Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Turn around.” The command was barked, angry, and loud. The only way Mike knew how to speak. Steely, angry eyes slid over Cassius as he spun around. “Roll up your sleeves, and unbutton your top button. You look like a waiter like that..” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a suggestion. He didn’t argue. Cass had stopped doing that a long time ago. Arguing was disrespectful. Disrespect was met with violence.

His hands immediately went to the white and black checkered dress shirt. He unbuttoned the collar, and let it fall open. Carefully, he rolled up the sleeves.

Mike was king of their home. He ruled with an iron fist. His word was law, and anyone dumb enough to defy him suffered the consequences. Cassius still wore the bruises from the last time he hadn’t picked his words as carefully as he should have. It was a fact of life in their home. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and eventually Mike would lose his temper, and someone – probably Cass – was going to get hurt over it.

Mike’s coworkers were coming over tonight, and that meant Cass was expected to put on a happy face, and pretend like he wasn't a prisoner in his own home. It meant cooking a three course meal that Mike had planned. It meant filling drinks, and keeping an easy sort of conversation flowing. These nights were pure torment.

Back before Mike's darkness had swallowed his life whole, Cass had a job. He had been a nurse, and he worked in a hospital. He met a girl there by the name of Jennifer, the two of them became inseparable quickly. They did everything together, shopping, movie nights, grabbing dinner after a hard shift, scoping out guys. Everything.

She had tried to warn Cassius about Mike when they first started dating. She said he had crazy eyes, and a way of talking that made her immensely uncomfortable. Cass thought she was being dramatic. Not that he had any reason to believe that. Jennifer was one of the most level-headed, intelligent people he had ever met.

Still, Cass ignored her.

He dated Mike for almost a full year, and in that time, he'd managed to systematically distance Cass from every person he knew. Mike was conniving, he spun tales of jealous friends, and lying tongues. Cassius believed him.

Jennifer was the last friend he cut out. She'd cried the night Cass told her he didn't want to talk anymore. She hugged him. She begged him to reconsider. She told him he was in an abusive relationship. He'd looked her in the eye and told her Mike loved him.

He was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

After forcing Cass into isolation, Mike went from being a little overbearing, and suffocating, to controlling and manipulative.

If things had stopped there, perhaps Cass could have been happy. But, of course, it didn't.

It started slow. The first time it happened, they were entertaining guests. Cassius was, as always, in charge of cooking. Dinner was late. Just fifteen minutes. Cassius didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. The moment their guests left, Mike taught him otherwise.

It was the first time Mike had ever hit him.

Cassius had cried, and Mike had sworn that it would never happen again.

Like an idiot, he believed him. Mike was a cop for Christ’s sake. Of course he was stressed out. He had one of the hardest jobs imaginable. Cass let it go, and told himself it’d never happen again. And when it did, he made excuses for him.

Soon it was all too familiar. Black eyes, swollen lips, blood and bruises were all common place.

And then there were the cuffs.

The fucking cuffs. He hated the god damned cuffs, almost as much as he hated the veritable cage in the back of Mike’s squad car.

Now, things had escalated so far out of control, that Cassius was going to have to leave. He didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t get out soon, Mike was going to kill him.

He had a plan…well, it was less of a plan, and more of an idea. He was going to call Miguel, his foster father. No one fucked with Miguel. The man was a fucking giant. He was that special mixture of fat and muscular that was somehow more intimidating than just muscle. And he was going to hope that Miguel would help him.

Cassius glanced up at the clock. It was seven thirty, guests would be arriving any moment. He glanced down at the black and white checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up a quarter length, exposing just half his forearm. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” Mike was nervous, he could hear it in his voice. Despite how often they entertained, Mike hated having company. It made him anxious. He’d obsess over whether or not the house was clean enough, going through room after room looking for the smallest imperfections. Cass knew, because he’d spent a combined sixteen hours cleaning, scrubbing, and re-cleaning the house over the course of the last two days, and still, nothing was good enough for him. Cass’s slacking as Mike called it, had earned him a few new bruises, now carefully concealed by three-quarter sleeves.

Cassius stood, fidgeting at the counter, looking for anything at all to distract himself from the way Mike was staring at him. “Are you just going to stand there like an idiot?” Cassius winced at the words. It was amazing how good Mike was at making him feel like garbage. He would have thought that the constant barrage of insults should have hurt a lot less over the years, but they didn’t. They cut just as deep as they had the first time.

Pressing hands against the countertop to stop the shaking – because that only made matters worse – Cassius stole a glance up. Mike was pissed. His brows were pulled down, a deep frown settled along his lips. Fuck. What did he do? He looked around, hoping to find whatever was irritating his fiancé. The hanging basket of fruit was set nearly atop the counter. The dining room table and chairs were perfectly aligned along the rug. The hard wood floors had been scrubbed and polished until they gleamed. Black counter tops sparkled against the harsh light of the kitchen. The sink…shit the sink. A pairing knife and a plate sat at the bottom of the otherwise spotless sink. Cassius had cut fruit, and had the audacity to forget about it. “Oh I – I’m sorry.” He said, quickly snatching up a washrag. Just as the water had begun to heat, and bubbles had begun to form, there was a knock at the door. Cass’s heart sank. His stomach flipped. His breath caught in his throat.

“Well, never mind now.” Mike growled. He narrowed his eyes, shooting Cass a death glare that made his blood run cold. “Good job, dumb ass. This has got to be some sort of record. Fucking up the night before anyone even arrives. You should be proud. Really. Great job. You’re impressively stupid.”

God, Mike knew exactly what to say to make Cassius want to curl up and die. “I’m so sorry.” He pleaded, hurriedly snatching up the plate. “I can wash them really quick, no one –“

“No one will what?” The anger that rolled through those words was enough to make Cass stop in his tracks. This was not good. Fuck. Mike had that look about him, the one that he got right before Cassius caught hell.

Mike’s hand shot out, grabbing Cass by the shirt, and pulling him so roughly that his feet lifted off the ground. The counter dug into his thighs, but he couldn’t think past the blinding panic. His heart leapt. His breath hitched. The knock rang out a second time. Mike’s lip curled in disgust. “You cannot actually be this fucking stupid. I swear to god if you don’t start acting like you’ve got a fucking brain, I will make some shit up about you being sick, and I will show you why that is a bad idea.”

Cassius couldn’t breathe. His heart was thrumming against his chest with such ferocity that he was sure it would actually claw its way out. He shook his head rapidly, but he couldn’t find his fucking voice, and Mike was glaring at him again. He was going to die. He was going to fucking die.

Mike pulled back a fist, and mercifully Cass’s tongue decided it did work after all. “No. No. Please, no. I’m sorry. I’ll stop being stupid. I’ll go get the door.” Mike didn’t look convinced, and for a heart-stopping moment, Cass was sure that Mike was going to do it. “Please.” He whimpered. “Please, let me get the door.”

The moment Mike’s fingers uncurled from around his shirt, Cassius darted out of the kitchen. Mike was mumbling something he didn’t catch. It took a great deal of effort to plaster his biggest I’m-happy-I-swear smile on his face. With shaking hands, he opened the door.

“Hello!” The cheerful voice sounded foreign to Cass, even as it left his lips. “It’s good to see you again! Come on in!” Greg, a very kind, middle aged man with red hair and the brightest green eyes Cass had ever seen walked inside. Behind him, trailed his wife, Darlene, whom Cass had only met a handful of times. She was sweet, with a thick southern accent to match his own. She tucked cornsilk blonde hair behind her ear, and plastered a smile almost as wide as his own on pink-painted lips.

“It’s been too long!” Darlene answered, looking Cass up and down. “You look good! Have you lost weight?”

Good was not the word Cass would have used. Sick. That was a better description. His nerves had gotten the best of him, and he found that he could hardly manage to choke down anything at all throughout the day, and when he did, it came back up. But there was an image to maintain. Not his, of course. Mike’s, and that was far more important. So he widened his smile, and lied through his teeth. “Thank you!” He gave her a cheeky smile, and a half-spin. “I took up running.” It was the only thing he could think of, aside from the stomach flu, that would have slimmed him down so much without building any muscle in return.

Cassius shut the door behind them, and the trio made their way toward the kitchen. “You look great! I wish I was that dedicated to fitness.” Darlene patted her small belly. She wasn’t overweight. She had the smallest amount of extra weight around her midsection, earned through having three children.

“Oh, shut up.” Cassius laughed, and God, that laugh sounded so fucking sincere, he almost bought it himself. “You’re gorgeous.”

Darlene blushed, and Greg leaned in to kiss her cheek. “He’s right.” He purred, just loud enough for Cass to hear. Greg knew he was gay, and yet still got bristly every time Cass’s eyes wandered over to his wife.

“Oh stop it.” She said, pushing her husband away gently. Mike offered the two a smile. He let his shoulders slump in that relaxed way they’d had when Cass had first started dating him. In these moments, Mike looked like the harmless man that he’d once fallen for.

God, how Cass missed that version of him. Now he was just a monster. Not that anyone would have believed him. Mike had made that clear, and Cass couldn’t deny his logic. Mike was a cop. Cass was just a faggot from AppleGate Florida, home of swamps, gators, FloridaMan, and fucking nothing else.

“Hey! Mike! How’s it going?” Greg perked right up upon seeing him.

“Good! Good! How are the kids?” Mike asked, as he handed the two of them a champagne glass. He had gone all out. All part of the act. The meticulous web of lies he’d weaved over the hcourse of years to convince the people around him he was a person, rather than a beast.

“They’re doing great! I took Victor to his first baseball game last week. He loved it!”

Cass smiled at that. It was always nice to see how people with loving families acted. It always felt so warm, so real, like he could reach out and touch it. All he had here, in Mike’s home, were cold stares, and hard fists.

Mike motioned to the living room. “Why don’t we get comfortable while we wait for everyone else?” Despite being a bundle of nerves about the dinner, Mike acted as if entertaining came as easily to him as breathing.

The night dragged on, six people out of eight invited came. No one really expected Harry and his wife to make an appearance. He was Mike’s older brother, and only showed on occasions that could benefit him. Just like Mike, he was a selfish prick, who could think of no one but himself. And just like Mike, he’d lured some poor person into his trap, only to keep her hostage.

Her name was Rita. Cassius had seen her bruises. They’d never talked about it, mostly because they were never allotted any time alone. But Cass made sure to lift his shirt one day, just enough so she could catch a glimpse of his own smattering of green and black colored skin. A testament to Mike’s temper. Their eyes had met, and suddenly, it was like he wasn’t so alone. There was someone in the world who understood. It was almost freeing. Almost.

Dinner went without a hitch. Several of the guests went on to compliment the food. Mike was sure to show Cassius off, talking about his skilled he was in the kitchen. He took credit for it, of course. Spinning some bullshit lie about buying Cass courses, and book, and insisting that he follow his passion.

It was disgustingly infuriating. Cassius doubted he even knew how he’d learned. The fact of the matter was, his grandmother had taught him. The very same grandmother that Mike had referred to as some dead bitch when he’d caught Cass crying over the anniversary of her death.

Cass’s success in the culinary arts had nothing to do with Mike, except maybe that he forced him into the kitchen every day. But that didn’t stop him from taking credit. He was constantly boasting to family and friends about Cassius’s talents. As far as Mike was concerned, Cass was nothing more than a party trick. But he didn’t complain, he knew better than that. Or, at least, he usually did. Apparently an empty stomach and a single glass of champagne had bolstered his courage, because just as Matthrew had complimented the pie for the second time, and Mike told him it was the one found inside the book he’d gifted Cass for Christmas…Cass did the stupidest fucking thing he’d ever done. He opened his mouth.

“Actually, that recipe is my grandmother’s. It was her favorite. We made it every year for Christmas before she died.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Cassius recognized his mistake.

Mike smiled tightly, his eyes grew a shade darker. “Oh.” Cass wasn’t sure if anyone else had heard the subtle change in his voice, or if he’d just seen enough of Mike’s blow ups to know what was next. Either way, that single word was enough to force adrenaline through his veins, and make his mostly empty stomach lurch.

Cassius spent the next two hours preparing an apology. Trying to figure out a way to weasel out of the barrage of fists and screams he knew was coming. He mulled over excuse. I had too much to drink. I didn’t realize you’d said otherwise. I was just thinking of my grandma. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.

But as the night drew to a close, the anxiety that bubbled up in his stomach only got worse. He pushed down tears, and swallowed back vomit that climbed up his throat, as he bid the last of the guests goodnight. The door closed behind them, and suddenly, he was alone with his monster.

Cassius spun around, walking quickly to the kitchen to begin cleaning up. Maybe if he did the chores without complaint, or having to be told, Mike would be a little more lenient. Cass piled dishes up, and began filling the sink with hot, sudsy water. Mike let him stay there, completely alone, for what felt like years. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes though, because he only got through half the dishes before he came into the kitchen.

When Mike was angry, he walked like a cop. All attitude and urgency. His strides were clipped. His hands balled at his sides. His eyes hard as stone. He stopped directly beside the table, and stared death at Cassius.

For several long seconds, they stood in utter silence. Cass too afraid to speak, or look up. Mike apparently too preoccupied with trying to scare the shit out of him to bother with talking.

Cass tried to keep his breathing level. Reminding himself about the techniques he used to preach to his patients. Usually it was enough to stave off a panic attack, but not today. His chest was tight, his head was swimming, everything was happening inside a fog.

A chanced glance upward, and Cassius winced away. Mike’s features had gone dark. His jaw was tight, he was grinding his teeth – something he only did when Cass had really fucked up. His arms were crossed over his chest, his lips curled in disgust. Anger absolutely radiated off him. Cass’s breath hitched, and he tried to remember all those really good excuses he’d come up with just a few minutes prior, but no matter how desperately he tried, he couldn’t. That, apparently, was not enough to stop his mouth. “Mike, I’m so sorry, I didn’t –“

Cassius wasn’t really sure what he had been about to say, but it didn’t really matter, because before he could get another word out, Mike lunged forward. He grabbed the closest thing to him – the half eaten pie – and threw it as hard as he could. It careened past Cassius’s head, and exploded against the cabinets behind him. The glass hsttered, hitting the ground with a clinking noise that made him jump out of his skin.

A yelp, and a backward stumble were all that Cass had gotten out before Mike practically ran at him. He jolted back, glass crunching against his shoes. His back hit the wall. He shrank down against it. Mike’s hands banded around Cassius’s upper arm, and pulled him up to his feet. His cry was met with a fist. Mike’s hands tightened against his arms like a vice. Fingers dug so harshly into skin that he had to stifle another yelp.

Mike slammed him against the wall. The whole house shook. “How fucking dare you.” He seethed, in that quiet tone that was heavy with violence. “You made me look like a liar in front of everyone.”

Tears streamed down Cass’s cheeks. He was still trying to fight off the panic attack to no avail. His chest ached. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a full breath. His heart thrummed against his ribcage. “No! No! I’m sorry! I was just saying you were remembering wrong! I’d never all you a liar! I’d never –“

Before he could finish his thought, Mike’s fist collided with his jaw. His head snapped back, connecting with the wall behind him. He hit it so hard it made his teeth clatter. “Shut up!” Mike shouted, nose just centimeters from his own.

Cass didn’t argue.

He’d done enough of that for the day.

Instead, he focused on trying to breathe. Trying to stave away the panic that was slowly swallowing him up.

Mike pulled him away from the wall, and drug him through the kitchen. Their feet trampled through pie, but Mike never stopped. Instead, he pulled Cass through the carpeted hallways, and into the bedroom. Cass knew he’d hear about this later. Mike would frame the mess as his fault, and he’d be tasked with cleaning it in a certain period of time…or else.

Cassius pushed the thoughts away. He could focus on how to clean whipped cream and lime filling out of white carpeting later. For now, he had to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. In and –

Cassius was whirled around, and shoved, face-first into a wall. His cheek pressed so hard against it that his jaw ached. No, no, no! Panic wrapped withering fingers around him. Fuck! Mike was going to cuff him! He was going to beat the absolute shit out of him, and then he was going to cuff him, and it would get so much worse.

“No! Please! Mike! No!” He shouted through panicked, ragged breaths.

“I warned you!” Mike hissed. “I fucking warned you! I told you that if you didn’t start acting like you had some fucking sense, I was going to make you regret it. But you wouldn’t listen! You never fucking listen to me!” That was a lie. Cassius’s entire life had become a game of trying to do exactly what he was told, in the shortest amount of time.

Cassius nodded along, agreeing with everything Mike said, and offering tearful apologies. It didn’t work. He continued to shout, his fist connecting with Cass’s side over and over again until Cass was certain he’d broken or ruptured something. His sobs and cries of pain did nothing to slow Mike.

When the barrage of angry fists ended, Cassius wanted to die.

Once upon a time, he would have thought it was over. But he knew better now. “Mike! Please, no! Please don’t!” He begged.

“Don’t make me chase you. You remember what happened last time?” Mike asked, and Cass could do little more than nod through panicked sobs.

Mike opened the nightstand drawer. Cassius’s hands shook at his sides, as he fought for every breath that filled his lungs. His legs wobbled beneath him. The edges of his vision began to go fuzzy. Mike stalked forward, cuffs in hand.

It was stupid.

It was unforgivable.

Cassius ran.

He careened down the hall, skidding over the broken glass and mush. He made a sharp turn, and almost made it to the door before Mike’s heavy hand landed firmly on his shoulder. With all the force of a freight train, Mike pulled him back. Cass landed squarely on his back. Pain sprang to life. Air was stolen from his lungs. Before he could recover, Mike forced him to roll over. His knee dug into the small of Cass’s back. He hated them. They made him helpless. They made him compliant. Mike wrenched his arms behind his back, and for one terrifying moment, Cass thought he might break it again. He screamed, a horrible, involuntary, guttural noise. Mike’s fist collided with his back. “Shut up! This is your fault! I warned you! You brought this on yourself Cass!”

The sound of cuffs tightening against his wrists echoed into the semi-silence. Cass crumbled. He pleaded, he begged, he cried, but nothing stopped Mike. It never did.

Mike rolled him over, so Cass was facing him. His booted foot collided with his side. “Shut up!” He screamed, kneeling down beside him. “Shut up, or I’ll kill you, I swear to god, I will shoot you right now, and when I tell everyone that it was self-defense, they’ll believe me. I won’t serve a god damned day behind bars. I’ll bury you, and every year, on the anniversary of the day I blew your fucking brains out, I’ll piss on your grave. You fucking got it?” He demanded.

Cass could hardly hear him over the sound of his own heart. He clamped his lips shut tightly, and bit down on the them with all the force he could muster.

And then it happened.

The one thing that reduced Cass to a crumpled mess.

Mike wrapped his hands around his neck, and squeezed. He’d discovered, a few months ago, that Cass had a crippling fear of suffocation, and he exploited it at every turn.

Cass gasped for air, but Mike’s hands only tightened. “You’re never going to run again, are you?” The anger in Mike’s voice had leaked away, leaving something far more sinister in its wake. His eyes were alive with what Cass could only describe as joy. “Because if you ever do it again, I’m going to kill you. Just like this. I’m going to cuff you, and I’m going to choke you until you stop moving. You understand?”

Cassius tried to answer, he tried to tell Mike that he understood, but try he might, he couldn’t force the words from his mouth. “What’s that?” Mike asked, his hands tightening again. Cass’s gasping went quiet, despite the desperate way he gulped for air. His lungs ached. His eyes widened. He’d finally done it. He’d finally pushed Mike too far, and now, he was going to die. “I can’t hear you, Cassius. Speak up.”

Dark spots appeared in his vison. The blurred edges of his sight had overtaken almost the entirety of his vision so that even Mike was nothing more than a vague blur. In desperation , he tried to wriggle out of the cuffs. They nipped at his skin, biting into his wrists. But they refused to budge. There was no way out of this. Not this time.

“LOOK AT ME!” Mike screamed. Cassius hadn’t realized until then that his eyes had wandered. His attention snapped back, and mercifully, Mike stopped.

Cass’s throat burned as he gasped for air. He choked, and sputtered, and sobbed. And Mike just stood up, and left him there.