Stilettos and thigh highs

Chapter 2

Angel felt the slow of the car as it stopped outside of the hotel, exhausted, he opened the backseat door and regained his balance. The hotel was brightly lit up, the lobby always shining bright even though it was almost morning.

He pushed through the heavy glass doors and into the lobby, he was stumbling and found it hard to walk straight. Glancing around to see if there was anyone around to see him like this, he hoped not but despite his hopes he saw the small figure of a cat sitting on the armchair with a lit cigar between his fluffed up fingers and a small glass of whiskey on the table beside the figure. "Hey Kitty" he put on his best face to face the man. "The fuck do you want Angel?" "Ow husk that hurts!" The sarcasm in his voice couldn't be louder than the silence between the two. "Long night?" Husk finally breathed out. " nothin too bad." Angel plopped beside him, he needed someone to talk to, he was vulnerable but somehow husk made him feel comforted in a very slight manner. "Whatcha reading?" "Kafka." Husk replied in a low tone of voice. Angel put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him and let out a small sigh of relief. "You seem different tonight." Angel panicked, did he? Was he not acting as usual? "Oh so you do notice me~" Angel said in a playful voice, trying to hide his surprise. Husk had a small frown forming, Angel took that as a sign to leave him alone for now. "See ya later husky."

Angel heard the small click of the lock on his rooms door, stepping inside to see his clothes sprawled out on the floor and fat nuggets sleeping peacefully in his bed, cuddled up against the hot pink bedspread, the words 'Angel dust' displayed above his bed, illuminating the room.

It had been an incredibly long night, he slowly started taking off his boots, followed by his skirt and top, throwing them in the direction of a small laundry basket.

Walking towards the bathroom, he turned the knob on the shower, hearing droplets of water splash against the tiles. As he was waiting for it to warm up he saw the steam approaching the mirror, his face looked like a mess, his mascara was smeared and his fur was in disarray.
The last thing Angel took off was his long black socks, feeling the rigid bumps of his thighs, sliding the sock down his legs the purple bruises and the fresh wounds he had inflicted brought back memories of that night.

Chained up and high out of his mind, struggling to regain consciousness as Valentino teased him, enjoying himself and taking his sweet Time with the spider beneath him. Angels tears soaking the bedsheets, he had begged to be let go, to get rid of his restraints. At some point he passed out and woke up unchained, sticky fur, he ran to the connecting bathroom, the vomit burned his throat, coarse and rough. Tears streamed down his face, he searched for his phone in his bag frantically, took the backing off and revealed a small sharp blade. 3...6...9..12. He didn't have an ounce of self control, he needed a release that for once wasn't sexual, he needed to cry, to be held, to be told it was going to be ok, but nobody would be there for him. He knew how much people hated him at the hotel, no longer the golden child of Charlie, no longer the main bitch, the side chick, the slut, the druggie. He couldn't take it anymore.

Angel wiped the steam off the mirror as he walked past, cheeks stained with tears as he closed the shower door as he collapsed on the white tiled floor. Hot water burning his skin, his thighs stinging, painful, he wiped his eyes and when he looked again his fur was stained with a mixture of  tears and eyeliner.

He thought to himself "one day they'll never see me again."