Snarling. All I could hear was snarling. A deep vibration rising from his throat and emitting a growl that shook my bones, quivered my heart, rattled my brain. The snarl of one that was truly a beast inside. He jumped me, pinned me to the table. Tearing, tearing, tearing at my clothes. When had I become so naked—so… iVulnerable/i.
I should've never let my guard down, not for one second. For I thought I had won; I thought the stab to the back was an instant kill; I thought wrong. Now I was laid bare for ravenous eyes, filled with the want—nay, the ineed/i—for revenge.
He finally touched my skin with his cold, chubby fingers. It was a foreign touch—nothing soft or pleasant. Rough is how he toyed with my body: Slapping, grabbing, hitting, jabbing. It had become too much and before I knew it something long and hard was easing inside me and—
Spy woke up with a sweat-coated body and a rapid heartbeat. It had been that same dream again, that one where—
"BREAKFAST IN FIVE MINUTES, MAGGOTS!" Soldier bellowed from outside his room. That filthy American never stopped shouting. That bout last night spent nursing a bottle of Demoman's Scrumpy was not kind to the Frenchman this morning, and Soldier was the least bit helpful. The only positive of drinking that poison was forgetting as much time as he possibly could out of his miserable life. Consequences? Maybe, but Spy couldn't give a shit.
He slowly sat up and yawned loudly as he scratched his dirty blonde head. Another monotonous day of a battle that went full circle each week. Living to kill, dying to live again and kill some more. How fun.
With that thought constricting his brain, he swung his legs over the bed and stood to stretch. Bones and joints cracked and popped back into their rightful place. With his suit put on just so and his signature baklava pulled over his head, he was off.
