The Violation of Finn

I wake up groggy and disoriented and I have no idea where I am. Well, strike that. I can tell that I'm on a wooden floor somewhere. Somewhere very quiet.

I can feel the back of my head pounding as if there were something on the inside trying to get out. I try to lift my hands to touch it, but I find that they're immovable. At first I think that I've lost the use in both arms, but then, as I pull frantically trying to move them, I realize that they are cuffed behind my back. No, not cuffed. Tied. With what feels like wire.

I wonder why the hell my hands are tied, and I bring my head up, wincing from the pain, but looking all around and seeing nothing. It's far too dark to see out. Then, as I put my head back down I realize that I'm blindfolded. My stomach tenses in fury and a little bit in fear. Yes, that's what that is. Fear. Not something that I have experienced in a long time. But why am I afraid?

Dumb question. 'Why am I tied up?' is more accurate.

For a minute I lie here trying to rack my brain. What happened? Where am I? What was I doing last?

Finally the memories come in clips, but they are not as welcome as I was hoping.

---Olivia and Elliot in the van saying good luck to me. Adjusting my wire. Making a joke and seeing a familiar smirk.---

Whose smirk...? Oh, yes. Munch's.

---Walking up to a door. Knocking, then talking. A flash of light and a loud sound.---

A gun? Did someone shoot a gun? I know I didn't. At least not at first.

---Me with my gun drawn out. My partner behind me with his weapon pulled out as well and---

My stomach suddenly tightens at the thought of my partner.

---Me walking into the warehouse and being shot at by someone on the rafters. I look up and shoot, and the man falls to the floor. Munch and I run over to him, but he's still alive and he takes out his gun---

I suddenly become sick.

But why goddamnit?!! Why? If only I could reme-

Then I do, with fierce clarity and wish that I hadn't. In my mind and behind the blindfold I see it all over again.

--- The gun glinting in the dead, yellow light of the warehouse. I can feel my partner grabbing my jacket as he starts to push me away, but the man was never aiming at me, he was going after Munch, I had nothing to worry about.

Then the shot rings throughout my skull and I see my partner fall to the ground.---

"JOHN!!" I scream at the top of my lungs, and find that I can barely hear my own voice as the last of the memories come to me.

---Running to my partner and picking him up. I see where his head is bleeding and I pull him to me. No, no, no---

I feel pressure that I had no knowledge of being released from my ears and I can suddenly hear.

Earplugs. They really have all the bases covered, don't they?

"Ah..." starts a deep rumbling voice. "Detective Tutuola's awake." I'd know that voice anywhere. It is Marcos Solomon's. The pimp of male prostitutes, supposedly one of the cruelest on the Eastern coast, and known for taking the merchandise as his own before releasing it, albiet damaged and broken spirited, to the clientele.

"Now, Detective, have the memories come back yet?"

I think of my scream. I just screamed John's name. He knew I remembered. "Fuck you, asshole."

I feel a hand caressing my face, and my stomach tightens yet again, only this time a slick, wet cold runs against the contraction. Fear again.

"Not quite correct in your assumption, Detective. Try visa versa." There is a pause, and then he continues. "Considering the marvelous intimacy we're about to share, should I call you Odafin?"

Panic begins to flood into me. I don't know what to say or do, so I just struggle insanely, only to find that my legs are already spread wide and tied down firmly.

Solomon only laughs at my feeble attempts and I feel a hand cruelly seize my hindquarters, followed by a moan of desire that sends waves upon waves of disgust through me. "Such a firm, firm body." Silence, then I feel warm breath in my ear and try to jerk my head away, but a hand brings me back. "You must be such a sweet fuck, Detective. So tight and, mmmm, so tasty."

I try to fight the bonds holding me down again, but this only serves to delight the sick bastard. "Patience," he starts and I can feel steel on my leg, then I hear a sound that I can't distinguish. I realize that someone is cutting my pants off, though, once the material falls away from my leg.

I can feel the Solomon's hand on my head again. "We wouldn't want you to escape, so we have to cut them off instead of taking them off. I would so love to strip you down personally, but I've come to interpret you as quite the fighter. You do understand, of course?" I feel the bastard's lips brushing against my ear now and I ram my head to the side, up against his mouth. Despite the fact that he was trying to holding my head down, it still makes the desired contact, and I can hear him cry out in pain. He jerks away and in an angry tone growls, "You'll wish you hadn't done that, Detective." A moment later he rips the blindfold off of my face and I can tell that I am in a dark basement, though where I still can't hazard a guess.

He steps in front of me, the blood on his lips constrasting starkly with his pale skin and blond hair. I smile at his now bloody and broken lips. He wipes at his mouth and brings his crimson fingers into his view, then looks at me. "You like that do you? Well, I hope it was worth it. Remember that feeling, Detective Tutuola, and let us hope that it can sustain you through the next course of events. That is, now that we won't be using this." He holds up a paste tube of lubricant and my heart stops.

Oh, God, no. He won't really, actually do this will he? He won't actually-

As if Solomon's evil powers extended to mind reading, he nods and laughs, throwing the lubricant over his shoulder, and I can hear it slam into the wall close by. He moves out of my site, and I feel sick inside. This man is really going to force himself on me. He's going to rape me...

Then I remember the rumors of him being HIV positive.

I struggle harder than before, but my hands are soundly tied behind my back, and my legs feel bound by steel. I can't give up, there has to be a way out of this. There is always a way. You just have to be strong enough and smart enough to find it.

I can feel cool air on my posterior, and I struggle not to beg. I can't beg, I can't. I. Just. Fucking. Can't. There is always a way.

HIV positive...

I feel hands massaging my bottom. "Feel good?" I say nothing, trying to be strong, trying to bite back the fear. The hands pull apart my cheeks and a second later a finger, clean of any lube or liniment at all, massages it's way around my anus. I tighten the muscles, close my eyes, and the first time since before my Narcotics partner died undercover, prayed silently to God.

"Oh, don't do that Odafin. Don't tighten up. It just makes it all the worse. Really."

I gasp out loud as he dips his finger into the ring of muscle. No real pain right now, but I know that this isn't even the top inch of the iceberg. It feels so terribly uncomfortable as he moves his finger around, but I refuse to show it.

Solomon, apparently not satisfied with a mere gasp in recognition to his first finger, brutally sticks his second in. Now it starts to hurt, but I control my reactions.

"Oh, wow. You are so very tight. This is gonna feel marvelous. Well, for me. For you though, this is really, really going to hurt."

"Go to hell."

"It's in the Bible, Detective. Simply biding my time. And some of that time's going to be shared with you. Tell, me: are you straight? Because with an ass like this, I can tell know one's ever rammed a dick up you. But have you ever fucked a man?" He shoved his third finger in, and this time I couldn't restrain the whimper that escaped my mouth.

He laughs. "Want a lube job now? Awww, well you should have thought about that before you decided to get violent."

He shifted his fingers inside of me, and I could feel myself ripping inside, bleeding.

"Hmm... By way of natural lubricant then."

I feel his fingers leave my ass and my head hits the floor in relief. But that is stupid and foolish of me because a moment later I feel the hands spreading my cheeks once again, and his heavy weight as he straddles me.

"Never done it in this position before. New experiences for us all." What I know to be Solomon's dick starts to enter my ass.

HIV positive.

I anew my ineffective attempt to escape. Then I yell. "NO! STOP!"

But he didn't. Instead I felt him continue to enter me. "Oh, but I like it when they protest, Detective."

Now the tears start, and I can't stop them from running down my face, no matter how much I try. I just keep crying. Because this is real, and this is bad, and it hurts, more than just physically. This subjugation to him, this cruel and unbelievable defilement. The violation of my body and my life has become all too real.

"Please..." I whisper, and for a moment I don't know it's me. "Please, don't."

His harsh treatment is unrelenting as the cold-blooded voice fills my head. "Begging? I never would have thought that of you detective."

As if it were punishment for my plea, I feel him start to pound harder, ramming, thrusting his dick up my ass. I cry out, sobbing. The pain... the pain of my body ripping from this unnatural treatment, this breaking castigation. The pain is something I've never felt in my life. I try to hold back my voice, but it's too large an object for such a small hole, and I scream. Again. And again. My whole body is now being jerked along with his ever quickening tempo. I hear his pants and moans of sickening sexual desire as he continues on. He's more than sexually aroused by my fear, my suffering, agony and distress.

The humiliation is horrible, almost too much to bear. I can now fully grasp the degradation and shame that comes into a rape victim's mind and life. Before I had callously wondered with most of them why they were not stronger, just a little bit more resolved and durable. Now I can see why. Now I can feel why, but that understanding comes at an incredible cost to me. And the thought of AIDS is not far behind, not far behind at all.

I can hear him calling out something, and can feel the savage pounding become even harder, but mercifully, the pain is too much and I black out.

88888

When I come to I can hear yelling, shouting. I can feel panic in the air and I try to lift my head to look around. Even that small movement, sends pain shooting down my body, and the burning as if not just my ass, but my insides are on fire. Stars shoot before my eyes, and I realize that my hands are still tied, as are my legs, so I put my head back down, unable to do anything.

A moment later I hear shots, quite a few of them and then a door bursting open, followed by the sound of feet rapidly descending a flight stairs. I hear shouts and a voice-

Olivia?

-call out my name. Then his name, John's name.

Why is she calling his name?

Then I hear another pair of feet coming down the steps, and another voice calls to me.

No, that can't be right. John's dead. Why can I hear his voice?

I lift my head to see him standing in front of me, and I smile at him. "You're alive," I say. "I thought you were dead."

Olivia hands him a blanket, then he moves behind me and I feel him covering my backside. The humiliation fills me to the brim again, now worse in front of my colleagues, and I start to cry again. Why do they have to see it? Why?

I feel release from my bonds, one at a time, and my stiff arms move beside me, but I do not move to get up. I can't, and I don't want to try. The pain would be unbearable, as would be the embarrassment of not being physically able to walk.

With mortification I hear Olivia call for an ambulance. I try to tell her that I don't want one, don't really need one, but John sits downs in front of me and brings me into his arms, a wordless embrace. My tears run harder, down his shirt, and he starts to rock me, saying something that I cannot distinguish. I listen more closely, then I hear it.

"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here." I look up at him in gratitude for this much needed comfort, and he looks away, but not before I see his own tears.

+_+_+_+_+

I sit up abruptly in bed, yelling, but since I have no one to share my life with, no one to hold me, these yells go unheard and uncomforted in the middle of the night. It's cold, and dark and I think about what has happened, realizing quite suddenly that it was all just a dream.

I let out a shaky breath and hear the soothing sound of a storm outside, building to a climax. Storms have always been a lonely man's solace, and I am no different. I lie back down in my sweaty pajamas and sheets and try not to think about my nightmare, but to no avail.

I don't wonder why I have them. Working the SVU you get all sorts of descriptions, and cases. Add a current case with a few nasty descriptions from rape victims, and it's the perfect mixture for a nightmare.

I look to the phone, knowing that my partner would listen if I wanted to talk. He'd always been there for me, even when I replaced his old partner and good friend. But I'm not ready to talk. Not now. He'd eventually get it out of me, though, and I'd feel grateful for the release. He could always tell when I had a nightmare.

I do wonder, however, if anyone else in the SVU has these dreams. Does Olivia dream of her mother being raped? Does Stabler, during his sleeping hours, unwittingly envision his wife or oldest daughter going through such an unspeakable ordeal? Or maybe he wakes up screaming after some phantom pedophile molests his twins. Who does Donald dream about now that he can no longer drown his dreams with a bottle of whiskey or vodka?

I get up and go to the weight bench, knowing that I'll be unable to sleep unless physically exhausted. And Munch wonders why I'm so fit yet so tired.

The perks of the job are very few. Win a case here, and send them to jail. Win a case there, and send them to die. Sometimes, if you're lucky, the bastards will run and you get to rough them up a little. And sometimes you're really lucky and they put you life in danger, meaning you get to kill the fuckers. But all of this is rare. Many, if not most, major rape cases go unsolved, and sometimes you know who did do it, but you can't do a thing because you've got no goddamn proof.

After about an hour on the weight bench, I start to grow tired and slip back into bed, still fearing that a dream could force it's way into my slumber. Even though it's warm in my apartment, the thought of another dream sends chills down my body, racking it with shivers. As I lay here, the covers pulled up to my chin, and curled into the fetal position, I bring up an old wish of mine. I wish I could be Stabler, if only for one night. To know that I had children of my own, to feel a wife's loving embrace. To know that if I had a nightmare, she'd be right there beside me with a wet washcloth to cool my forehead and an eventual kiss to rid me of my fears, at least temporarily.

As my eyelids grow heavy, I just hope that Elliot knows how very lucky he is.