Kenny woke up as his head slammed against something hard; by the ache in his temple and the tightness in his jaw he just knew it was metal.
The taste of salt and cheap alcohol bit sharp on his tongue. The drink was laced with something powerful; he wasn't quite sure if it was a date rape drug but the effect had been the same. He rubbed at his eyes and tried his best to look around at his surroundings. He was moving; he had to be in the trailer of an eighteen wheeler. There was room enough for him to wiggle around, and he could see lights from outside flicker through the holes along the metal confines.
So he had been drugged and abducted.
Kenny was groggy; he felt as if he had taken a heavy sedative and had woken up early. Moving his arms and legs seemed impossible and it took much too long for his eyes to focus. But as he came to, he realized another pair of eyes gazed down at him. No matter how kind they appeared, he tried his best to jump back and fight. Except, paired with the lethargy, his limbs were bound.
He was in the back of a cattle car with someone who was probably going to kill him. Or worse. This wasn't what he had agreed to with Jonny; and unfortunately his naivety got the best of him once again. His eagerness for a few extra dollars unsettling to him right now; but if he had known this was his fate he would have run for the hills and never looked back.
But right now he was furious and terrified; that left him in a panic as he tried to fight against the ties. The eyes still watched him and a young face began to appear from the darkness; he couldn't scream. He was gagged. Kenny let out a growl of frustration and watched with heavy eyes as the person raised their hand. He closed his eyes and flinched, ready for whatever kind of pain they could dish.
Except he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He flailed as best he could to get them to stop touching him, and then fingers squeezed him gently.
"It's okay," he heard a small voice belonging to a young girl who reminded him too much of Karen for his own good. "Don't fight. Master will be angry with me." Tiny fingers worked to untie the gag. As soon as his mouth was free, he took a deep breath.
"HE-" his scream was cut off by her hand covering his mouth. Tears glittered in her eyes, and he silenced at her desperation.
"P-please... Master will hurt me if you scream. I-I can't... I hurt so bad..." This was just a little girl. Her voice was thick with a Russian accent, and her body was frail and malnourished from what he could see.
"Who..." he trailed off in a whisper. "Who's your... master?" The words felt vile as they rolled off his tongue. Although she looked pained, a smile broke on her face.
"He's my guardian angel. He saved my life."
Kenny's eyes lowered and he swore his heart shattered as he heard the words. Karen. She was just as old as Karen; this could have easily been her here instead of him. And yet here is this little girl who has been subjected to mind control and complete torture that her entire being is warped. Bent around the finger of the so called "master".
"He saved you too," she said quietly, taking his hand. "And I'm so thankful I have a friend. I can teach you everything... I can show you..." she lowered herself on to him and straddled his lap. Kenny shook his head and tried to pull away. When she noticed his aversion, she bit her lip and her shoulders began to shake.
"Don't cry..." he whispered, then squeezed her hand, "I'm going to help you. What... what's your name?"
"41," she replied, "we're going to be siblings, you and I. Master's going to take good care of us. We've got a home, and if we do good then we won't get hurt."
"What do you... what do you do?"
"Whatever they want me to."
Kenny closed his eyes as they began to sting.
"And so will you... I don't want to lose you. I love you, I love you already." His lip trembled as she rested her head on his shoulder.
"I love you too." He whispered, and raised his head as a tear rolled down his cheek. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the image of Karen as this girl, known to him only as 41, curled into his side and fell asleep.
42 looks up from his curled position on the ground. The guards took his blanket; now he's trying to hug himself to keep warm. Only his skin is cold, and he shakes involuntarily with every beat of his heart. The bleeding hasn't stopped, and he finds it difficult to focus on anything now. But his last day is tomorrow; one more day and he is finally able to join 41. One more day and it won't hurt to walk anymore. It won't hurt to breathe.
He jumps as he hears a body crash down the stairs. A loud yelp sounds from the newcomer and he tries to lift himself to investigate. He has been waiting for 43 for awhile now; the guards and his master have been talking to him. He has to teach him, has to make him comfortable. He has to show him that this is a good thing. Because Master saved them both and now the are eternally grateful. Forever they belong to him, and their bodies are not theirs. They are his. They will do whatever they are told because if Master didn't save them then they would be dead.
43 groans on the floor and 42 shakily lifts himself up. He whimpers as his something inside stabs against his stomach, or his back, and he tries not to scream. Too much noise will make him hurt. Too much movement will make it worse. And Master will be even angrier. He has to do this right to get on Master's good graces so he can have a quick death.
He knows the horror of 40. 41 told him all about it. No one wants to die like 40.
"Hi."
42 tastes the blood in his throat and knows his stomach is swollen due to the internal bleeding. He can taste it, as well as the acid as he fights of nausea once more. 43 lifts his head and looks at him.
"H..." his voice stops and catches, and 42 tilts his head. Why is he scared? He shouldn't be scared.
"You're a pretty one." 43 looks at him with a lost expression, and struggles to stand. He is bleeding from his head, and he holds his side. "I can help you."
"H...how?" 43 asks. He smiles at the taller man, and then grimaces.
"You're old."
"So are you." 42's eyes lower as he nods. "You're as old as I am. I'm twenty-two." 42 takes a step back and falters. Instantly arms are around him and he covers his mouth as he lets out a pained cry. "What... what's wrong... you're bleeding."
"I was wrong," he answers, "I was bad. I didn't do my job right and you're... you're not supposed to see this. Master punished me, and he-he'll do this to you if you don't..." he trails off and reaches for the railing. He holds himself steady and gasps for breath; it's so hard to breathe.
"Who's Master?"
"He..." 42 trails off, then looks up at the ceiling. He can't see it but he hears footsteps above. "He's my guardian angel."
"But he hurt you."
"Didn't your old Master?" 42 asks curiously. 43 stiffens, then nods. "It's our lesson. We need to be good. We're nothing, you and I. Not until we're saved. We... they give us a purpose. A reason to live, and sometimes it hurts, and sometimes they do things that hurt... but it's our fault. I've been good for so long, I used to fight. I don't know why. They took a knuckle for every time I tried to run... who would run from the one who saved them?"
43 stares at him with a sick look on his face. He wraps an arm around himself, then holds out his left hand.
"I lost a finger, and the top knuckle of another one. I learned my lesson. I'll never run again. There's no point..."
"Why not?"
"I get to sleep tomorrow."
43 sits down on the stairs and buries his head in his hands. 42 wants to sit next to him, but bending down even slightly is too painful. But he has to, to be a good teacher. He has to show him to be strong. So he sits, and barely has time to turn his head before he vomits again. It tastes like blood now. A hand brushes his back and he flinches, then tells himself it's okay. It has to be okay; he does whatever the new one wants.
"You're bleeding internally, you need medical help." He shakes his head and tries to smile; he doesn't remember how. Has he ever smiled. His lips tremble and he gives up, then wipes his mouth.
"It'll stop tomorrow, it's okay." His voice is small but calm and almost eager for the end. 43 stares at him with a lost expression.
Then he realizes what he's doing. He's teaching him wrong; this is the last thing he can do to please Master and he has already managed to fail. 43 couldn't be like him; he can't try to run away. He will end up hurt, and considering his age he was probably already too far gone. The older ones never last long. No one wants them. They're used.. rough... loose.
He knows he shouldn't be telling 43 these things. He should tell him how good Master is for taking them in. How their job is to please him and the others he sells them to. Making his buyers happy makes Master happy. And that is the point of their existence.
Master will be able to love 43 far more than him, as long as he advises him the right way.
"Master loves us, he doesn't want to punish me but he has to. I need to learn. We're his family, and he helped us when no one else would. You know that... your sire did the same for you." He notices the scowl on 43's face and bites his lip. He doesn't seem very grateful.
"What makes you say that?" 43 asks, his black hair looks soft and unmatted. Combed even. He smells clean too. 42 looks down at himself, sees his bruises and blood and body fluids that aren't his dried on his skin. He's filthy. He's wrong. He shouldn't be the one teaching 43. It's obvious to him that he is impeccable at obeying orders. "Do you remember your life before your... before Master?" the noirette seems to struggle on the title. This wouldn't fare for him here.
42's eyes widen as he gazes at the one taking over for him. No one talks about that. It's too painful for them to remember, Master says, and he helps them forget. Perhaps 43 hadn't gone through the same treatment. Maybe he remembers everything; he shudders at that.
"I was abandoned," he recites, "Master took me in when he found me. He loves me and that's all I need to know."
43 sticks his hand in his pocket. A slave hasn't worn pants in such a long time; this one is odd. He doesn't seem right. He knows too much, seems much more defiant than even he is. He's suddenly wary of his companion but says nothing.
Unless he has pants because he's so good. That means if he is... then he should be learning from him. Or the very least he could do is offer himself.
"Do you know your... do you know anything your Master? Like his name?"
42 shakes his head.
"I'm undeserving of that information." 43 looks up; from the dim light he can see his face is wet and his eyes are red. Oh no.
"D-don't... don't do that. Don't, oh please... please stop. You can't cry. Please..." 42 wipes his face and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. What can I do? Don't cry."
"No, I'm not..." 43 trails off, "do you know your name?"
"42," he replies as he shakily pulls himself from the stairs. He winces and clutches his stomach; he feels heavy.
"I mean your name before... mine's Craig."
He knows this name. Why does this sound familiar? The more he looks at Craig, no 43, the more he realizes he knows this face. Why doesn't he have a name... did he have a name? The pizza man called him Kenny tonight. Kenny McCormick. Was that his name? No, he can't think that. He is nothing. 42.
"Can I make you f-feel better?"
"I could say the same to you," 42 shakes his head. His mind swims and he covers his mouth as he fights off another wave of nausea. He's tired.
"No, you're not here for me. I'm here to teach you Master's ways."
Craig leans forward and puts his hand in front of 42, before holding his shoulder. He tenses, however, when 42 reaches for his pants.
"No, d-don't do that." 42 yanks his hands away and stares in horror at Craig. He can't deny this, that's the most important rule. No one is able to say no.
But suddenly he wants to be like 43- Craig. He seems sure of himself, he's confident. He hasn't been broken and suddenly 42 realizes he won't be. They cannot harm his soul. But he was weak, he had let go too easily.
Craig knows who he is... after what he has been through, he still holds on to himself. So who is e? Why is he lost?
"I just want to talk to you, we can be friends." Craig's voice is calming. 42 glances up from the floor and catches his look. He's smiling. He has the whitest teeth; his smile is beautiful. He's beautiful.
That's the reason he is being replaced. He's no longer desirable. Broken, beaten, used up, spent and ready for the hangman. Craig, 43, is absolutely beautiful and looking at him brings tears to his eyes. He wonders if he ever looked as he does. Maybe once he had been beautiful too.
He wants to smile too.
"What's Master like?"
"Very loving. He cares so much about us... about me. I've just hurt him too many times."
"Is he the one who made you bleed tonight? How did he do it?" He tenses at this question and lowers his eyes.
"I spoke to someone. I asked who I was. The pizza man... he thought I was someone. But I'm no one."
"Who did he think you were?" Craig asks. A sob escapes him and he shakes his head wildly.
"Nobody..." he whimpers, "I'm Nobody, Master says. I-I'm an animal. I'm wrong... and I talked to the... the pizza man. And Rodrick even let me have his pizza crust... I was good. I did good... and Master said I was wrong. He... punished me with t-that... pole..."
Craig looks ashen as he glances to the metal rod that lay in the center of the room. He was raped with a pole because he spoke to Butters. He shakes his head, and turns to his companion.
"What did he do to you?"
"He..." he trails off, shaking his head. He deserved it. He didn't say no. He needed it to be good. He has to be good. "He made love to me."
"With a metal pole?" He nods. "That's not love, that's rape..."
Rape.
He is bleeding internally and broken from the inside out. He is a ruin.
"He raped me..." he whispers and falls apart. For the first time that he remembers, he bursts into tears. They flood down his cheeks, hot like acid. Nearly enough to burn his flesh.
And he feels Craig's arms wrap around him and hold him close. Not enough to hurt, but enough to let him feel something. This was a hug. And he feels Craig shaking in his arms and he doesn't know what to do. This was his first hug since... he doesn't remember.
He doesn't remember his last hug. And that hurts even more.
He holds tighter to him and hides his face in his chest.
"Why did he do it?"
"I asked him who I was..." he sobs. He clutches to his shirt, tries to feel this contact. This was love. This wasn't like Master's touch. This was warm and loving. He felt safe. He wants that feeling. And now that he feels that connection, he knows that he can die happy tomorrow. Even if he disobeys
"Who do you think you are...?" 42 sniffles and lifts his weary head from Craig's chest. He feels the man squeeze his hand, and he sobs.
"Forgotten..."