Author's Note/Warning: This chapter contains a rape scene that is the most disturbing scene I have ever written. Though it is not extremely graphic, it still had me in a bad place for hours. If you know this is a trigger for you, you might want to skip it or get into a good frame of mind before attempting to read. You know what you can handle.

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"I don't remember what it's like to not feel broken."
-Unknown

After showering and washing the piss out of his clothes, Gus spent the day panhandling and snatching a couple of wallets in the touristy sections of L.A. With them, he bought himself a sleeping bag, some new clothes, a blanket, a tent and new shoes. He also bought himself a new drawing pad and art supplies. He tossed the wallets into two dumpsters that were miles apart and then made his way back to Skid Row.

With the cash he'd made while panhandling, Gus scored plenty of Ice and crack and also bought a handgun and bullets from one of the hustlers to protect himself like Ida did.

After that he walked a few streets over to a gas station. He knew exactly what he was looking for here, and it wasn't food or water. Gas stations sometimes sold miniature roses in glass bulbs, which were perfect meth pipes. There were a few left at the counter, and Gus bought all of them. Later, he'd rip out the flowers and fill the glass bulbs with crystal. Then when they were too burnt he could break the bulbs off to use the tube portions as crack pipes. All for less than five bucks.

"For someone special?" asked the cashier, and Gus smirked, taking the bag she handed him.

"Super special," he said.

All in all, he'd done well on his first day and still had twenty bucks left over for food and water. He couldn't help but feel pretty smug about his success.

But where to pitch the tent? Night was falling fast. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice and unknowingly squat on someone else's spot.

Gus walked up and down the long stretch of sidewalk before finally finding a small empty place between two other tents. There, he set to work putting the tent together. His neighbors stared at him but didn't say anything, and he didn't say anything to them either. He took that as a sign that they were okay with him being here.

Ida walked by as Gus was unpacking all of his stuff from the trash bag and throwing it inside. She was holding a drink and a large McDonald's bag spotted with grease.

"You're doin' a lot better already," she said, smiling.

Gus stood up proudly. "Yep. Told you I could survive out here."

"Why don't you come over for dinner? I got more than I can eat."

For the moment, Gus's empty stomach overrode his sense of distrust.

"You got chicken nuggets?" he asked hopefully.

"Yep. Fries too."

Gus glanced back at his tent. "So it's okay to just leave this here?"

"You shoulda got a lock for the zippers, but for now just take the important stuff with you. Get used to being robbed. If you have anything that matters to you, carry it all the time. That's a lesson I learned the hard way."

Gus took the drugs and his book. The gun slipped his mind. Back in Chicago he had counted on Hex, who always held their weapons, to protect him. Shaggy had been a good shot too and backed her up if she needed it. On the flip side, Adam missed every shot he ever took and Ember was too scared to touch a gun. Gus had practiced a couple of times himself but took after Adam too. He'd never needed his own weapon and in truth had forgotten he'd even bought the gun today.

As he zipped the tent up, he figured he could just swipe back anything that got stolen. Then he followed Ida down the sidewalk to her space.

If anything was true about Ida, it was that she liked to talk. A lot. Maybe it was just the meth, which Gus had felt obligated to share with her after eating most of the chicken nuggets.

"I ran off when I was twelve. It was the seventies, so drugs were everywhere. It was easier back then. I was pretty too, so I got into whoring pretty early," she said. "I was hooked on ludes before I even knew what addiction was."

"What're those?" Gus asked curiously.

"Quaaludes. They were a big deal back then. They stopped producing 'em in the 80's and you can't find 'em anywhere now."

Gus nodded, slowly spinning the pipe in his mouth as he heated the bulb end with a lighter until the crystal became a vaper he could inhale.

"From there, got married, got addicted, got arrested. All downhill."

"You had kids?" Gus asked, exhaling the white smoke and handing Ida the pipe.

Ida nodded. "Three."

"How old are they?"

"Angie, the oldest, she's 23. Ethan is 21 and Andrew is 17. I haven't seen 'em in almost five years."

"Why?"

"Ashamed of myself I guess. I was a shit mother," Ida said with a shrug.

"They probably wanna see you," Gus said.

Ida didn't reply even after she took a hit. The silence stretched uncomfortably until she pointed at his Boxcar Children book. "That yours?"

Gus grabbed it and hid it beneath the clothes he'd brought. "Yeah."

"Why do you carry it around?" Ida asked with a soft laugh.

"'Cause it's important to me," Gus said, his face hot with embarrassment.

Ida looked at him for a couple of minutes in silence. Then she said,

"You had a mother, Gus?"

Gus shook his head. "Don't remember her, but I wanna meet her someday."

"I figured. Your eyes are real sad."

Gus laughed at the strange statement.

"I'm not sad. I'm happy! People always say I'm the biggest optometrist they ever met!" he exclaimed.

Ida chuckled. "I think you mean optimist."

"Whatever," Gus said with a shrug.

Ida shook her head. "No, I see it. You won't talk about it. Maybe you can't even feel it, but it's there. You're broken. Somethin' broke you a long time ago."

"How the fuck do you know?" Gus asked, feeling defensive.

"When you're homeless, what do you do the most besides scoring drugs and money and gettin' high?"

Gus shrugged. "Hang out with people."

"Exactly. You talk. You observe. You study people. And you get damn good at it. You gotta be able to read people to survive out here. Ya know?"

"Yeah," Gus agreed.

"And I don't think it was one thing that broke you. No, it was a lot of different things, like bombs hittin' a city, takin' you out one piece at a time."

Gus felt uncomfortable and itchy all of the sudden, and he finished his last chicken nugget and stood up.

"I gotta go. You can smoke the rest. See you later," he said, not waiting for Ida's reply.

On the way back to his tent in the dark, Gus couldn't shake off the feeling that had made him leave. He'd felt... exposed. It was almost like Ida knew about all the shameful things that he'd done and all the other shameful things that had been done to him. It unnerved him. The crystal wasn't helping. It made his hands shake.

Sirens wailed and the air was heavy with a thousand smells; urine, car exhaust, pot smoke, dope smoke, crack smoke, and dirty, unwashed people. It would take him a long time to get used to it.

"Hey, look who it is!"

The voice was familiar and sent chills down Gus's spine. It was three of the men from last night... and that was when he realized he'd stupidly left the gun in his tent. He put his head down and tried to move past them unnoticed, but the big man who'd first attacked him grabbed him by the arm and yanked him close. It was once again too dark to make out his features under the large hood he wore. He was every bit as terrifying as the shadow people Adam used to write about in his stories.

"Hey, buddy," the shadow man said lightheartedly. "Let's take a walk."

Something about that cheery voice made Gus's blood run cold. The two other men sandwiched them on both sides so he couldn't get away. The big man kept a heavy hand on his shoulder. Silently, Gus walked forward, trying to think of a way out of this.

"Heard you got set up today. Where's your tent, huh? We're friends, right? Take me to your tent."

Gus swallowed. "No."

"Huh? Speak up. I can't hear you."

"No," he said.

Gus felt the hand move from his shoulder to his skinny neck, the long fingers easily wrapping around most of it.

"Do it or I'll break your neck," the Shadow said softly in a sing-song voice.

When they came to his tent, Gus silently pointed, and one of the men unzipped the flap and shoved him inside. Gus scrambled to get to his feet and pull the gun out of its hiding place under the pile of old clothes he'd left behind, but all three of them were on him in less than a second. The stuff he'd taken with him to Ida's was buried beneath him. He could feel the corner of his book digging into his chest.

"Get his arms!" someone said.

Gus gasped at the sharp pain as his arms were nearly yanked out of their sockets and secured  behind his back with what felt and sounded like layers and layers of duct tape. He squirmed on top of his sleeping bag helplessly.

"Anyone else think we should make him look pretty first?" one of the men asked, and the others laughed.

"This'll do!" another said, holding up one of the markers Gus had bought with his drawing supplies.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!" Gus shouted as the man crouched down with the red marker and grabbed hold of his chin.

"A little lipstick maybe? Some blush?"

Gus couldn't turn his head away while he was held in the strong man's grip. He felt the tip of the marker on his skin and the sound of their laughter filled his ears.

"Take a look!" the man with the marker said, holding up a little mirror.

Gus saw his reflection. They'd written FAG on his forehead, drew clownish circles on his cheeks and an X over his mouth.

"Let's do a little somethin' with his hair too," another one of the men said, and he pulled a huge butcher knife from the leg opening of his jeans.

Gus cried out and writhed helplessly as the two others held him down. Sure he was about to have his throat slit, he squeezed his eyelids shut and prepared for death. But instead the man pulled his shaggy hair into a bunch on the top of his head and sawed it all off in less than a few seconds. Gus saw the wad of his hair in the man's hand.

"Nice little makeover! You look good enough to fuck now. Just make sure you cry and scream. I like that."

Laughter, laughter, laughter. And his screams and sobs. The two horrific sounds filled his whole body.

"Please let me go!" Gus cried again. If he could just get to the gun...

"Want me to gag him?" asked the man who was still holding his hair.

"No," answered the Shadow. "I wanna hear him scream, like I said."

"LET ME GO! I JUST WANNA BE LEFT ALONE! I WON'T BOTHER YOU AGAIN I SWEAR!" Gus shouted desperately, the thought of what would happen next twisting his insides.

The shadow man grabbed the butchered ends of his hair and yanked his head up.

"Fine. I'll leave you alone after we're square. But I said you'd pay, you little bitch!" the man hissed in his ear. Then to the others he said, "Stand outside and make sure no one comes close to this tent. They try to help him, you shoot 'em."

Gus was desperately trying to get his hands free as he felt the man yank his pants down. He heard the jingling sound of the man's belt buckle. Then a white hot pain shot through him, and he could do nothing but scream. He screamed and screamed and screamed. His lungs burned like they were on fire. His body was crushed like a cigarette under a dirty boot.

He knew his neighbors heard, knew there were people walking by, glancing into the tent, seeing what was happening to him, and going on anyway. No one saved him. No one even tried. He simply didn't matter to anyone.

It was minutes that felt like hours. During those minutes, Gus was sure he was dying, but if that was true, why was he still aware of every horrifying second? Hot tears ran down his face and onto the sleeping bag beneath him. The corner of his book was digging into his ribcage, making it hard to breathe with his face already smashed against the sleeping bag. He couldn't think, couldn't get away even in his head, couldn't move, couldn't fight back. His wrists, slippery with sweat, twisted repeatedly against the Duct tape as he tried in vain to free his hands and get away.

Then it was over. The man yanked his head up again. Tears were pouring down Gus's cheeks as he choked and sobbed.

"I enjoyed that. Next time you run your mouth, it'll be two of us. Got it, faggot?"

Gus nodded frantically. The man let go of his hair, and he collapsed onto his sleeping bag. He heard the tent flap open, laughter, footsteps. And then he was left alone with his hands still bound and his jeans around his knees. All he could do was sob in agony.

"Adam!"

He cried out the name without thinking. And once he did he cried harder because he remembered that Adam would never respond.

Gus curled up in the fetal position and closed his eyes. As he cried he had the sensation he was sinking into some darkness, like quicksand pulling him under, a darkness he could never escape. Everything inside of him was telling him to let go and allow that darkness to swallow him.

That was when he felt the hand gently stroking his hair. He opened his eyes and saw Adam laying beside him. It wasn't possible. There was no way it was real. And yet, here they were.

"Adam, take me with you!" he sobbed hopelessly.

Adam said nothing. He was wearing his signature beanie hat and hoodie, and he pulled Gus into his arms and held him tenderly. Gus could feel him kissing his head just like he used to on the bad nights when they would sleep close enough to keep both of their nightmares away. A soft buzzing sensation like static electricity ran through his hair. Adam's familiar smell filled Gus's nostrils, comforting him. Adam was dead. Yet, in every way that mattered, he was here. How it was possible, Gus didn't know.

"But I am with you," Adam said.

"I want to die! I wanna be dead like you!" Gus sobbed.

"Not yet," Adam whispered.

He wiped the tears off Gus's cheeks and kissed the places they had touched. His lips were cool, and there was that same sensation of static electricity. Gus closed his eyes and let this fantasy engulf him. Whether it was brought on by drugs or trauma or even if Adam was really here, it didn't matter. It gave him the strength he needed to survive this moment.

"Go to Ida's," Adam said softly.

Gus felt a warm wave of strength flow through his limbs. Adam was gone when he opened his eyes again, but he had the strength to get up onto his knees.

All of his thoughts were focused on Adam's last words, that he had to get back to Ida's. He had to get back to Ida's. Hands still tied, Gus stood to his feet crying out in pain. With his tied hands he held his pants up in the back as he shuffled slowly down the filthy sidewalk.

By the time he got to Ida's, he was lightheaded and weak, the Ice making his heart pound too hard, and he sunk down onto his knees. Desperately, he clawed at the tent zipper with his fingertips.

"Who the fuck is it?" Ida yelled.

"Me. Gus," he choked out.

Ida opened the tent, saw him at her feet and immediately said, "Oh honey, come in."

Sobbing brokenly, Gus knee walked into her tent and curled up in one of the dark corners. Ida sat down in front of him and stroked his dark hair like Adam had and cleaned the marker off his sweaty, tear-streaked face with a damp rag. She didn't ask what had happened, and he didn't tell her. All she did was stroke his hair and whisper soothing words, and that was enough. For the first time since Chicago, he felt he'd found home.