Broken(klamon)

failed attempt 2 (not so failed )

Damon's mind was spiraling, the memories of his past bleeding into the present like an unending nightmare. Why is this happening to me? The question gnawed at him, haunting every fiber of his being. Ever since he was a child, he had been trapped in a cycle of pain—first at the hands of his father, Giuseppe. That man, who had called himself a father, was nothing more than a monster. Damon had been little more than a pawn, something to be used and discarded. His father's colleagues had been no different. Giuseppe had whored him out to them like a piece of property, forcing him to endure things no child should ever experience.

Fear had been Damon's constant companion, his shadow, lurking around every corner of his childhood. It had become a permanent fixture in his life, never letting him forget how vulnerable he was, how powerless. Even now, centuries later, he still felt that fear clawing at the edges of his sanity. Every night, the nightmares came, a relentless parade of his father's cruelty. Damon would wake, drenched in sweat, feeling Giuseppe's hands on him, hearing his voice, the weight of the past suffocating him.

But this was different. This was worse. What Brady was doing to him was reopening wounds Damon had spent centuries trying to close. Every brutal touch, every command Brady barked at him was a cruel reminder of the man who had broken him long before he had become a vampire. Giuseppe's ghost haunted him in Brady's voice.

Damon gritted his teeth as he battled with his thoughts, struggling to ground himself. I need to get out of here. The walls of the room seemed to close in on him, pressing against his mind, distorting his sense of reality. He could feel himself unraveling, his iron will slipping. I need a plan, fast, or I won't survive this.

But before he could even begin to formulate an escape, the door swung open, and Brady strode in, his eyes dark with impatience. Damon's thoughts scattered, forced back into the present.

"Get up," Brady ordered, his voice sharp and cold.

Damon moved slowly, his body still aching from the brutality he had endured. His muscles screamed in protest as he stood, his mind numbed to the pain that had become a constant companion.

"Hurry up!" Brady barked, his patience clearly wearing thin. Damon's heart pounded in his chest as he felt Brady's frustration morph into something darker.

Brady's next words hit like a slap. "Bend over the damn bed, bitch."

Damon almost raised an eyebrow in surprise—Brady had never called him names before. But he quickly swallowed his reaction, knowing better than to provoke Brady in his current state. The air was thick with tension, an ugly energy radiating from Brady as he waited for Damon to obey.

"Are you deaf?" Brady growled, his voice low and menacing. Damon complied, forcing himself to bend over, his mind racing as he tried to figure out a way out of this.

Brady moved closer, the sound of his zipper filling the oppressive silence. Damon could feel Brady's hand on his body, and he knew what was coming. A sickening dread settled in his stomach as he braced for the inevitable. But something inside him snapped.

"Wait," Damon said, his voice unsteady.

Brady didn't listen. He was too far gone, too consumed by whatever sick pleasure he found in hurting Damon. He was about to take what he wanted, without care, without thought.

Damon acted on instinct, standing up abruptly, breaking the flow of Brady's movements.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Brady shouted, his face twisted with anger. His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Damon's hair, yanking him back down onto the bed. The pain shot through Damon's scalp, but it was nothing compared to the cold dread flooding his veins.

"Wait," Damon said again, his voice firmer now, trying to steady himself. "I want to tell you something first."

Brady glared at him, his patience clearly running thin. "Spit it out!" he demanded, his grip tightening.

Damon hesitated, his mind working overtime. He didn't know if this would work, but it was his only chance. If he could buy himself just a few seconds, maybe he could turn this situation around.

"I..." Damon's throat felt dry, his heart racing. He could feel the weight of Brady's body hovering over him, the anticipation of violence thick in the air.

"Get on with it," Brady snapped, his voice rising with frustration. "I don't have all day!"

Before Damon could stop himself, Brady's hand lashed out, backhanding him across the face. Damon's head snapped to the side, the sting of the hit lingering as he fought to control the rising tide of fury inside him. He wanted to snarl, to rip Brady apart, but he knew that wouldn't save him. Not now.

And so, Damon did the one thing he hadn't planned on.

"I love you," he said, his voice quiet but steady. The words left his mouth like a foreign poison, a lie he'd never imagined using. But it was his last weapon, the final card he could play.

Three words that almost stopped Brady's heart.

Brady froze, the aggression in his movements faltering as the weight of Damon's words hung in the air. For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Damon could see the shock ripple across Brady's face, his breath catching as his mind processed what Damon had just said. The power in those words, the vulnerability they represented, had the effect Damon had hoped for—but at a cost Damon hadn't anticipated.

Brady's hand, still tangled in Damon's hair, loosened slightly. The rage in his eyes dimmed for just a moment. But Damon knew the storm wasn't over. He had stopped Brady for now, but what would come next? What would Brady do with this unexpected confession?

In that silence, Damon felt the weight of all his fears crashing down.