Short stories with tragic ends.
Are a /boys/ best friend.
He laid there on the cold hard ground, like dead leafs on a dirty floor. His face was so /black/ and /bruised/ with /red/ all over, this wasn't even the start of a joke anymore.
"Nhnnn..." His voice faltered and he could hardly see out of his eyes. Eyes that were once so bright beaming with life. Now he was in a messy heap on the floor, Choking on his own blood. /He/ had hurt this boy so much.
"You don't deserve a goodbye, maybe you'll enjoy the silence for once. Enjoy the death fit for a little /whore/ like you." If tears could fall from his beaten face they would, these words hurt more then the actually physical pain.
It was like being stabbed with a knife. Straight through the heart. His heart, it wanted to make him tell every confession he had. They were on the tip of his lips. But they couldn't escape them, they couldn't escape him.
Maybe this is too far ahead? Maybe we should go back to were this all started. Were this all would end. Then you'll get what's going on.
"You know your a pretty cute kid~" Oh how the Canadian /hated/ when this American came by, he was rough, and a bit of a slob. He would be fine when they weren't having sex. But that's the only thing he normally paid for. Matthew wasn't an escort after all. He could never be /that/ good. He wanted the kind of meetings that meant something though. You know? Being awake till 3am just talking? Hah he could laugh at the idea. Like he'd ever get that.
Besides; he needed the money. They all told him. Money would be the root of his evil. But all those men, told him he was a little angel right? So what he was doing couldn't be so bad.
He knew it was worse.
"Nhn, slow down, that hurts." Matthew should of been used to it by now he knew. But you never got used to this. "Mhmm, it hurts? That only means it's working." The American cooed out, almost in a sweet manner, though he was anything but. "Ah! Baby call me your /hero/." He moaned and groaned out. It sickened Matthew. He felt so dirty, so used, so pitiful, so helpless.
He knew he was.
"Oh my hero, fuck me harder!" He had to play along, if he didn't he wouldn't get paid. He /needed/ the money. His father was sick, how else could he pay the bills.
Soon it was all said and done, his body in a sweaty mess the white sheets on the bed he was sprawled out on stained. More so then they were. This place was dirty, so dirty. But he couldn't bring them home. Arthur would find out, his dad had too much on his plate already.
"Mhm baby cakes, you know I have a friend who would love you." Matthew lifted himself, now sitting up and facing the taller man who was putting on his clothing now.
"Oh?" Matthew tiredly inquired, and the man smirked a bit at the sight. "His name is Lars." The American took a pause, only to button up his shirt. "He owns one of the most lavish and underground whore houses around here. I'm pretty sure a sweet little piece of ass like you could get in." The man grinned, and Matthew staggered up off the bed. His hair all messy, and his naked body sticky looking at the moment.
"You think this Lars guy would actually want somebody like me?" The Canadian started to blush. "Mhm, and baby don't be so down on yourself. I mean your my favorite." Oh boy was that something to be proud of. But never the less Matthew was interested.
"Well were do I find him?"
"Oh no, he'll find /you/ doll."