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Unspoken Pain by A Vampires Butterfly

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Chapter notes: Hi there! Violet or A Vampires Butterfly here. *sweat drops, rubbing back of head, red in the face* I know...I know...I so should not do this. I really shouldn't but...I couldn't help it! It got stuck in my head and wouldn't leave me alone! I can't tell if it will be long or short or anything. It was supposed to be a freaking one-shot! Stupid, freaking muse (who I have dubbed Iris ^-^) Anyway. Enjoy....or something. With much love, A Vampires Butterfly ^.^
The water runs down a pale body. It washes away the pain, the memories. It runs down already made tracks down his cheeks. It started out boiling to the point of burning, but now it was cold. Yet he just sits, crouched in the cold corner of his shower, water pounding down on him, washing an already clean body.

But he doesn’t feel clean. He can still feel those hands. That tongue. That hot breath. Those words still echoing in his ears.

‘Such a pretty face. So strong too. But not strong enough, oh no, not strong enough. So pretty…’

He shudders, keeping his head down, buried in his arms. His skin is rubbed raw. He had scrubbed it for hours, trying to scrape off the feeling of his hands.

He had been clean for hours, but he still felt dirty, so dirty. The dirt, blood, and….other substances had been easily washed away, but he could still feel them coated on his skin. His throat was raw. He had tried. He had tried to get away, but…

‘So feisty. Just stay still. No screaming now. Tsk. Tsk. I didn’t want to use such force on such a pretty thing.’

He shivers, feeling the bruises, the sting of the scratches, the burn of penetration. It had happened so fast. He had tried to defend himself. But. He had been disgustingly weak. It was his fault. He should have defended himself. He should have done something besides moan and beg under that…that…

He lets out a small sob, shivers racking through his beaten body before standing up. He turns off the water with a shaking hand. He just stands there though, even as the water stops it icy spraying. He watches with dark eyes as the water goes down the drain, making a last suction noise as the last drop goes down.

‘Let me go! Do you know who I am?! Just let me go and I won’t tell anyone and you won’t go to jail. Let me go!’

‘I don’t who you are, pretty. But right now you’re just a whore in an ally and nobody cares about a pretty whore in an ally. Now just relax. It will only will hurt worse if your struggle.’

He yanks on his robe and double knots it. He walks past his bathroom mirror and stares at the beaten tear streaked face staring back at him. That face is supposed to be one of the strongest men in the country. It is supposed to be known by everyone, not only for having a father that owns a powerful business, but also for being remarkably smart and amazingly handsome. That face is supposed to be above everyone else. It is supposed to live up to everyone’s expectations. It is supposed to be immune to any trouble, worry, or problem.

He slams a fist into the mirror, watching with a sick pleasure as the glass shatters, falling to pieces onto the bathroom counter and into the sink below it. Then he feels something sting and looks down, almost surprised to find himself hurt again. The blood is so bright against his white skin. It is too red. Too bright. It is everywhere.

He had screamed in pain, his tears falling to the dirty, pissed stained concrete beneath him.

‘I told you to relax. Just look, pretty. It seems like I tore you. Look at the blood. It only makes a pretty whore like you even prettier. Such a dirty, bloody, whore.’

A rough hand had pulled his short hair, twisting his head to stare at the ground behind him, instead of at the graffiti brick wall he had been bracing himself against. In the little light he had saw a small puddle of thick, dark liquid below him. It had been a perfect circle, till his attacker had moved inside him.

Another scream was ripped from his throat, though he tried to hold it back, almost biting through his bottom lip. The perfect circle of his blood was ruined as thin trickle of crimson ran down his leg and into the puddle.

He nearly goes into hysterics at the sight of blood again and only doesn’t because of years of training to be a business man and to never show emotion in a bad situation. He quickly grabs a towel, ripping out the shards of the glass and wipes away the blood.

He leaves the rest of the glass, and leaves the bathroom, though it hurts him to move at all. He wraps the towel around his hand, so to stop the bleeding.

Finally he lies on his bed, exhausted, sore, and broken. He just wants to forget. He just wants to move on. He doesn’t want anyone to know what happened to him. What he let happen to him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, laying his head on a soft pillow, sinking into his mattress.

None of it seems real now that he is safe in his bed. It may of all been just a nightmare, maybe he just woke up. Maybe the mirror in his bathroom was never broken. Maybe he isn’t covered in bruises because of that nightmare, but because he was just practicing his fighting skills with Itachi again. Maybe that’s why he’s sore too.

But then he opens his eyes, he looks down at his hand and sees the white towel start to become stained, a small spot of red showing through.

He can’t see the angry blooms of bruises on his hips and arms. He can’t see jagged, red lines etched into his pale skin, from his shoulder blades to his waist. He can’t see the dark purple bite marks, littered across the back of his neck.

He can’t see any of this, but he can feel them and he can remember how he got each mark, how it felt. He can remember all of it. No matter how much he doesn’t want to. And he knows it wasn’t just a nightmare.

He tugs his silk sheets and heavy comforter over his shivering body, but it doesn’t help. He holds his blankets close as if it would help. As if they would hide him. He feels exhaustion start to take over. He finds himself fading into sleep.

Maybe it will be all better in the morning, like everyone says.

But everyone is always wrong; a goodnights sleep never brings anything, but nightmares.

He had collapsed onto the concrete, slipping to his knees, holding onto the shreds of his clothes. His attacker had smirked, disgusting tongue licking his lips before leaning down and biting his bleeding bottom lip. He had looked into his terrified dark eyes with his own gold and smirked again.

‘So pretty whore. Covered in my cum, in blood, in dirt. You are just going to lie in this ally. This dirty, dark ally. Like the whore you are. Till I come back for more fun. Bye-Bye my pretty.’ He had licked at his blood again then stood up and left.

He hadn’t moved till he was sure the man was gone. He had refused to cry in that ally. He had thrown on his shreds, his torn shirt, his spilt-at-the-seams suit jacket, his stained pants, and his shoes. He knew he looked ridiculous and just rushed home, hiding his face, ignoring the stares he got from the doorman at his hotel.

He had locked the door to his expensive apartment; double bolted it, told the doorman not to let anyone with gold eyes go up to his room. He had gone to the bathroom and immediately got into the shower to wipe away whatever traces still remained on him from the man. He had thrown the shreds of cloth away and just sat in the shower, sobbing and rubbing till the first layer of skin was gone, leaving him red.

He had just wanted to forget. The man’s words still haunting him.

‘Till I come back for more fun. Bye-Bye, pretty.’
Chapter end notes: *keeps rubbing head awkwardly* Well...*cough* yeah. I hope you liked it ^-^ More to come later. Reviews are just loved. ^-^ With much love, A Vampires Butterfly ^.^
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