Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Trap Me ( Chapter 62 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.02.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 816 | Visits: 263 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.02.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 816 | Visits: 263 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: Another chapter short on words and high on angst.
Chapter Sixty-Two: Trap Me
Huddled against the bathtub with his back to the wall, Aya listened to Yohji beat on the door. With each knock he drew further and further in on himself, tucking his thin legs against his chest and pressing his forehead against his knees. His arms were wrapped tightly around his belly, fingers gripping the opposite sides of his pajamas, and he looked like he was trying to hold himself together.
There was terror, full and rampant. It made his blood run loud in his ears and made it impossible to think. Yohji would get through the door, any second, he knew. Aya waited on the edge of hysteria, sure his owner would come, waiting for the rough hands and hot pain, knowing it would sear deeper for all the kindness he had been shown. He heard Yohji speak, but the sense of the words didn’t reach him.
Crawford had spoken, too. He had thrown Aya down and beaten and raped him, and Aya had endured it. He couldn’t take this.
“I can’t,” he whispered miserably, barely a sound passing through his lips. “I can’t.”
Aya didn’t know how long he sat in the dark room before the terror ebbed away. It left silence in its wake, and he listened closely, hearing nothing beyond his own shallow breathing. After a while, this started to even out, and the physical reality of his situation began to soak into his consciousness.
It was dark, and he didn’t like it. Then again, it didn’t bring the fear that it had. What was in the dark? Yohji was outside the door, or he had been. He was out there, waiting to do that. Out there was pain, and inside?
A harsh, short laugh broke out of him.
He felt the panic creeping forward and shoved it back.
He was pathetic. Huddled in a dark room like a child, half scared of the dark and near tears. He was cold, and his body ached from staying in the cramped position. His head hurt, and his pajamas clung wetly to his thighs.
He was ashamed.
Before, at least he had met his punishment with something like honor. Rarely had he cowered away, and never had he run. It was another dishonor, another act to disgrace him and his family.
What did it matter? He wasn’t a man, not anymore. Not ever. If he had ever had a chance at being one, it was dashed when he took that collar and wrapped it around his own neck. He should have used it to hang himself.
Another uncomfortable laugh.
Slowly, he unfolded himself, reveling in the pins and needles feeling that attacked his limbs as the bloodflow returned. When he felt slightly more in control of them, he stood and groped around for the light. When his hand found the switch, he turned on the lights, washing the small space in fluorescent illumination.
He stood by the sink, staring in the mirror, glaring at the pitiful thing that stared back at him.
How he hated what he had become.
Yohji had been a momentary reprieve. He had offered Aya a glimmer of hope that someone saw him as more than an object to be used. Often he wondered if he even was more, and he had been less and less sure until Yohji had saved him. But it was false. All of it was lie, and Yohji saw nothing but a body to fuck once he had molded it to his liking.
Dropping his gaze to the sink, Aya saw the random assortment of bottles and tubes and there, near the corner, a blue plastic razor. He grabbed it without thinking, lifting it up and banging it down, hard, on the edge of the vanity. It shattered, sending a spray of plastic shards in all directions. Picking up the battered head, he drew out one of the thin razor blades, holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. He looked at it hard, then, setting down the blade, shoved up the left sleeve of his pajama top.
There were bandages there, leftovers that didn’t cover any serious wounds. Yohji liked to leave them, said they would help Aya remember not to scratch himself, not to hurt himself. Now Aya wore a hard expression as he loosened the end and unwound the long strip of white cotton.
~tbc~
Review to comfort Aya? Or to berate Yohji…either way.
Converting /tmp/phpSRZQMA to /dev/stdout
Chapter Sixty-Two: Trap Me
Huddled against the bathtub with his back to the wall, Aya listened to Yohji beat on the door. With each knock he drew further and further in on himself, tucking his thin legs against his chest and pressing his forehead against his knees. His arms were wrapped tightly around his belly, fingers gripping the opposite sides of his pajamas, and he looked like he was trying to hold himself together.
There was terror, full and rampant. It made his blood run loud in his ears and made it impossible to think. Yohji would get through the door, any second, he knew. Aya waited on the edge of hysteria, sure his owner would come, waiting for the rough hands and hot pain, knowing it would sear deeper for all the kindness he had been shown. He heard Yohji speak, but the sense of the words didn’t reach him.
Crawford had spoken, too. He had thrown Aya down and beaten and raped him, and Aya had endured it. He couldn’t take this.
“I can’t,” he whispered miserably, barely a sound passing through his lips. “I can’t.”
Aya didn’t know how long he sat in the dark room before the terror ebbed away. It left silence in its wake, and he listened closely, hearing nothing beyond his own shallow breathing. After a while, this started to even out, and the physical reality of his situation began to soak into his consciousness.
It was dark, and he didn’t like it. Then again, it didn’t bring the fear that it had. What was in the dark? Yohji was outside the door, or he had been. He was out there, waiting to do that. Out there was pain, and inside?
A harsh, short laugh broke out of him.
He felt the panic creeping forward and shoved it back.
He was pathetic. Huddled in a dark room like a child, half scared of the dark and near tears. He was cold, and his body ached from staying in the cramped position. His head hurt, and his pajamas clung wetly to his thighs.
He was ashamed.
Before, at least he had met his punishment with something like honor. Rarely had he cowered away, and never had he run. It was another dishonor, another act to disgrace him and his family.
What did it matter? He wasn’t a man, not anymore. Not ever. If he had ever had a chance at being one, it was dashed when he took that collar and wrapped it around his own neck. He should have used it to hang himself.
Another uncomfortable laugh.
Slowly, he unfolded himself, reveling in the pins and needles feeling that attacked his limbs as the bloodflow returned. When he felt slightly more in control of them, he stood and groped around for the light. When his hand found the switch, he turned on the lights, washing the small space in fluorescent illumination.
He stood by the sink, staring in the mirror, glaring at the pitiful thing that stared back at him.
How he hated what he had become.
Yohji had been a momentary reprieve. He had offered Aya a glimmer of hope that someone saw him as more than an object to be used. Often he wondered if he even was more, and he had been less and less sure until Yohji had saved him. But it was false. All of it was lie, and Yohji saw nothing but a body to fuck once he had molded it to his liking.
Dropping his gaze to the sink, Aya saw the random assortment of bottles and tubes and there, near the corner, a blue plastic razor. He grabbed it without thinking, lifting it up and banging it down, hard, on the edge of the vanity. It shattered, sending a spray of plastic shards in all directions. Picking up the battered head, he drew out one of the thin razor blades, holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. He looked at it hard, then, setting down the blade, shoved up the left sleeve of his pajama top.
There were bandages there, leftovers that didn’t cover any serious wounds. Yohji liked to leave them, said they would help Aya remember not to scratch himself, not to hurt himself. Now Aya wore a hard expression as he loosened the end and unwound the long strip of white cotton.
~tbc~
Review to comfort Aya? Or to berate Yohji…either way.
Converting /tmp/phpSRZQMA to /dev/stdout