Heart of Steel Ch. 03

[Author's Note: Well here it is my friends, the final part of my little story. Thanks for all of your comments, they've been very helpful and encouraging. That note on character archetypes was much appreciated. You guys make all of the effort I put into my stories so worth while. This story was very personal and cathartic to write, so all of the feedback--both praise and criticism--is so appreciated. Oh and sorry about the slashes, I can't get my italics to work--the reason being fairly complicated--so /this/ will have to do. Hope it's not too distracting. Anyway, enjoy the tale. Reviews are always welcome.]

Chapter 11: Dreams

The Christmas day celebration was small, but warm with that familial intimacy so beloved of such holidays. They sat together around a decorated tree and opened gifts. Tristan's parents had grown to like Maul, even if they disapproved of her "familiarity" with Tristan. They'd purchased for her a gift: a pretty black dress that appeared to be just her size. Maul was, of course, delighted by the sweetness of the gesture. She had no gifts for the family at large, having not prepared, but something special for Tristan. It was not wrapped, but simply produced from her pocket: a small knife with a silver handle and leather sheath.

"My father carried this," she explained to him, "because he never wanted to be without protection of some sort. I want you to feel that same sense of protection, always, even when you are alone."

"Thank you, Maul." Tristan breathed, awed by the silver-handled blade with its keen edge and overpowering significance.

The day after Christmas, they returned to Pine Ridge, back to Tristan's apartment. After unpacking, the two started on a short walk around the town, just to enjoy each other's company and the brisk weather. Tristan noticed however, as they walked, that Maul was being somewhat reserved. An alarming shift, given her typical mood and energy. They stopped for a brief rest at a public pavilion and sat, across from each other at a small, circular table. Maul was still quiet, and Tristan could stand it no longer.

"Maul," he asked, "what's on your mind? You seem, regretful or sad. Did you not want to give me that knife? I know how special it must be."

"It is special," she agreed, "but it's not what's bothering me."

"Then what?"

Maul sighed, reaching across the table and taking one of Tristan's hands, holding it in both of her's, and kneading his palm with her thumbs. An odd habit, but one she defaulted to when she sat across from him. She took a deep breath and spoke.

"Do you think we moved too fast?" she asked, at last. "It's been so little time, can you really be ready for all of this. I don't want to force you into anything before you're ready."

Tristan looked at her, for a long time, quietly thinking. / She's right, this has all happened so fast it's overwhelming, but life doesn't just stop for me, and I feel ready for this./ Tristan assured himself of this mentally before speaking.

"Maul," he said, "I know this was fast, but I promise you that I would speak up, or panic attack out, if anything was happening that I didn't want. This was really fast, for both of us, but it feels natural, right?"

"It does."

"I can't think of how else our relationship would play out," he admitted, "fast, passionate, like a good metal song."

"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." Maul said honestly, squeezing his hand. "So you're okay with this all then, yes?"

"Absolutely."

And Maul kissed him.

The truth was, things had progressed far quicker than Tristan had imagined. But he couldn't imagine them taking a different turn. That is, a different turn with positive results. He could very much imagine himself, friendless and out of school, cooped up in his room and horrified at the sound of any female voice: the very picture of misogyny. But the way things had gone, the turn of events that had led him to this very spot now, with Maul, was just perfect for him. Not at all what he'd predicted for himself, not nearly so soon, but amazing nonetheless.

That night, Tristan and Maul returned to his apartment. After a few drinks, they lay together, naked, in Tristan's bed, cuddled close. Maul was semi-drunkenly rambling to Tristan about how much fun they would have if they could control the fabric of reality. Funny and innovative as her ideas were, Tristan was exhausted and drifted quickly into slumber. But his slumber was not peaceful.

He was lying in bed, his arms around Maul, his eyes closed. Gradually, his eyes came open and he looked down at Maul, whose head was buried in his chest. / Her hair is black!/ Tristan's realization propelled him back in his bed, just as "Maul" looked up. / Mai./ She smiled sleepily at Tristan and moved toward him.

"I knew you loved me, Tristan." she squealed excitedly, pulling him closer to her. "You can't keep me off your mind."

"No! No, get away from me!" Tristan protested. "Leave me alone. Maul! Help me!"

"Girls," Mai called, "Tristan is being mean to me."

Then Crystal and Hilja were in the room, so suddenly, /too/ /suddenly./ The three of them were pushing Tristan back onto the bed, holding him down as he struggled feebly, his arms pinned, his legs tangled with theirs. He couldn't fight, he was simply too weak. Their faces filled his vision, and they were laughing, mocking him. He couldn't look away, even as their faces grew larger, impossibly larger, their bodies likewise growing, crushing him as they became like giants to him, their laughter deafening. He was screaming. Not anything coherent, only an unbroken line of horrified shouting at the unbelievable sight he now beheld with maddening clarity.

"Tristan! Tristan!"

Maul shook him gently, again and again, snapping him out of his dream and into wakefulness. Tristan didn't imagine that, after such a dream, seeing a female face so near would comfort him. But Maul's face, her green eyes and fiery hair, her pixie-like build, all of these things calmed him. / I'm not afraid of all women,/ Tristan noted as he calmed down. But still, he was shaken, and threw himself into Maul's embrace, burying his face against her.

"Maul it was awful," he whimpered, "I was in bed with one of the girls and then the others were there and I was weak, and they were like giants and I was just a weak, helpless thing in their grasp and it was horrible and..."

"Oh, poor thing." she cooed, rocking him tenderly. "You're safe now, no one's going to hurt you, I'm here. Hush now, sweetheart."

She sounded so very maternal, so gentle and soothing. Tristan was lulled into a sense of calmness. His heart-rate slowed to a usual pace, his breathing steadied, and the tremors subsided.

"There now," Maul said, ruffling his hair, "see, you're okay, babe. How about you lay back down and I'll go make us some breakfast?"

"Yes please." Tristan answered, squeezing her in a passionate embrace before letting her go to scurry off into the kitchen.

Tristan stayed in bed, wrapped in a cocoon of his blanket. / I thought I was getting better,/ he mentally berated himself. / And now this nightmare? I thought things were improving. Am I moving too fast with all of /this?/ He found himself getting anxious again, worrying about everything. He'd have to see his counselor again once school started. Dreams like this could only be a sign that he was in fact not better. Far from it. Could he be getting worse, was that possible? Were these nightmares going to return with greater force? /I can't handle that, I really can't./ But what was to be done...

In time, school started again. Maul, to save money on housing, moved into Tristan's apartment with him and split his rent. Rather, her grandparents split the rent with Tristan's parents, since neither student was paying for the abode. But more to the point, Maul moved in so she could stay near Tristan, for her's was a comforting presence, and his nightmares had not gone away. They weren't every night, nor were they always the same, but they did come more regularly since that first night, leaping onto his mind like great predatory creatures assailing his sleeping self.

The dreams varied in their style. Sometimes he would dream he was back in that room, shackled to the bed. Sometimes he would be in his apartment, a captive in his own home. Other times, he would be on the street and see them, and no one would help him as he was attacked. Those scared him, for disturbing as the others were, Tristan's rational mind knew he'd not wake up suddenly in that room, nor did the girls have a means of finding or entering his apartment. / At least, I sure as Hel hope not./ But the prospect of running into them on the street was just too real. They might not be able to attack him freely, like in his dream, but they weren't gone from the face of the planet, he could still very possibly find himself face to face with any or all of them. / Surely they live around here, given where they picked me up and where they left me. Then again, maybe they don't, maybe they're from well out of town and left me in West Wood just to throw off my sense of where I'd been held. I have no way to /know./

But through it all, Maul was always there to wake him. She would shake him awake if he was noticeably stirring. If he wasn't, and merely woke himself with the fright of it, she was always kind about him waking her so he could talk it out and have someone to anchor him to reality, to remind him repeatedly that it was only a very vivid dream. For that Tristan owed her an eternal debt of gratitude.

"It's what a good girlfriend does." she assured him. "If I were in the same boat, you would do the same thing."

"So you're saying I'm a good girlfriend?" Tristan quipped, trying to lighten the post-nightmare mood with humor.

"Well," she mused, "you are always on the bottom during sex."

They both laughed while Maul held him tight.

School started again. Tristan was able to enroll in many of the same classes he'd taken the year before, so he could get the credits he needed. Mostly English courses and writing-centric classes. He'd tried a music class the prior semester, but Pine Ridge University's music department was frustrating in its definition of "art" music, and that closed-minded mentality was not in the least bit tolerable. But most importantly of all, Tristan was able to resume his counseling with the same campus psychologist, Amy Morales, and tell her of his dreams. He also told her of Maul.

"So you see," he concluded, "I'm just scared I may be moving too fast, and that I'm not healed, even though I thought I was."

Amy thought for a moment. Tristan liked that. She didn't just speak, reacting immediately to what he said. She listened and thought, gave insight to his troubles with well-phrased and clearly thought-out responses. It was what he expected and what he needed.

"Tristan," she said at last, "rape is something that people never fully "heal" from, in the traditional sense of the word."

"How so?"

"Well," elaborated Amy, "you will move on and live a normal life, as it sounds like you have with this Maul. But Tristan, this is essentially Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"That's not just for soldiers?"

"Most commonly found in soldiers, but not exclusively." she replied. "You may always have flashbacks, though not so tightly grouped together. You will enter periods where it will go into a sort of remission, and then periods where you will be thinking about it more often."

"Great."

"But that's why support networks are so important," she hastily added, "so that your friends and loved ones can always be around to help you when you're in need."

"That makes sense."

"And," she continued, "talking it out with people, like me, can be very cathartic and lessen the tension inside you that may lead to these more upsetting episodes. And doing things in general to make yourself feel safer, more comfortable with yourself and your surroundings, either mentally or physically."

"I carry a knife now." Tristan piped up.

"If it makes you feel safe, then that is very good."

Tristan thought on that for a moment. One thing both real and in his dreams that occurred to him, that filled him with the panic of helplessness, was the simple fact that he was weak. He was slender, with very little muscle-mass of which to speak.

"Have you thought about working out on campus?" Amy proposed when Tristan relayed this to her. "Anyone can use the gym, and you seem like you might feel safer if you felt stronger."

"You know," Tristan replied, "that's not a bad idea at all."

Chapter 12: With Strength I Burn

After classes on the following day, Tristan returned to his apartment. He'd taken to working certain week night's at Records, and day shifts on the weekend, now that school was once again exerting its all-consuming presence in his life. But this day, Tristan was not bound for work. Instead, he changed clothes into a t-shirt, a pair of basketball shorts he used to sleep in, and some running shoes. Maul, who was sitting on the couch, with her feet propped up on the table, looked up from her laptop.

"Going to the gym." Tristan said as he strode across the room.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?" Maul laughed.

"Hey," protested Tristan, "I want to try and feel stronger, you know, so I can feel safe."

"No I get it babe," Maul assured him, "I'm just messing with you."

"Business as usual."

The weather outside was actually somewhat warm, odd for January. Not unseasonably warm, but the sun was exerting its presence, and it felt nice for Tristan. Once down the street a ways, he broke into a run, not too fast, but a steady increase in pace. It actually felt remarkable to move so quickly, to feel the adrenaline flash into him. He was impressed with his own pace, not too brisk, but constant. He was covering a good deal of distance and it felt amazing. At last, he arrived at the gym, having only slowed to a quick walking pace a few times. Best not to over-exert one's self before working out.

Inside the gym, Tristan walked past a few locker rooms, one for males and one for females, an open court of various sporting events, a room lined with mats presumably for stretching and perhaps some martial arts work, and finally he came to the weight room. Loud music emanated from within: the pounding bass and digital drums with rhythmic vocals and programmed effects. / Rap./ Tristan grimaced. / Not an auspicious start to the whole exercise thing./

The weight room had a long mirrored wall, large stacks of free-weights, and numerous, complex exercise machines. / Some of these look like torture machines more than workout gear. Wonder what it would be like to have sex on some of this /stuff./ Tristan quelled that line of thought and approached a machine that, if he was right, was meant to work his biceps. Sitting on the chair, he inspected the stack of weights with which he could set the machine. / How much is good for me? I'm just starting out, so maybe about a hundred should work, /right?/ Tristan moved the setting to 100 pounds. Then, he set his arms up on the machine, gripping the handles, and began to push. / Oh Gods, I can't even move it./ Tristan strained at it.

"Hey, whoa whoa dude," a voice cried out, "you're going to kill yourself with that much mass. Hold up!"

Tristan turned and nearly leapt in surprise. The hulking college student standing behind Tristan momentarily eclipsed his view. The boy was tall, broad shouldered and thickly muscled. His face was clean-shaven and his blonde hair buzz-cut. He wore a workout shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes. Quickly, he leaned in and adjusted the resistance down to 45 pounds. Tristan flushed at the low weight.

"I think I can handle more than that." he boasted without any basis.

"Not if you're just starting out."

"That obvious huh?"

"A bit," the boy noted, "next time, I'd tie that long hair back if I were you, it'll just get in your way. See me, I don't have that problem."

"Yeah, I can see that."

The boy laughed and took up a spot in front of Tristan, encouraging him to start lifting.

"There you go," he encouraged, "come on, keep your elbows down man. Push it out! Ten reps, let's go!"

"Motivational." Tristan grunted as he worked the machine repeatedly.

"Don't talk, save your energy. You're doing three sets of this and then we move on!"

"I didn't pay for a trainer, you know?" Tristan gasped between sets.

"No sweat," the boy replied casually, "I got nowhere else to be. Finish out your next two sets, I'm going to go grab you some water, okay?"

"Thanks."

So Tristan worked out, a good set. The other boy guided him through several machines and some free weight exercises. At last, Tristan finished up his workout, or what the boy felt was enough for him for the first time at the gym. This was fortunate, as Tristan felt unrelentingly exhausted and his arms, far from feeling stronger, vaguely felt like gelatinous noodles dangling weakly from his shoulders, only strong enough to bring the water bottle up to his mouth and then back down again.

"So what's your name, bro?" asked the buzz-cut weight-lifter.

"Tristan, and yours?"

"Bradley," he replied, "but my buddies call me APC, like those Bradley military vehicles because I'm so built!"

"Really?"

"No, but wouldn't that be so fucking cool." laughed Bradley.

"Well yeah, guess so." Tristan laughed. "Thanks for helping me out though, Bradley."

"No problem man," Bradley replied, "I'm here every afternoon around this time, just keep coming by and I'll help you out when I'm done with my workout, okay?"

"Absolutely," Tristan agreed, "and now that I know my weight limits, low as they are, I should be able to run myself through this stuff if you aren't around."

"Totally bro," Bradley encouraged, "but it's always good to have a spotter, it's safer, you know?"

"Sure, sure."

"Alright man, well I've got to get going," Bradley said, "I'll see you around."

"Alright, see you later Bradley."

And with that, the two boys went their separate ways. Tristan began a brisk but leisurely jog homeward, his legs not nearly as tired as his still exhausted arms. / That was not bad at all,/ he thought as he ran, /Hel, I even made a new friend. That dude is pretty /cool./ Tristan was feeling good when he returned to his apartment, darting inside and shutting the door behind him.

"You look exhausted."

"Nice to see you too, Maul."

"Did you have a good workout?" Maul asked from where she now lay upon the floor, drawing on a piece of notebook paper with a set of pencils.

"Yeah," Tristan replied, "I met this guy named Bradley who helped me get through my workout without killing myself."

"Bradley?" Maul asked. "Big guy, shaven head?"

"Yep."

"Cool, he and I are in a history class together." Maul said.

"Nice."

Tristan walked over to Maul and flopped down beside her. On the paper, she'd drawn a picture of a long-haired warrior, hefting a heavy, two-handed broadsword. Tristan noticed something strikingly similar about the face of the warrior, about his eyes, though his build was of epic proportions.

"That's, that's me!" Tristan exclaimed.

"It'll be you in the future," Maul giggled, squeezing his arm, "once you bulk up a little."

"That is some good motivation." Tristan laughed.

"And it's how I see you." Maul added. "Strong, carrying a heavy burden yet striving onward anyway. That sounds pretty strong to me, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh Maul," Tristan exclaimed, moving in to hug her, "why must you always be so damn cute?!"

"You're sweet," Maul laughed, "but you smell like you've been working out, which you have been. Why don't you go have a shower, huh?"