wounds [lance]

kousei ♚
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wounds [lance] Dec 30, 2017 2:39:03 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Dec 30, 2017 2:39:03 GMT -5

Fuck me, I'm an idiot.

There's a black and blue stain splashed across my ribs and a swelling on my left eye, bloodshot red and puffy. "Fuck."

Can't I do anything fucking right?

I lean my back against the wall, letting my hair touch the brick and biting my lip, rolling my good eye and sniffling -- I ain't fucking crying. I run my hands through my hair and groan, I'm buried beneath a thousand layers of pain right now and the echo of his last insult hurled at me from across the room reverberates through my skull on repeat.

I need to get high.

I turn my head to the nearest guy. "Hey, you got any cash?"

lance
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wounds [lance] Dec 30, 2017 3:22:31 GMT -5

Post by lance on Dec 30, 2017 3:22:31 GMT -5

It's necessary work, you've always told yourself so. Not enjoyable work, but necessary.

You've sold your body to the highest bidder for the better part of a year and a half now, and yet it is no easier now than it was then. You suppose it never will, either - something ordinarily reserved for an act described intimate and special reduced to a tool, names and faces blurring together as duty is the only thing you focus on.

And by all means, today should have been a good one. He liked pretty faces, he said, and had the cash to ensure that the only doubts that you might have had were suppressed by wads of green.

You suppose it could be worse. It is District Six after all, where drugs from the hospitals are sold on the street to those nursing an addiction. Selling substances was frowned upon more than selling yourself - for at least with sex, there was always the argument that there was something more to it.

Addictions came in many forms, but you could safely say this was one you had never allowed yourself to succumb to. Things could be much worse.

"Hey, you got any cash?"

You could be that guy, for example. Bruised, beaten, clearly, desperate enough to ask for money from a total stranger.

But it's hard to say no - you've always been chastised for your soft heart, for it had gotten you into this routine in the first place. And pity reigns supreme, this time.

"Yeah," comes the response. Wary, but not unfriendly. "How much you need?"

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kousei ♚
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wounds [lance] Dec 30, 2017 3:39:49 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Dec 30, 2017 3:39:49 GMT -5

I can't help but smile, I was half expecting him to be some asshole who'll kick my hand away or spit in my face. I can't do anything right after all, not even beg a stranger for money because I wasn't smart enough to slip that bastard's wallet from the counter before running away. He sounds wary when he speaks, understandable considering I look like a manifestation of hell itself "Yeah, how much you need?"

I allow myself a weak grin, letting my head rest against the brick wall and rubbing my fingers against the back of my neck. "Enough to get me high enough to forget I look like this," I gesture to my face, letting fifty shades of pain hammer ever bone in my body. "And maybe a drink too."

lance
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wounds [lance] Dec 30, 2017 3:57:54 GMT -5

Post by lance on Dec 30, 2017 3:57:54 GMT -5

"Enough to get me high enough to forget I look like this," and you chuckle, for damn, is that not a sentiment you can disagree with at the moment. "And maybe a drink too."

Not like you ever made a habit of sampling the drugs sold on the streets, for you didn't, but every boy and girl your age here in Six had submitted to the influence of some substance or another by the time they'd escaped the reapings, yourself included. It was only a handful of times - any more than that and your parents would get suspicious - but it was nice while it lasted.

And if you were in the same shape as the boy to your right, you'd probably want nothing more than to get lost in the clouds and forget your pain for a few hours, as well.

"That's a feeling I can understand," you reply, the shared desire turning the boy from an unknown to be wary of into something less intimidating, more relatable. Though your pain was rarely external, pain was pain, and the desire to be rid of it was mutual amongst all living things.

Well. Most living things.

A wad of cash changes hands - leaving him with less than usual, but it's not like it will put his family into bankruptcy - and the deed is done. "That be enough?" comes the obligatory question, not that you think you'd mind the response either way.

Tortured souls must look out for each other, after all.

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kousei ♚
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wounds [lance] Dec 30, 2017 4:07:07 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Dec 30, 2017 4:07:07 GMT -5

"That's a feeling I can understand," he says after a chuckle at your words. Hell, ain't that a feeling we all understand, we all think we've got it the worst. Here I am, listening to my stepfather's words echo in the abstract corners of my mind and feel the phantom of his fist against my jaw and in my eye, sometimes even his boot in my rib -- and perhaps I am a useless shit stain because I should've cut his throat in his sleep a long time ago.

Now, every smile is forced and even the clouds stay stained grey.

He gives me a wad of cash, like a golden ticket to a painless existence I take it. "T-thank you... so much." My gratitude comes out chocked.

"That be enough?"

I nod eagerly, looking back up at him like a manifestation of divinity.

"Of course," I pause. The wind howls and I can't help but shiver. I hoist myself up. "Who are you?"

lance
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wounds [lance] Dec 30, 2017 21:42:48 GMT -5

Post by lance on Dec 30, 2017 21:42:48 GMT -5

Gratitude comes in the form of a stutter, as if mere paper is suddenly as strong as a lifeline forged in steel for the other boy. Another feeling you could relate to - after all, wasn't that how you found yourself out here after hours, a few extra dollars heavier than you had been the last time you'd seen the inside of home?

Satisfaction overrules greed, or maybe you'd just correctly guessed how much the boy would need. A desire sated, curiosity reigns supreme in his eyes, a trio of words arranged in a question you'd half expected since the boy hadn't taken the gift and ran. "Who are you?"

A question itself that you would ask yourself sometimes, under the covers of a strange bed. But the last thing the boy needed was philosophical debate, clearly, so the answer is short.

"Name's Alex." It's the answer you give everyone who bothers to care - Alexei is reserved for family alone. "Mind if I ask the same of you?"

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kousei ♚
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wounds [lance] Dec 30, 2017 22:05:13 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Dec 30, 2017 22:05:13 GMT -5

He's a kind man so it doesn't come as a surprise when he answers my inquiry into his identity with simply the truth and nothing but the truth in a simple sentence. "Name's Alex." I nod as I gingerly stuff my money into my pocket and try to stop my teeth shattering from the cold. "Mind if I ask the same of you?" I run my sleeve over my mouth and sigh. I suppose it's a fair question to ask but I don't even know the answer to that myself half the time.

"My name's Sol, like the sun." I tell him with a half smile. Like the sun because I'm still waiting for the day I permanently set. "Hey, Alex?" I call out, scratching the back of my head. "You happen to know a place that's warm? I'd go home but I don't wanna look any worse than this-" I gesture to my face, and manage a chuckle. "Just until things cool off and I can go back home, no point getting high if I freeze to death."

Ain't that the truth.