Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Blue Eyed Angel ❯ And a Dark Cloud Followed Him ( Chapter 5 )

Chapter: 5

Life was hell. Quatre spent his days in school where he was a catharsis for childish insecurities. The manipulation would never be as bad as it was in Junior High and his earlier years and he was thankful for that but it still didn't stop the stupid mild things they did from getting on his nerves. Though they would tap his desk or bump the back of his chair with their thighs as they walked by he still felt as harassed and isolated as he did in almost a year ago when their words and hateful looks reached him from across the room.

Night after night at The House haunted him into school hours. The first few nights were absolutely dark with regret and shame. The constant visits never appealed to him as routine. No matter how many regular nights he spent there he felt the same way he did the first time he ever came, terrified and weak.

The johns would stand over the bedside, greasy and mauled or sophisticated and groomed. Both types would either grin wickedly or give him a forbidding stare. His guilt would grip him but not nearly as harsh as their hands and touched him all over. And they beat him.

He tried to take his mind off it. He tried to let things around him seep in and conquer the memories so he wouldn't be staring into an abyss ever time his mind wondered. But he couldn't escape the badgering and the pain and the assaults that were brought upon him and burned in his memory day in and day out.

The first two nights were merely practice. He was still getting used it, still being stretched. And he was a coward. He would scream and cry. But they wouldn't stop. He only pleased them more. After the third, fourth and fifth night he felt a break in his mind. His stomach dropped at the agonizing thought that he was going to be in this bed for the rest of his nights. After the first week and everything seemed ten times darker and he wasn't sure if he could ever stand look at himself in the mirror again.

There must have been another way. There must have been but he couldn't find it in time. Trieze found him first. Trieze had him trapped and he was too afraid to protest.

At first he started his nights serving one or even two men if it were possible. Their hands would sink into his flesh and make his heart pound hard. He wished he could be washed inside out and rinsed until he terrifying memories deserted him. But no matter how much he wished it would happen he would wake up feeling full and dirty with memories.

When he would come home from the cat house he would clean his home, do his homework and would manage to find his way to his own bed at four or five o'clock in the morning and get a wonderful, sleepless break for a few hours till he had to go to school and start the day over. He needed the sleep badly. It was harder to get along in the days. He realized he couldn't take care of Pearl and Rue and the house and The House and school all at once. The lack of sleep was slowly draining the life from him.

"Rue," he finally was able to talk her on the bus on their way to school on the second week. The bus rides seem to be the only time he ever got to spend with his sisters anymore. Even his weekends were full of homework and projects. "I know you've been watching Pearl and taking care of her for me."

Until Quatre had spoken Rue was slouched in her plastic blue seat studying the big purple knot on his forehead and the swollen red and brown bruise on the edge of his lip. She wouldn't ask him because he demanded for her never to ask. She perked up, shifting around in her seat till she sat up straight and proper realizing she was receiving some recognition for her work.

He gave her a weak smile instinctively. "And you're doing a good job. And you understand I'm really busy, right?"

"Yeah."

He was a little relieved knowing she wasn't upset by his absences at home. "Well, I can't keep up with school and my-my job everyday. So I'm going to give you a list of the chores around the house and I need you to do them every week at least. Stuff like… like I need you to do laundry from now on. Every Friday right when you get home from school."

"But I don't know how to do laundry," she protested. Quatre's abnormally serious tone was making her uncomfortable. It almost felt like she was loosing a friend listening to the sudden change in his voice.

"I'll show you how," Quatre said calmly and that was the last time he spoke to her for the rest of the week.

After his second week Quatre was running out of excuses to give his peers for his bruises. He walked funny but he would always say, "I stubbed my toe and it won't stop hurting," and managed to get an accident-prone reputation. Surprisingly, the sharp pain he felt while walking and trying to sit down was the least of his problems at school because no one could guess what was happening to him with their innocent minds limiting the possibilities. One day when he came to class with a black eye and was empty of excuses. He avoided questions as much as possible. Rumors spread like wildfire in his grade that some one was beating him up after school everyday. There were too many people to count who were more than proud to take responsibility.

The rumors spread to the teachers who were much more concerned about him than the students. Determined to avoid questions from the teacher Quatre decided to confront Trieze with all his guts and put a stop to the abuse.

***

Quatre limped from his cat room and made his way down the blinding red hallway to Trieze's office. There were two rather beefy looking security guys stalking the hall. Like hunting a wounded animal they turned their attention from their conversation and made their way to him, trying to block his passage with their overly bulk bodies.

Quatre tried to dodge them but they backed him into the wall. "Hey sweetheart," one of them whistled. "Where ya go'in?" Still determined to avoid them he sidestepped his way around the wall and out into the normal light of the next hall. Tears formed in his eyes from straining so long in the blaze of the red bulbs.

"Honey come back," one of them joked but only his companion found him funny. "You know I love you!"

Once Quatre reached Trieze's office door his stalkers became silent but waited to see what was happening. Any business with Trieze was none of theirs and they refused to bother him. But instead of leaving they stood and waited to see what would happen to Angel.

Sighing deeply and trying to suck up as much air as possible to as if it were energy and courage he bravely twisted the knob and slipped inside. The room was dark and bare apart from the few light sources that that still managed to hurt Quatre's eyes after being the shower of red. The large fish tank glowed green like an alien pod was radiating in his wall. There was a cool spray of blue spilling into the other side of the room from the streetlight. On his desk was the only normal light, a narrow stream from a lamp that shined down on his work. Trieze was facing the wall and was leaning his chair back over the desk trying to relax.

Quatre fought with himself to say something. He didn't want to because if he did there was no turning back. He could've still run. He could've still got away. "Trieze," he let the word slip before he choked on it.

Treize twirled around in his seat with a seriously annoyed glare but the sight of Quatre suddenly brightened his mood. "Well hello, hello," he purred.

It no longer angered Quatre to be spoken to in an insulting purr such as the one Trieze gave him. He didn't want to want to start anything. "I-I need to… talk to you," Quatre swallowed.

"Oh?" Trieze seemed curious. "Well, come in. We can talk in private." He would have seemed gentle and non-threatening if Quatre hadn't been alone with Trieze before and didn't know better.

Quatre pushed the door shut behind him but didn't move.

"Take a seat," Trieze offered the chair in front of his desk.

Reluctantly, Quatre did as was told and made his way to the desk. Though the room was empty and clean it was difficult because the horrible lighting made the shadows in the room seem like large ink spots blotching out his path. The shape of his chair and him was nothing but a dark illusion against the glow of the tank. Trieze was only half illuminated in the lamp on his desk giving him an eerie appearance.

"Now," Trieze cued, wicked and confident. "What do we need to discuss?"

Quatre took in a couple more deep breaths than spoke quickly and loudly, "I'm quitting!"

Trieze raised a brow but didn't seem shocked. But when he spoke there was more than disappointment in his voice and it sent chills through Quatre's spine. "What for?" He growled venomously through his teeth.

"I-I can't… my school. At my school everyone keeps asking me questions. I can't hide my bruises and the way I walk and… everything's getting harder."

"So? It's none of their business. Just let them know that. You shouldn't have to explain yourself to them everyday."

Quatre swallowed again but tried not to let his throat move so much as it went down. He knew that even if Trieze was half buried in shadow he wasn't. He knew two hungry eyes were observing everything he did. "But my teachers are getting concerned with. If I keep showing up like this"-he waved a hand over his face gesturing to the bruises-"And I can't excuse myself than they could call the Social Worker and I don't know where I'll be. I don't know what to tell them! I'm afraid that if I keep having these problems some one's going to find everything out and I don't want to do this!" Tears were forming at his eyes, this time it was because he was afraid.

"Shh…"Trieze slithered his way out of his chair and approached Quatre. He took his head and cupped him in his arms against his tarsal. "There, there." He messaged the golden locks on his head that gleamed white between the glow of the tank and the stream from the window. "It'll be okay." Quatre breathed harder and his tears stopped but he was far comforted.

Trieze didn't let him go. Instead he made it a new rule with his customers not to leave any marks on Quatre. He also solved his walking problems by reducing his visits to weekend nights only. But the reduction of nights meant he had to serve more customers. After a while of having normal school nights at home he managed to get more sleep mixed into his hours of tossing and turning in memories. But the world remained as dark and heavy as it always was when he had to work on the weekdays. Soon he questioned whether his home life would ever feel the same again.

Surprisingly there were a few benefits to the job. One was the obvious; he had enough money to buy the water and phone back along with keeping all the major and minor bills paid. His sisters and he didn't have to go hungry as often. He had enough money for groceries. In past since he had taking control of the household, dinner and breakfast were a privilege. Now he was able to buy pop tarts for breakfast. Dinner was still occasional but Quatre was able to produce a turkey from Thanksgiving and it was more than enough.

Then there was the benefit his identity was kept safe. He told Treize how he feared that someone at school would know him and how he would be humiliated. If his neighbor knew he wouldn't leave him alone. Always wanting a free go. Or just anybody who found out that Mr. and Mrs. Winner's perfect little golden boy angel was selling himself or if they told Ms. Po the social worker.

Quatre never forgot to turn on the security channel to observe the customers as they entered Trieze's office. He made sure that anyone he recognized was sent away. But really he only thought he recognized them. He was paranoid and didn't want to take chances.

His secret was enticing. It wasn't his identity the party guest wondered it was what he looked like that intrigued them more. He had no name and therefore no face and everyone who spent anytime at the house had heard of him at least once. He would never get the same customer twice and the owner of The House himself, Trieze, handpicked all of the "privileged" ones to see him. Quatre was famous.

Quatre's usual payment was seventy-five dollars a week because Trieze told him that he was only charging customers one hundred and twenty dollars a night. But ever since his popularity grew he started raising the price but not Quatre's pay, cheating him of the extra money he earned. Sometimes he would charge up to seven hundred dollars but Quatre would still get his minor share of seventy-five.

***

Sometimes Quatre would come home dehydrated, overheated and exhausted. Ounce he came down with a fever on a Friday and had to call in sick at school. He prayed Trieze would let him go for the night. Day seemed to be the only hours he was able to sleep and he was grateful to spend his hours resting.

But when Trieze came to take him to The House there was no excuse for missing work. Quatre was rewarded with a black eye and was kidnapped. For his incompetence he was forced to serve nine men that night with a throbbing headache and an upset stomach.

When he wouldn't come out of his room after his meetings, Trieze went up to check on him. First thing he heard when he walked into the blazing red environment was the sound of regurgitation. He went to the bathroom were he found his angel, fully dressed in baggy dark-blue jeans and his oversized green jacket slumped by the toilet and vomiting.

"Are you okay?" Trieze asked as if he were concerned.

Quatre turned to him tired and aching, the bridge of his nose and cheeks were red from the heat and his throat burned from stomach acid. He moaned and shook his head.

Trieze tried giving him tap water from the sink to keep him from overheating but he just ended up turning back over toilet and vomiting up the water.

***

Everything was a hell! No matter how hard he bathed or how much he bathed he could never get clean. He never felt clean. He always felt dirty! Stained! And he only made it worse! He made the stain bigger and harder to remove because every night when he went to take a bath, he would remember the penises and the bodies and touching.

He didn't think he was trying to do anything wrong. He felt guilty and perverted and could only imagine the things people would say to him if they knew he played with himself. He knelt on both knees in the middle of the tub, gripping himself with both hands and pumping and gasping until his seeds spilled everywhere. Then he would watch it all get washed away in a clean waterfall. The drops, acting like bullets, spattered the milky fluid to bits and flushed it down the drain.

Quatre leaned against the tiles panting deeply. He stared his cum becoming clear and mixed into the bullets. He ran his hands through the shower and observed the way they pounded into his flesh.

"God I'm so dirty," he whispered to himself. "What's wrong with me? I don't enjoy going to The House at all but it sticks with me and…" He watched the drain replaying the image of his fluids getting washed into its depths. "…and…" Tears swelled in his eyes as he remembered the countless number of times when cum had got on him.

He remembered the countless men who drained themselves inside him or in his mouth and suddenly he wanted to explode. Anger built under his ribs and rage swam in his eyes. His pulse tightened and his body shook just before he erupted in screams.

He broke down in a fit of thrashes and screams. His foot jabbed at the curtains knocking them out of place. His foot was captured in their plastic resistance and he was tangled from the knee down.

While he violently tried to break free, his hand smacked the fountain causing a horrible throbbing of pain. Angrily with the curtains he grabbed them and tried to yank them off their rings only managing to break to before he flipped himself out of the tub and smacked his forehead on the tiles. His foot kicked free and slammed into the toilet causing another scream of pain.

His rage was reflected on the toilet. Spitting venom with his screams he began to punch and kick the toilet. Tears rolled down his cheek.

The showerhead popped off in all the excitement and began to twist about with the force behind it. The walls became dark and damp, the sink was filled like a neutral pond and a puddle formed under the rugs.

With another mighty swipe Quatre missed the head of the toilet and toppled into the sink, causing the new bruise on his forehead to burn. Then, everything seemed to become calm as if the fierce aura around Quatre had caused the chaos and now that he paused even the living showerhead went unnoticed, until it slapped him in the thigh and caught his attention. He slammed his foot on it to keep it from leaping any further and examined his mess with a civil mind.

After sitting on his side and panting for a good while he shifted to shut off the showerhead and replace and realized something he found rather humorous. "I was fighting with a toilet!" he chuckled. Then he thought about it more and he chuckled some more. Then it was all he could think of and he began laughing and laughing, unable to control himself.

It felt so good. He was pleased to know that no one had witnessed his outrageous outbreak because he was a little ashamed of his actions but it felt good. Everything seemed to become much brighter after his shower like he had an enormous weight lifted off his shoulders.

***

Sometimes he would imagine how things could be better. In the future when he would be old enough to get hired and work at a real job, then he would get a car and not have to take the bus. When he would be old enough to move, to get away. Soon, imagining the future was the only stamina he had for continuously returning to The House.

He had other fantasies. There was one he had of a man with green eyes. Quatre put green eyes on him because it was the color of his mother's and Rue's eyes. Green eyes were the most soothing feature Quatre could behold in the man because besides the eyes he imagined him faceless.

He doesn't know why he always pictured a man. The truth was he could only think of penises at night. He could shake them out of his mind but all his thoughts lately were of men, penises, and sex. He tried to put his mind on something else but he could shake the images away and he couldn't help imagining things that would be painful or feel good and things that were so sick even he was surprised with himself.

But the man his favorite fantasy was clean. He didn't Quatre. In fact, he took all the darkness and sick thoughts and fear away. He made him feel clean again.

***

One day on his rode the bus to take Rue and Whitney to one of Rue's friend's house to stay the night. Luckily he didn't have to deal with them the rest of the night. He had the whole house to himself, no "work" no chores, no nothing. All he had was Spanish homework and he was free to sleep the rest of the day. Sleep or watch television. He chose television because he was beginning to fear sleep without something to occupy his thoughts.

Once Rue's stop had come she took one step off the bus then quickly leaped around and snatched the door before it shut. "Quatre! I forgot to tell you! We need to bring our own pool money."

"Okay," he reached in his pocket and accidentally pulled out a handful of bills instead of the few cents he needed. One of his hands gave Rue the money and who skipped off the bus with a cheery "Thank you!" while the other fumbled to slip his money back in his pocket.

As the wads of green paper rolled away from him he felt a growing ping in his stomach that told him eyes were upon him. Curious, he searched for their beholders and discovered two faintly recognizable guys starring at his back from the end of the bus. He thought he knew them but didn't know from where. Feeling shy with an audience glaring at his back he slid as deep as he could in his shallow seat trying to imagine where he had seen them.

They stayed on the bus for a few stopped, causing Quatre's nerves to go haywire. He felt they were observing him. He missed his stop several times and took the entire rout twice but the boys stayed on. He wished he could remember them. He wished he could tell if they were friend or foe.

Cautiously he finally got off on a stop that was a few blocks from his home. He only took a tiny peek over his shoulder to see if they would follow. They were right behind him step by step as he walked.

He skipped a breath once he remembered their faces like a snap of his brain. They were the two teens that he stole from in the alley before he met Trieze! His pace quickened with his breath tried to think of a way too loose them, but the faster he went the faster they went.

He listened for the sounds of their shoes scraping and their heels clicking on the sidewalk. When one of them skipped a beat in clicks Quatre panicked, afraid they were now running. Instinctively he broke into a sprint.

"Hey!" one called whom Quatre recognized as the voice of the red head. He tried to picture a sanctuary! The seven-eleven came to mind and he charged in its direction. "HEY! Hey you!"

It was perfect and small and had security cameras! He let his feet beat the sidewalk as he skidded to a halt at the door and swung it open with the weight of his body.

The storekeeper stared at him from over his tiny television, black and white lights blinked over his face as he examined Quatre. Quatre was relieved. He knew the storekeeper. "Help me," he panted just before the door was kicked open so hard that the bell was knocked off its string.

The storekeeper stood abruptly. His thick mustache and bald forehead squished the rest of his face into a wrinkled mass of fury. His eyes disappeared into the mass. As he stood he fixed his cattle skull belt around his over riding gut and snarled at the boys. "What `you be kickin' my door fer?" he growled venomously.

Both boys' smiles grew wider into a horrible mocking laugh. The clerk examined the snapped hinges and roared. "'Best GIT my store! I aint even gonna call them pigs, I'll shoot you myself!"

The laughter paused. Both boys had a completely different change in face. They glared daggers at the clerk obviously offended by his threat. They shot their narrowed eyes at Quatre then began laughing again.

"Oh sorry!" the red head shot his smart mouth off at the clerk. "Didn't realize this was your bitch for the night. He overcharged us. What did you get for him? Seventy-five cents?" With that fit of laughter engulfed them like a cloud and they strutted off down the street.

Every now and then they shot Quatre a dirty look over their shoulders then shake their heads as if to tell him he should be ashamed. One of them muttered loud enough for Quatre to hear "Should've put him on a leash," and both glared at him over their shoulders to make sure he was listening.

The clerk waddled to the door to inspect the damage then shook his head sadly. His face was no longer a mass of angry wrinkles and his small round eyes appeared with regret. "What happened?"

It took Quatre a second to speak. He was paying to much attention to the boys as they retreated and stupidly stared as the brown haired one spun around at the end of the street and flicked him off with both hands. With a swallow he turned to the clerk and muttered, "They don't like me. They go to my school. They always hated me."

"What dirty minds," the clerk tried to move the door from the wall while recalling the comments of the red head. "Makin' sick lil remarks like that. I think they waitin' fer ya at the end of the block. Do ya wanna ride home?"

Quatre stayed up late finished his homework.