#trigger warning dv

The relationship you were in was beyond toxic. It had been for the last two years of dating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Everyone had their suspicions about what went on behind closed doors, especially Pierre. You did your best to hide it.

He’d tried for months to get you to break up with James, but none of his tactics worked. You loved James, and James loved you. Sometimes had some rough days and he would take it out on you. But everyone had rough days, right?

The first six months were a dream. He treated you like you were a queen. Extravagant dates, trips, gifts, anything you asked for, he got for you. Then one day it was like a switch flipped. More often than not you were arguing, or he would start a fight over something trivial. Anything that went wrong in his day-to-day life was your fault. It took a massive toll on your mental health, but you pushed through. It was nothing you couldn’t deal with.

Pierre noticed immediately. He would call daily to check in on you, making sure you didn't need anything.

More recently, James had become physical with you. It first started with pushing or shoving you out of his way during an argument. Then one day it all came to a head. You had forgotten to wash his shirt for a work trip, so you wouldn't have time to iron it before he left. This ended up with you shoved into the wall, a hand around your throat as you gasped for air, begging him to let go.

You forgave him, of course. He came back from his work trip with flowers and a beautiful gift in hand. He showered you with kisses and apologies, so you swept it under the rug.

Coming up with excuses as to why you couldn’t hang out or go to events with Pierre was the hard part. He caught on, though you’re sure he assumed it was James not allowing you to go. He didn’t know about the abuse, and you were determined to keep it that way.

Over the last few months, you’d gotten a lot better at hiding the bruises. When Pierre asked to hang out, you'd fake a work trip or illness. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d seen Pierre in person, the limited conversations either over facetime or phone calls.

Now, curled up in a hospital bed, you knew there was no way of keeping it from him. He was your emergency contact. You couldn't recall why this fight started. Unsure if either the concussion or blacking out was the cause. But it was the worst one yet.

There was a sharp pain radiating through your head and a dull ache through the rest of your body. The sound of a chair squeaking caught your attention, pulling your eyes, well eye that wasn’t swollen shut, to the corner of the room. Pierre was there, an angry look on his face, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m guessing you won’t buy the ‘I fell down the stairs’ excuse?” You choke out, trying to lighten his mood. At the sound of your voice, he’s up and sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling one of your hands in his. “Please, don’t joke right now, mon ange.” His voice is scratchy like he’s been crying. “Sorry.” You whisper as you look away, “I don’t like seeing you worry, or seeing you angry.” His hand comes up to brush your hair from your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you.” his voice breaks near the end, his free hand coming up to wipe the tears on his cheek.

“You have enough to worry about, Pear. You didn’t need to worry about me.” He brushes off your explanation, opening his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “It was never this bad, he’s never been this bad. I don’t know what set him off. Everything was fine, and then it wasn’t.” you mutter, taking a deep breath as you watch the emotions flick across his face.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally speaks, “He almost killed you.” You nod, biting your lip as you shift in bed, groaning in pain. “You’ve got a concussion, broken nose, broken wrist, a few broken ribs, a broken ankle and foot. You’re more bruise than you are human at this point. But somehow no internal bleeding, even though he used your stomach as a boxing bag.” his voice trembles as he looks down.

“That explains why I feel like shit, but I’m sure the black eyes bring out my beauty, yeah?” you attempt to joke, earning a token judgemental Pierre glare. Humor had always been your way of coping.

“I thought you were dead when they called.” He admits, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. “Your neighbor Ms. Nancy heard you screaming for help, she called the police. But you were silent by the time they got there. I got the call from the hospital, they had you stable by the time I got here.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you, and I’m sorry for not telling you.” You hesitate, gripping his hand in yours. “It wasn’t bad, in the beginning. He didn’t start any physical stuff until a few months ago - before it was only verbal. But he would always apologize and he was so sweet to be when he got back.” Tears fill your eyes as you continue, “But I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t burden you with that. I had to pull away from you, he would get so mad when he found out I was talking to you. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.” you whisper, squeezing his hand again.

Pierre’s got tears in his eyes when you look up, his mouth twisted in a frown. “I told you to stop protecting me. But that’s not the point right now.” he waves you off as you try to interrupt him. “What matters is you’re safe, he’s in police custody. You’re going to get healthy, the boys will move your things out of the apartment as soon as possible. You will stay with me until you’re healthy and safe.” he stresses.

“Pierre, I ca-” He holds his hand up again, “If the next words are not, ‘thank you, Pierre, I will move in, Pierre.’ I do not want to hear them.” his voice is serious, eyes hard when you look up again.

“Thank you, Pierre. I will move in, Pierre.” You grin, rolling your eyes at him. “He’s lucky that I didn’t get a phone call from Ms. Nancy, or he’d be in the morgue and I’d be in jail for murder.” You nudge him as best you can with your casted arm, leaning your head back on the pillow.

“Can you please not tell anyone this happened?” You ask, “I don’t want to worry anyone else, and I don’t want to deal with all the drama that comes with it.” He’s got a sheepish look on his face as you finish speaking. “I already told Charles, and Charles told Carlos who told Lando. They’re figuring out the logistics of moving your things, the police should be done surveying your apartment soon. Then they can get started.”

A loud groan leaves your throat as you bring your hands up to cover your face, “Pierre.” you mutter, “that’s so embarrassing. They’re going to think I’m so weak and stupid for staying.” His hands pull yours away from your face, pinning them to your sides. “If I ever hear you talking bad about yourself again, you’re going to sit through hours of myself and Charles complimenting you, do you want that? No one will thing you're weak or stupid. No one knows what you went through every day.” he states, voice stern but eyes twinkling. You shake your head, then groan at the pain of your brain rattling around.

“Ugh, okay. That was stupid. I need to rest, I’m getting nauseous again.” Your voice wavers as you speak. “Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” He’s quiet as he pulls the scratchy blanket back up over you, tucking you in. You’re not released until a few days later, but you’re chomping at the bit to get out. Against Pierre’s wishes, you make him take you back to the apartment. A fresh pair of clothes and a phone charger is all you want. The sound of voices greet you when you arrive, crutches and a hovering Pierre behind you.

“Oh, my god.” Lando’s voice is a whisper as you crutch into the kitchen where he’s crouching on the floor. He's cleaning up what looks like broken glass with specks of your blood mixed in. Carlos and Charles rush into the room not a few seconds later, Charles’ hand flying up to his mouth. Carlos muttered a quick, “Ay, dios mio!” before shutting his mouth, staring at you wide-eyed.

“I’m not a spectacle, I’m still the same old me.” You snap before taking a deep breath, looking around the room. There are poorly cleaned trails of your blood across the room, and shattered glass littering the floor. Duffel bags are sitting by the door which you assume has your belongings in it. “Please tell me you’re not cleaning up my blood.” You can’t help the shake in your voice, “Please, this is not your responsibility. Please stop.” you beg, wobbling on your crutches while Pierre grabs onto your hips to hold you up.

“Mon ange, please calm down. They wanted to help, they didn’t want you to come back to a mess when you got your things.” he explains, holding you as you lean your crutches against the wall, then lean back into him for support. “Please stop. I will call someone to deal with this, I want to get my things and go. I want a nap, my body hurts and I just need the emotional support of my friends. I don’t need you to fix my mess.” You can’t help but complain. “I’m very thankful, and I love you all very much. But, I would appreciate if you stop staring at me like a zoo animal and help me carry my things out of here. I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.”

The tremble in your voice snaps them into gear. Carlos grabbing the duffels by the door while Charles and Lando grab whatever boxes they packed from the bedroom and living area.

Once you’re settled on the couch at Pierre’s, Lando insists on unpacking your things into the guest room. You must fall asleep on the couch because when you wake up, your head is in a sleeping Pierre’s lap. Your foot, in the massive boot, propped up on a pillow in Carlos’ lap. Lando and Charles are asleep on the floor in front of the couch and a credit scene is rolling on the TV. Sure, you’ve just gone through the most traumatic thing in your life. But all you needed to heal was being here, with them… and maybe a little (lot) of therapy.