Chapter 29
29
ERIC
Five Years Ago: Continued
Two hours later, I am staring at the absolute treasure of a backside of the man currently carrying Tiffany upstairs to have his way with her, fully consensually of course. Tiff stopped drinking after one beer as soon as she realized no one was pressuring me about my non-drinking.
Sipping my now extremely flat pop, I glance around to see a lot of highly intoxicated people and a few rather shady looking guys prowling the exterior of the room. What I don’t see is a single person I really know outside of recognizing their face from around the campuses. Felix, Adam, and Jeff are nowhere to be found. Glancing out the window, I notice Adam’s car is no longer parked out front.
Great. Just my fucking luck. The guys abandoned me and Tiff in this crack house in the middle of the fucking slums, and now I’m going to have to sit around and wait for Tiff to finish getting her brains fucked out by a hockey god before I can order a rideshare. I’m not going to abandon her like her ex did. I understand now why Felix is always fucking single.
What the fuck is that stain in the corner? I’m going to fucking kill him when we get back to the house.
Taking another sip of my warm and flat root beer, I decide to chug it to avoid the hideous aftertaste I’m getting. No more dark drinks. Hell, I think I need to switch to water. I’m pretty sure the heat from so many bodies in such a small space is getting to me.
On the way to the counter with the mixers, a dizzy spell hits me out of nowhere. I grab for the counter to steady myself. That was weird. Maybe my sugar is low? When did I last eat? Wait, I’ve been drinking pure sugar… Can high blood sugar make you dizzy?
I feel an arm come around my waist and turn my head to see a rather brutish looking man holding me upright. I give him a grateful smile and try to tell him to just help me outside, but I find that the words aren’t coming out.
Another guy comes up on my other side as they carry me out of the room. A few people I recognize ask if I’m alright as we go past, and I want to scream at them that I am NOT fucking alright. All I can do is whimper with no one hearing while the guys say they’re going to take me upstairs to sleep it off.
I’m thrown roughly onto a bed and I can do nothing, say nothing, while my clothes are removed and the number of hands on me increases from two to four to six to who knows…
The voices in the room are loud yet muffled .
Their faces are clear, but I have no clue who they are.
“Sabrina only said to get him drunk,” one guy says from where I assume the door is. I don’t see who it is. I can’t even move my head to look. “Why the fuck are you messing around like this? This is going too far. I’m calling an ambulance.”
I can hear something that sounds like a slap and something hitting the wall before the hands are back on me and the faces are swimming in front of me again.
“Donny just got his ass benched for next season,” the man who first grabbed me says to the others in the room before leering down at me. “This little faggot is begging for it. So we’re going to be nice and give him what he wants so that bitch gets what she wants later and we get the dough.”
My fear bleeds to the background and I start to feel a sort of numbness creep over me. The hands hurt me, but I can’t react. The assholes rub me raw trying to get me erect. You would think a bunch of guys would understand the importance of lube, but they don’t seem all that bright.
They finally give up on getting me hard when my fingers start to twitch instead of my dick. I feel strange being thankful when they flip me over onto my stomach. I probably should have hidden the fact that whatever they used on me was wearing off already. Maybe then I could have braced for it.
Pain unlike anything I could have ever conceived tears through my body and it burns through the rest of the drugs holding my voice captive. A scream rips from my throat, but before I can think enough to form words, someone’s funk drenched cock gets shoved in my mouth .
Between the pain and the lack of air, I lose consciousness. When I come to, I don’t know how long I was out or what else happened to me. I don’t even know how many guys did anything to me. How many guys are on a hockey team?
I lurch over the side of the bed and vomit the contents of my stomach onto the filthy floor. Opening my eyes, I can see puddles of a viscous substance that I don’t want to think too deeply on. How many times did I throw up in this exact place before awareness came back to me? Are all those puddles vomit or are they… from the monsters in the room?
The door slams open and shadowed in the doorway is one of the very few people in this world that I know would never hurt me. Spencer Wright looks like he’s gone a couple rounds with someone, but he looks like a fucking superhero to me right about now.
He’s too late to be the hero, but I know he won’t let them touch me again. He’ll protect me.