My Wicked Destiny

You Cut My Throat But You Still Bleed

We are broken from the past. 

Could our love ever last? 

I wear heartache on my sleeve. 

 You cut my throat but you still bleed.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Porchay

Am I dead?

The thought briefly comes into Porchay's mind as he opens his eyes to darkness. This was his second time being drugged and yet his body had scarcely adapted to the sensation.

It was terrifying to ride the cusp of an intense high and yet feel as though he could be pushed from the edge at any given moment. 

The first time he was drugged Kim rescued him from his captors and yet now the role of savior and captor had been reversed. 

How cruel and ironic life can be.

Just as he begins to grow acquainted with the darkness a bright fluorescent light fills the room to reveal his surroundings. Based on the concrete floor and rows of metal shelving he could only assume he was inside some form of warehouse. 

Even in his delirious state, an instinctive chill crawls down his spine at the sight of the silhouette standing in the light of the doorway. 

Kim.

"I'm glad to see you're finally awake," The man's smooth voice fills his ears, each tap of his leather boots echoing throughout the room.

Porchay parts his lips in an attempt to speak but no sound projects from his throat. 

Despite his feeble attempts to flee his body felt as though it had been filled to the brim with sand. Though even if he wasn't drugged, Porchay found himself in quite the predicament. His waist was firmly strapped to a wooden chair with both his hands and feet bound together by a thick rope.

"What is it, love?" Kim questions, now standing directly in front of the boy. "Are you speechless?"

A single word breaks from Porchay's lips.

"Why?" He gasps, attempting to maintain his focus on the older man.

Kim's dark eyes lowered to meet his own.

"What did you think was going to happen when you decided to run away?"  

Despite the tension lingering between them, his tone is eerily calm.

Porchay struggled to push past the fog that clouded his brain. Every syllable of every word felt forced. 

Anything but this.

"I...I don't know," he musters weakly, "I... just wanted to escape."

"To escape?" Kim echoes, his cold eyes transfixed upon the boy. "From what, the Mafia?"

The older man smiles sadly at the response, crouching in front of the chair.

"I've tried escaping this hell a million times and it's impossible, Porchay." He admits quietly, stroking his index finger across the boy's bound wrists. "Did you really think it would be as simple as running away?"