Moving with quiet determination, he rolls Jesse over onto his back, pinning him down with his sheer weight.
"What--no, Garth, stop!" Jesse yells, his eyes wide with instant terror. "You promised! Remember? You swore!"
"I know," Garth mumbles, his breath hot and ragged. "But I can't help it. I'm sorry."
"Let me go!" Jesse thrashes, but Garth is too strong. With a practiced move, Garth grabs Jesse's wrists and pins them behind his back. He uses a piece of rope-- saved from the wreckage--to tie them tightly.
"No! Please, don't!" Jesse's voice cracks, tears already starting as he panics.
But Garth is beyond listening. He looks down at the young face below him, the tears glistening in the starlight. Something stirs in him, something that isn't quite lust. A warped, twisted sense of intimacy.
"It's okay," he whispers, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "I love you, Jesse."
The words fall into the night, empty and hollow. Jesse sobs harder.
Garth leans down and kisses him, a long, slow kiss. Jesse turns his head away, but Garth follows his mouth, forcing his tongue inside. His hands roam freely over Jesse's body, not with force, but with a gross, possessive tenderness. He strokes his chest, his stomach, his thighs. It's the way he would touch a lover, not a victim.
"Shh, just feel it," he breathes against Jesse's lips. "It can be good. Let it be good for both of us."
He enters him, slowly, with none of the brutal haste of the first time. This is a lover's pace. Jesse gasps, a sob caught in his throat. He tries to scrambled away, but his tied arms and Garth's weight pin him in place.
"You feel so good," Garth groans, beginning a slow, rhythmic motion. He kisses Jesse's neck, his shoulder, any part of him he can reach. "I love you. I love you so much."
Jesse lies there, his body rigid with terror, his tears falling silently into the sand. The hours drag on. Garth makes love to him, passionate and relentless, whispering his warped declarations of love into the night. The first rape was terrifying. This one is unbearable. Two hours. It last two grueling, eternal hours.
Finally, with a loud cry, Garth finds his release, spilling himself inside Jesse. At the same moment, he feels Jesse's body jerk, hears his gasp, and feels the warm spill between their bodies. Jesse's body, betrayed by itself, had culminated alongside his rapist.
Morning comes slowly, painting the sky in pastels. Garth has held Jesse close all night, his body spooned around the younger man's trembling frame. Now, he cuts the ropes. Jesse's arms fall limply, the skin raw and red.
"Are you okay?" Garth asks, the question absurd even as he asks it.
Jesse scrambles away, scooting backwards until his back hits a palm tree. He pulls his knees to his chest, rocking gently. Then the sobs start. Soft sobs that quickly escalate into loud, hysterical wailing. The sound echoes off the rocks, a primal scream of betrayal.
"Jesse, please, calm down..." Garth reaches out a hand, but Jesse flinches away as if struck.
"You promised!" The words come out in a wailing gasp. "You promised you wouldn't do it again! You swore to God! How could you?!" How could you do this to me?!"
Garth sits there, paralyzed, as the sun creeps higher. "I'm sorry," he whispers, the words patchy and inadequate. "I'm so sorry, Jesse."
"You said you loved me!" Jesse screams, tears and sand streaking his face. "You don't love me. You can't love someone and do this. This isn't love. It's evil."
"I know," Garth croaks, his own face wet. "I know. I'm a monster. I'm sorry."
"Get away from me!" Jesse howls, pulling his knees tighter. "Don't touch me! Never touch me again!"
Garth sits hunched over, watching the young man he has irreparably broken. The sun rises, casting long shadows across the sand. Jesse's sobbing fills the air all day, a heartbreaking melody that never ceases. Garth just sits there, unable to comfort, unable to fix anything, unable to do anything but watch the destruction he has wrought.
****
Weeks pass.
Jesse sits for hours staring at the ocean, his eyes empty, his body present but his mind clearly somewhere else. Tears streak down his face without him seeming to notice. He doesn't eat. When Garth puts food in front of him, it sits there until it rots. When Garth offers water, he turns his head away. It's as if he's trying to will himself out of existence.
"Please, Jesse," Garth pleads, his voice raw with desperation. "You have to eat. You'll die."
No response. Just that hollow stare.
So Garth starts holding him. He sits behind Jesse, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. At first, Jesse goes rigid, but he's too weak to resist. He shivers uncontrollably.
"It's okay," Garth whispers, rocking him gently. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Just let it out. Let it all out."
And Jesse does. He sobs for hours, his body racked with the force of his grief. Garth holds him through it all, murmuring soothing words, wiping the tears from his cheeks.
"I love you," he says, over and over. "I love you, Jesse. I'm sorry. I love you."
****
Three weeks later.
It's night. Jesse is finally asleep in Garth's arms, his breathing almost even. Garth lies awake, staring at the stars, listening to the soft inhale and exhale.
"I love him," he thinks, and the thought hits him with the force of a physical blow. He looks down at the young man's face, still swollen from crying, still traced with the ghosts of pain.
"I actually love him."
It's not a lie. It's not a justification. It's a realization, as cold and hard and unavoidable as the rocks on the island. This boy, this broken boy in his arms, is the only person in the world. And Garth loves him. Not the way a man loves a woman. Not the way a father loves a son. But some third thing, twisted and warped by isolation and guilt and the sheer, overwhelming need for human connection.
"I love you," he whispers into the silence, the words feeling both true and hideous. "I love you, Jesse."
****
(The morning sun casts long shadows across the sand. Garth sits up, stretching, his eyes landing on Jesse, who is huddled a few feet away, staring at the ground.)
"Good morning, Samantha," Garth says, his voice cheerful and warm. "Did you sleep well?"
Jesse's head snaps up, confusion and disbelief on his face. "What? Who is Samantha? I'm Jesse."
Garth laughs, a warm, affectionate sound. "Stop that, honey. You're so funny in the mornings. C'mon, I got some coconut here for you. You need to eat, keep up your strength."
He scoots over, holding out a piece of fruit. Jesse shifts away, his eyes wide.
"Listen to me," he says, trying to keep his voice calm. "My name is Jesse. I am a man. Do you understand?"
Garth stares at him for a long moment, then his face softens into an indulgent smile. "You're so sweet when you play like that. You're such a child at heart. But you don't have to pretend with me, Sam. I'm your husband. You can be yourself."
"I am being myself!" Jesse's voice rises in frustration. "You're not listening! Something is wrong with you!"
Garth just shakes his head, the smile never fading. "Eat your breakfast, honey. You'll feel better."
****
That night, the sun sets, and with it, any semblance of normalcy. Garth strolls over to where Jesse sits, his expression anticipatory.
"Time for bed, Samantha," he says, reaching for his wrist.
Jesse jerks away, scrambling to his feet. "No! Leave me alone! You can't do this again!"
"Calm down," Garth says, his voice patient, as if soothing a frightened animal. "We're married. This is what married people do. It's normal."
"It's not normal! You're insane!"
Garth sighs, a sound of mild disappointment. "You always get so hysterical at night. C'mon, let's not fight."
He grabs Jesse firmly, pulling him to the makeshift bed. Jesse kicks, screams, tries to bite, but Garth is immovable. He pins him down, his strength effortless.
"Shh," he murmurs, unbuttoning his own pants. "I love you, Sam. You know I love you."
"Please, stop," Jesse sobs, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. Garth proceeds, gentle in his actions but absolute in his conviction. There are no apologies, no hesitation. Just the steady, unstoppable movement of a man who believes he is exercising his conjugal rights.
"Shh, it's okay," he whispers, rocking gently. "Just relax. I've got you. You're my good girl."
****
Two nights later, Jesse has stopped screaming. His throat is raw, his spirit crushed. When Garth approaches, he simply lies there, staring at the sky, tears silently streaking down his face.
"That's my good girl," Garth says, stroking his hair. "You're learning. I knew you'd come around."
"I'm not a girl," Jesse whispers, but the words are weak, an echo of a fight he's lost.
Garth just smiles, kissing his forehead. "Sleep now, Sam. I'll be here when you wake up."
****
By the end of the week, the island has a new routine. Garth spends his days fishing and foraging, chatting cheerfully with "Samantha" about the weather, about building a better shelter, about their future. Jesse sits silently, occasionally nodding or shaking his head, his reactions mechanical.
"You know," Garth says one evening, arm around "Samantha" as they watch the sunset, "I think this is the happiest I've ever been. Just us, y'know? No one to answer to. Just living our lives."
Jesse says nothing. His eyes are dry now. They have been dry for days.
"I love you, Sam," Garth says, pulling her closer.
And in his warped reality, in his isolation-bred insanity, he means it with every fiber of his being.
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