The Boy and his Beast

1. A work of art

(Benjamin's POV)

Mean hands push me to the ground and they laugh. It's just two of them this time. They smile but it's all but reassuring. I stay down. It's better to show obedience and I've been through this enough times to know It's useless to fight.

This time they don't want a quick fuck though. A hard kick lands on my bruised back and I cry out. He didn't hit my spine; it's OK! I reassure myself. Another kick plants itself in my stomach and I lose all air. Gasping painfully I cough blood. It tastes sweet and sickening. 

Suddenly one of them is on his knees beside me. His hands roll me on my back.

"Please, I'll do anything! Please stop!" I pound at him but I am so weak it only amuses them. Another pair of hands pry my arms away from my face and the panic really sets in. I scream and writhe and kick but they are much stronger. A sweaty fist knocks the fight out of me.

All I do then is cry silently as they hit me over and over. My body retches at the pain and the taste of blood. I thow up on the ground and they laugh.

"Gross, fucking slut" he taunts. I shiver as the tears roll down my face. I bet I look disgusting but that won't stop them.

"Get up, you whore" they order and drag me up by my hair. I'm on my knees and one of them holds my hands behind my back as the other pulls out his dick. The thing is stiff with arousal and he looks down at me with lustful eyes. I cry.

"Suck it, bitch" he says and grab my hair. I tremble in fear. My throat burns from throwing up and my lips are spit and bloody. I can tell it turns him on. Reluctantly I open my mouth as more tears leave my burning eyes. He pushes my face against him, and I feel his disgusting member against my tongue. It's big and fills my mouth as he slides further in. I force myself to close my lips around the disgusting thing, fearing another punch.

"That's right you little cunt. Suck me; you know you like it" he says. My body retches and the food make its way up again. No matter how I cringe and twist he doesn't loosen his grip. He holds me there as I fight the urge to vomit. I must not throw up on him; he will kill me if I do.

I wake up with a wet t-shirt and panic in my chest. It's cold and painful and makes my throbbing heart feel like a hammer. I breathe until my throat is not on fire anymore. I count the spots on my wall until my heart slows down while I hug my pillow. It's over. You are safe. They will never find you.

It's four AM but the motel is always loud. Someone is fighting in the next room and I get up to shower. Turning on the water I have look in the mirror. Disgusting. The bruises are gone. The scars have formed, and my bones have healed but I'm still me. Still garbage.

The little TV goes on with a zap and a slow kiss scene shows on the flimsy screen. I'm mesmerized by the two lovers but as soon as the kiss is broken, I instantly turn it off. There is a little tent in my shorts. Oh, no. Oh, nononononono.

The feeling makes me deeply uncomfortable. My breath speeds up and I wring my hands, not sure how to fix it. I can't touch myself. I feel no pleasure. There is no pleasure. Only pain. I slam my hands against the hard sink until I'm sure they are bruised. Not enough. The razor is right there but I slap myself to stop the urge. The shower. Get in the shower. The water is still cold but I get in anyway, desperate to make my boner go away.

As I wait for the bus two stoned girls make their way towards the motel. They hold hands and giggle. It would have been cute except for the black eye and the dried tears. I want to tell them I'm the same but realize I'm not. They smile at each other and stop just by the road. I turn my head as they kiss. A slow kiss; sloppy and desperate. Sad, somehow.