Two young men of completely different lives and backgrounds will find that both of their pasts are dyed with the similar color of pain and guilt. They will find what they were finally looking for within each other, but at a horrible price to both.
"Don't! Please, I'm begging you, don't! Don't do this to me! It's not fair! Why, dammit why? Alfred-!"
The young blonde haired man shot his eyes, beads of sweat slowly sliding down his temples, eyes open back to reality. Back in his old rundown apartment in his tattered blanket, in the horrible, crime stricken part of the city, back in this cruel prison he had to call his life.
It was the same dream he's been having for nights on end since then, all ending in the same thing: a shot back into reality.
It would be under exaggeration to say that Arthur hated his life. More than a handful of times, Arthur has tried to kill himself. He tries to look back on his life to when he was just a little bit happier, but it always brings him to the same place in his life, and it always brings him to tears and pain. So in the end, he just goes through his life, no emotional attachments, nothing to lose. "It's better this way", that's what Arthur tells himself at least.
The still half-asleep blonde glances at his small digital clock on the cheap wooden table next to his bed. It read "5:03".
"Well, I might as well get up." Arthur grumbled to himself.
So he pulled himself out of bed and trudged his way to his kitchen, which was actually just a microwave, small fridge with only a few thing in it, a small sink, and a two burner stove. And in his shelves he had very little food stored: it made up a big box of plain oatmeal, some nutrition bars, and some other very basic, cheap things. Despite all of this, it always made him feel just a tiny bit better when he had his tea. But because of his circumstances, he could only afford green tea teabags, but it was good enough for Arthur.
He started to make his tea by letting the water boil in the small teapot he owned. After his tea finished he poured it in his cup and then there was a rather stern knock on the door.
Cup still in hand, Arthur approached and opened the door to see a, unfortunately, familiar face. He was not too impressive for an adult his age, but he was certainly intimidating compared to Arthur's weak body.
"You need to pay this month's rent ya' brat. Pay up."
"I think you're mistaken. This month's rent isn't due in three days: the end of the month." Arthur's voice was trying to stay composed, but it was near impossible because he knew what the other man's response would be to that.
"Didn't ya' hear? I gotta collect early. Ya' know, for the-"
"I've never heard anything like that. I can get you the money in three days but not now. So if you would kindly leave me alone!" What am I doing? Fuck fuck fuck. Why did I just say that?
Arthur braced himself. The punch square across his cheek which made him fall to the ground in pain, tea all over the floor.
"Ya damn brat! You know better to talk back to me, or are you just retarded?" The older man started kicking Arthur. On his head, legs, arms, stomach. Every impact to Arthur's stomach made him gasp from pain, every hit to the head felt like he was hit with a baseball bat, everything hurt. He was trying to curl up as tightly as he could, but no matter what he did the blows kept going while the older man kept yelling things like "Brat", "Fuck up", things Arthur has been called more than anyone needed in one lifetime. But Arthur wouldn't cry, he just wouldn't, he couldn't tell if it was to not let his attacker have any more pleasure in this, or if he just simply had no more tears to cry.
Once the other man was done, he yelled at Arthur that he'd better get his rent money in two days or he'll "punish" him again. And with that he slammed the door as hard as he could.
It took Arthur a while to finally gather himself and get his bruised body off the ground. It wasn't the first time that man, or anyone, has beaten Arthur, but after a while Arthur had to learn that staying on the floor doesn't do anything for him.
He didn't even bother to clean the tea; it couldn't make the floor any worse anyway. Then he glanced back at his clock which read "5:30".
"…Well, I better go now." Arthur grabbed his jacket hanged and walked out the door. He didn't bother to lock it, he has nothing worth stealing. So he just started his trek to work, bruises and all.