blood runs red ✓

III

'love shouldn't hurt'

- unknown

august

"You're good for nothing."

A large hand abruptly came into contact with August's face. He expected it, but it still hurt.

"I'm sorry."

August had done nothing wrong. It wasn't his fault that Sean was absolutely awful against Ares, 'God of War', Cirillo. Usually Sean put up more of a fight, but he was hungover and lost almost immediately.

Sean was the best of the best, but unfortunately, Ares was better. That pissed off Sean more than anything in the world, and poor August was the victim to his anger.

"You shouldn't have made me drink so much last night." Sean hit the shorter man's cheekbone harshly. "You should have stopped me."

I tried.

"I'm sorry." He knew it was pointless arguing. Maybe he didn't try hard enough. Maybe it was his fault. "I'm sorry. What can I do to make it better?"

"Shut up."

August gulped and nodded. He was lucky this time, because sometimes Sean wanted to take out his anger in other ways. August never explicitly consented or showed that he wanted it, but he also never disagreed.

Consent must be given willingly, verbally. Not giving consent but not asking to stop does not count as consent. Sean didn't care about that. If August ever complained, Sean would bring up how August never stopped him.

It wasn't fair. How do you tell an enraged professional boxer to get off, to stop doing what he's doing? You can't. Because he won't listen.

"Are you listening to me?"

Lost in his thoughts, August missed where Sean pushed him to the ground. It felt like old times, where the two would practice sparring. August often got injured badly, but Sean would always apologise.

It took him a long time to realise that his boyfriend simply used that as an excuse to hurt him. It was never sparring, it was just deceitful abuse.

"I'm listening."

"No you aren't." The boxer yelled. "Tell me what I just said."

August chewed on his lip. "Erm, you told me not to let you drink the night before a match?"

"Lucky guess." Sean spat out. "Apologise to me."

"I'm sorry."

Sean leaned down, yanking August's chin, forcing the younger man to look at him. Fear was all you could see in his chocolate-brown eyes. Sean smiled at this, and in his sadistic eyes, August saw bloodlust.

"Look at me."

August tried not to laugh. Sean sounded pathetic, honestly, but what kept the shorter man silent was the realisation that he was the pathetic one. Years of tolerating this bullshit from the guy who was supposed to love him, forgiving him each time. That, he decided, was the pathetic thing.

Sean hadn't said anything in a minute. It was a thing he did, to make himself feel superior. He would make August hold eye contact until he backed down, and he always backed down. Then Sean would yell at him, rough him up a bit and eventually leave.

And August knew, knew, this game so well. He shouldn't, but he did. In fact, he knew every trick and trap that his boyfriend had, like the back of his hand. And so, for once, he held his ground, feeling confident.

He was, after all, just mentally mocking the man on top of him only moments ago.

Said man was growing frustrated. Usually August backed down after a minute, more or less. It had been three, maybe more, and still no one had looked away. Had Sean lost control?

He realised he had, momentarily, when his phone rang and he broke the eye contact. Beneath him, the quarter-Venezuelan boy smiled proudly. He won for once in his life. And it felt good.

Until a fist collided with his nose, the force of it smashing his head into the floor below.

-

"I've got a party to go to. Get up."

August was kicked awake, painfully adjusting himself to seeing the lights shining in his face. His head hurt like a motherfucker, and his nose was coated in dried blood. He could feel it, but he didn't dare to try and wipe it away with his sleeve.

Once the footsteps had faded, he sat up, wincing. His entire body hurt, and he knew his face was messed up. If anyone was to see him, they'd surely suspect something.

And then he realised, no one really saw him. He was invisible, a puppet who's strings were pulled only when it suited the puppeteer. And that was just how Sean liked him. Quiet, gullible, submissive.

His entire body shook at the thought of how submissive he really could be.

Once he'd stood up, he felt like a doormat, both physically and mentally. His entire body felt like it'd been stomped on, covered in the dirt on the back of Sean's shoes. Sometimes, he felt like he was the dirt on his boyfriend's shoe.

That's not how a boyfriend should make you feel.

Sighing, August limped over to his outhouse. He wasn't allowed the privilege of having a room in the main house, despite it having an excessive amount of spare bedrooms. It was part of their deal, at first, when August was just there as a personal physiotherapist.

Once they got together, August slept in the same room as Sean. Eventually, once the relationship got toxic, August was banished to his own little house in the backyard of Sean's mini-mansion.

It wasn't awful. An open living-room and small kitchen, a small bedroom with only basic furniture in it, and a bathroom with a compact glass shower, not a bath. At least he got a TV.

It just felt lonely.

August went into his tiny bathroom, looking into the mirror. His perfect, tanned nose was covered in a dried, crimson colour. Brushing his short, dark curls back, he got a damp cloth and began to wipe away the blood. His cheek was red, and would surely be bruised in a day or so.

His jaw ached, probably from when he smashed his face into the ground without even realising. August always prided himself in having a skinny frame and a sharp jawline, but with the hollowness of his bruising cheek and the dark bags under his eyes, he looked like a malnourished train wreck.

He was.

After, he went into his bedroom, opening his thin cupboard to pick something out from his limited collection of clothes. He opted for an oversized sweater and baggy jeans, with worn-down high tops. For a moment, he considered wearing a necklace, but that was too feminine for Sean.

Matthews would rather die than be seen with a gay boy, despite being gay himself. It was ironic how homophobic Sean was, even though he was literally dating a male.

Joggers would be more comfortable.

'Joggers are only for home', Sean would say. He was very controlling with what August wore, said, and simply did. 'Joggers are for homeless people. I'm not being seen with a homeless person.'

He didn't want to be seen with August in general, but there was still, shockingly, an ounce of love he had for the younger man. That was the only reason, or so he said, he kept August around.

Sean rang August, the loud ringtone making the brunet jump. He picked up, listened to Sean order him to come into the main house and leave with him. Once he got to his boyfriend, the blond smiled at him.

"I love you August."

August doubted it, but after years of emotional manipulation and being starved of love and attention, the smallest affectionate actions were enough for him. It shouldn't have been, but it was.

"I love you too, Sean."