Simply Simplistic

Everything was blurred and distorted as he opened his eyes, but the instant his mind came into focus, there was an agony throughout his body almost like none other. He closed his eyes again, as the darkness made his vision strain, but when he tried to move, panic pierced his heart when he found that he was bound in an impenetrable way. He struggled roughly, but to no avail. A sickening smell made him gag, and the instant his mouth opened, he wished that it hadn’t.

Slimy and rough, it left a horrible taste in his mouth; he fought the penetrating tongue by shaking his head furiously but to no gain. He was too weak to push away; instead, he diverted his own, wishing desperately that the mouth on his would remove itself, wishing he didn’t know what was going on, and wishing that the nausea in the pit of him wasn’t real. He refused to open his eyes, and refused to breathe; if he didn’t respond, the man would move on, and he could protest in the hope to divert his attention or snap him from his stupor.

…But he never could, before; yet he held out hope that things could change.

The kiss, if one would call it that, stopped abruptly, if only to be replaced by the feeling of hands all over his body…which was when he realized his clothes were missing…and thus, the old feelings resurfaced. He was thrown back into the feeling of past encounters, each one just as horrible as the last…

He was ten, and it hurt like Hell but no matter how much he cried, he couldn’t make it stop…

He was thirteen and the feeling was numbed from the liquor that had been forced down his throat, but it all but killed him inside, ripping out his spirit and crushing it again and again…

He was fourteen, and he knew it was wrong, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight it…

He was sixteen and every time he could make it hurt less if he made himself want it, accepting of the sensation…

And now he was nearly eighteen…and it was destroying every resilience he could ever have mustered. He wouldn’t open his eyes, and he wouldn’t let his sanity slip; not now; not this far into the game. He knew he didn’t want it and he knew he hated the feeling, but he couldn’t help the automatic defense; couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder of pleasure that he forced himself to experience; the build up of desire that he unleashed to cover up the pain, the disgust, the uncleanness that would drown him if he did otherwise…

The smell of alcohol was an unwelcome reminder that this creature hovering about him wasn’t his father, nor was the evil bastard that would hurt him, throw things at him, or try to kill him whenever dawn broke… Or whenever he fought back.

Those same calloused hands were prying at him, pulling, tugging, fondling, and it was disgusting, but he knew he couldn’t do anything but lay there, hoping that it would be over… It was horrible, the feeling of being violated, being ripped apart, being in unbearable pain inside when he forced his body to accept it as pleasure, a feeling that he longed for…a feeling that, at the same time, made him want to wretch, made him want to almost feel the pain just to know it was really there and that he wasn’t actually enjoying it, made him want to die, made him want to kill the man who was dangerously close to pushing him over all edges, who was truly killing him inside, turning his heart into acid in the hope that it would sear his veins and kill him quickly, releasing him from such a Hell…

But he couldn’t give in, and he knew it. He couldn’t fight, never had, never would, and he knew it. He couldn’t break, wouldn’t cry like all those years ago, and he knew it. It was pointless now to do anything about it, because he was an adult, and it no longer mattered, and he knew it…

He couldn’t do it because he kept holding on to memories of the same man when he wasn’t wasted, wasn’t out of control, wasn’t a bad person…and he knew it. He knew everything. He even knew he couldn’t because he didn’t want to…and he knew it was completely true…

The scent, the blood, the sweat, his hands, his lips, his touch, his weight, his power, the long dried tears, the forced pleasure, the screams of pain that were long ago cried and would never come again… Even the sensation of such a dirty act, the way his body quaked uncontrollably beneath the pressure and strength, how his throat would betray him, his voice longing, encouraging, begging, and even how for one moment, despite all the sickness, despite the way he hated himself, despite how much he felt disgusted as he would clean himself after hours of such acts, and how the man would never remember…In lieu of it all, for one moment, as he would lay alone, in undoubted agony, covered in nearly every fluid from sweat to blood…he would feel somehow further to completion, as if every time, something in him was awakening….

But this time was different…and it didn’t take a genius to understand why…

He was breaking. He was failing. He was losing the fight, lagging in the race that he had run for so long. He was shattered, no matter what face he put on, no matter how well he could fool even himself, he was gone, and there was no turning back… He opened his eyes to darkness, trying to keep his breathing normal, trying not to plead for more, trying not to make even a sound as he bit hard into his bottom lip and tears he forgot he could shed began to brim in the corners of his eyes, streaming down the sides of his face into his hair…he tried not to cry out…

But he couldn’t stop it this time.

He knew his voice was hoarse and strangled, and he knew he was far beyond the comprehension of his own words, but he could feel his throat vibrating, whether in protest or encouragement it didn’t matter, nor did he care. A powerful rush of energy overtook him, and he uncomprehendingly broke his hands free, digging long nails into the man’s shoulders and back, dragging them roughly through the flesh and drawing blood with ease. It dropped onto his skin like poison that would absorb itself into his body; dark, crimson beads of life pooling together on and around him and still, the relentless thrusting wouldn’t stop. He began to jerk madly, but it only seemed to make it worse, sending him harder, deeper, rougher…

And the pain hit him full on as his defenses suddenly shattered, releasing wave after wave of anguish on him so much that he began to shudder with the pain, tears rolling freely from his eyes as his nails continued to dig deep and his voice died slowly, making his throat sore and raw. All he could focus on was the pain, the overwhelming smell of blood, the way his body was dreadfully hot, and how he suddenly couldn’t take any more abuse to his shields lest they shatter like thin glass... As if to finalize this, a mighty clash came like every window in the house had broken at once…

Then it was over. It all stopped suddenly, as if something great had knocked the man off him. He didn’t dare open his eyes, lest it all be a mental trick and the man still be there, hovering, hurting…

A gentle touch, cold like ice, wiped the tear lines from the side of his face, the hands soft and gentle like breeze. There was a sudden sensation of being trapped, but lightly so… A soft brush against his skin, like the tips of hair, made him stir, finally daring to open his eyes; a single wave of heated rage washed over him then receded, and he sat up slowly, the pain having never left, making his entire body feel as one large ache. Hazel orbs met blue, and held the stare, neither letting their eyes wander, yet neither pair showing hostility nor anger…

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I bet you love how I cut it off right there, huh? I might post the actual story later; I may not... *shrug* I'm not a very nice guy, am I?