Chapter 18 His Beautiful Boy
They say time heals, but time can also be a cruel mother fecking bitch. They say life is always worth living, but they obviously don’t know the hell my life is.
Layers of sweat, ash, and dirt covered me.
I wanted to scratch my skin off. My hands and ankles remained tied, though the knots loosened with time.
The room was so small and narrow that when I lay down, I couldn’t fully extend my legs.
Standing was the only way I could stretch them, but after so much time naked in such a cold place, I got sick.
I had no idea where I was because there was no light.
It didn’t matter if I closed or opened my eyes.
There was nothing to see. All I had was the concrete beneath my body and two buckets.
There was a flap at the bottom of the door, but no light outside of it.
Two dog bowls would be pushed or retrieved—one with water, the other with food.
I threw the food into one of the buckets every time.
The lack of stimulation gave me way too much time to think. The more time passed, the more I forgot how hard I fought to save her, until I didn’t remember trying at all. In the end, the fact was, I had not tried hard enough. There was no escaping that she was gone.
Not enough…
Not enough…
Not enough…
You killed her.
I left her there to burn all alone. You worthless piece of shit.
I should have tried so hard I broke at least several of my bones, if not all. I should have fought him enough to escape so I could have stayed inside with her.
Why? Why didn’t I? God! Why the feck didn’t I? Feeeeeccccckkk!
Why did I drink so much whiskey? I left her. Mommy, I’m so fecking sorry… I should’ve died with her. It was the only right outcome. Never did I think I’d be such a worthless wimp. “Ahhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh!” I screamed, kicking at the wall, hurting my legs.
He had me bound with ropes, but they weren’t as cruel of a captor as the guilt crawling through me, piercing my heart and soul with its long talons.
The only thing that eased the pain was holding my breath while screaming for her.
“Muuuuuummmmm!” Wherever it was he’d thrown me, must have had a tall ceiling because my screeches always echoed.
I screamed until my lungs begged me for air, my vocal cords threatened to give out, fluorescent shapes floated in the air behind my tightly closed eye lids, and the headache slammed into me.
Then after, I’d devolve into an inconsolable sob.
I’d try to escape the guilt by falling asleep, even when I wasn’t tired, but then it followed me into my dreams. I’d see her skin covered in flames, melting like my uncle’s.
She cried for my help, reaching for me, and I’d run like the coward I was, or try to get to her but fail, like the weakling I was.
I’d wake screaming, kicking at the walls, punching to ensure I was not in that dream anymore and to hurt myself.
When my belly started hurting, eating itself from self-starvation, I didn’t care. In a way, it was a relief to finally have the physical representation of the emotional agony I was enduring.
Several times, because of my crying and refusal to eat, I lost my voice and got sick, nearly dying. The fevers were so extreme, bringing me horrid memories of what he’d done to me, what my uncle had allowed.
The prospect of death was my only comfort.
It was all I wanted and deserved. When I felt death within reach, it was like the first sunrise in a field of flowers after a storm.
It erased everything and lightened the crushing weight on my soul, but death never came.
Why did it keep rejecting me? I grieved being alive.
It was the perfect punishment for murder to have to keep living like that.
No matter how much I screamed, cried, or how many times I got sick, time stood still in the dark. There was nothing new for me to see, touch, smell, or hear.
“Killian...” It was Mum’s voice. I was shivering so violently when I half opened my eyes.
“Mommy...” I paused while trying to calm my quaking. “I miss you too much.”
“You must be strong.
“Mommy, I’m so sorry. Please take me with you. Take me with you. I beg you.”
“Shhh... Everything’s going to be fine.” Her palm brushed back my sweat soaked hair.
“No, it’s not. It’s never going to be fine, Mommy. Take m—”
“Who will protect her?” The voice became a whisper, and I knew she was no longer there.
I woke in a fright, gasping for air, and heard his voice as if he were whispering right into my ear.
“Beautiful boy…” he sang. I was surprised the door was still shut and he wasn’t right there.
It sounded as if he had his mouth pressed up against the door when he said, “Submit to me, my beautiful boy, let me be your master. I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. ”
My heart drummed, and I scooted into the farthest corner while shaking my head. “No.” My whisper and breath trembled, even though it wasn’t cold. Never. I’ll never be yours. You sick monster.
The door opened and a stranger entered my cell.
He took one bucket and another entered to take the second.
Seconds later, cold water slapped my face and body with such pressure I tried running away from it, but there was nowhere to go.
Wherever I went, the frigid water followed, pelting my skin and muscles, pressing me up against the wall.
The cold temperature gave me no choice but to tense my body.
It hurt. They washed me like an animal. Soap was sloshed upon me just as hard and then water again.
With my back to the door, my hair dripped and the rest of me shook as I covered my privates.
The light from outside hit my face when I turned. Then his silhouette covered it. He had a towel hanging from his hands. As if he were entering a lion’s cage, he crept with caution and gently placed the towel on my shoulders. “My dear beautiful boy.” There was a smile to his tone.
I froze, staring at the wall in front of me, still holding my balls and dick.
“Tell me. How do you want to do this?”
“I want you to kill me. Right now.”
He chuckled. “That’s a very intelligent answer. But not an option.” His hand landed on my shoulder. “Not when you’re finally all mine. You killed him, didn’t you? Your own flesh and blood… How did it feel to kill your own uncle?”
“It felt great. He was a monster just like you—”
“Yes, I know, you tried to kill me too. I’ll give you a pass for that one. You haven’t been educated yet.” I grimaced when his lips kissed my right shoulder.
He turned me around, and I stepped away, disgusted by him. My back touched the wall, and I swallowed deep as he stepped nearer to me, his face only centimeters from mine. “How shall we do this? Hmm. Will you be my prince? Or shall I force myself on you?”
I stayed silent.
“Fine, forced it is. I was hoping you’d be more grateful since I saved your life.”
I tried to escape him, to recoil from his touch but he trapped me and hurt me. This time there was no escaping, no forgetting. It was all destroying me and my mind as it happened and then it happened. I didn’t think I could hate myself even more, but I did. God, did I.
It was the first time my body had reacted like that.
I wasn’t even sure what’d happened, but there was no denying my body had somehow exploded in pleasure, and he was so happy about it.
It was impossible to reconcile with what he’d just done to me, but worse, I’d stopped fighting him.
How could my body enjoy enduring so much pain?
The thought and memory of it forced bile to rise through me.
“You’re amazing. You enjoyed it just as much as I did.” He paused as I gagged. “Don’t be ashamed.” He was embracing me from behind, and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I pushed one of his arms away and escaped his stifling hold. I didn’t get far because many muscles in my body were off kilter.
“It’s perfectly natural. I knew you were special. I knew it from the very first time I saw you.” I vomited at his words, but he ignored it, simply standing and dressing himself.
When he was done, from far away, he said, “Killian, get up.”
I tried to push myself off the floor but collapsed. He approached me, and the tip of his shoe crashed into my ribs, stealing my breath. I sounded like some old man who’d smoked too much, trying to gasp a breath in.
“I said get up!” Every word accompanied a kick.
“P-please… I can’t…”
He walked to the door and gawked at me for a while. “I didn’t think you would be like this the first time. This was supposed to be special!” He’d gone from whispering compliments in my ear, from “helping me through it,” teaching me to be a monster’s pet, to screaming and shaming me.
I wasn’t surprised.
“Fine, stay here. See if I care.” He slammed the door shut, but it was as if he’d never left.
His words haunted me, replacing my voices, repeating themselves over and over in my mind until I didn’t know if he’d come and said them in my ear again or not. His voice was constantly there, tormenting me.
That’s it, my beautiful boy. You’re so strong. So good. You can take me.
Don’t cry.
Just do as I say.
Open up for me.
The room only got colder, becoming a freezing hell. My teeth chattered and my body violently trembled, even while sleeping. I knew he was “visiting” me once a day. Despite the revulsion I felt toward him and what he did to me, his skin became my only source of heat.
He thought I was being defiant when I cried every tear drop out of my body, fought him, and wailed for Mum.
“I’ll know you’ll be ready to be my prince when you cry for me and not for her,” he said.
But I couldn’t help it. At first, he’d tried to bribe me with cake, but it reminded me of Mum’s wedding, so I couldn’t bring myself to eat it.
Then he’d bring me champagne or whiskey.
He’d force me to drink it before the act.
Eventually, I learned to fake sipping it, then throw it away.
Every time he visited, he promised things would change if I behaved and gave myself to him.
At the end of the act, he’d ask me if there was anything I wanted.
It was so hard for me to not ask him for a blanket, light, or a book.
I didn’t want to establish myself even more as his cheap whore than I already was.
I only existed to be used by him—nothing else.
It was so confusing how he tortured me, planting his thoughts in my mind while forcing himself on me until I couldn’t take it anymore.
Until I would come so close to losing the last crumbs of my sanity, screaming and wailing then falter and beg him to stop.
In the meantime, he’d muse that he loved me, that we were meant to be together and how one day I’d be truly his one and only beautiful boy, his little prince.
At first, I knew it was him manipulating me, but somehow, I lost track of what was real versus fake, right versus wrong.
The chaos ate at my mind turning it into a place as mad and dark as the room.
No solid thoughts stood out. The only thing that solidified was my shame, self disgust, and my need to die.
Words clashed into each other and lost meaning. The images in my mind constantly attacked and stabbed me. Even my voices stopped condemning me for Mum’s death. They no longer formed words, just random sounds.
To erase them from my mind, if only just for a few minutes, I had to scream.