#i'm not gonna bother with all the other whumptober tagging ashfdskgjsgk

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Afterwards

Whumptober Day 24: You're Not Making Any Sense (Yeah, I know I’m months behind on Whumptober, I’m still gonna finish it out and you can’t stop me >:c ) Prompt: Forced Mutism

Eric tries to get over what happened at the club with Tessa. But that's easier said than done, especially when a new trigger makes itself known. (continued from “Behind Closed Doors”)

Warnings: Panic attack, flashback, referenced sexual assault

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

The immediate aftermath of what happened at the club is fuzzy for Eric. It took until late morning the next day for the drug to wear off. He felt foggy for the rest of the day, even after Dr. Iplier released him from the clinic a few hours after he woke up.

“Hey, Eric,” Dr. Iplier had told him as he left, “If you ever need to talk about what happened, you can always come back.”

He’d said it quietly and gently, with a look on his face like he hoped that Eric would.

And maybe he will.

But not yet.

As far as Eric knows, precious few people know what happened that night. Most of the egos know the basics; that he had to spend the night in the clinic after going to a club with the Jims, and that whatever happened was very serious. But the Jims, Bim, Wilford, and Dr. Iplier are the only ones who know the full story. Not even Ed knows, which Eric feels a little bad about, what with how close they’ve gotten. But Eric isn’t about to tell him. It’s hard enough to bear the sad looks and sidelong, cautious glances of the five people who know, even if he knows they come from a caring place. Bim is fretful and awkward as he always is in a crisis, Wilford tries to address it but always fails. The Jims have become Eric’s twin shadows, attuned to his every move. Dr. Iplier exerts a gentle-but-present pressure on Eric to start actively processing his trauma, something Eric doesn’t think he’s ready for yet.

He thinks about what happened. A lot. Not even necessarily to imagine how it could’ve gone differently, what he could’ve done to prevent it – though he thinks about that sometimes, too. But usually it’s just a replay in his mind whenever there’s nothing else to focus on. He catches himself staring mindlessly into the mirror while he brushes his teeth or into his food while he’s eating. The whole scene, Tessa and everything she did, plays out over and over.

It could’ve been worse, Eric supposes. She could’ve raped him.

Even thinking that word makes him sick.

Despite this new layer of trauma on top of Eric’s other, older traumas, he starts to feel a little more like himself day by day. He’s still able to laugh, to smile, to find joy in his hobbies, his friends, and other things that distract him. He’s familiar, at least, with this stage of trauma; the long stretches of numbness broken up by genuine good moments. Someday the good moments will outweigh the bad again, Eric just has to get there.

But a couple weeks after the night at the club, Eric’s recovery snags.

He’s in a common area with the Jims and the younger Googles, all of them taking turns playing a video game together. Eric isn’t very good, and neither are the Jims, but everyone is laughing – except Chrome, though he does smirk every so often. They’re all having fun, including Eric. As RJ and Oliver are competing in a 1v1, someone else enters the room. Everyone looks towards the door to see Yandere, grinning a little as he watches everyone play.

“Hey,” he says, “Can I join in?”

Eric still finds Yandere a little scary, and so do the Jims, but he’s learned by now that Yandere is harmless to the other egos unless someone gives him a reason not to be. Truthfully, Yandere can be a lot of fun to hang out with at times. It helps that Chrome is already in the room for Yandere to flounce over to and playfully wrap his arms around. Yandere looks the same as ever, with one difference: He’s wearing dark lipstick, a deep, vampiric red, darker than his hair.

Eric immediately knows he doesn’t like it. Not that it looks bad or weird, but it suddenly puts Eric on edge in a way he can’t pinpoint. Especially when Yandere smiles mischievously at Chrome as Chrome takes in his appearance.

“That’s interesting,” he says neutrally.

“What, that’s all?” Yandere scolds playfully, smacking Chrome on the arm. The force of it probably would’ve hurt anyone else, but Chrome doesn’t even flinch. Though he does smirk a little.

“It’s a look!” Oliver says, looking away from the screen for a moment to give a thumbs-up.

“At least one of you is nice,” Yandere laughs. “How are we taking turns here? When can I play?”

“I was going next,” CJ says, “But you can go instead, since I’d be playing with Red Jim.”

Eric is only half-listening (and half-watching, in CJ’s case) to the conversation. He’s focused intently on Yandere’s lips, on how they look as they move, the strangely familiar way they smile and open to laugh. The laugh becomes a little awkward, and suddenly, Yandere is looking back at Eric.

“Uh, you good there?” Yandere asks, “Is my lipstick that interesting?” Chrome looks at Eric curiously, as do Plus and CJ. Eric’s cheeks turn red and he rushes to explain himself.

“I-I’m sorry! S-Sorry, I mean, I’m,” Eric stammers, “I j-just, I don’t r-really see, um, guys wearing l-lipstick very much. But it’s n-not bad! It looks, um, it’s good, but not l-like, oh geez–”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth. Eric doesn’t care at all that Yandere is a guy in lipstick. But he can’t find a way to explain how strange the dark color on Yandere’s lips makes him feel.

“It’s alright, Eric-kun, I get it,” Yandere giggles, no longer awkward. He pauses thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’ve never seen me in lipstick before, huh? I don’t wear it a lot, but makeup’s fun!” His eyes light up. “You’d look cute in makeup too, I bet!”

“O-Oh, um, I don’t know if I…” Eric trails off, uncomfortable. He immediately understands that he doesn’t want that at all, the same way he immediately knew that he hated the lipstick. Fortunately, Yandere only shrugs, taking no offense.

“Well, if you ever want to try it, I can help!” Yandere says brightly, “Aka-kun won’t let me do anything but paint his nails, and he only lets me use the same red as his shirt.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Chrome asks, “Any other color would clash.”

“No way!” Yandere exclaims, “I bet plenty of colors would look good, maybe even a different red!” His eyes glint with mischief, and he grins. “Maybe even something like the color I’m wearing. Hmmm…”

“Yandere–” Chrome begins, intuiting Yandere’s intentions.

He’s not fast enough to stop Yandere from leaning in and kissing Chrome’s cheek. Plus and Oliver laugh, and the Jims laugh too as Chrome sputters indignantly. Yandere pulls away, leaving a dark red stain on Chrome’s cheek.

“I was right, that color looks great on you~!” Yandere laughs.

“Gross,” Chrome mutters, wiping at the stain with the heel of his palm. The stain is stubborn, though, and stays well put.

Eric is staring. He can’t stop looking. His breathing is faster. The dark stain is sending him somewhere else, two weeks ago, at night in the bathroom of a club, a woman straddling his lap, dark lips coming towards his face, leaving stains all over him, drawing back to moan or giggle before coming close again and again –

Eric can’t even excuse himself, can’t make up a reason for leaving before he’s already gone, out of the room, away. He has to get away. If someone calls after him, Eric doesn’t hear them. He can’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears, over the club music pounding. He makes it to his room somehow, he doesn’t shut the door because he can’t be locked in again. He sits on his bed, curled up, because if he curls up no one can sit on his lap. He starts crying, shivering, he can feel Tessa’s mouth on him and it won’t stop –

Someone comes in cautiously, Eric hears his door creak open a little wider. Eric looks up to see CJ, looking at him with wide, worried eyes. There’s a long pause, during which Eric tries to come up with an excuse, even though he knows CJ wouldn’t be fooled. The silence stretches, and CJ eventually steps into Eric’s room, closing the door behind him. Eric realizes he wants the door open, just a little, that having it closed all the way is too much right now. It reminds him of that closed bathroom door, of being trapped and stuck. He opens his mouth to say as much, but nothing comes out. He can’t talk at all. His heart is too loud, his mind is too dizzy.

CJ comes to Eric, sitting on the other end of Eric’s bed, a few feet away. It’s close like Tessa was, but it also reminds Eric of when he was found, when CJ ran in and blew his whistle and rescued him. He feels like he’s there now, like his soft bed is the hard toilet seat, like the soft sunlight through the window is the fluorescent light in the bathroom. CJ signs something but Eric is too far in the past to understand. He’s breathing too hard but not getting enough air, he’s still crying but he’s hardly making any noise. CJ reaches out a tentative hand, lays it gently on Eric’s arm. It’s not rough, there’s no grabbing, there’s hardly any pressure at all. But to Eric it feels like a smaller hand, one with long, manicured nails, one that’s about to pull his arms away from around his legs so it can rub over his thighs to –

Eric jolts away from CJ, letting out a fearful cry. CJ pulls his hand away immediately, shocked. His eyes go huge, and Eric can see regret instantly cloud his face.

“I’m sorry,” he signs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

At least Eric can focus enough to understand CJ’s signing now. He still can’t talk at all, and he’s too afraid to uncurl enough to sign. He’s utterly speechless, too caught up in awful memory to communicate at all. He can see CJ’s hands in front of him but he can still feel a different pair of hands wandering over his body.

“Do you…do you need to be alone?” CJ asks.

If Eric knows CJ, he knows that CJ is asking this with the utmost reluctance. CJ would much rather stay with Eric until he knows his friend is okay rather than leave him, even if that’s what Eric wants. But he cares enough about Eric to ask anyway, and Eric knows that if he gives CJ any indication that he wants him gone, CJ will leave without thinking twice about it.

Maybe that’s why Eric shakes his head. He still trembles, a part of him is still afraid to be alone with someone in a closed room, but another part of him knows that CJ is safe. CJ relaxes a little, and offers a reassuring smile. At least, that’s probably what it’s supposed to be; mostly it just looks nervous.

They stay like that for a while, silent in the face of Eric’s still-running heart. It reminds Eric of that low morning when the Jims came to him and quietly sat by him, helping him gain the strength to face the day. It’s one of Eric’s better memories, and the rush of warmth that comes with thinking of it combats the chill of what else Eric is thinking of, the cold of the club restroom and the toilet seat Eric was sat onto. That cold is beginning to leave him, the hands rubbing over his body start to disappear. Thinking of kindness, having CJ here watching over him, and simply letting seconds pass away from his trigger all allow Eric’s heart to calm, allow him to start breathing easier.

“Do you feel better?” CJ asks.

“Yeah,” Eric replies. He still doesn’t trust his voice, he still prefers the quiet.

“Can I ask…what happened?” CJ’s fingers are uncertain and halting as he signs. “You don’t have to tell me, but…”

Eric doesn’t mind the question, and he can tell what CJ means: If he knows what triggered Eric so badly, he can avoid it, and protect Eric from it. It warms Eric all over again to know.

“It was…Yandere leaving a kiss mark on Chrome’s cheek.” Eric’s hands shake just a little as he remembers. “It reminded me of Tessa, all the lipstick stains she left on me.”

CJ winces. He must remember those stains, too. He tentatively, slowly, reaches out his hands to Eric’s, which are curled in his lap. This time, Eric doesn’t stop him, and lets CJ cover his hands with his own, and the two continue to sit in silence. But with CJ’s hands on his, Eric finds the silence even warmer, even kinder, even nicer. He thinks, suddenly, that he’s almost okay again.

As if on cue, someone outside knocks softly on Eric’s door.

“AJ, CJ, are you guys alright in there?” asks RJ’s voice. “Can I come in?”

Only a few minutes ago Eric was still too uncertain and nervous to speak. Now, though, he feels stronger, more secure, normal.

“Yeah,” he answers RJ. His voice is more quiet than he meant it to be, and for a moment he’s not sure if RJ even heard him.

But the door opens, and RJ pokes his head in, concern written all over his face. Eric can’t wave him inside with CJ’s hands still on his, so he smiles at RJ instead. RJ immediately smiles back, and happily comes inside. Like CJ, he closes the door behind him, but unlike with CJ, Eric no longer minds the closed door. Maybe later, he’ll let them know that he’d prefer the door slightly ajar before this happens again.

And it will happen again. Eric already knows that. There’s bound to be other triggers, bound to be other times that memories of what Tessa did to him swarm over him and make him afraid. But knowing that isn’t scary, at least, it’s not scary right now. Not with CJ sitting across from him, gentle hands squeezing Eric’s, and with RJ coming in to sit beside him and lean against him, providing a comforting pressure.

Someday, Tessa will fade into the background amongst Eric’s other traumas, and Eric will find his normal again. For now, he lets his head rest against RJ’s, lets his hands rest in CJ’s, and takes in their gentle care.