To the Night Belong All the Things of Love (INFERNO)

𝑜𝓃𝑒 - 𝒰𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝒸𝑒

AN: an important warning: this chapter starts with descriptive domestic violence, please read with discretion

Ao is a character made up for the sake of the story, don't worry about him, he won't be here for long.

Satoru's brow was bleeding, and the stained fist in front of his face showed to be responsible for it. He stumbled to the side with the force of it, but didn't make it too far. A pair of hands caught the collar of his shirt and pulled him to be only an inch from his face. The man's breath smelled extraordinarily of alcohol, a lot more than usual, which is saying a lot. Satoru had the misfortune of running into his intoxicated, furious husband right outside his dressing room after closing for an exhausting night.

-I can't stand all those people fucking applauding you.- The man ripped the lace blindfold from the performer's head, the only piece of show attire he still wore, and punched it back to Satoru's chest, who caught it in his own hand. -Look at you, how can they urge somebody so ruined?

Satoru knew better than to respond. He was once again brought up by his shirt near the man's face, now out of words due to his unjustified rage. His husband had an odd habit of following a pattern, so Satoru was ready when he was roughly tossed back against the dresser and was able to catch himself on the edge before he hit the hardwood. With both arms awkwardly supporting himself, Satoru caught a glimpse of his reality, a crude, crude reminder.

Satoru looked at himself in the mirror,  unable to recognize most of his face through swollen eyes. He tasted the bitterness of metal in his mouth, his blue eyes stained red from fresh and prior wounds that never have the chance to heal. Makeup and costume gone, his bleeding stood out like a slaughtered deer in the snow,

half eaten by wolves.

Behind him stood his predator.

Hamada Ao, the man that had promised salvation from his living hell, had only tied him down to the raging flames, carbonizing his spouse's body and soul.

How dared him have a name?

Satoru's body, outlined in exposed flesh, singed with the violence of a loveless, one-part beneficial marriage.

The wood sounded of a repetitive click, drops of blood landing on it,  Satoru traced his finger over the tiny puddle, shivering at the warm feeling of it. He never broke eye contact with Ao over the mirror, his figure being nothing more than a shadow that quickly moved, approaching. Satoru braced himself.

The man grabbed the youngest from the chin, causing him to smudge the blood that had traveled all the way from the frame of his eyebrow, staining Satoru's lips and cheek.

-They'd throw you off that stage if they knew...- Ao's hiccups interrupted. -If they knew how you look under that fucking blindfold of yours.

You make me wear it. Satoru knew better than to speak out loud.

-You're a fraud. If it weren't for me, you'd be counting dimes on the street. Handing yourself out to anyone. Do you think they would stop to think twice about you? No one does. They just come here to pray that you throw that gown off yourself at once on that stage.- Ao held a firm hand on Satoru's back, leaning into his ear. -Cheap slut. Who'd have you if not me? You're all mine, you know that?

With a hand Ao squeezed Satoru's reddening cheeks, his lips parted and a string of blood and saliva dripped out of them. He swallowed the pool of it that filled up in his mouth, he knew Ao hated getting it on the floor.

-Take your clothes off. The man pushed Satoru back to the bathroom's door by the face. -And, one thing dear, wash the blood off that face.

Satoru ledged on to the doorknob and entered the bathroom, taking a deep breath when he closed the door, his back against it. The room was poorly lit, merely by the lights outside its tiny windows. Satoru found himself standing right across the wide mirror. His image was horrid.