In the Rough - The Chronicles of the Diamond Prince
Chapter 8 -- The Personal Hell
Content warning:
strong language, intense emotional trauma, mentions of death, mentions of sexual content, mentions of sexual non-consent/reluctance, mentions of violence, torture, blood, BDSM/kink elements, mentions of physical abuse/neglect
Declan, if that was even his name anymore, it was hard to remember, laid on the grimy cold wood floor of his room, exactly where the last client had left him. Not that it was his room exactly, he was a piece of furniture that came with the room when it was rented. He didn't know how long he'd been there, but he didn't have the willpower to move.
He'd managed to turn his head so he could look at the small, barred window. He couldn't see much from this angle, not that he could see much from it even looking directly out of it; the glass was caked in dirt and a warehouse wall was the view, but he felt more like he could breathe with it in his eyeline. The foggy yellow light of a nearby industrial lamp at least told him that it was still night. He didn't know exactly how long it had been, he'd long since lost track of when he'd been locked in this room alone.
His only company were the incessant string of greasy, sloppy clientele and the 'cleaner' that came through every few days. He was sore, exhausted, hungry and lonely in a way he had never known. He was grateful that the heavy chain around his neck which bolted him to the wall was long enough to reach the bathroom, so he could rinse himself off and drink from the tap, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything that wasn't a body fluid.
It was just then that he heard heavy footsteps near his door, and his mind panicked. He couldn't take another client right now, he just
couldn't.
He'd had four since the sun set, and two before that. He had barely made it through the last one, and he didn't have the strength to take more. He'd taken a beating a few days ago for poor performance and didn't know if his body could get through another. He put every ounce of strength he had into just getting to his knees as the door opened, and to his infinite relief, two slices of bread landed in front of him, and the door slammed shut again. If he'd had the energy he would have cried in relief.
After a while, the sun had come up and replaced the yellow haze in the window to a white one. He managed to get to the bathroom and clean himself up and drag himself onto the bed. Dawn was time to sleep, there would likely be no clients until midafternoon or later. He reached down between the headboard and the mattress and pulled out the top sheet he kept hidden. Every time the cleaner came to change the sheets, he would immediately hide the top sheet to use for himself as the room got dirtier. He would wrap himself up in it while he slept to help keep a barrier between himself and all the dried fluids, and this morning was no exception.
As he drifted off, his mind took him away and back to Ricks basement. He could feel Ava's body heat, smell her hair, hear her soft breaths and taste her skin against his lips. He could see her smile and her pale blue eyes, the way her cheeks flushed pink every time he kissed her. He knew it was a matter of time before they broke him, that one day he would no longer have the strength to think of her. It's what they wanted, for him to be a machine, a piece of furniture, a set of holes and nothing more. And he knew one day they would succeed. One day, he would drift to sleep wishing for death instead of wishing for her, and it was a thought that was more painful than anything else they could put him through.
Days and weeks passed, and he could feel himself weakening. The visits from clients were becoming less, yet he scarce had the strength to entertain them when they did. Punishment came frequently and harshly. He'd long abandoned any sense of dignity or will to be strong and screamed and begged with every lash, rod, and hand that struck him.
Only once in the entirety of his time in this place had he felt something that resembled kindness. He'd never seen the cleaner's face, when she came every so often, she never interacted nor spoke with him. He would scramble to his knees as she entered, making himself as invisible and out of her way as he could. He would face the wall and rest his head against it to steady himself as his weakness grew.
The first few times she had come, he was worried that she would use him or hurt him, was worried that she would find that he had been stashing the sheet and would punish him, but she never did, and although he ever remained wary of her, her presence was the closest thing to comfort he got. He wondered if she even knew he existed, or if he was as much an object as the wall he was chained to, to her.
The last time he was in the same room as her, he was weak, his breathing was labored, and his entire body ached. He heard her at his door, he could tell by now by the lightness of her steps in the hall it was her. He breathed a sigh of relief and dragged himself to his usual post for her, his body shaking with the effort and swaying slightly, but he held. Though he never received any praise from her, the lack of punishment was enough for him to feel praised, and he was determined to please the one person who seemed to appreciate his efforts, even if it was just in his own head.
He knew he hadn't had time to clean up since the head slave had been here to use him, and they had been particularly brutal. He knew he had blood streaked down his thighs, but there was nothing he could do about that now, so he simply focused on being good and staying still. He listened as she performed her usual routine, change the sheets, fish his hidden top sheet out, wipe down the bathroom, sweep the floor around him, wipe up as much evidence of sexual activity or blood as she could from surfaces.
He could hear her packing up and heading for the door when she paused. She stood, seemingly still by the door for several seconds before apparently heading back to the bathroom. He heard running water, and then she came back. He could feel her standing directly behind him and he tensed, wary of this new behavior. Her arm snaked around him, and she held a small paper cup to his lips. "Drink." Came a soft voice. After a moment he did, grateful as the cool water soothed the desert in his mouth and throat. She then ran a cool cloth over his ass and thighs, wiping away the evidence there too.
He was so grateful for the gentle contact, even if it was the professional, indifferent hands of a person simply doing their job; cleaning the furniture in the room, it meant he could save himself the energy of crawling all the way to the bathroom when she left. Once she was apparently satisfied, she again packed up and readied to leave, but once again paused behind him. He held his breath and waited.
She ran a soft hand down his back, around the curve of his rear and back up, trailing her fingers up the nape of his neck before finally leaving, swiftly closing the door behind herself. He collapsed at the sound and cried. He wondered if she knew just how much strength she had given him with that simple, reassuring gesture.
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Sarah grew up impoverished; her parents had passed when she was very little, leaving her to the mercy of her two teenage brothers. They'd quickly joined gangs and turned her into their personal servant. They managed to take control of the Tavern when she was fifteen, and they made her full-time staff there as well. She was as much a slave as the ones she tended and knew no other life.
She did what she could to care for the beings trapped in that building, but ultimately watched them all succumb to the abuse they suffered. She learned not to get attached as they all inevitably disappeared or died, and many grew feral and mad with the isolation and pain. She hosted many injuries from being attacked by the scared and abused creatures as she tried to clean their living spaces and learned to keep her distance. Many of the slaves had no will to live or care for other creatures, and she had to work around them or neglect them altogether for her own safety. She worked there for years, over a decade at least, and became numb to the comings and goings around her.
One day, one of the creatures she found dead, and reported it. He had only been in the room for a few weeks and had seemingly ended his own life. She wasn't surprised, it wasn't the first, and wouldn't be the last. She braced herself the next week as she stood outside that door, wondering what his replacement on the other side would be. She opened the door slowly to reveal a thin, but beautiful man huddled on the bed. He seemed to only notice her after a moment but as soon as he did, he immediately averted his eyes and scrambled to the floor, and she startled at the sudden movement.
