Waiting Tables

Chapter 16 - Unmade Beds and Unanswered Texts

*Trigger warning* (a synopsis will be presented at the beginning of Ch 17 if you don't wanna read)

The room was dark. He couldn't remember when the light had been turned off, but he was grateful.

    It hid his shame.

    The other man rolled off the bed after having shut his eyes for a bit—3 am the clock said, whoops, more than a little bit—and grabbed his clothes. It was dark so he had to squint, barely able to find his shirt on the floor and shorts on the dresser, haphazardly flung off in the midst of previous displays of passion.

    He quickly dressed and left the shitty flat, grinning as he thought back to what had happened the night before. It was long overdue.

***

Ashton lay in bed, sheet half covering him. He couldn't move, didn't want to.

    "Come on, baby, ugh, just like that,"

    He lay on his back, arms tied to the bedpost with his old bandanas, tears rolling down his cheeks as Carter had his way with him.

    He'd followed Ashton home that evening, pushing into his flat and threw Ashton against the wall before the server realised anything was happening.

    "Stop, w-what are you doing?"

    "You're going to shut up and do what I want, you stupid bitch," Carter attached their lips, biting harsly, forcing Ashton to cry out. He could do nothing as Carter's tongue licked into his mouth, except try to push him off. Unfortunately, Carter's time at the gym was well spent, and his excessive muscles weren't useless.

    Eventually he broke off, pulling Ashton through the house by his hair which he held in a harsh grip. He found the bedroom, forcing the door open so hard it snapped against the wall behind it, chipping the paint a bit. Ashton found himself airborne until his back met the unmade bed.

    He shook his head, bolting forward to the garbage can next to his bed to be sick. Apparently he couldn't stay in the bed, either. It wasn't safe anymore.

    Taking the small bin with him, he hobbled out to the living room, flashes of earlier in the evening coming back to him.

    Being slammed against the door, his hair being pulled back so his neck was vulnerable.

    Getting pushed over the counter in the kitchen, shoved to the floor.

    Forced to his knees and not being given the chance to breathe or cry or do anything.

    He let out a little sob as he fell onto the couch, his legs physically unable to keep him up. He ditched the bucket, not even caring when it tipped onto the side, the contents lazily spilling out on the floor. A pillow found its way between his arms and he hugged it close to his naked chest.

    "Take it off," Carter groaned in his ear, tugging playfully at the bottom of his shirt.

    "N-no, stop, I d-don't—"

    Carter shook his head, ripping it into shreds and letting the tattered remains flutter to the floor.

    "It'll be easier if you just listen, Ash,"

    What was left of that shirt lay next to the coffee table, where all the things he'd had on there were thrown across the entire living room. The tissue box was dumped and crushed underfoot, there was a glass bird Ashton's mum had gotten him in memory of a grandfather he didn't remember, but he didn't know where it ended up and he couldn't be bothered to care. Later on he would, but at the moment he couldn't even keep his eyes open long enough to search for it.

    He knew he needed to relax and take some deep breaths, but everything hurt and he was scared. He hadn't even gotten up to lock the door after Carter had left—what was going to stop him from coming back and doing the same thing again?

    His breathing got faster as he mustered up some energy to stand and limp over to the door. He turned the lock, the loud 'click' of the bolt sliding into place making him flinch. But now he could feel safe—as safe as he could after what had happened to him.

    How was he ever going to go back to work again? How could he look at his boss and not remember what happened?

    He slid down the door, forehead resting on his knees as he bawled, fat, hot tears rolling unchecked down his cheeks.

    "Get into your room and wait for me,"

    "C-Carter, I'm, I d-don't understand, what—"

    "You know you want me just as much as I want you. I'm making our dreams come true," Carter grinned, taking a few menacing steps towards Ashton. He backed into the front door, gasping when he realized he had no where left to go. Carter's hand pressed into the door to the left of his head and he leaned forward until there was hardly a millimeter of space between them. "This little tease game you play is getting old, Lovely. Sooner or later you'll have to settle down, but until then, I think it's my turn to enjoy you, yeah?"

    Ashton frowned, confused. He tried to push off the door, but Carter's other hand dropped to his shoulder, keeping him in place.

    "Wh-what—"

    "Don't play innocent, baby, let's just have fun,"

    No where in his house was sacred anymore. He picked up his head to look around and realized no place had been untouched by that monster.

    An hour later, he was out of tears and exhausted. His butt was sore from sitting in the same spot on the tile floor, back against the door, and he wanted to lay in his bed.

    He somehow made his way back to his room, only to find the sheets in disarray. He definitely didn't have the energy to change them, so he peeled the dirty stuff off and threw it in the corner of the room to be dealt with when he had the emotional capacity to do so.

    He was drained.

    There was a small throw blanket tucked into the corner of the bed, and he draped it over his shivering frame. He wished his warm comforter hadn't been stained, but it certainly needed a wash.

    So did he, Ashton admitted. He was sweaty, sticky, and felt disgusting. The thought of getting up and going to the bathroom was too much, so he figured that would be a problem for tomorrow.

    His eyes closed against his will as he lulled himself to sleep with the sound of his choked sobs and sniffles, only to be disturbed by the cheery ringtone he recognized as the one Luke set for his texts and calls.

    Ashton couldn't be bothered, couldn't be bothered to see what it said. It was probably just a text asking if they could do something, but Ashton couldn't right now. He was dirty, used, wasn't worthy of Luke's attention.

    With those thoughts of meaninglessness, he drifted off to a fitful sleep, constantly plagued by his waking nightmares.

***

I'm not crying. You are. 😭😭

~ashtonfortherwin