A/N: This is very dark, a semi-graphic portrayal of what I imagine Duo's life might have been like before the war. Contains mentions of NCS [past], self-injury, a bit of violence [not too much], and blood. So there's my warning - proceed if you wish. ; Oh, and to those who have been reading "The Beginning to an End", I promise I'm going to get the next chapter up soon! A lot of shit has been going on lately, so I haven't really felt like writing. But I did start on the new chapter last night, so hopefully it should be posted within a day or two.
Disclaimer: This part always depresses me. GW is not mine, and the song below is "Yes" by the best band ever, the Manic Street Preachers. I took out a few verses for the purpose of the story, but the full lyrics are at the bottom of the page.
You can buy her, you can buy her
This one's here, this one's here, this one's here and this one's here
Ev'rything's for sale
For sale? dumb cunt's same dumb questions
Oh virgins? listen, all virgins are liars honey
And I don't know what I'm scared of or what I even enjoy
Dulling, get money, but nothing turns out like you want it to
--------------------------------------------
In the seedy alleyway, two men, faces shrouded by large hoods protecting from the harsh chill of the winter night, walked slowly past the line of girls, eyeing each and smiling slyly. Gaze drifting down the bodies, the breasts, the thighs, faces ignored, for they were of little importance.
"Hey Tom, lookit this one here," one of the men slurred, pointing towards a shadowy figure, barely four feet tall, hair tousled and swaying in the wind, falling to rest just below the waistline.
"She's a pretty one, ain't she? Just a kid, some street rat, I bet."
Overhearing the exchange, a burly figure approached the two men, stepping between them and the child. "Fresh off the streets, picked 'im up yesterday. Virgin."
Quirking an eyebrow, the first man – Tom – glanced inquisitively at the child, before turning again to face the other.
"Him?" he asked, incredulous.
"Yep. Pretty little thing though, effeminate. He'll act a girl if you tell 'im to. Ain't that right… Rita?" he asked, casting a sharp glance in the child's direction.
Cowering slightly, retreating just a bit, the child, Duo, nodded slowly, closing his eyes and wrinkling his face, in one last desperate attempt to appear undesirable. He had played this scene out hundreds of times before. Same thing every night, middle-aged men scanned the row of girls and women, but they would inevitably stop at him, being the youngest, the most youthful and "pretty" of the group – only ten. And he put on the show, acting the scared, young virgin, inexperienced, but alluring in his own way. It'd been like this for the past year, moving around from town to town with Mike, hiding out in alleys, behind seedy bars or clubs, sometimes lurking near rundown motels, so he would not be recognized, the "virgin" mask uncovered.
And in these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything
For $200 anyone can conceive a God on video
He's a boy, you want a girl so tear off his cock
Tie his hair in bunches, fuck him, call him Rita if you want
--------------------------------------------
He was Mike's favorite, and the other whores grumbled amongst themselves, bitter that Duo was stealing their profits, and perhaps jealous, too, of the attention Duo received from their pimp. Duo would gladly give it all up, leave the sleazy perverts to the girls, but he was Mike's possession now. He called Duo his jewel, setting him up in the finest hotel suites, giving him all the luxuries he had ever dreamed of and more. But to Duo, it was no dream – it was a nightmare from which ne never awoke. But, as Mike reminded him often, it was better than the Hell he had lived before getting picked up by the man a year before. Images, half-forgotten, suddenly flashed through Duo's mind – hands groping, pushing, pain, so much pain, whimpers, pleas, begging them to stop, crimson trails seeping down his legs when it was over – and he decided, as he always did, that this was better. Paid for doing the same thing he had been forced into before.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the hazy fog of memories, and Duo glanced up to find one of the men leaning in close, whispering in his ear.
"Rita, huh?"
Duo just barely restrained himself from drawing back as the heavy scent of alcohol-tainted breath whispered past his nostrils. It was always worse when they had been drinking. Rough, un-abandoned sex, as the men were uncaring, reminding Duo of the painful memories of the old life best forgotten.
Sucking in a deep breath, he gave his newest customer the slyest smile he could manage under the circumstances, and responded in a voice pitched much higher than his own, "I can be anyone you want, Sweetie." Careful to infuse an air of innocence into the tone, always retaining the image of the Virgin.
Rough hands grabbing Duo's arms, pulling his small, fragile body to Tom's own hard and sweaty one, already grinding into his hips. The man whispered harshly, "Rita."
Rita. It was a name Mike came up with, for it meant "precious". It was what Duo was called in private, when he had the misfortune of being left alone with the man. "Rita," he would moan out, fingers caressing, undressing Duo with his eyes, and then his hands. "My precious."
--------------------------------------------
I eat and I dress and I wash and I still can say thank you
Puking - shaking - sinking I still stand for old ladies
Can't shout, can't scream, hurt myself to get pain out
--------------------------------------------
Shuddering at the repulsion of the act committed, disguising it as shivers of ecstacy and aftershocks of pleasure, Duo grabbed the money none-too-gently from Tom's outstretched hand. Slipping it inside his shoe after the man walked away, Duo felt his stomach lurch, and he leant over in the now-empty alley and allowed himself to vomit the vile liquid forced down his throat mere moments before.
Feeling the familiar tears welling in the amethyst eyes, Duo sunk to the ground, feeling as though he was worth no more than the bodily fluids spread across the cement beside him. There was never any relief from the agony he felt, be it physical or emotional, and with no way to let the pain go through words, or the tears he steadfastly refused to shed, Duo was left with only one other means of releases. Suppressing a whimper, Duo reached into the pocket of his leather pants, still strewn across the pavement, and produced his salvation – a small shard of glass, the only thing he had been able to recover from the ruins of the Maxwell Church.
Duo palmed the small shard, turning it over in his palm and raising it towards the sky so that it caught the moonlight, reflecting it and casting a dim light on the neighboring brick wall. He imagined that it was a light from Sister Helen's angel, and he allowed a slight, almost bitter, smile to curve his lips upwards, as he once again raised the glass, only to lower it and swipe it quickly across the already mutilated flesh of his forearm.
It was in this way that he purged himself of the sins, begging in his own way for forgiveness from the God whose very existence he had always doubted. A sense of calmness flowed through Duo's body, and he let himself breathe out a sigh of – relief? anguish? – and brought the glass down once again, slicing the skin twice more before dropping the now-stained shard to the ground.
--------------------------------------------
Purgatory's circle, drowning here, someone will always say yes
Funny place for the social, for the insects to start caring
Just an ambulance at the bottom of a cliff
…
Power produces desire, the weak have none
There's no lust in this coma even for a fifty
Solitude, solitude, the 11th commandment
--------------------------------------------
In the distance, Duo could hear the wailing siren of an ambulance, and he briefly wished that it were him riding inside of the vehicle. He who was injured – perhaps dead – and under the care of professionals. People who cared, people who healed. He had never known hands to be gentle, had not since the Massacre felt fingers that could soothe instead of harm, heard words that were soft and not sultry or demeaning.
It had, on many occasions, crossed Duo's mind to call the authorities. Surrender himself to Children's Aid and a lifetime of foster care. But he knew that such options were not available to him. There would be questions, police, trials, the involvement of Mike and the other whores, and that was simply too terrifying for him to even think about, let alone seriously consider as an option. Hospitals were out of the question, for he was only a child, his money handled and possessed by Mike. They would treat his wounds, keep him for a day or two until he was well-rested and properly nourished, but without suitable pay, they would be forced to release him from their care as soon as the doctors deemed him well.
--------------------------------------------
The only certain thing that is left about me
There is no part of my body that has not been used
Pity or pain, to show displeasure's shame
Everyone I've loved or hated always seems to leave
--------------------------------------------
Again glancing down at the green piece of glass by his side, Duo allowed a choked sob to rise from his throat, and he reached down to pick up and caress the only memory he had of the people who had once loved him. The only people, besides Solo, who had ever shown him that life could be, if not good, then tolerable. He thought to himself that they must be saints now, Sister Helen, Father Maxwell, and Solo. And as he thought of the only family he had ever known, he squeezed his young eyes shut, allowing a solitary tear to weave down his cheek, to drip from his chin.
He rarely let himself think of his angels, for the thoughts accompanying the memories were unbearable. Feelings of guilt, remorse, sorrow, self-hatred. It was because of him. All him. If only he had gotten there sooner, with the medicine, to the church… If he had never been born, would his "family" still be among the living? His mind was full of "what if's", always left wondering if there was something he could have done differently to have saved his loved ones from their demise.
--------------------------------------------
For $200 anyone can conceive a God on video
He's a boy, you want a girl so tear off his cock
Tie his hair in bunches, fuck him, call him Rita if you want, if you want
May as well be heaven this hell, smells the same
These sunless afternoons I can't find myself
…
--------------------------------------------
Hearing the ominous sound of approaching footsteps, Duo hurriedly wiped the remains of any emotion from his face, as he quickly redressed and stood for the next customer. Murmured whispers, hushed voices, grimy fingers pointed at him, prices discussed.
A raven-haired man stood before him, eyeing Duo for what he was: merchandise, and nothing more. Crooking a finger outwards, he motioned Duo to come near, before forcing the boy to lie on his back, undressed. Always the obedient slave, Duo lay himself on the cold, rough cement of the alley below, shivering as he prepared himself for the agony, the torture, the Hell... Resigning himself to what he knew to be his fate.
-Owari-
End notes: Yeah yeah, crappy ending, I know. . The whole thing sucks, but I really love this song, and I've had this idea for a while, so today I finally decided to stop being so lazy and write it out.
You can buy her, you can buy her
This one's here, this one's here, this one's here and this one's here
Ev'rything's for sale
For sale? dumb cunt's same dumb questions
Oh virgins? listen, all virgins are liars honey
And I don't know what I'm scared of or what I even enjoy
Dulling, get money, but nothing turns out like you want it to
And in these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything
For $200 anyone can conceive a God on video
He's a boy, you want a girl so tear off his cock
Tie his hair in bunches, fuck him, call him Rita if you want
I eat and I dress and I wash and I still can say thank you
Puking - shaking - sinking I still stand for old ladies
Can't shout, can't scream, hurt myself to get pain out
I 'T' them, 24:7, all year long
Purgatory's circle, drowning here, someone will always say yes
Funny place for the social, for the insects to start caring
Just an ambulance at the bottom of a cliff
In these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything
For $200 anyone can conceive a God on video
He's a boy, you want a girl so tear off his cock
Tie his hair in bunches, fuck him, call him Rita if you want, if you want
I eat and I dress and I wash and I can still say thank you
Puking - shaking - sinking I still stand for old ladies
Can't shout, can't scream, I hurt myself to get pain out
Power produces desire, the weak have none
There's no lust in this coma even for a fifty
Solitude, solitude, the 11th commandment
The only certain thing that is left about me
There is no part of my body that has not been used
Pity or pain, to show displeasure's shame
Everyone I've loved or hated always seems to leave
And in these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything
For $200 anyone can conceive a God on video
He's a boy, you want a girl so tear off his cock
Tie his hair in bunches, fuck him, call him Rita if you want, if you want
Power produces desire, the weak have none
There's no lust in this coma even for a fifty
Solitude, solitude, the 11th commandment
Don't hurt, just obey, lie down, do as they say
May as well be heaven this hell, smells the same
These sunless afternoons I can't find myself
Two dollars you rub her tits
Three dollars you rub her ass
Five dollars you can play with her pussy
or you can lick her tits
Choice is yours
--Yes; Manic Street Preachers