Waking up next to a stranger is one thing but waking up in a goddamn cell was a new kind of low, even for Dashiell. He was trying his hardest to remember how he ended up in here, but nothing came to mind. The last thing he could remember was meeting with a client in a really lousy inn. But that wasn't illegal.
He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The cell was dark and cold, and the only light was the flickering torch on the wall on the other side of the bars. There were no windows, chains were hanging from the walls and ceiling - he definitely appreciated that he wasn't tied up like that. The walls were made of stone, the same as the floor and there were dark spots everywhere. The smell was probably the worst. The damp mold and metallic smell were overwhelming, it was making him nauseous. He was lying on a hard, wooden bench, which made his back ache.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. His head was hurting like someone had beaten him up and when he touched his nose a sharp pain shot through him. It was broken, so there was no doubt that someone had hurt him, but he was afraid to find out who.
Dashiell looked down at himself. He was still dressed, but his white shirt had been ripped open and was covered in blood. Was all of it his own blood? His pants were dirty but at least they weren't undone, and he didn't really feel that sore, so he assumed that the only one who'd touched him was his last client. Could it be a client who’d kidnapped me? Am I even in Natbury anymore? he thought. Some of them were a bit possessive, so it honestly wouldn’t surprise him. As long as it’s not… No, don’t go there! Don’t think about that! It couldn’t be. He tried to shake the thought off, but it was always there in the darkest corner of his mind.
He got up, running his hands through his unruly mess of deep brown hair as he walked towards the iron bars. He needed to know where he was and what he'd done to end up in this situation. The hallway looked empty, but he knew that there was some kind of a guard somewhere. There was always a guard when someone was locked up. Where the hell am I? Am I in another city? Another country?
“Hey!” He yelled, grabbing the bars with a strong hold and shaking them as if it would help anything. “Let me out of this shithole!” No one answered and no one came, but that didn't stop him. He was angry… but most of all, he was scared. “What did I do? Please, let me out!” still nothing. It was so quiet.
He felt tears behind his eyes, but he forced himself not to cry. He didn't want to be weak.
He walked back towards the wooden bench and curled himself up against the wall, trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible. He starred at the dark spots on the floor. They were big and there were a lot of them. Especially beneath the chains. It wasn't just a cell. It was a torture chamber.
He kept trying to remember what had happened, but there was nothing. He didn't know how long he'd been there. For all he knew, he could’ve been unconscious for days. He pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms around them, and hid his face. “Don't cry,” he whispered to himself. “Don't cry!” The words became his mantra. His head was hurting badly, his ribs were aching, and his throat felt sore. He wondered if his captor had tried to choke him. It felt like the walls were creeping in on him, his breathing was quickening, and his body was shaking. The walls came closer and closer, there was no way out. He was trapped, and he couldn't do anything about it. Small rooms always made him scared, and it was a fear he'd never grow out of.
He couldn't breathe and he couldn't hold back his tears any longer. He needed to get out. He couldn't stay there. He jumped up from the bench, cursing at the pain that shot through his whole body and went back to the bars. “Let me out!” he screamed. Tears running down his cheeks. “Please, just let me out of here!” He was sobbing and shaking. He couldn't take this anymore. “I can't breathe! Please help me!” he collapsed on the floor and wrapped his arms around himself. This couldn’t be happening. “Help me,” he whispered, his voice shaking, to no one but himself.
He was left with his own thoughts, which was a dangerous thing. His mind alone could drive him insane. They could kill him. That's why he hated being alone. He always needed to stay busy, to be around someone. Even if it was someone who was hurting him. He just needed something to help him shut out all the bad thoughts and memories.
Dashiell wanted to disappear. To rip his skin off, so his soul could escape. He knew that whatever was awaiting him, wouldn't be pleasant. It couldn't be when he was locked up like this. What did they want to do to him? Rape him? Torture him? Keep him there as a fucking pet in a cage?
He tightened his grip around himself. Nails puncturing holes in the sun-kissed skin of his arms. His stomach was hurting, not from the physical harm but from the fear. It was the same fear as he felt back then. That kind of fear that could make you throw up. Dashiell had been through hell and back before. He couldn’t go through it again. It would kill him.
His heart stopped for a moment when he heard footsteps creeping closer. He could hear that there were at least two people coming closer, maybe three. He honestly didn't want to find out.
He got up and curled himself against the wall in the far corner of the cell. He didn't know if they were there for him, or if they were bringing another prisoner to a cell.
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He could do this. He had to stay strong.
Three men stopped in front of his cell. They all stared at him. One of them had a crooked smile on his lips which made Dashiell feel really uncomfortable. They were wearing uniforms. The uniforms of the royal guard. The castle. He was locked up in the dungeons of the castle.
“I see you're finally awake,” one of them said. He unlocked the cell door and all three men stepped in. They were big and Dashiell knew he wouldn't stand a chance against them in a fight. He wasn't a fighter. He wouldn't even be able to win against one of them. They stepped close to him and Dashiell tried to press himself harder up against the wall as if it could swallow him if he just pressed himself hard enough. One of the men grabbed his arm and pulled him over to one of the walls with the chains hanging from them. Dashiell tried to squirm his way out of the man’s grip, but he couldn't.
“Please,” he begged, trying not to cry in front of them. “Don't… just let me go.” The man pushed him hard against the wall while the two others took his wrist, pulled them up over his head, and locked the chains around them. “No!” he cried, struggling. “Please! Don't do this! I didn't do anything wrong.” One of them slapped him so hard across his already bruised and painful cheek that he lost his footing.
“Shut up, whore!” he said. Whore. The way he said it made his stomach hurt. There was so much disgust in the guard’s voice. Whore. It wasn’t a person standing before them, they only saw a rent boy.
The chains felt cold and heavy around his wrists. He was shaking so much that he almost couldn't stand.
“Why am I here?” he asked. It came out as a whisper, but they heard him. Instead of answering, one of them hit him hard in the stomach. He fought to stay upright as the air was blown out of his lungs. Stay strong, Dashiell he thought to himself. But he wasn’t strong. He never had been. It was too easy for him to cry and get scared, and he was never able to hide it.
“I told you to keep your mouth shut!” the guard growled. He stared at Dashiell, taking in his unique eyes. One a dark brown, the other a crystalline blue. A crooked smile played across the guards’ mouth. “He's a pretty one! Such a pretty little face.” He traced his fingers over Dashiell’s soft lips, before roughly grabbing his hair, yanking his head backward. “And such a pretty mouth… I bet you know how to use that.”
He felt the guard's other hand travel slowly up his thigh towards his crotch. He wanted to pull away from his touch, but he couldn't. The guard pressed his hand against the front of his pants with a disgusting smile on his lips. He didn’t like it when men looked at him that way because he knew it meant they would hurt him, and he didn’t like it when people touched him without paying him first.
“Eudon! Enough. You are not here to get off!” another guard said. The captain? It must be his uniform is different Dashiell thought. While all three wore a standard looking royal guard uniform - tall boots, tight black pants and an ink blue doublet jacket with fine gold buttons - the guard who had just spoken wore the addition of three golden epaulets on each shoulder and a finely woven sword belt in the same shining gold. Eudon, released his hold of Dashiell's hair, but leaned in close to whisper in his ear,
“I'll just fuck you later then.” He licked his lips before stepping back. His eyes were scanning Dashiell's body, making him feel extremely uncomfortable in his own skin. He didn't want that man anywhere near him. Eudon wasn’t ugly. Far from it even. But he was evil and that, in Dashiell’s eyes, made him ugly.
“We need information about Barret.” the captain said.
“Who?” Dashiell asked looking confused. Another punch hit him hard in his stomach and he lost his footing once again. He tried to get his breathing back under control, but the pain from the punches and the fear was making it difficult.
“Don't play a fool boy! We need to know what he's up to!”
“I don't know who he is!” Dashiell said through gritted teeth. And he was telling the truth, he’d never even heard that name before. How could he give them details of someone he didn’t even know? “You have to believe me! I don’t know who he is!”
Another punch.
“You were spreading your legs for him two nights ago!” Eudon said. Two nights ago? Have I been here for so long? He thought.
“I don't know anything about him! I didn't even know his name! I swear!” He wasn't lying. Clients rarely told him their names unless they were regulars. They just fucked him, paid him, and disappeared out of his life for good. The man, Barret, was the quiet type. The only words he ever spoke to Dashiell were 'get on your knees' and 'bend over'. “He didn't say anything! I've never seen him before that! He didn't talk!”
“Don't lie!” Eudon said, hitting him hard in the face. He could feel his lip split, and blood was filling his mouth.
“I'm not lying!” he yelled, he spat at Eudon in the face, which was a really bad idea and Dashiell regretted it before Eudon even reacted. Idiot!
“Your little piece of shit!” he said before another punch hit Dashiell in the face. Then another one hit him in the ribs which made him cry out.
The punches kept coming and his vision was beginning to fade out.
“Enough!” The captain grabbed a hold on Eudon's arm to stop him. Eudon wasn’t happy about that and Dashiell had a feeling that he’d like to continue beating him until it killed him.
“He's not going to talk!” Eudon argued, “not unless we beat it out of him!”
“His losing consciousness.” The third one said.
“Hey!” the captain said, slapping his cheeks mildly “Stay with us!”
Dashiell opened his eyes and looked at him. The man was standing so close to him that he could feel his breath against his lips. He was prettier than Eudon. His eyes where crystal blue and they looked kind… he looked kind.
“I don't know anything,” Dashiell whispered. He couldn't really find his voice. His body was hurting so badly that every movement made his vision blur. “I don't know anything,” he repeated, even lower this time. He couldn’t breathe and his whole body was shaking so much that the chains rattled.
“That lying piece of shit! Just let me have him, Averet! I bet I can make that little bitch talk!”
Averet, Dashiell thought. It's a kind name. Averet was still looking at him, holding his head between both his large hands. Searching for the truth in his eyes, but Dashiell had already told him the truth. Dashiell was dizzy and he couldn’t think straight. He tried his best to focus on those blue eyes in front of him. He felt like he was about to pass out, his whole body was in agony, the chains were cutting painfully into his small wrists and he had a hard time staying on his feet. He wanted to close his eyes and disappear. He knew that it must be a dream, he couldn’t really be here. Soon, he would wake up, look to his side, and see the face of a stranger. He would get dressed and slip out before the man would wake and then another day would start. He couldn’t be locked in a cell with three guards trying to torture things out of him that he didn’t even know.
“No!” Averet said, stepping away from Dashiell. “I think he's telling the truth.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Eudon shouted looking rather pissed. “You really believe the word of a whore?”
“Look at him!” Averet yelled, “he’s afraid!” Dashiell looked at him with big eyes. At least one of them was believing him. Averet was right, he was afraid. Averet looked at him and their eyes met. So kind, Dashiell thought, before Eudon stepped forward and hit him so hard that everything went black.
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