Long story short, this guy had recognised me from back in my whoring days and was pretty fucking desperate to have his way with me. And out of sheer pettiness, I accepted. For a shit amount of money, too. I knew it’d most likely put a strain on mine and Damien’s relationship but he’d let me down, why couldn’t I do the same to him? I really am that much of a bitch.
I’d texted him to say that ‘if I wasn’t home when he got back, it wasn’t cause I’d left him and that I was going for a drink with someone’ before I went off with this guy.
He took me back to his house where I learnt his name was Peter before I was being pulled towards the bedroom, my shirt already on the floor. He sat on the bed, beckoning for me to sit on his lap. So I did. He ran a hand up my thigh as his eyes swept over my stomach. His hand followed the curve of my thigh, his hand grazing dangerously close to my crotch.
“How big are you?” he asked, his eyes still on my stomach.
“Your cock, how big is it?”
I smirked. “I don’t exactly go measuring it, doll”
He glanced up from my stomach, a finger tracing my lip. I smiled, sucking innocently as his finger slid into my mouth. He grinned, pushing his finger in further. Okay, so he was kind of weird... He pulled his finger back and leant up to kiss me, which honestly was a first for me. Of all the people I’d fucked for money, not one of them had tried to kiss me. I didn’t really kiss back, feeling like it was a step too far, and he looked at me, clearly not impressed.
“I want you to fuck me like you’d fuck your boyfriend” he stated simply.
Fair enough, then. I set about with my usual teasing but apparently I did something he didn’t like. His fist collided with my jaw, knocking me backwards. I gritted my teeth as I stumbled when he pushed me, my the side of my head connected with a mirror that was hanging on the wall. I did my best to ignore the blood trickling down my cheek as I threw the fucker’s money back at him. This so wasn’t worth it. I made it as far as the bedroom door before he reacted. I whined a little as the force of his punch sent my face slamming into the door, blood trickling down from my nose as well now. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, dragging me back to the bed and throwing me down on it. His knuckles clicked as his hands balled into fists. I passed out after half an hour.
I gagged as I felt something shoved down my throat. My first thought was that he’d been trying to suffocate me with his cock or something but when I heard the faint click and series of high pitched beeps, I kinda of got the feeling he wasn’t around anymore. I tried to calm down as I realised the thing in my throat was a ventilation tube. Why the fuck was I on a ventilation tube? I blacked out again after that.
When I woke up again, the tube was gone and there was a doctor sitting in the chair beside my bed. I glanced at him and he vaguely attempted to smile.
“Kyle, you’ve been in a coma for the last seven days” he said seriously, “When you were brought in you were near enough dead. What happened to you?”
“I don’t remember” I lied. I remembered that guy beating the shit out of me pretty well, actually.
“We only want to help you, Kyle”
I nodded. “I’ll let you know if I remember anything”
He nodded and walked off, leaving me alone. I glanced down at the damage, seeing not my torso but a mass of black and blue bruises shaped like my torso. Cuts and bruises danced along my arms and legs and I dreaded to see what my face looked like. I was building up the confidence to ask for a mirror when I heard my phone go off.
“Hello?” I asked, trying to ignore just how much of a wheeze I had whenever I took a breath.
"Hey, Kyle" I heard Damien’s gorgeous voice.
"Are you okay? You don't sound so good"
"I'm in hospital"
"Why?" he asked, sounding kind of worried.
"Don't worry, it's nothing serious"
"What happened, Kyle?"
“You might as well tell me - it won't make any difference" he said, a tiny bit upset.
"You didn't... you didn't hear?"
"Fuck" he sniffled.
"What? What's going on?" I wheezed out.
"I got arrested after the gig. No one had the money to pay off the fine..."
I was quiet. It didn’t take an idiot to guess what he meant.
He sniffled. "I'm five days into a four year jail sentence, Kyle. I'm so sorry" he said on the verge of tears.
I heard him crying over the phone. It sounded weird when you mixed it in with my wheezing. He spent a lot of time apologising til I kind of heard someone say something to him.
"I've gotta go"
"No..." I don’t want you to go.
"I'm sorry" he said. I could still hear him crying.
"I love you” I said, fighting back my own tears.
"I love you too"
"Can..." I wheezed again, coughing a little. "Can I come see you?"
"You get better first, gorgeous"
"But... Four years..."
He hung up, then. I got the feeling it wasn’t him that’d hung up but it was all the same, really. Four years. Four years without him. How was I s’posed to cope when being away from him for like more than a week practically drove me insane? Fuck.