Something About Us

Warning! This chapter contains attempted rape and violence. If you are uncomfortable with reading this, you may skip this chapter.

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After breakfast, Rhys explained to Heather that they'd be busy for a while. A knot of unease tightened in his stomach as he spoke of the weeks ahead, knowing he wouldn't see her much. He watched her face, searching for a flicker of disappointment, but she only offered a warm smile and a reassuring nod. Heather knew how important his career was to him, so she wished him good luck, her voice sincere.

True to Rhys's words, their schedule became relentless, a whirlwind of activity that left them perpetually exhausted. They snatched two to four hours of sleep at most, their days blurring into a montage of music video shoots, variety show appearances, radio interviews, and promotional events. The pressure was immense, a constant hum of expectation that vibrated through their veins.

Whenever Lux appeared on television or radio, Heather would watch or listen, a sense of vicarious pride swelling in her chest. She kept herself occupied while babysitting her nephew, finding a sense of connection to Rhys through the screen. When she had nothing else to do at home, she and baby Dave would visit her aunt's coffee shop, finding solace in the quiet corners and the pages of a book. The aroma of coffee and the gentle hum of conversation became a comforting backdrop to her days. This became her routine for weeks, a steady rhythm that helped her navigate the absence of Rhys and their usual banter.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lux's schedule cleared. They returned home, their bodies aching, their minds weary. The silence of their shared house was a welcome reprieve from the constant noise of their professional lives.

"Finally! Sleep!" Jess exclaimed as they entered the house, his voice heavy with fatigue. He sank onto the couch, his limbs heavy. "I'm so tired."

"Yeah, I feel like I could sleep for days," Dave chimed in, his eyes drooping. He yawned, his jaw cracking.

"Well, see you guys later, or tomorrow. I can barely keep my eyes open," Henry said, heading upstairs, his footsteps dragging.

The others followed suit, retreating to their rooms, their bodies craving the oblivion of sleep. It was only eight in the evening, but Rhys felt a pull towards Heather, a restlessness that wouldn't be denied. He wanted to give her a copy of their new album, a tangible symbol of their shared connection. He sent her a text:

You up?

He glanced out the window towards her room. The lights were off, but the room flickered with the glow of her phone receiving his message. He waited, his gaze fixed on the darkened window.

Maybe she's already asleep. He remembered her telling him that her aunt and uncle were away for a team-building event, taking Dave with them. She was alone for two days, a thought that filled him with a strange sense of unease.

Before the phone's light faded, he saw a flicker of movement in her darkened room, a shadow moving towards the side table. Then, a sharp crash, followed by a muffled scream that was abruptly cut off.

His blood ran cold. He didn't think, didn't hesitate. He was out the door before he even registered moving. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs.

When he got there, he noticed that their front door was ajar, a sliver of darkness beckoning him inside. He slowly opened it and went inside, removing his shoes to avoid making noise. He crept up the stairs, his senses heightened, every creak of the floorboards amplified in the silence.

Heather's bedroom door was slightly open. He peeked inside. The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint light from the window. The scene that met his eyes was a nightmare, a tableau of violation. A figure loomed over Heather, his hand clamped over her mouth. Her clothes were torn, her body trembling, her eyes wide with terror.

A red haze descended. He didn't think, didn't reason. He just acted. He flung the door open, the sound echoing through the house. "Get your filthy hands off of her, you bastard!" he roared, his voice raw with fury.

He grabbed the man, yanking him away from Heather with a force born of pure rage. The man crashed to the floor, his eyes wide with shock. Rhys straddled him, his fists a blur of motion. He landed a series of brutal punches, each one fueled by a primal rage. He wanted to obliterate the man, to erase the violation, to make him pay for daring to touch her.

The other guys, alerted by the commotion, rushed upstairs. They found Rhys, his face a mask of fury, pummeling the unconscious intruder. Heather was on the bed, curled into herself, her body shaking with sobs, her eyes haunted.

Dave and Henry immediately intervened, their faces grim, pulling Rhys away from the man before he inflicted fatal damage. "Rhys! That's enough!" Henry shouted, his voice strained, his hands gripping Rhys's arms tightly.

"Let me go! I'll kill him!" Rhys struggled against their hold, his eyes blazing with a ferocity they had never seen before.

Jess went to Heather, his expression a mix of concern and protectiveness. He sat beside her on the bed, his voice soft. "Are you okay, Heather?" he asked, though he knew it was a foolish question. He wrapped a blanket around her trembling shoulders.

Emmett punched Rhys in the stomach, a calculated blow to divert his attention, to break through the red haze of rage. "Rhys! Get yourself together, man!" he said, his voice firm.

Rhys's rage subsided slightly when he heard Jess speak to Heather. He stopped struggling, his gaze fixed on her. She was huddled beneath the sheets, her body still trembling, tears streaming down her face, her eyes filled with a terror that mirrored his own.

When Dave and Henry felt Rhys relax, they released him. He rushed to Heather, his movements frantic, pulling her into a tight embrace. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his arms a protective shield. "I'm here, baby. You're safe."

Heather clung to him, her sobs wracking her body, her tears soaking his shirt. Rhys held her close, his touch gentle, his presence a silent promise of protection.

Dave and Emmett, their faces grim, tied up the unconscious man, their movements efficient and determined. They carried him downstairs, their footsteps heavy on the stairs. Jess called the police, his voice steady despite the turmoil, his words a lifeline in the chaos. He described the scene, his voice tight, his concern for Heather evident in every syllable.