Welcome to Monday
Just past Midnight
2009.06.05

Kneel Down Ye Sinners, To
Streetwise Religion
Greeds Been Crowned The New King
Hollywood Dream Teens
Yesterday's Trash Queens
Save The Blessings For The Final Ring - Amen

Wild Side

I Carry My Crucifix
Under My Death list
Forward My Mail To Me In Hell
Liars And The Martyrs
Lost Faith In The Father
Long Lost In The Wishing Well

Wild Side

Fatal Strikes
We Lie On The Wild Side
No Escape
Murder Rape
Doing Time On The Wild Side
A Baby Cries
A Cop Dies
A Day's Pay On The Wild Side
Wild Side Wild Side
Tragic Life On The Wild Side

Wild Side Wild Side
Kickin' Ass On The Wild Side

Three years later.

Slykk sat up in the lumpy bunk style bed he was sleeping in, and in the darkness, looked over at the sleeping form snoring quietly next to him. Long black hair, teal green eyes, scars and tattoos, smooth skin and a shredded soul. If he was a girl, he'd be all over him, fucking him silly, but he wasn't that way. That didn't mean he didn't love him in a way that transcended sexuality.

Slykk reached out a hand and gently, so gently ran his fingertips down along the curve of Phaeton's shoulder, down his arm, and stopped at the bangle and scarf covered wrist of his childhood, and adult partner in crime and mayhem. The Monster was sleeping. Serene and calm, at peace for now. Part of him wanted to wake Phaeton up, urge him to go out, pick a victim at random and have fun. He'd been a punk most of his life but that changed when he crossed paths with the partially blind and completely deranged man sleeping next to him. That was so many, many long years ago. They were both freshly thrown out of their home street thugs when they'd met in a dank bar and ended up fighting over the same chick. After they beat each other nearly senseless, they'd joined forces, both went out with the girl, and she never saw the light of day again. A brotherhood, a partnership, perhaps more was forged in pain and fear and blood that night. Neither had ever looked back and had only pushed ahead, and deeper into more depravity, sadism, and destruction.

Slykk had always admired that part of Phaeton's soul that seemed to be missing. He had no morality filters. He had no conscience. He was danger and the ultimate predator personified. Not many even had the balls to stare him back into those partially hidden eyes, for fear of ending up dead. There was a fire and acid that burned inside of Phaeton that Slykk had never had. That's why they made such a perfect pair. Phaeton was primed for hate and pain. He'd had it beaten into him mercilessly by his sadistic, insane father. When Slykk had met Phaeton, he gladly took over the controls of the world's most dangerous criminal and became the driver behind this weapon of destruction. He relentlessly steered him to fulfill his own sick desires that he never had had the will or stomach to carry through himself. Point, shoot, kill. Go get 'em boy! Sick 'em!

He got off with the deeds he did with Phaeton, he got off just watching him destroy things, places, people. He loved the chaos, the screams, the blood, the sick little trophies they sometimes collected after the fact. Teeth, bones, other little trinkets. Phaeton never kept any, he gave them all to Slykk. Perhaps Slykk was the surrogate mate he never had, or ever would? Slykk looked to the grimy basement window when he heard the sound of fat rain drops starting to strike against it. He shivered and was glad they had scored this little bit of sanctuary for a few nights, or days. He glanced around at the shapes in the dark he could see. Garbage and debris, broken machines, boxes and other pieces and bits of things long ago scavenged or destroyed before they could get to them.

His glance slid to Phaeton again when he felt movement next to him, and with a snort and a muttering, Phaeton rolled over onto his back and continued to sleep. So serene and beautiful he looked when he was unconscious. Unless he was smeared in blood, there was almost no hint of the monster lying dormant under those closed lashes. The cat-like lips were silent, relaxed and not spewing hate and fear among the weaker life forms. Resting now. Mayhem later. So beautiful. Why couldn't he have had a sister, or been a chick? Slykk didn't realize how lost in that fantasy, and warming arousal he was until he saw almost from an out of body point of view, his hand moving toward Phaeton's face. Slowly, slowly and so carefully, he splayed out his fingers and gently brushed the pad of his thumb across Phaeton's lower lip. Soft, pouty in sleep, perfect. He swore he could feel an electric charge as he touched the other, but to the sleeping Phaeton, it felt like something had landed on him.

With a snarl and viper fast reflexes, he snapped up to a sitting position and struck out in the dark, catching Slykk's wrist in his hand and twisted it back painfully, nearly to the point of breaking it. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he hissed at his partner, suspecting treachery, not lechery. He stared through the darkness to where he knew Slykk's face would be and waited for an answer. Not even his decades long partner was immune from being killed if the situation warranted it.

"Cool it man! Cool it!" he stammered, head swimming from the sudden jarring of the mood he'd been in seconds before. "I thought there was something on you! That's all! We're in this basement man, I've already flicked fuck, I don't know what all off of me. I thought there was something on you, let go of my arm Phaet. Nothing's going on!" he said in a rush of explanation. A good explanation was key to survival or avoiding a painful retribution.

Phaeton seemed to be processing that for a few seconds, then shoved Slykk's arm away from him as he released it, and rolled back over onto his side, his back again to the blonde. He said nothing more, and settled down to soon drop back into a deep sleep. People around him were safe, and could relax when Phaeton slept, unfortunately for him, it was the most dangerous part of his existence.

Slykk sat there a moment longer before he laid back down, his back to Phaeton, and closed his eyes. He listened to the rain hit the window harder now, more intensely. It was good to be inside on a night like this, really good. If he was lucky, he'd have a wet dream and that would take the edge off until he could score some flesh to pound. He'd ask Phaeton about that tomorrow.

While Slykk dreamed of sex, Phaeton descended into his own personal Hell, the inferno of his own memories of a life broken before he had the chance to decide for himself who he was to be.

Phaeton was sitting in a room. The room was bright, the sun was shining in through the open window and he could feel the warm air and smell the scent of the trees and flowers outside. He smelled lots of things, he seemed to be able to smell the most minute of things, everywhere he went. Sometimes this ability was a problem when the smells weren't so pleasant. He was then laying on his bed reading. Phaeton loved to read and did so every chance he got. His house had no television, so it was a primary source of entertainment, and escape from his daily life.

He was so enraptured in the fantasy book he was reading, he didn't hear his father approaching until his bedroom door was flung open the rest of the way and slammed against the wall with a bone jarring slam. Phaeton, just ten years old nearly jumped out of his skin, but knew he didn't have time for fear. He was already scrambling toward the window of his room to escape.

"You little fucking bastard!" his father roared at him and covered the small bedroom in two quick strides and made a grab for his son as he tried to flee. Phaeton was halfway out of the window, two floors up when he felt his father's huge hand close around his ankle and drag him back inside.

He started to cry, to struggle, to try to escape, but his father had been a worker on the docks before getting fired for being drunk on the job, and he was a mean mountain of muscle. He cried, he pleaded, he apologized, for what he had no idea, but it didn't matter, and it never helped. Rage and pain, blame and torture had been a part of his daily life now for five years, ever since his mother and sister had died. He'd been home, asleep when the accident had happened, but that didn't stop his father from taking out his rage, and grief on his surviving child.

"I told you not to leave things out on that counter you stupid little fuck! How goddamned stupid are you? You must be the mailman's fucking kid, no kid of mine would be this stupid!" he shouted as he dragged Phaeton kicking and struggling into the hallway. He lifted Phaeton up into the air by his leg, then swung him as hard as he could into the wall. Phaeton cried out, and was sure he'd heard something crack. The blow stunned him, and he was too dazed to try any form of defense. Again, he was slammed against the wall, again, again, until he was dropped onto the floor, and his father dropped down to his knees next to the boy, still raging.

"You little fucking killer! You killed them! It's your fault you little fucking bastard! Your fault! Your fucking fault!" he shouted over and over as he began to punch the boy in the head and sides. Phaeton curled up into a ball, but that only protected his gut. "Little fucking bastard! Bastard! Why didn't you die? Why are you still here? Why did you live? Why don't you just die?" he yelled as he pounded his fists into the boy over and over. "Die! Die! Go ahead you little shit! Just die already!"

He actually was screaming. He knew he was because he was sitting up in the dark and hearing his shriek in his ears. Heart pounding, covered in sweat and an ache that ran all through his bones, he could still feel it. He could still feel the aches, the bruises, the hate. He was shaking now, and covered his face with his hands. He glanced to the right and at the sleeping form next to him. Slykk. He knew he would be there, he never woke up with a woman, he never slept with them, only fucked them. This was why.

He sat there panting, trying to purge the scene from his mind, trying to put it away, back in the past where it belonged. He wasn't that boy anymore. HIs father was gone. It was over. He sat there until the tremors stilled, and then with his pulse still running fast, he laid back down next to Slykk and closed his eyes again. He took in a deep breath, then let it out. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have another one.

He was twelve, and in Junior High now. How'd he'd made it that far considering all the school he missed for being "sick" was a miracle. He still read voraciously, but now as he would lay out on the grass behind the school, or anywhere else, he would have a smoke or three. He'd discovered pot, and it had a wonderful, calming effect on his tormented brain. He was getting into fights now at school. He would take down anyone who picked on him, or even got in front of him in the lunch line. He had a hot temper, and it seemed to be getting worse every year. He was becoming more and more withdrawn, and when taken in for counseling, he never opened up to them about what was going on at home. Why ramp up the amount or frequency of the beatings? His father never showed to the sessions, so there was no way they could really get out of anyone what was going on at the Slay home.

Today, he was laying on his bed, on his back, looking up at the poster of the swim suit model on his ceiling above. She was a blonde bombshell, long hair, skimpy suit, big tits. His eyes were half closed and his right hand was down his sweat pants jerking off furiously. The farthest he'd gotten with a girl, a real girl so far was feeling up a just above flat chested number behind the gym one day. This was easier, and no talking was involved.

"Oh God! Oh God!" he moaned as his back arched, and spunked into his fist. He laid there in the afterglow, and turned to look at the poster on the back of his bedroom door, another model, and she wasn't there. His father was standing there instead. Phaeton's blood ran cold and he was frozen where he lay, too scared to move.

"What are you some sort of faggot?" the man roared as he thundered into the room. "My son is some sort of a goddamned faggot now?" he shouted and reached for Phaeton.

The shock had worn off, and survival instinct again kicked in. He had no where to go but out the window, and hopefully shimmy down the drain pipe and take off until the man passed out drunk. He couldn't understand why he was a faggot for jerking off to a girl, but he didn't have time to consider that right now. He reached the window and looked at the pipe four feet away. He jumped for it, and caught hold. His right hand wouldn't grip tight, it slid and he swore as he quickly wiped it on his shirt and then re-gripped the pipe. Up or down? Which way should he go?

He looked back to his window as the form of his father emerged and continued to spew hate and abuse at him. He decided going up to the roof would be the safest, so he started to shimmy upward.

"Come back here you faggot! I"m gonna kick your ass! I'm gonna beat the faggot out of you, do you hear me?" he shouted and then leaned out of the window and made a swipe at Phaeton. He managed to dodge the first grab his old man made, but the second he couldn't avoid unless he wanted to fall. His father grabbed hold of his leg and began to pull. "Come 'ere you little faggot! Come 'ere!" he shouted and began to pull and jerk on the boy's leg.

"Dad stop! Stop it!" he shouted and held onto the pipe for dear life. It was futile to ask, but what else could he do? He tried to shimmy up the pipe farther but his father continued to pull relentlessly on his leg. It was a tug of war, and he couldn't afford to lose.

"Come on you little bastard! I'll beat the faggot out of you! No son of mine is going to be a cock sucking faggot!" he said and leaned his full weight into it, and with a mighty pull, dislodged Phaeton from the pipe. He fell downward, and slammed against the side of the house, stunning him. His father was holding him off of the ground by his leg now. Phaeton looked down at what was below him, the pebble and cement walkway that ran all the way around the house.

"Pull me up! Pull me up! Daddy please!" He called out and twisted his head around to look up at his father, pleading for mercy. "Don't let me fall! I won't do it again, I promise!" he called up to the man holding onto his leg.

"Gimme your other leg!" he said as he made a grab for it.

Phaeton extended his other leg back up toward the window and on his second swipe his father caught it. "Great!" he panted and smiled up at his father. "Now pull me up. Please! Please Daddy! I won't do it again!" he shouted, pleading with the man to take him out of danger. "Please." he said again. He stared up the man holding him aloft, and watched him sneer back down at him. Without saying a word, he let go of Phaeton's ankles and he fell like a stone to the ground below with a sickening thud.

Phaeton's body spasmed so bad he flipped entirely off of the mattress all together and landed on the floor of the basement with a splat sound. His heart was pounding so fast from the realism of the nightmare, then the bonus effect of falling out of bed to a hard floor had nearly given him a heart attack. He sat there on the floor, hand clutching his chest as he wheezed for air. His hair was sweat plastered to his head, and his shirt was soaked through with sweat. Once he'd gotten his bearings and realized where he was now, he looked up at the bed and listened. Soft snores from Slykk. He envied someone who could sleep through the nightly horror show he was. Slykk never seemed to wake up during his nightmares, or if he did, he was smart enough to play dead.

Phaeton looked at the window as rain beat against it with a vengeance. "You fucking .... bastard...." he panted. "I hope you are .... burning in Hell...." He hissed, and slowly got to his feet. Everything ached again. He hurt to the marrow of his bones, and there seemed to be no rest for him this night. He stretched out, twisted at the waist from side to side to loosen up his back then started to pace around the basement. He made his way to their travel packs, and started to rummage through Slykk's. It didn't take long to find the bottle of whisky he had, and open it up. He'd pay him back later. That is, if Slykk had the balls to confront him about it in the first place. That wasn't likely however.

The first series of swallows drained the bottle by a third. He belched, and then found a place to sit, propped up against the wall of the basement, and drank until the bottle was empty, and numbness both physical and mental had been achieved. He sat there in the darkness with his arms wrapped around his bent up legs and then rested his head on his knees. Ten minutes later, he blacked out, and sleep was finally achieved in comforting, dreamless sleep.

Two weeks later found the pair in a new, as always temporary home. The previous one, the basement had been lost when a wave of arson took down many squatter buildings and more than a few residents as well. Both Slykk and Phaeton had been passed out drunk, and only because Phaeton's incredible sense of smell picked up the scent of smoke did they awaken in time to escape what surely would have been a horrible death by conflagration. Now, they were in a shed of some sort on the edge of the forest surrounding the city. They frequently would change living places and alternate being in different parts of the region to make it harder to track them down. This particular night had been a failure on so many fronts and attempts that even Slykk had not been immune to Phaeton's temper. When the final thing had gone wrong that night, an attempted assassination for hire, his horrible rage had been unleashed and Slykk was the focus of the physical part of Phaeton's rage.

Slykk knew better than to fight back during these often terrible, but temporary leaves of all sense Phaeton had. Resisting only made him more enraged and that could prove fatal as Mondoni and Boner had found out long ago. Now there were only two. That had been hours ago, and now they were laying spooned up for warmth in a metal shed behind some dilapidated cabin sort of structure. Hail had chased them all the way to this poor shelter and the bedding they'd carried was soaked by the time they got there, and useless. They'd hung them up in front of the door that was barely hanging on it's hinges and were laying on some well used oil cloth spread out over other piles of rags they'd found. The shed smelled of oil and gasoline and had probably housed gardening equipment at one time. They were however so drunk already that the fumes were simply the icing on the cake and both didn't take long to fall asleep in the shed that only leaked a bit, but was certainly better than sleeping outside.

Slykk was sound asleep, and dead to the world when he felt movement behind him. His eyes shot open when he first felt it, suspecting either treachery from a stranger or betrayal at the hand of his companion. Phaeton. Phaeton had been curled up next to him when they'd laid down and now he was tightly spooned up behind him, with even his hands wrapped around his waist. That was OK, Slykk didn't mind and it was a sort of passive way of fulfilling those fantasies he dared not speak of, or even think about for fear somehow Phaeton would read his mind. This wasn't how he'd imagined it would go down however, but in reality, if anyone was going to get assfucked in this partnership, he knew he'd be the bitch, or lose his life, and still end up being the bitch because he'd seen before that a heartbeat was not a firm requirement in a fuck partner for Phaeton.

A little surprised sound slipped past his lips when he felt Phaeton start to move behind him in that familiar motion that meant he was dreaming about fucking. His hips and hard-on were being ground into his ass, and he could feel Phaeton's stale breath on his ear as he moaned and whispered sweet sentiments into the ear of whomever it was he was fucking in his dream. At least it wasn't one of his goddamn nightmares that often awoke him in such a fright he'd nearly had a heart attack on several times.

"You like that.... doncha? Tell me how much you like it you little whore. Tell me how you want me to fuck you... You want it hard doncha you whore? Hard as I can fuck you, doncha?" he went on, and on as he unknowingly dry humped the backside of his only friend.

Even though he shouldn't be thinking along those lines, or even more, FEELING things from his mock rape, he was. Slykk closed his eyes and tried to ignore the motions and words bouncing off of him in angry stanzas, but he couldn't. He was getting hard himself, and if he didn't get off, he was going to lose his mind. Slowly and carefully, he used the hand not under his head for a makeshift pillow to undo the belt and pants he was wearing and stuffed his hand down into his pants and freed his own cramped dick, already hard and leaking. "Oh yeah...." he moaned in a barely audible breath and began beating off. This was so dangerous, so stupid, but where his dick was concerned, there were never any consequences that didn't outweigh the reward of the pleasure gained.

He was in his room, alone with a girl. It was a very dangerous thing to do considering the frequent irrational rages against him from his father, but he was thinking with his dick, and thinking like that was feeling pretty good right then. They'd flirted with notes between classes for a couple of weeks now, then graduated to making out under the bleachers and her giving him a handjob the week before. Yesterday he'd gone face first up under her little tartan skirt and had made her see God, she'd said. She'd wondered where he'd learned to do that to a girl with his mouth and tongue, and he'd told her he read a lot. He also snuck some of his Dad's porn videos from time to time too. He had a mountain of them in his closet, so so far he hadn't missed when Phaeton had borrowed one for a day or afternoon.

Now however, he had the real thing again. He'd gotten some pot, got them both of them stoned and then after licking her pussy again, he'd gotten her to agree to let him climb on her and fuck her. If he was nervous, he didn't show it, or act it. He was seventeen, and about to finally lose his virginity. He'd been raping his fist and pillows for years now, and at last he was about to plow into the real thing. "I like it fast and deep." she giggled as he leaned up on one hand while the other slid down between them to target dick to pussy. "I'll give it to you that way then." he said in a rough rasp of voice. His heart was pounding in his chest already, and since he'd beaten off twice in the last 12 hours he hoped he would last at least long enough to not look like this was his first time. Plus, he had porn dialogue to use, that would help he was certain. Right now, there was too much talking for his liking and he leaned down to give her a sloppy wet kiss as he moved his hand out of the way and pushed into her. So wet, so warm! So much better than his greased up fist. This was heaven. She gave a moan as he pushed deeper, rather quickly, and he moved his mouth from hers to lean his forehead on her shoulder as he began moving in and out, in and out. She was slick as an icy sidewalk and so fucking tight, it felt like the best hand job ever, but better, way better. "You like that.... doncha? Tell me how much you like it you little whore. Tell me how you want me to fuck you... You want it hard doncha you whore? Hard as I can fuck you, doncha?" He rasped in her ear as he moved in and out of her fast and hard. This was no marathon, he knew it would be a sprint at best. She giggled when he did the dirty talking to her. Phaeton grinned at that. Who knew lines from a porno would work on a high school girl? Hopefully she would gossip to all her little friends and he would be knee deep in pussy for the rest of the school year. The notorious Phaeton Slay, best fuck in school. He let himself be lost in that fantasy as he fucked her for all he was worth. He figured if you couldn't be good, be brutal and nasty.

The sensation of sharp fingernails on his hips brought him back to the present, and he opened his eyes and looked down at her as she came. It was a marvelous sight to see. Her head was tilted back, neck exposed and mouth open gasping and moaning his name. That was hot. He felt her shudder beneath him, wrap her legs around his waist and her body clench down on him. That was it. "Oh God.... Oh God..." he panted, mostly because he couldn't remember her name at that second and why piss off your first piece of ass by saying the wrong one? His gut tensed, his vision went white and he came like he'd never done before. Sex, was great. He would be doing this every chance he got. Three times a day if possible.

Once he was done dropping his load, he pulled out of her and rolled over onto his back next to her on his bed, panting for air. Perfect, so perfect, then she screamed, and nearly gave him a heart attack. He sat straight up looking at her to see what was wrong. Had he injured her with his big dick?? He saw she was looking at the door, so he quickly turned to follow her gaze, and he didn't scream at what she saw, his heart nearly stopped instead. His father was standing in the doorway glaring at him. He was so enraged his face was turning purple and before Phaeton had a chance to say a single word, he was thundering into the room heading straight for them. The girl seemed to sense murder was a possibility and scooted off of the foot of the bed and in one swift and dextrous motion grabbed her book bag and ran out of the room, not bothering to collect the panties she'd left at the foot of his bed.

Wordlessly he grabbed Phaeton by the hair, now down to his shoulders as he tried to follow the girl out. He used the forward momentum Phaeton already had going in trying to escape to run him headfirst straight into the wall of his bedroom, three times. After the third time, he let the unconscious boy fall to the floor in a heap. He stared at him in anger and disgust as he formulated a proper punishment for this latest transgression by his son.

Phaeton shuddered in his sleep and laid very still. Slykk was just about.... there, and with a soft moan and a tensing and soft shudder of his own, came on the filthy cloth underneath him, and smiled wide. "Oh yeah... Oh yeah..." he panted softly, just a whisper as he finished up, then stuffed himself back into his pants, and reclosed everything. He was safe. He figured that Phaeton had gotten off in his dream as well, that was why he'd shaken, then gone quiet. He couldn't be more wrong though.

When he came too he hurt all over, not just his head. His arms hurt his ribs hurt he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. Fortunately for Phaeton, he'd been limp and unconscious while his father had bowled him down the stairs into the basement of the house. He blinked and his head swam from the concussion he was now nursing. He was standing up, no, hanging. Phaeton looked around with blurry vision until a few more facts processed in his muddled brain. His arms were tied up, over his head. He looked up, and as a wave of nausea came over him from the vertigo, he could see his hands were tied together with rope, and the rope had been thrown over the support beam overhead then tied to a steam heater across the basement. He stiffened his legs to take the strain off of his arms, and found he could stand flat footed on the ground. The next thing he noticed with a shiver was he was naked.

Was this the girl's idea? Her doing? They'd been fucking and everything was great and then... It got hazy right about then and he couldn't recall how he got down here. "Hullo?" he called out and turned and looked around the room for a clue as to what was going on, and when he spotted the other person down there with him, he felt his heart drop into his belly with fear. "Dad... please... What did I do now? What did I do wrong now?" He shouted in a panicked tone of voice.

"You were up in your room with that whore!! Do you think I work myself half to death to provide you with a house, and food and clothing so you can just bring your whores home to fuck?!" he roared and walked slowly over toward the work bench that was down there, covered in various sorts of tools.

Phaeton's heart began to race with fear, and that only added to the dizziness he was feeling. "Dad, please... it was just once, it was the only time, I won't do it again, I promise! Please Dad! I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" He pleaded with the man, thought by painful experience, he knew it was hopeless. Pain and punishment would come.

"I will teach you another lesson you dumb fucking piece of shit. When will you learn what you are?! You're nothing but a loser! A pathetic loser! You killed your mother and sister and that's all you'll ever be, a killer!" he shouted as he reached for something on the tool bench, plugged it in, then turned to face Phaeton. When he saw what he was holding, he nearly fainted. When he turned on the power saw, he felt hot piss running down his thigh to the floor of the basement. "Oh God.... No..." he said and shook his head. His father grinned sadistically at him, and set the saw back down, still running and making a Hell of a racket. "I don't want the neighbors to hear me punishing you..." he said, and then picked up a long length of telephone wire from the floor.

Phaeton couldn't imagine what was to come next, but he soon found out. His father went behind him, and suddenly there was a strange whishing sound in the air, and then the cord struck Phaeton's shoulders and felt like a knife slicing across his skin. He let out a scream of agony, but the running saw drowned out the scream, and all those that followed.

As the first strike of the cord hit his body in his dream, Phaeton's body spasmed in reaction and he had a seizure on the makeshift bed. He flipped away from the body of his partner, and into the side wall of the shed. Slykk was wide awake, but he clamped his eyes shut and didn't move. He didn't even breath for the next minute, he just listened. Phaeton sat up and fought to catch his breath. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer, his head was spinning, and he felt like he was going to puke. He reached a shaking hand up to touch his shoulder blade on the other side of his back, and even through the clothing he wore, he could feel the scars left there by his father. He'd beat him bloody, and incoherent, and then left him hanging there for hours. He'd broken him that day, he would never again be the boy he was, or the man he could have become. All humanity he'd possessed had run out of his soul along with his blood on the basement floor.

Phaeton stared out blindly into the darkness of the shed, soaked in sweat, and shaking so bad he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep any more that night. He sniffed and wiped at his running nose, and paused. Spunk? Why was he smelling that? He stuck a dirty, fingerless gloved hand down his own pants to check, nothing. Slowly he looked toward the place on the bed where Slykk was sleeping, and snorted in disgust. "Faggot." he muttered, then wrapped his arms around his knees as he hugged them to his chest, and rested his chin on his knees. He stared out into the night, and eventually closed his eyes, but he would not sleep, such was the curse of his own personal Hell.