Pretty Boy

22

Michael and I got home just before eleven; all either one of us wanted to do was go to bed and cry. The next morning, we woke up around ten, eyes and nose still sore and red from the night before.

"Morning," Michael whispered.
"Morning," I mumbled.
"How'd you sleep?"
"I didn't..." I sighed. "I want my Phil,"
"I want my Chris,"
"If you don't mind me asking, who'd he cheat on you with?"
"Some dick named PJ,"
"Oh..."
"Why? Do you know him?"
"He's my stepbrother," I said. "Wait, how long were you two together?"
"When did he break up with Cat?"
"Oh... Now I feel like an asshole,"
"Why?"
"Cause we did things after he broke up with Cat,"
"What kind of things?"
"He got me off once or twice," I mumbled. "I'm sorry..."
"It's fine...you didn't know..."
"I still feel bad,"
"Don't," he sighed. "It doesn't matter now,"
"Yeah, I guess," I said. "Hey, just a question, what the hell do we do on weekends?"
"Well, you can either stay here or you can go home,"
"Are you gonna go home?"
"No... Don't really have a reason to anymore... Why? Do you want a ride?"
"No, no, just wondering,"
"Okay," he shrugged. "Wanna go get some breakfast?"
"Yeah... That'd be nice..."

***

Over the next couple months, Michael and I sort of built a relationship. I knew it was nothing serious and I actually planned to break up with him when we graduated. But, for now, I guess it's nice to have someone. I stopped texting Phil, and I haven't told anyone that I'm dating; somehow, I know, word would get to my dad.

A few days before spring break, Michael and I were relaxing in our dorm. Reruns of The Walking Dead were playing as we were cuddled up in my bed. Since Michael was taller, I was the "little spoon" but, I didn't mind; I actually kinda liked it. We had never done anything, as soon as Phil and I did but, we still did things.

Did we have sex? No. Did I want to have sex? No. Did he? Yes, unfortunately. He has tried, several times, to get me to sleep with him but, I just wouldn't give in. I told him, time and time again that, I just wasn't ready; I still wasn't 100% over Phil. He'd reply with an it's okay and a mention of Chris then, we'd go back to whatever we were doing. But, today was different.

He held me tight and started playing with my hair, as he always did. He placed little kisses on the back of my head and continued them down to my neck. I flinched a little, and tried to move away, but he just pulled me back, and forced me to stay.

"Michael," I whined. "Please stop,"
"Why?" he smirked. "I'm not doing anything wrong,"
"Yeah, well, I'm asking you to stop," I said.
"Stop what?"

He let go of me and quickly flipped my onto my back; it didn't take him long to climb on top of me. I tried pushing him off but he wouldn't budge; I was stuck there, helpless.

"Michael, let go of me!"
"No, Dan, I'm fucking sick of waiting!" he growled.
"Then go fuck someone who wants to be fucked!" I yelled.
"But you're my boyfriend," he whispered as he started sucking on my neck. "I could never cheat on you," he murmured against my skin.
"Get off!" I cried.
"Make me,"

He started pulling my shirt off, then, he pulled down my trackies, along with my pants. Once I was naked, and vulnerable, he swiftly turned me onto my stomach and tied my hands behind my back, with his belt. I laid there, face pressed into the mattress, and tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

"Where do you keep your lube and condoms?" he asked, rubbing a hand over my right cheek.
"Don't have any," I lied, hoping he'd let it go, and stop.
"Oh..." he mumbled. "Then suck," he demanded, pressing his fingers to my lips.

I let out a whimper and reluctantly took his fingers I my mouth. Once they were covered in the makeshift lube, he started stretching me. It wasn't pleasurable. It wasn't soft and gentle. It burned with every thrust, and it only got worse with each finger he added. This is nothing like having sex with Phil.

With Phil, there was love, compassion, and he cared for me. If I wasn't enjoying myself or, if I was hurt, he would stop and ask what was wrong. Where, Michael, only cares about himself. He slapped me, used me, and didn't give a shit if he hurt me.

"Ready, baby?" he asked.

I hadn't even noticed he had removed his fingers. He started pressing his tip to my entrance; it didn't feel like it was lubed at all. As I was about to reply with a no, he started pushing in; hard. I let out a pained cry as tears streamed down my face.

"Stop crying, for fucks sake," he said, pulling me up by my hair.

I tried catching my breath but it seemed impossible. There was a dry lump in my throat that just wouldn't go away; I was stuck speechless. I continued crying and whimpering with every thrust; the pain I felt my first time was nothing compared to this.

"I said, stop crying!" Michael yelled as he slapped me with his free hand. "Yeah, you like that, don't you?"
"No," I finally choked out. "Stop," I sobbed.
"Please," he scoffed. "You love it,"

This continued for what seemed like forever. After a minute or two, he pushed my beat up face into the mattress and started mercilessly pounding into me. Tears continued to leak from my eyes as I felt him cum inside of me. He slowly pulled out and slapped my arse a few more times before rushing to get his pants on.

"I'm gonna go shower," he kissed my forehead. "You can join me, if you'd like,"

Once he left the room, I was still very hesitant to move. I was currently wrapped in the fetal position; every inch of my body hurt. After a minute or two, I slowly sat up and reached for my phone. I stared at my reflection in my phone; my heart fell. My eye was swollen, my nose was bleeding, my lips was busted, and my neck was covered in hickeys.

I wiped my eyes, which stung like hell, and unlocked my phone. I googled taxi drivers that still serviced people after 10:30 at night. Once I found one, I quickly called them, told them the address of the school, and where I'd be; they said they'd be here in ten. I got up from the bed, threw my clothes on, and grabbed all of my money; I even stole £50 from Michael. I grabbed as many belongings as I could and shoved them into a duffle bag.

I slipped my vans on and limped out of the dorm room. Since I was unable to run, I started walking as fast as I could before an adult saw me. I made the long walk to the school entrance and just waited. Thankfully, a teaches hadn't come around as ask me what I was doing out so late or why I was beat up. After a few minutes, the taxi driver pulled up and I got in; I couldn't find a comfortable way to sit down.

"Where to?" he asked.
"87 Dudly Drive,"
"Okay," he mumbled as he drove off.

We drove for about thirty minutes before we pulled up to a familiar house. I paid the driver the £45, and walked up the driveway, duffle bag in hand. I stepped onto the creaky old porch and started knocking on the door.

"Who the hell is here, at this hour?" The all too familiar, raven haired boy said.

Phil paused his game, got up from the couch, and made his way over to the door. He let out a yawn as he opened the old wooden door.

"Look," he started, staring at the floor, "it's late, please-"
"Help me..."