A Child's Hell
Summary: Mukuro had heard people talk about hell before. He wondered if this was his.7yr mukuro. Warning contains mentions of child abuse/sexual abuse
Note this is a dark drabble not light at all. When Mukuro's parents died he was given to his uncle Daemon Spade who started to use him. This is part of a fic a friend and I did together in which all kids came to an orphanage because of abusive relatives.
Mukuro lay there on the cold oak floor curled up into a ball welcoming the cold air that lessened the pain was shooting up his spin like needles. His clothes lay scattered a crossed the room some ripped while others were whole but thrown in a random direction like the owner didn't care about them. That was wrong. Mukuro did care where the clothes were but his uncle didn't. Spade was only concerned about himself and satisfying his own desires. Mukuro struggled to lift himself off the floor using the wall as support. His entire body ached with the familiar pain of being used. He stumbled toward the door and down the hall trying to be as quiet as possible as not to catch his uncle's attention. Mukuro managed to get to the bathroom near his room without attracting any attention to himself. He turned on the sink faucet knowing by experience that the sound of the shower would be heard. Mukuro dipped a rag into the warm water and started to clean himself as best as he could. He glanced up at the mirror that stood above the sink. His two toned eyes stared back at him lifeless and dull. Blue and purple bruises dotted his small frame only leaving small patches of pale skin, mainly on his face and random spots on his body. The bruises on his arms, hips, and legs looked like finger prints as if someone held them too hard in order to keep the object there.
'Because that's all I am an object.' He thought 'An object used to satisfy someone else's desires'
After Mukuro cleaned off the top part of himself he moved lower to the part that hurt the worst. He felt Spade's semi-dried essence leak out and down his leg. Mukuro wiped it up with familiar motions. He'd done this to many times before.
After he was done Mukuro stumbled his way to his room. His room was small with a small bed and nightstand next to it. He didn't pause to collapse on his bed but made his way straight to the closet. Opening the door Mukuro quickly put on some clothes and curled up in a ball on the pile of blanckets and rags he made in the corner of the closet. He felt safes in the closet where he could hide in the dark depths of the forest of clothes.
'Is this my hell' Mukuro whispered to himself quietly.
His mother used to tell him about heaven and hell and if you did bad things you'd go there.
'Then what did I do to deserve this Mother?' He whispered but he already knew the answer. He was born.