Sing It One Foot in Hell (Era)

[Dis Akhmet]

At this time in the evening, even with all of the others he knew he shared this current home with, the mansion felt like a house of death. Long shadows arched and spiked and split across the floor and walls, bathing everything in an eerie light that was only enhanced by the rich decor of the place. The wallpaper and the wooden accents, every stick of furniture lent its part in creating a forest of shadows that Dis found himself wading through. Even in the narrow passage of the hallway, he preferred it to the horrifically boring room he'd been kept in for the last few days. Even the cramped little passageway he was slipping through was a breath of fresh air compared to that place. He felt better, less like he was going to suffocate as the walls crushed in around him. He felt lighter, but there was still this horrible little knot of tension at the base of his neck, this terrible, niggling little worm of apprehension that told him something wasn't right.

He continued down the hallway, his instincts telling him to keep silent and go into predator mode. Something hadn't felt correct since he'd been hauled away from Era. He never wanted to leave the boy alone, it just didn't feel safe. Perhaps he was too paranoid, but two times out of three, when his paranoia kicked in, he wasn't usually sorry for acting on it. And in this place... well, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Eyes narrowing out of practiced cautiousness, Dis took a moment to look and listen, making sure he was completely alone before sidling off to the side and crouching down, pushing an end table away from a corner, opening up a gap just wide enough for his fist. He carefully eased the peeling baseboard from the wall, pulling out a cloth-wrapped pocketknife that he had hidden there several weeks ago. Out of the three multi-purpose knives he had painstakingly smuggled into Ridgestone, this was his second-to-last one. That damned psychiatrist had taken his other one after finding it on him when he was taken in for the attack on Ashton. After that unfortunate loss of self-control, Dis had made sure to hide his remaining weapons throughout the building, mainly to keep them from being taken during a random check, and to also keep himself from being tempted to use them on somebody. It had worked, but he often found himself fiddling with his pencils or whatever else he had on hand, secretly wishing for the comfortable weight in his palm once again.

Straightening up and replacing the baseboard and table, Dis unwrapped the knife and dusted it off, hefting the little tool almost lovingly before tucking it into his pocket. The weight settled against his thigh in a comforting manner, and the anxiety lessened just a bit. He had forgotten how naked he felt without his knives on hand.

Continuing on his trek to his and Era's room, Dis' mind wandered. Even so, his eyes flicked around, assessing everything as if there may be a hidden threat behind every corner. Something felt horribly awry, but he couldn't place it. His fingers brushed over the smooth casing of the knife, comforted by the steel. If anything happened, he could fight it. The boy exhaled softly and ran a shaky hand through his hair, absently chewing his lip as he thought. Was he really any good for Era? He wanted to be... He needed to be. But was this aggression going to fuck everything up for him? Ko had been right... In all their talks, as much as Dis scowled and hated the man's words, he knew he was right. The way he acted was wrong, the temper... God, he had a temper like his mother's, and that was in no way a good thing. Maybe he was bipolar and needed medication, but what would that do? Medication, pills, they could just be a crutch, or develop into an addiction, and he didn't want any more of that. The adrenaline he craved was bad enough, he didn't want to add to it. Era helped ease it, and if he could just keep calm enough to focus on Era and redirect his life... If he could pour his heart and soul and life into Era like he had for Ace, then maybe he could beat this monster inside his head.

But Era wasn't Ace. He was far more naive, and far more damaged, than Ace ever was. They weren't the same person, and it was sick of him to even pretend that they were. Era's needs were different from Ace's, and while his frailness constantly reminded Dis of his little brother, the boys were vastly different. But that was okay, he needed to let go of Ace. It's what the boy would want. His face tightened a bit in pain as he thought that over, but the moment passed and he found himself once again flicking his gaze over the doors and windows down the hallway. He needed to be better for Era, he needed to overcome these demons in his skull in order to nurture and protect the boy. Era deserved so much more than he'd been given so far, and if Dis applied himself, he could give Era real love, real safety.... But he had to make it happen. And it wouldn't happen if he let his temper and his mother's prophecies get the best of him. He had to protect Era. He had to protect him.

The words stung in his mind for some reason and he quickened his pace, still keeping deathly silent and moving lightly around the squeaky parts of the floor. The back of his neck felt tingly and a slight knot of dread formed in his stomach, but what about, he didn't know. Something was wrong, very wrong. Dis licked his dry lips and eased his bedroom key out of his pocket, listening intently to the silence of the hall as he approached his doorway, remembering to stay away from the sliver of light under his door. With practiced ease, he slipped the key into the lock, but didn't turn the knob, opting to still himself completely and listen to whatever sounds were coming from inside the room. Era should be back by now, but something felt ominous about the room. Dis narrowed his eyes to slits and leaned in closely, not quite pressing his ear to the door. He felt cold for some reason, his blood chilled to icy rivers that slid through his coiled body, ready to attack at the slightest threat of danger.

A part of him hoped that it was nothing, but years of living on the edge of messy death and unstable acquaintances made him trust his instincts. Nature set in and he slipped into the role of the patient predator, listening and watching for the smallest hint of danger. His stomach was cold with the ill feeling that Era was hurt, but he pushed it back, listening, one hand on the door, the other in his pocket, thumb on the nub that would flip open the keen-edged little weapon at a second's notice. He listened, holding his breath and praying, hoping against hope that he was overreacting and that Era was safe and sound...

[erasmusvalentine]

To assume Era had not thought an ounce of his Dis since the boy had been tucked off away alone, would be far from the truth. Even if he hadn’t showed it or spoken of it since the first few hours, merely, he felt it in his heart, in that dull ache he felt every moment of each waking hour, and, as those hours drew longer it seemed with the sun turning to moon, clouds exchanging themselves, at times, for the stars to shine so purely, he was reminded more so now than ever how much he missed him. Even so, he knew what he was now. Five hours was all it took before he understood quite what Dis meant by his telling him to stay careful, away from the man he hadn’t recognized, hadn’t known as he had changed behind those bars, that metal fortitude, holding bitterness, holding desire, away from the minds and the tears, until broken and let loose to blacken the ivory pale skin with thrashes and understandings, blood pooled at the surface, begging for a release to ease the pain, though only running when it was allowed to. His papa had found him again and took him into his arms to hold and to keep, and in those arms Era found a sense of familiarity that comforted him more than scared him at the time that he had found it, that luke warm trill at the back of his neck and along his spine, then a hurricane twisting around in his stomach. That day, he spent the night in his papa’s new bed, tossed so horribly around and around, his head spun as it hit so many things, and blood escaped, then... so easily. He drew back the curtains and burned his skin by forcing him in the sun for too long, that blinding sun, so pure... Purity was what Drago named it, called it so disdainfully, and he told his little songbird that the reason it burned him was because he was pure filth, and that they would have to change that. They only had a few days, and such a statement was the only light in Era’s mind, but he knew, no matter the days, Drago was careful, and Era had to be even more so.. because if Dis found out, Dis would have to fall as those rabbits and that bird had done before him, though perhaps not from Era’s own hands, unless Drago had a malice in his mind...

His head had been stitched up. He’d ‘fallen’, as his papa told the nurse, and he played concerned, as he was so good at doing.. because he was concerned.. he really was... Era made himself believe so, made himself think that this man cared, because, soon enough, Dis wouldn’t, and he would have no one else but his papa, once more. He spoke not a word to anyone anymore, when he was allowed to leave his room, but he didn’t often even leave... His limping was too bad and his ankle hurt. Everything hurt... so much, all the time. Not a moment passed that he didn’t wince at something, but sometimes, all he focused on was the ache in his heart, because even as the second moon shown through the trees and his master pleasured his body as masters were allowed to do, the tears still came, and with each sob there were punishments, understandings... A doll cannot be weak... a weak doll will break too often and no one wants it. No one wants something so horribly childish, so hideous... so filthy and tarnished, fat and disfigured. His skin was so much more beautiful black and riddled with scars, ripped and poisoned, broken with claim, than pure and pale, smoothed down and hidden away by the pure white sun. Part of him wanted Dis to rescue him, but as hours turned to days, that part was growing dimmer and dimmer.. not to say that he didn’t want him to.. simply because, he didn’t want any hope anymore, because he found, now more than ever, hope hurt more than it helped. Hope made him think, and dolls shouldn’t think. Hope made him wish, and whores shouldn’t wish. Hope.. hope made his heart feel a little better... and Erasmus should never feel better. His place was his place, and he had to be reminded of that, over and over again, simple slaps against his face or thrusts... If Drago were stupid, he would have sold him, so he had told him to his ear, but he wasn’t stupid... so Drago would punish him by himself this time, but once they were back home, once Era could see his own cage again, that.. that wonderful cage, he would have so many buyers until he couldn’t walk anymore.. and he would be allowed to be carried and to quit, because when he was no longer wanted by buyers, then maybe, just maybe, Drago would sell him to his precious boy here, if he so wanted him by then. Doubtful, even to Era. No one wanted him for too long, except Papa.

Papa was his only constant, his only solid foundation. He was the only thing that made sense in this world, the only thing that he had known before he was taken away to this place, this cold and heartless stone, filled with such warm people.. who looked at him so strangely... Was he so different from everyone..? Tainted.. no one wants the tainted soul, the disfigured body, unless they were allowed to pay for it, of course.. And Era was not to be played with, he found.. but to be paid for.. He was to be borrowed and distributed, shared and tossed away again. On the morning of the third day, he found himself on the floor. His master had been gracious the nights before, but no longer. He was to sleep on the floor as he should have been since he’d left, since before he’d left, even, because Era only needed beds to play in.. Only his superiors got to use the bed for sleeping, or for sitting... the floor was bitterly cold, and those sweaters, ripped from his body, were somewhere crumbled and vain, too luxurious for a whore, too soft and too warm. But fate had his heart lifted this morning.. because he no longer bled from his places, no longer was so sore to move. Papa had been nice to him.. so very nice, and he had bowed his head and thanked him as any whore would, as any whore should. He was no longer allowed to look at him, or at anyone, but he knew that his papa was pleased, not because of a feeling... merely a lack of one. No hand met his cheek, no tip of a boot to his side, or his head, and he was feeling so very blessed, and so very hopeful for today. But that was hours prior, and to make sure his little songbird did not sing of hope and of smiles, as faint as they might have been, Papa made a point of punishing him once more.. His final punishment of the day, the one he had to remember, because it was a new rule Era hadn’t known before, hadn’t known or realized... He couldn’t smile. Unless to a customer, or allowed, Era knew now he wasn’t to smile, because whores weren’t allowed, and again that word twisted into his mind.. Whore.. The same scripted into his chest, disfiguring him as he knew from seeing so many beautiful people here...

He was taken to his room, his favorite room, and his initial longing was to rush and curl into the sheets he and his Dis had shared together, had loved and comforted in together, and Drago knew immediately, from the light bouncing in his eyes, that he had done well to punish him here. It didn’t take long for a comforting silence to turn into a shriek, but he wasn’t allowed... And he was hit, shoved against the bed, head slamming once again into the headboard, opening that wound he had just closed the day before, with that wonderful nurse, that beautiful woman... But Era knew how Drago looked at her, and jealousy had filled every inch of him. That woman was fat. She had eaten, he knew! He had eaten and was punished for it, why did she get to eat and be beautiful? He hadn’t asked, hadn’t hinted, and he kept his desire to sob and hide to a bare minimum, and his papa never asked him of it, if he had noticed, and no doubt he had, because at this night, he made a point of his disappointment in him, in his figure and his beauty. “De când aţi fost atât de hidoasă cum eşti acum?” His words were soft against his searing flesh and Era had wanted to cry so hard, but he only allowed a few tears to slip by. Since the first day, he had been working so hard. He had stopped eating. He had worn only what his papa allowed him to, wonderful dresses that were torn to shreds now, beautiful leather that was burned and charred... How did the others here do it so effortlessly..? How could that woman be more beautiful than he, when she didn’t even try...? It didn’t matter to her, being beautiful, as much as it did to him... He needed it. He needed to be beautiful for his master, his Papa, because without beauty, he had nothing. If this school, this place, had taught him something, it was that he was stupid, though it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known that beforehand. Papa knew, and papa told him multiple times, over and over again. Why couldn’t he have gotten it all correct? Why did he have to miss a word, three lines, one answer..? Why did he have to be so stupid? Disappoint so many, so often? Papa told him how wonderfully smart the children here were, that white-blond Italian and the feminine boy, his Songbird. For the second time in his time away from Dis, jealousy filled him to the brim, but this time.. he didn’t hold it back, and he let out a soft sob.

What would make him as beautiful as they were? Should he cut off his scars? Make his hair blonde, as theirs were? Should he grow taller and calmer, stop eating and start flirting..? He was willing to change anything, and he begged for his Papa to tell him, but his words decreased to null once his ribs cracked under the pressure of his master’s boot... Blood spattered forth from his lips against the soft linens of this bed he’d shared, and within less than a moment, his head was shoved down to meet it with his face, back to his lips, and he gasped sharply whenever he good for any sort of air he could get. Clothes ripped away from him once again. He was losing so many now... What would he wear now..? Papa wouldn’t buy him things.. he didn’t deserve things... nothing but this, nothing but the blood from his forehead and the pain in his ribs. It didn’t take long for his master to make him his once more, with no preparation and no words, just sudden shocks of pain and a scream that he was hit for. His papa wasn’t even undressed... he always undressed... And when his papa saw him looking, he smirked.. and told him that he would undress when Era wasn’t disgusting to touch... They were finished, though, soon enough--or, rather.. Papa was... Era’s body was left weeping for more, but he wasn’t allowed to finish, not anymore. His Master snatched him from the bed and threw him back to the floor, and pulled a knife from his pocket before he crouched in front of him and began to cut.. They were only slits at first, then words.. ‘urât,’ along the small of his back.. then a simple ‘a mea’ on the back of his left hand, careful around the veins, but there was so much blood, and so much pain, and he cried so hard... Everything hurt, everything was bleeding...

Everything was just as it should be.