Author's note: ok this took more time than I originally planned and it wasn't as long as I first planned it to be but whatever. School is killing me but I really wanted to upload this for you guys. Thank you so much for liking the previous chapter! I love you all!
Warnings: This chapter has mentions of abuse and very explicit content as well as mentions of rape
The street was poorly lit. There were streetlights illuminating small parts of the paved road, but definitely not enough to scatter the darkness. The houses lining the street weren't helping with keeping the darkness at bay; the lights had probably been off for hours. Roxas wondered absentmindedly what time it was.
After moving here he'd quickly learned that these people were copies of his own dad. They all had the same thoughts and values about everything and Roxas detested each and every one of them.
Since he'd turned nine his family had moved more than six times trying to find a place his father approved. As soon as Roxas had been fairly happy with the place they'd been staying at, his dad had told him to stow his crap and they'd left shortly after.
When his family had found this place a year ago Roxas had felt like slitting his own throat would be more pleasant than living there. He still remembered his father's smug smile and the malicious glint in his eyes when he'd showed Roxas their new home. That was the moment when he started hating his own dad.
Before moving he'd been able to escape the judgmental looks and spiteful words by stepping outside of his house, but here the antagonism and chastise followed him everywhere he went. They were all adamant to make Roxas' life a living hell.
Some – mostly decrepit old ladies – only whispered their disapproval and reprimand, while others raised their voices and hurled their insults and derisive comments after him.
At first the comments had felt like knives stabbing him multiple times in the back. Now they only filled him with chagrin, because he already knew all of the things they were telling him. The insults had transformed from daggers into small, ever-present splinters under his skin. When he tried to remove them, they dug themselves deeper into his flesh where they became a constant, dull ache. He knew he was a freak, he knew he was disgusting – he never stopped thinking about it so there was no need for them to remind him about it.
Sure, there were people on his street who neither spoke nor looked at him, both for which he was grateful.
In this neighborhood the people pitied his father for having a gay son. In some of the other communities they'd lived in, the neighbors had judged his father as well as blamed him for failing as a parent.
Roxas had slowed his pace considerably by the time he neared his house. How long had it been since he'd been home last? Three days? Four? Four nights of sleeping in a daze on the floors of public bathrooms, waking up sweating, shaking and crying to the smell of urine. He had to smell like the personification of a toilet.
A light suddenly flickered to life in a neighboring house and Roxas' eyes flickered reflexively towards it. He stopped in his tracks. He suddenly felt like he could relate to the feeling a deer must have when it's caught in a pair of headlights. Roxas noticed that he had stopped under a streetlamp which didn't help with the uneasy feeling.
There was a bricked path leading up to the door to the house and in the window next to it he could see Mr. Adams, also known as The Fucker, stand with a glass in his hand facing the empty street, his gaze fixed on Roxas, eyes unreadable behind his glasses.
His stomach dropped and Roxas was certain that his intestines were now lying on the street before him for everyone to see and take advantage of. His skin was a shell, which now only protected a frantic beating heart and a pair of lungs that refused to work. The eerie emptiness was not unfamiliar to him. It was the feeling that always accompanied seeing The Fucker's face.
The Fucker was not just a neighbor to his family; he was also his father's best friend and confidant. They spent as much time at each other's places as they did their own homes which meant that during the year they'd lived next to each other Roxas had heard and seen a lot of The Fucker. He'd often been involved in reprimanding Roxas together with Roxas' father.
Which was why, when The Fucker had shoved him to his knees and proceeded to put his dick into Roxas' mouth for the first time, he'd been surprised to say the least.
That had been the first blowjob of many to come. Roxas had tried to refuse but not long after his father had landed a kick to his head and hissed that he'd rather lose his son than move away again. Roxas hadn't known what he was being punished for at the time but he didn't care, he was just grateful that his father hadn't noticed the tears in his eyes.
It hadn't been until later, when The Fucker had threatened him to "do as I say or else…" that he'd understood that the neighbor probably told lies to his father about things he'd seen Roxas do. Not that his father needed any real reason to beat him, but Roxas guessed he thought it more justified if he did.
Of course, there had been no guarantee that The Fucker would stop whispering lies that would get Roxas in trouble into his father's ear if Roxas did what he wanted but it had been his only option. The Fucker had actually kept his word which, Roxas realized later, meant that Roxas involuntarily became a puppet with his strings woven around their neighbor's fingers.
A cold wind made its way down the street and awoke Roxas from his reverie.
His eyes were still glued to the man in the window who apparently had grown impatient. The Fucker raised a finger and beckoned Roxas to come inside before he turned away and disappeared from view. Roxas could feel the strings attached to his body come alive and take control of his body.
The voice in his head was mocking him. "You thought you would be able to get out of it tonight?" It said.
Defeated, the strings led him to the front door, raised his hand to the doorknob and made him press it down. The handle was freezing against his palm and he realized that his skin was burning up. His palms were sweating but inside he still felt cold and hollow. It was a weird sensation.
A familiar hallway stretched out in front of him when the door opened. He hated this hallway. Not only because he associated the hallway with someone he despised, he wasn't that narrow-minded. A man could still have very nice upholstery despite being a fucking child molesting dick.
On second thought Roxas doubted he'd ever be able to see beauty in anything The Fucker touched – Roxas himself included.
But there was more to it than that.
The hallway was adorned with pictures – all of them taken at a studio, by a proper photographer - of small babies, smiling faces, people kissing, a deceased dog and a section of the wall was reserved exclusively for black and white photos of old people.
It was all a façade, an exterior that tricked people into thinking the family inside was happy, carefree and most of all normal. Roxas knew this because the hallway in his house looked exactly the same as this one. This was the hall of someone trying their damndest to cover something up and hide their dirty secrets from the rest of the world.
The mint green color of the walls only added to Roxas' disgust.
The wind blew the door shut behind him and the sound it made caused him to cringe. Roxas was under strict orders to not wake the people sleeping on the floor above him. He could have filled a whole page with the threats that had been aimed at him when the rule had been established months before.
There only source of light in the long hallway was coming from the living room lamp, the one he'd seen in the window from where he'd been standing in the street, and he could hear movement from within the room.
He knew what would be waiting for him: a plump, sweaty man in his fifties with a quickly receding hairline and graying hair with a breath that smelled like rotten eggs. Roxas could already hear how his breaths would be coming out in small gasps and how his voice and movements would become rougher the closer Roxas brought him to climax.
Roxas gagged as he neared the opening leading into the living room. He'd already kept The Fucker waiting for some time now and he didn't want him to have any reason to be rougher than necessary.
As he rounded the corner the first thing that greeted him was The Fuckers' smug face. Roxas fought the urge to punch him. If it could solve anything he would have done it many months ago.
He was sitting down in an armchair with his legs spread obscenely towards Roxas. He'd unbuttoned the jeans but he hadn't touched the zipper. Roxas looked around the room, anywhere but where The Fucker wanted him to look. He noticed that the curtains were closed tightly and the volume on the television was turned up. There was a soccer match playing.
"Come here, what are you waiting for?" Roxas' gaze was pulled back to where the man sat in the middle of the room and he wished for the umpteenth time that someone would come in and hand him a pair of bolt cutters.
Sadly, no one ever did. There was no one there to save him, to present him with a magical solution to all of his problems. He knew this damnit, he knew - but he still couldn't get rid of the small seed of disappointment planted in his stomach.
Roxas forced himself forward and he took the first step into the living room. His own house was so close by, his room just a few feet away from where he was standing, it was waiting for him to return and instead he was here: forced to perform for a molesting dick of a neighbor.
If he were to stop now he wasn't sure he'd be able to go through with it again, that's why he kept taking small steps towards the man in the chair, never letting himself stop.
Once in front of the man he kneeled down between the spread legs. He was now face-to-crotch with the strain in The Fuckers' jeans. He still hadn't unzipped his pants so Roxas waited for him to proceed.
"Go ahead, you do it." This was new. The Fucker had always prepared himself beforehand and only ever used Roxas for his mouth. He didn't know what had brought on this sudden change but it was unsettling. Roxas felt more like a performer than ever before.
As he raised his hands to his neighbors' crotch he realized that they were shaking. He threw a glance at The Fuckers' face just in time so he didn't miss the malicious glint in his eyes and the small smile playing at his lips.
Roxas just wanted to go home as soon as possible which made him fumble with the zipper as it refused to unzip. He didn't have to look at The Fucker to know that there was a smug smile on his face.
He paused for a moment, took a deep breath and forced his fingers to stop trembling. He always tried his hardest to keep The Fuckers' satisfaction to a minimum.
As his hand brushed against the rough fabric of the jeans The Fucker let out a loud moan and Roxas froze in his movement with his hand still on the front of The Fuckers' jeans. He'd never been one to make sounds. Sure a few pants and grunts here and there, but ever since the incident where his wife almost caught them he'd almost become completely silent. Roxas realized that it meant that they were alone for the night.
It didn't make him happy in the least since it meant that he had to listen to the moans and gasps during the entire time. He recalled with dread one other time when it had only been the two of them. The man had been very vocal and spoken to Roxas while being sucked off. It had been one of the few times Roxas had cried in front of him.
"Proceed." The voice broke his reverie and he swallowed the lump in his throat. His blood felt as if it had turned to lead and his limbs were heavy when he unzipped the pants the rest of the way and watched the bulge free itself from its confinement.
Roxas refused to pause. He couldn't bear seeing the man's smug fat face. He didn't want him to see his reluctance and be further enjoyed which was why he pulled down the underwear without much hesitation.
The sight always made the familiar taste of bile rise in his throat and Roxas gagged. He always tried his best at shutting off his senses and escaping reality but it wasn't every time he succeeded.
He tried to imagine other, everyday things. He often planned what he would do when he got home and painted scenarios and conversations he'd have with Sora in his head.
Sometimes he would reminisce. He tried to weed out the bad parts and focus on the good memories. His life wasn't exactly a fairy tale but there had been moments he'd been happy.
Other times he wouldn't be able to escape and he'd be forced to feel, smell, see and hear everything. Those were the times where he imagined the death of his neighbor in a thousand different and excruciatingly painful ways.
As Roxas lowered his head toward the hard dick in front of him he really hoped he'd be able to escape.
When the dick went past his slightly parted lips he braced himself for what to come. After so many months he knew The Fucker well enough to know the way he wanted it done - the first time Roxas had ended up lying on the floor covered in his own puke. The Fucker had been disappointed to say the least.
The familiar hand was placed at the base of his neck where it tangled into his hair in a painful grip.
Roxas forced his throat to relax at the exact moment the man started thrusting into his mouth. The Fucker had always been anything but gentle with Roxas and this time was no exception. His head was pushed down by the hand on his neck while his neighbor's penis fucked his throat.
It didn't take long for the moans to become loud enough to drown out the sounds coming from the television. Roxas noticed that the previous soccer game was over. He wondered who'd won. He didn't give a shit about sports but right now he'd watch anything to take his mind off what was currently happening.
The sounds emitting from The Fucker turned from moans to words. Roxas' stomach dropped. He wanted nothing more than to shut his ears as easily as he shut his eyes. When The Fucker was quiet it was usually easier to ignore and escape what he was doing to him. When the man spoke the words were like chains that shackled him to the ground and forced him down.
"Yes. You love my cock so much. You are such a little cockslut aren't you? You love me fucking your throat raw, don't you?" Roxas didn't do or say anything. Even if he wanted to he wouldn't be able to form a word with his mouth stuffed with the man's penis.
As the profanities and words kept streaming from The Fuckers lips he tried to find the darkness again, he needed it back now or he wouldn't be able to stand it. He didn't want to cry for a second time that night, at least not in front if this asshole.
As if on cue the darkness made its presence known a second time that evening and Roxas sent a silent 'thank you' to whoever might be listening.
The darkness shrouded his senses and enveloped him in a thick, warm blanket. Thankfully it was quiet and there as an escape so Roxas gratefully accepted it. He let the friendly and familiar darkness dull his senses and carry him away from reality.
The door creaked slightly when he opened it but not enough to make him worried about having awoken anyone. He stopped in the hallway and listened. This house was never quiet, no matter what time of day it was.
Right now he could hear loud snores drowning out the soft voice of a woman coming from the living room. He didn't have to look to know that his dad was sleeping on the couch and that he fell asleep with the TV turned on. It was the standard scenario every night.
Roxas peered into the room on his way to the stairs and – lo and behold – he'd been right. Bottles of different beverages – he would bet his right arm that there was alcohol in them all – were scattered all over the floor, table and every other surface. There were more bottles than usual Roxas noticed, but he wasn't so surprised. After all he'd been gone for four days which meant that his father had been binge drinking for every night he'd been away. The same thing always happened when Roxas disappeared.
The tears were still running and he sniveled. It was almost frightening how different people looked when they were sleeping compared to when they were awake. With all of the creases erased, his father almost looked kind. Roxas shivered and turned away.
Hatred for his father surged up inside of him as he started up the stairs. This was all his fathers' fault. He was the reason to why Roxas' life was a living hell and he would never let himself forget that.
There had been many times that had almost happened and he'd been the one to pay for it.
Roxas remembered one time when his family had gone on a vacation one summer and how they'd spent a week in complete bliss. Everything had been right in the world. It hadn't taken more than ten minutes back home before his father had gone on a rampage about everything Roxas had done wrong during the past week. It had ended with a visit to the hospital where they removed the pieces of broken glass and sowed Roxas' hand back up.
He remembered his dad asking him if he'd learnt his lesson and Roxas had answered truthfully and said yes. He'd learnt his lesson, just not the one his father had meant to teach him.
Instead he knew never to trust anything his dad said, the sentences were all lies and pretty words constructed to hide and conceal the true, malevolent intent his eyes were portraying.
Roxas managed to make his way up the stairs and he was still seething. He didn't really know where he was headed but luckily his feet did. The bathroom was just the place he needed to be.
As soon as he laid eyes on the toilet it was as if a flipped a switch and he didn't even have time to lock the door behind him before his stomach turned itself inside-out. Roxas thought he heard a small gasp coming from behind him but at the moment he was too busy to care. Just when he wondered if he was going to start throwing up his own intestines soon, the heaving stopped.
He sat with his head on the cold concrete bowl as he tried to calm his racing heart.
"You look like utter crap. Did you know that?" came the voice from behind him. Roxas answered without turning around.
"At least I'm still prettier than you, that's all that matters." Roxas' throat felt raw and his voice cracked. Sora didn't seem to notice and only snorted.
"I don't know about that, it's debatable." Roxas turned to face his brother. He stood leaning against the door with his arms crossed while looking down at Roxas. The small smile disappeared when Roxas met his gaze and was replaced by a concerned look and furrowed eyebrows.
"How you holding up?" Roxas only grunted in response as he turned back to the toilet.
His ears were ringing and Sora's voice was growing more distant as flashes of The Fucker flittered across his mind. Roxas could still taste him in his mouth and throat. When he was sure that he wasn't going to puke his liver out Roxas closed the lid and flushed the toilet.
He turned to the sink and washed his hands. He glanced at his toothbrush, shrugged and grabbed the tube of toothpaste and emptied its content straight into his mouth. He proceeded to shove his toothbrush into his mouth and swirl it around. The taste of mint was overwhelming and the foam threatened to choke him but it was a relief. He felt somewhat less disgusting.
In his peripheral vision Roxas noticed that Sora was still watching him. "I hope you are liking the show", was what he'd meant to say but all that came from his mouth was a lot of gurgling and the sounds of someone choking.
The concerned look on Sora's face had vanished and the expression he now wore was angry with a hint of exasperation. Roxas groaned internally. Please not tonight, he thought.
"Mom left again." He spit in the sink.
Fuck.
This was what their mother did when things like this happened. She ran away and hid, probably at their aunt's place. Roxas knew that he always hurt Sora and his mother when he ran away, but he was selfish and put himself first every time. He had tried staying for their sake but eventually he'd been forced to run, to find his solace and become whole if only or a little while.
Upon doing so Roxas started a chain reaction. First came his father's drinking problem that went out of hand and because Roxas wasn't there he had nowhere to direct his anger at which meant that he yelled a lot more at Sora's and Roxas' mom.
His mom in turn couldn't handle it and it usually didn't take more than two days before she also fled. She had taken Sora with her at first but now he usually spent his time at either Riku or Kairi's place. He didn't suffer much because of it; he liked getting a break and change of scenery.
The thing he did have a problem with was how their mother changed and became a crying wreck. The only thing that could bring her back home was Roxas reassuring her that he was home and that he'd be staying. It would be a lie but it worked for the moment and their mom would return home to them.
Bringing her home was Roxas' way of telling Sora that he was sorry for hurting their mother, which in turn had hurt him and Sora would understand this and forgive him.
That was how the whole procedure worked. It was messy and had flaws but so did their whole family.
"I'll call her tomorrow."
"You've been gone for almost a week Roxas, she needs-"
"Sora please, not tonight." He couldn't listen to this right now. It had been a shitty night to put it mildly and all he wanted was to sleep. Sora scrutinized his face intently before sighing.
"Fine." Sora sounded resigned.
"Thanks" Roxas really was grateful. If Sora had asked him, he would have called her at that second.
"I'm sorry", he added as an afterthought. Sora shrugged.
"Don't be, it's not your fault."
Roxas really loved his brother. There were times when he was a bit too cheerful and too kind for his own good but he had his principles from which he would not stray. He could see the faults in both their mother and father and he knew they were to blame but instead of hating them, he pitied them.
Roxas was thankful that Sora was there to remind his that it wasn't his fault whenever he forgot, but he hated it when Sora took care of their parents, especially their mother.
In Roxas' eyes they were to blame; they didn't deserve Soras pure and big heart. Roxas knew that he didn't either, he wasn't better than anyone else, but he was a selfish person.
He wanted someone to care for him, to take the risk of seeing the thorns in his heart and still embrace him even though they might end up getting stung and pierced by him. He wanted someone to see the flaws and darkness in his parents and tell him that he had the right to be selfish, that it was ok to put his own happiness and well-being first.
Roxas knew Sora wanted everyone to be happy, he wanted his family to smile and be whole again and Roxas had tried his hardest to make it so, but he knew that their family - no he - he was broken beyond repair.
He and his brother both wanted the same thing - they wanted to be happy, they wanted their family to be happy, but it always came with a price. Whatever Roxas did he would somehow hurt someone, if it wasn't Sora or his mother it would be himself.
It was as if he was wandering around in a labyrinth, looking desperately for an exit even though he knew there wasn't one, only to end up in the same rut he'd been walking a thousand times before. Roxas was exhausted.
He squeezed past Sora and out into the dark hallway.
"Aren't you going to clean the toilet?" Roxas spun around and swung a punch in Sora's direction. He easily sidestepped the fist and managed to catch Roxas' arm, spin him around and pin his arm to his back.
Roxas stood flailing his limbs for a moment, trying to find a way out of the grip but it was futile.
"Will you clean it?" Roxas grunted a response and the grip on his arm disappeared. As he turned around he grabbed a piece of clothing that hung on the staircase. He flung it in the direction of Sora's face and the sound upon impact was one of the best sound Roxas had ever heard and he would remember it forever.
Sora was temporarily disabled and struggled to get what looked like a pair of sweatpants out of his face.
Roxas took this opportunity to escape to his room, lock the door and press his ear against it.
"Roxas used 'pants'. It's super effective!" He yelled through the door. He heard Sora laugh through the wood that separated them.
"You're such a loser Roxas", was all he said. Roxas turned from the door with a smile on his lips.
When he saw his bed, just as he'd left it, it was as if his legs gave in. The events of the night came rushing over him like a tidal wave, sweeping his feet from under him.
It took all the strength from his body and mind and he barely made it to the bed before he was already sleeping.