. I’m worried about you.”
Higgins helps him back into his slacks. It occurs to Andrew that this is the first time someone’s helped him into his pants rather than out of them.
Higgins guides him out of the community center, protecting him from all the curious eyes. Andrew thinks that Higgins might be the most noble man he’s ever met.
They sit outside for a little bit. Because Andrew doesn’t want to go to the hospital and he doesn’t want to go back to the group home. He’s wearing a large t-shirt that Higgins fished out of the lost and found.
“I’m not gay.” Andrew says.
Higgins looks at him uneasily. “I never said you were.”
“They all think I am.”
“It would be okay if you were.”
Andrew clutched the concrete they’re sitting on with a white knuckle grip. “I’m not . Not after… not after they… I didn’t like it.” It’s more than Andrew means to say.
Higgins looks at him with haunted eyes. “It’s okay, AJ. If you are. That doesn’t mean you have to like anything.”
That’s the most Andrew says on the matter. After that night, he never hints at what happened to him again. Not to Higgins, who now watches him carefully, like he’s about to break.
They watch their movies and Higgins still skips the make out scenes. Still jokes that Andrew is too young yet to see such dirty things. It’s nice. It allows Andrew to pretend that he is eleven. To pretend that he’s still a virgin, still innocent, still a kid.