There's going to be a lot of triggers in this book. Anxiety, depression etc.. THERE WILL BE GORE!!! If you're squeamish I would suggest not reading this, but there will be warnings for major gore stuff. Please vote and comment!
(I suck at editing if anything is wrong tell me please)
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"Patrick, just fucking leave!"
"Fine Gerard! I hope your new bitch likes your tiny ass dick", I yelled. Tears threatening to spill from my glassy eyes.
I whipped around, walked out the door, slammed it behind me, and walked into the cold Chicago night air.
Fuck Gerard Way. That bitch smoked my heart like one of his cigarettes, and when he was done he left me to smolder on my own.
Gerard's love was like constantly having a gun cocked and pointed at me. Every move he made terrified me. Every empty "I love you" stung but I needed the empty words. I needed some kind of positive affirmation, even if it meant nothing.
The Chicago streets seemed quieter that night. Tension covered the city like the blanket of stars that laid over it. Shivers ran down my spine. I just hoped to be home as soon as possible. I prayed that I didn't get hypothermia; all I wore was a thin pink sweater and white skinny jeans.
I locked my eyes onto the ground, and tried only to focus on my feet slapping against the concrete below me.
Thud thud, thud thud.
After a couple more minutes of the melodic white noise of my feet falling in pairs I heard another set of footsteps off in the distance.
I spun around and saw a man. He appeared to be the same age, but more grizzled. Dark bangs swept over the side of his face and covered an eye.
I shot him a smile, and a small wave like I was taught to when I was younger.
He didn't smile back.
I shivered and kept on walking, my phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans. For fucks sake. It's Gee isn't it?
God, I need to stop calling him 'Gee' he's just Gerard. For now. Out of my own curiosity and my obsession with the man that never ceases to hurt me, I stopped to check my phone.
The dark haired man now stood next to me.
"Hello", a wave of warm breath neared my cheek.
"Hi", I wanted nothing to do with this man anymore. The streets were empty and I was obviously vulnerable.
"You look troubled"
"Maybe I am"
"Elaborate, he growled.
"I'd rather not.", My voice was barely a whisper. My eyes darted to the buildings around me. He wouldn't do anything around these buildings, even if nobody was here.
Right?
As soon as I finished that troubling thought, he tackled my from behind, and put a rag soaked in something over my mouth and nose.
My instincts kicked in. I attempted to elbow him in the ribs, while gasping for air through the rag. My measly attack did nothing. He still held a strong grip on me.
He yanked me into a back alley that I hadn't even noticed while I stared at my shoes earlier. The rag was still pressed up against me and I was breathing in some kind of chemical. I thrashed around aimlessly. There seemed to be no way to get out of his grip.
"Listen kid, don't make me do this the hard way."
I ignored his cliche warning, and slammed my foot into his as hard as I could. He faltered for just a second, but I couldn't escape his grasp. He had regained control again.
Beginning to feel dazed, I swayed back and forth."There you go, it'll be ok", a whisper sounded all around me.
Maybe heaven exists after all.
————————————————————Pete's Point Of View
The boys body fell limp in my arms. I staggered back, and got a grip on the rag doll body. My lungs burned as I carried him deeper into the alley. Asthma and light exposure to chloroform is never a good thing.
We arrived where my old rusty truck was parked. Cars from the road on this side of the alley blew a slight breeze towards us. His blonde hair fluttered. I propped him against a dumpster, careful not to put him in sight of the cars. After unlocking the door, I lifted him into the floor of the backseat, and climbed into the drivers seat.
A smile spread across my face. He was perfect, the best one yet in fact. His feminine appearance was pleasing. He would be nice to look at.
Even better to torture.
~
Two hours of mundane driving later we arrived. He was still passed out in the back, and softly snoring. I parked the truck behind the ivy ridden house, the gold leaves crunched and crackled under the weight of the truck. Outside the window, gnarled tree branches reached out to the sky as if they were begging God for mercy.
The boy would soon do the same.
Stepping out of the trucked I opened the back door, and ran my hand through his soft blonde hair. "You'll do nicely", the words slipped out of my mouth. I dragged him out of the truck, and bent down to lay him on the ground, the leaves serving as a pillow. I stood straight up again and slowly shut the creaky car door.
Picking him up bridal style I started to carry him to the house.
I had no upper body strength at all, and strained to get him just to my green, ripped up couch. Sighing, I sat down on the tattered furniture with the boy still in my arms.
He groaned, and nuzzled into my chest.
Holy fuck. That was precious, but he may wake up soon. I rose to my feet again, and carried him down to the basement, my muscles screamed the whole way.
I gently set him on a shiny metal table and put handcuffs on him. A pair for both hands and legs. I connected both hands to the table legs, and the same for his feet. I decide to leave my 'tools' next to him. He can't get to them, and he'll be in pain just waiting to know what they're for.
I walked back up the stairs, to my own bedroom, flipped onto the twin sized bed with aqua covers, and stared at the ceiling. I let out a long exasperated sigh. The initial abduction was always exhausting. I rolled onto my side, and gazed longingly at the laptop set on my nightstand. It was constantly set to show me the security footage of the basement. The boy slept like an angel. His pink sweater rode up just enough to show some pale skin, and his lips were barely parted.
I wonder if he screams like an angel too.
————————————————————PATRICKS POINT OF VIEW
"Fuck.", I groaned when I finally came to. I wearily attempted to set my arms on the floor to sit up, but when I tried there was just the clanking of metal, and pressure against my wrists. I came to the realization that I wasn't on the ground like I suspected, but on some kind of table.
Panic set in.
I frantically tried to bring my hands up again, but the metal just rang louder that time. My feet were next, when I tried to move them, just like my hands they moved an inch, but were stopped short.
I whipped my head to the right, and it smacked against the hard surface. Pain shot throughout my temple, and I tried to cradle my injured head, but the chains stopped me again. I slammed my eyes shut, and prayed for this all to be over.
I stayed in that position for a couple minutes. My head pounding, and under a blanket of darkness as a coping mechanism.
If you can't see it. It's not there. Right?
I finally gathered the courage to open my eyes. They fluttered open like a butterfly's wings, and landed on an assortment of sharp objects neatly organized on a tray on a small table next to me. The innocent butterfly was dead. It fell to my stomach. Laying motionless with the rest of my dreams.
A twinge of guilt shot through my conscience. I never even got to say goodbye to Gerard. The last thing that I said to him was an insult. What's he doing now? Does he miss me? Does he know I'm gone?
Probably not.
He would die of lung cancer later in life, without even the slightest memory of me. I'm nobody to him. I would die here, or if I got out of here, I would die hanging from a rope, longing for him.
Before I knew it a tear was paving a road of despair down my cheek. Then another, and another. Until my face was completely industrialized.
I must have looked so pathetic. Here I was tied to this table with an assortment of knifes next to me and, and I was crying over some boy who couldn't care less about me.
Stop.
I need to stop crying. There's no point in it. I knew I was sad. I didn't need anyone else to know. Nobody else cared.
My heart skipped a beat when the door swung open, light flooding into the filthy room. A dark shadow descended the rotted wood stairs.
I closed my eyes.
The same footsteps that accompanied me last night grew closer, each thud carry more tension than the last. He was next to me. I could sense it. The footsteps had stopped.
A calloused hand ran up my left cheek.
"Open your eyes darling"
I slowly opened my eyes, blinking a couple times. Brown eyes with large pupils gazed at my own watery blue ones. I was sure the tears that littered my eyes forming kaleidoscope visuals were visible. "Aww... don't cry sweetheart. We're just going to have a little fun." His voice wasn't as viscous as I remembered it to be. It was still rough, but in a serene way.
I placed my teeth just over my tongue and bit down. I would do whatever it took not to cry in front of him. "You don't talk much do you?" He walked to my right side next to the tray. "The names Pete by the way." He leaned over me, resting his elbows on the sides of the table.
My whole body tense when he removed an elbow from the table so he could grab a silver knife. He twirled it in his rough hands, gazing down at me. "Didn't your mom ever teach you how to talk to someone. You're supposed to tell me your name, angel."
My eyed remained glued to the ceiling as if I was in an intense staring contest with the mold growing in top of it."Maybe you need a little encouragement."
I inhaled a shaky breath through my nose. My eyebrows shot up. Pete pushed off the table, and slowly walked to my left side, knife still in hand. He squatted down so he was face level with the side of my head. "Look. At. Me.", his voice turned violent again.
I followed his instruction and turned my head towards him. Now we were face to face. I could describe every detail. That's how close we were.
He had thick eyebrows, and his hair was jet black like I thought it was. His eyes reminded me of snuggling up to Gerard next to a crackling fire with hot cocoa in the winter. Something about his eyes just seemed warm. They seemed caring, maybe he did have a little humanity inside him after all.
A shocking cold on my cheek snapped me out of my thoughts. I snapped my head back to escape it. The injured side of my head once again slammed into the metal table. The room spun for a second, lights diving every which way.
Pete grabbed my face by the sides of my mouth, and threw me into the other side of the table so I was facing him again. Even though I could see him, his face seemed to fade in and out of sight. "Don't move." My mouth was still forced open by Pete's hands, and warm liquid trickled into my mouth. It tasted metallic.
Blood.
"Patrick, that's my name, but don't ever call me Pat.", I croaked.
"Thank you Patrick.", his voice was warm again.
He left the room without any more trouble, and I drifted asleep, blood dripped steadily onto my favorite sweater.