Content Warning: Pretty brutal and graphic beating along with some harsh words. Note that I am pro-choice, but the language used here is meant to be hateful and is aimed at a character who was neglected and abused as a child.

***

Pain.

It had long overstayed its welcome.

Tristan voice was rasping and sore. His throat burned with the need for air as those noxious teeth burrowed deeper into his shoulder. He swore he could feel his clavicle crack. Even though his brain was firing with jolts of ecstasy, his stomach twisted in knots. The smell of the creature on top of him was noxious. His eyes stung from the stench. His fingers scrapped along the ground before his palms pressed as hard as he could against the mottled, dark grey and brown flesh. His fingers could press down and cut into the flesh easily, pus and blood soaking his nails.

Eric was pestilence. Even with the pretty boy’s fingers digging and scratching open the boils and sores that covered his flesh, his mouth stayed firm. Only when the skinny Twink ripped off one of the exposed, superfluous bones from his forearm did the abomination finally pulled back, leaving wrenching, gushing welts on Tristan’s flesh.

His blue eyes rolled back, a scream erupting against his will out from his mouth. His throat ached from the choked sound and his hand dropped the bone to press against the wound. Tristan panted hard as he felt those lacerations close under his palm, his breaths coming out in guttural sobs.

The thing known as “Eric” chuckle, his yellow and brown jagged teeth coated with blood, “You ain’t pretty anymore, bitch boy.” He lifted his over sized hand and slammed it against that battered, delicate face.

Tristan’s head jerked to the side from the dizzying impact. If his mind wasn’t in ruins from the thorough thrashing, his new found durability would impress him. Instead he hissed, trying to regain focus, “Look-look who’s talking…” He placed his palms onto the ground, pushing himself up before that monstrous hand pinned him down. It covered his neck and chest; each press down prevented any air to fill Tristan’s lungs. He spat out blood, both his hands wrapping around the thick, jagged trunk that was Eric’s wrist.

“I hate that fucking whore, but I gotta thank her for leaving your ass behind.” The abomination clenched his fingers, lifting Tristan up towards his face, spittle and mucus sliding down his swollen, bubble lower lip, his chortles rumbling along with his putrid breath, almost making his victim puke, “I can even tell a fuck boy like you even enjoys getting your ass trashed. Maybe I’ll rip you open first. Mmm, I’m going to enjoy ripping you apart.”

Tristan's eyes widened slightly. His face was red and his lips tingled, air cut off from his brain. However, those words sounded… familiar…

“I’m going to break you and twist that pretty little skull of yours off, before leaving your body here like shit.” Instead of a deep chortle, Tristan’s burning eyes heard a sultry chuckle, that single bulging eye splitting into two, the brown irises reddening, “You may have gotten me before, but now look whose’s on top!”

“Shu-shut… up” He spoke, his hands trembling as he was losing his grip on the world. The edges of his vision darkened, and one hand fell to the ground, fingers scraping along the floor.

Those eyes gleamed down at him, staring at him as if he was an insect, “Shit, you look so sad.”

Eric jerked him forward, the gift of breath given to him for blessed milliseconds, before being pummeled back into the ground, his palms slamming onto the cracked cement, the back of his head colliding with the floor. Any clarity that he had from the short reprieve disintegrated.

The reeking, blurry brute, whose shape continued to morph in the fog, spoke, “You ain’t got your looks, you are weak as shit, you got nothing!” The voice morphed, going up in octave, with an aggressive, flaming edge, “You are nothing! Just pathetic! No wonder you got left behind!”

Wrath…

Ira was speaking to him, insulting him. Beating him.

Killing him…

Tristan's fingers stretched out, grasping for anything on the ground, “Sh-shut the fu-fuck up…!”

“You do nothing but piss me off!” He couldn’t get her voice out of her head. He wasn’t even sure if the behemoth holding him down was speaking anymore. “You are whining, or begging. I have given you a gift, and you’re wasting it!”

He felt something smooth against his fingertips. He strained his hand further out, curling towards the object as his lungs were bursting.

“I should kill you. I couldn’t love someone like you. Even your mother couldn’t love you.”

The voice changed again, gaining another octave. His fingers tipped the implement towards him, rolling it under his palm.

It was the last voice he wanted to hear; the red orbs above him cooling into an electric, piercing azure. Shrill, slurred, the acrid stench stirring his stomach, twisting it with disgust.

With hatred.

“I should have you tossed into a trash can. A fucking abortion would have been a blessing.”