New story! Yeah! Criticism is always welcome, along with suggestions on future ways to make the story better. Hey…that's pretty much the same thing isn't it? Oh well. Yeah, I know this is similar to my other story, Suffer in Silence. Warnings: maybe a little graphic, definite language.
Third Person POV
The boy walks through the alley alone, searching for a place to sleep for the night. Cloaked in black he all but blends into the dark of night, the gleam of his eyes and the pale color of his skin the only thing giving him away.
The boy knows he's in a dangerous neighborhood to be in at night with all the drunken, criminal men running around and yet still he comes, desperate for even the slightest bit of money. It's a dangerous game though; he has to pick the right drunk because if he picks the wrong one he'll have more to lose than just the pocket he was trying to rob.
He moves silently through the alley, undetected but for the two men who have been following him. They boy hasn't noticed them, his normally sharp senses dulled by hunger and exhaustion.
Sliding down the wall he senses the danger a moment too late, leaping to his feet at the same time the two men jump for him.
One of them slams him into the wall, pinning him there while the other reaches around to grab the boy's wrists.
The boy frantically struggles, fully aware of what they want. He knows he can give it to them, maybe even make some money for it, but no, he's going to the last second, when he knows it's happening no matter what.
He rams his knee up into the man pinning him to the wall, hitting him right in the stomach.
The man gasps then presses him further into the wall, pressing his knee between the boy's legs, grinding it against him. "You're gonna pay for that, bitch," he hisses and the boy can practically taste the alcohol on his breath.
Knowing a lost fight, aware that he can't escape the two men, the boy swallows, chokes down his pride, and gives his offer. "$100, each, and you get a night you'll never forget."
The other man laughs long and heard. "Look at that Artie, the kid expects us to pay him!"
"You can have me kicking and screaming at fighting or I can make you both very…happy," the boy says.
The first man shrugs. "I like 'em fighin'."
"Will you cry baby?" the second man asks, reaching up to stroke the boys cheek. "Are you a crier?"
The boy narrows his eyes then does what he's been trained to do, rubbing against the man. He'll get him money, one way or another.
The second man lets go of the boy's wrists, moving behind him and wrapping his arms around the boy's waist.
Then, not for the first time and doubtfully the last time, the boy is taken, his body used like a toy and cast aside.
Fang's POV
Crawling out from the cardboard box I'd slept in last night I have to hold back a groan of soreness. Stupid men.
I reach to the back of the choker I wear and pull out the money I managed to grab from the tow pervs last night. $150. Not the $200 I'd been hoping for but better than nothing. More than I had yesterday morning. I slip the money into my pocket and finger the choker, feeling for any extra looseness, something a person could grab onto.
It's skin tight, like always, but with enough room for me to slip some money through. It's where I put the cash I can wheedle out of drunken, and sometimes not, pervs who want a quick fuck.
I lay out, pressing my sore back against the cold wall.
Food first, that's my biggest concern. Then some new cloths. Then I'll have to make whatever I have left last. It's a hard life living on the streets but I'd take it any day over a life with my father. At least on the streets I don't have to worry about a demented man with tasers and whips coming after me. No, that's only in my dreams now, I'm sure he has no idea where I am. I don't even have to worry about hiding the bruises and cuts, hiding the blood and the pain, from the normal people. On the streets I'm free of my father's control.
I need a back pack too. I want more than just one outfit and I'll need somewhere to put anything else I manage to get my hands on. A blanket would be nice, it can get pretty cold at night.
I need a shower. I can't exactly walk the streets in the day looking like a bloody dirty mess. It would attract too much attention. The fastest way would be to just break into an empty house.
Someone must be on my side today because the fourth house I check is empty. Of course, you never know how long they'll stay empty so I'll have to be fast.
Trying the window first I decide that someone has finally decided to take some pity on me because it slides open easily.
I take a quick tour of the small apartment, just to be sure that it's really empty, then take advantage of their bathroom, showering under scalding hot water. This must be a woman's place, the soap scents and the brush a dead giveaway.
At this point though, I don't really care if I smell like Cherry Blossoms or not, as long as I'm clean. I'm starting to feel the bugs I always feel if I don't somehow clean myself after a night with a guy...or 2…..or 5…once it was 10….
Once I'm done with my shower I borrow a fluffy white towel and dry, then redress in my dirty, torn, and bloody clothes, ruining the clean effect.
I take the time to brush out my hair then raid her kitchen, taking a little of everything so she's less likely to notice anything missing.
Click. The front door, I'm gone out the window and down the street.
I stop at the first street corner I pass, buying a pretzel from the vendor there, hoping to quell my rumbling stomach a little. Even a tiny bit.
The only good thing about the men not taking my deal was that I didn't have to suck them off so I don't have to worry about throwing up.
It's been two…ish…months…maybe three…since I ran away. Left home, left my father. It's been just the two of us since my mom died when I was 5 and my twin died 2 years ago.
My home life has always sucked, for as long as I can remember my dad knocked my around. Raven too if I couldn't keep him off her. I tried so hard not to let him touch her….I think he used to hit my mom too but I was too young to remember.
The day it all changed I was 6. I don't know what changed, but something did because from that day forward he hit me all the time. That was also the first day he raped me.
He used to….touch…me but that was the first time he went further. It hurt so much. I carried and screamed and-
Shaking my head I push the memories from my mind. I'm not going back there. I'm free.
I look up, realizing I've started walking and that my pretzel has vanished. People are staring at me. But then again, who wouldn't stare at a too skinny 15 year old boy in torn up dirty black clothes wearing fingerless black gloves and a black choker with long black hair and 4 piercings along his right ear? I'm sure the cut under my left eye and the bruise on my left cheek aren't helping much. Even in the city I still stand out.
Not noticing how far I've come I have to double back to the Goodwill. It doesn't take me long to find a few black jeans, long sleeve shirts, t-shirts, and a jacket. I also find a simple, durable, black backpack. It's pretty small too. And the whole thing only costs $10. Gotta love Goodwill.
It feels great to be walking around in clean somewhat new clothes and not attract as much attention.
Ok, food next. What's closest? I'm near the Goodwill….ya know what? I'm just gonna pick a direction and walk.
Still a bit amped from last night if feels like every guy I pass is watching me, waiting for me to give them an opportunity.
I stick near the edge out the crowd as I walk. Without realizing it I head out toward the edge of the city, to the houses in the quaint little neighborhoods. It's kinda weird actually, almost like walking through a door, city to suburbs.
McDonalds! That's what's closest to the Goodwill.
Veering in I quickly get in line, hoping that even though it's before 11:00 I can still get lunch. But then again, beggars can't be choosers.
Not that I'd ever beg. For anything. Even begging is below me.
I order enough for 3 people, ignoring the questioning look from the person taking my order.
Once I've paid I take my food and debate walking out but decide to just sit and a real table and chair for once. It'll be nice.
Even with a full stomach and $120 I'll still have to work the streets. I've learned from experience how fast money can vanish. I'm not the only street rat out here. Plenty of people need food and money. They'll jump you in a second if they think they can get away with it, weather you look like you have money or not.
I prefer the old fashioned way, silently snatching the money then disappearing, leaving then to figure it out the next time they go to pay for something.
Sometimes, if I'm not too desperate or the streets aren't too bad I just take the money and return their wallet. I don't use the credit cards anyway.
Biting into the burger I can't hold back a whimper. It tastes so good. I enjoy the first bite, swallow, then shove food into my mouth as fast as I can.
I get half way through my second burger before I realize I realize I should slow down a little because people are starting to look at me.
Sure, I'm wearing clean cloths and my hair's not tangled and knotty but I'm eating like a starved person – I am a starved person – and I still have the bruise and cut on my face and I'm aware of how painfully skinny I am. The baggy clothes help a little but it's still pretty obvious I'm an unhealthy weight.
I look up and watch the people around me as I eat, naturally suspicious of everyone.
Happy families, a mother and her two kids, probably about 6 and 8. A group of teenagers, a single man. I glance at the door as it opens. Two girls, probably about my age walk in. One of them has brown hair with lighter blonde streaks and pretty brown eyes. The other is blonde with blue eyes. I can't seem to look away from the first girl.
She's pretty but she looks tough too. She's smirking about something and her eyes have an excited gleam in them. I wonder what they're talking about.
I sigh and reach for another fry then realize I'm out of food. Damn… I can't exactly go order more…. As hungry as I am if I eat too much I will get sick.
I grumpily get up and walk out, bumping into the girl as I pass her. My hand flashes toward her pocket then I freeze, something stopping me from grabbing her wallet from where I can see it in her pocket, stopping me from stealing her money.
"Watch where you walk," she says, then laughs a bit.
"Sorry," I mumble and turn to leave.
"Hey, wait," she says grabbing my ar. "You look familiar. Do I know you?"
I resist jerking away, running. I feel my muscles tense under the contact. As much as I'm skin and bone I'm pretty strong too.
"Heellloooo?"
"No," I whisper, my voice raw because I don't use it very often. "You don't know me." I'd defiantly remember a face like hers.
"Maybe not but I've defiantly seen you around," she continues, looking at me closely.
I shake my head a bit, making more hair fall into my face shielding it from her view.
"JJ doesn't he look familiar?"
"We're in the city Max, we've probably passed him on the streets," the other girl, JJ, shrugs.
What kind of name is Max for a girl? Maxine?
"Probably, but it's more than that," Max insists. "You…look like….my neighbor! That's it! JJ, doesn't he look like Christian?"
"Sure, I guess. Christian's hair is shorter though and he's tanner. And he's like, 10 years older."
Max rolls her eyes. "Aside from that."
"Aside from that," JJ agrees.
"What's your name?" Max asks.
I quickly avert my eyes and look at the ground, wishing she would just let me go. I could easily just rip my arm free but something's stopping me. The same thing that stopped me from stealing her money.
"Hey, I asked you something," Max snaps impatiently.
"…..Fang….." I say, barely audible.
"Well Fang," Max says releasing my arm, "Maybe I'll see you around."
I take half a second to nod before taking off out the door and down the street.
Maybe I will see Max again. That could be nice, she seems ok.
But no, I've learned long ago never to trust anybody. You only get hurt. Raven trusted me and now she's dead. Trust gets you hurt. Trust gets you killed.
Never. Trust. Anyone.
I run a few more blocks then duck into an alley, slowing to a walk.
Clank. It's faint but I hear it, a person shifting and bumping against metal. The sound came from a few feet in front of me.
I calmly keep walking, pretending I hadn't heard a thing, senses on high alert, muscles tense.
I should probably just turn around and walk away. That would be the smart thing to do. I'm stronger but still pretty weak and if I get in a fight with this person then I'll lose my money and probably get hurt too.
It's worth the risk though. There's always the possibility that U could win and they could have something useful. Plus, I'm still tense from my encounter with Max. A fight would feel good.
~~~Fang~~~
Slam. Ok, maybe I should have just walked away. I stifle a yelp as I'm thrown into the wall and a groan as I slide down.
It's rare to run into s streeter this muscular and strong. He looks surprisingly well taken care of, not too hungry or tired or anything. That's why I'm getting my butt kicked.
Correction, just got my butt kicked.
"You're…..good…." I gasp out, always one to recognize a fighter.
He smirks and comes over, kicking me in the stomach as I try to get up.
I slam into the wall, his foot still going into my stomach. Ruthless. My arms wrap around my stomach when he moves his foot. I gasp desperately for air, trying to get some, even a little, in my lungs.
He leans down, reaching into my pockets, trying to find any money. I'm glad I switched in back to my choker. People rarely think to look there.
Feeling his hands on my gives me a new surge of adrenaline and I grab his wrist and twist hard.
"Little fighter, are we? Don't like to be touched?" he sneers. "Don't worry you won't feel a thing."
There's a sickening crack as he slams my head into the wall.
Black spots immediately swim over my vision but he's wrong, I do feel him, fighting like I always do when oblivion calls me into its back depths. I feel his hands in my front pockets then my back. I seize the second he rolls me over but all my energy is focused on staying conscious so my body stays limp. Next he pulls off my gloves, smart brute he is. Kindly he leaves them, not that they'd fit him anyway.
"You have to have something. These clothes are pretty new and I can smell the fast food on you too…" he mutters to himself. "Where do you keep it?"
I feel his eyes scanning my body, looking for somewhere I could conceal money. He rolls me over, examines my back then my front.
"Ha! Got it!" he snaps his fingers. "Sneaky little devil."
He rolls me back so I'm laying on my stomach and brushes my hair aside, revealing the $120 I have tucked in the choker.
He takes a second to count it then slaps my back like he's an old friend. "Thanks for the donation."
And then he's gone, leaving me to the feel of his hands, my father's hands, other's hands, all over me, as I sink into the abyss.
Ok, for all my Suffer in Silence readers, I promise to still work on that the updates will just be less frequent. As for this, it's just a matter of typing it up because I have it written down. Please review!