It had been a month since Blake had found themselves underneath a knife.
At first, they had been hopeful this could be the end of their troubles. Debt repaid, surgery survived, maybe they could return to their life, no matter how dreary. That didn't last for long, of course. The reality of being marked caught up to them. One by one, the many side gigs that kept them barely afloat started ghosting Blake. No one wanted to hire someone whose ring finger had been chopped off. It was dangerous, keeping someone who had gained the local syndicates disfavor around, which Blake understood. Life was already stressful enough without adding more unnecessary difficulties like this. That did not make it easier to accept that they were both out of a job and out of housing.
No better place to be, Blake found themselves outside a bar, debating whether they should spend their last few dollars on a few more drinks or not. It wouldn't be enough to provide them a roof over their head for tonight anyway. Or do anything else that could save them, like get them into another country where no one would know what they had done. Everything was going down the drain anyway, so why suffer it? They stepped inside, promising themselves to make the best of this night at least. A drink couldn't ruin it more than they already had.
"Beer," they sat down, already pushing their last few dollars across the bar.
The bartender counted the bills, and after a questioning look, pushed three bottles towards them. That was more than they expected. Nodding at him in quiet thanks, they grabbed their beer and walked over to a shady, but quiet booth to hide inside. There was no need for more eyes on them, because truthfully, Blake just wanted to get a little drunk and sulk in peace. Thankfully, they got drunk easily, so this should be enough to keep them from thinking about what they might do in the next few days. Maybe they would kill themselves. Maybe they would sell their body. They didn't know yet, and they didn't want to know. Their chances of bagging a rich sugar daddy and never working again were slim, to say the least, so they stuck to the more real, if painful, potential scenarios, none of which were something they actually wanted to deal with right now.
The second beer was nearly gone when their quiet and misery got swiftly interrupted. "Hi!," in front of them stood a tall, fat woman, far too pretty to be talking to Blake. "Hey," they replied weakly, wondering what she might need from them. "Is that seat taken?" She did not wait for an answer, instead sitting down in front of them, while they simply nodded to avoid any awkwardness. There was a sort of mischievous look to her green eyes and up close, Blake got a good moment to appreciate the way her red, curly hair framed her soft face. If she was from around here, the stress did not show in her face. No, instead she looked kind, which was a surprise in this part of town. But why would someone like this want to talk to them?
"I'm Wesley, and it seems we are both having a bad day," she casually introduced herself. "How about you let me buy you a drink, and neither of us has to suffer through this alone?" A generous offer and yet, they couldn't help but wonder why. "I'm sure there's better people to spend your time with, right?" They awkwardly shuffled from one side of their seat to another, trying to escape her gaze. "I can't return the favor either." That did not seem to discourage her. Instead of debating Blake, she simply gestured towards the bartender, who miraculously actually understood what she was trying to say. The way he looked at her, confused and bemused, they knew she wasn't a regular.
"Well my pretty stranger, I actually have nowhere else to be right now," she grabbed their hand. "And you don't have to repay me, it's my treat!" Her hands were warm and soft, and the moment Blake thought about all those little details in her skin, they felt like an utter freak. So they did their best to ignore the skin contact and nervously smiled, revealing their crocked canines. Quite the contrast to her bright, perfect smile. "I'm Blake," they finally replied. "... and thank you." Despite their best efforts, Blake could not detect a trace of malice as she grinned at them. "Such a pleasure to meet you!" She didn't let herself be interrupted by the arrival of the bartender, setting down two whiskey glasses in front of them. "So, how about we play a game?" She pushed one of the drinks towards Blake. "I share some of my secrets or burdens, and you tell me what makes you so sad in return. No pressure, I mean, we are just two strangers, and neither of us needs to actually care."
Blake had to think about her suggestion for a moment. That wasn't a game they had heard of before. On one hand, that did sound a little sad, but on the other, what did they have to lose? The drinks were on her, after all. "Sure," they took a sip and leaned back. "But you start." Wesley laughed and let go of their hand, and it seemed to fill the small booth with warmth. Maybe Blake was getting a little too tipsy already. "Well, I saw a friend die today," she said, smile not fading. "That stupid idiot was too ashamed to ask me for money, and look where it got him… Dying from organ failure because some freak claimed to be an actual doctor." The whole space seemed to turn quiet, as Wesley took another sip, and sighed. "Well, that's why my day was ruined. I don't really know what to do now, look for the fucker responsible, or just… try to get away from it all. But yes. That's me. Your turn!"
That hit closer to home than expected. Blake took another sip, thinking what to say about that. At least they could be sure that this wasn't remotely connected to their own issues, the man they've met so long ago was far too careful to make mistakes like that. Blake hated to admit it, but they thought about him sometimes. How it felt to have him inside them. The so- no, they could not get into that in front of their newest acquaintance, who seemed to await their answer eagerly already. "This, uh," they raised their hand and showed off their missing ring finger. "-is ruining my life." Wesley grabbed their hand, and pulled it closer to examine the cut. It was still visible, of course, but it had healed a lot better than Blake had expected. They couldn't complain, even though touching it still felt awkward. "What does this mean?" Wesley finally asked, seeming genuinely confused. They wanted to laugh, it felt so absurd, but... she really didn't know. What planet was she from?
Amusement got taken over by shame, as she kept waiting for an answer. Blake's face turned patchy red, but still, they leaned closer and started to whisper: "I uh, I got into trouble with the syndicates. Couldn't repay them." They pulled their hand back, looking down at the missing finger again. "And now no one wants me, or, well, the trouble I kept getting into." It was weirdly endearing, to see how much this shocked Wesley. "I didn't know," she whispered back, wide-eyed. "But… why?" Leaning back, Blake returned to talking openly again. "Gambling debt," they sighed. "And I couldn't repay them." Taking another sip, Wesley seemed to think about it, and then returned to grinning: "So you were really serious about not being able to repay me, huh?" Laughing, Blake pointed at the three bottles beside them: "I spent the last of my savings on these, actually." She laughed, like that was the funniest thing she had heard all day, and then turned towards the barkeeper again. "We're gonna need a few more drinks to make all of this bearable, huh?"
The hours passed as more and more drinks were shared between the two of them. Blake couldn't keep up with Wesley's pace - both in speech and in chugging down different drinks one after another. But they were properly shitfaced and giggling along with her bad jokes, when Wesley suddenly got up. "I am so sorry," she pushed her hair behind her ear and leaned forward. "But I think I need to leave right now? If I don't do it now, I won't ever clean Dee's place, and it's going to rot like his fucking corpse." She was still laughing, despite clearly wanting to cry. "This might just be the right level of wrecked to deal with that." Carefully, Blake took her hand into their own and placed a kiss on her knuckles, right between the start of the ring and middle finger. "Good luck with that," they smiled. "And don't get in trouble." Waving towards the barkeeper, she smiled back at them: "Shouldn't I be telling you that?" Arriving with one more drink, the barkeeper raised an eyebrow at Wesley. "Can't leave you alone here," she joked, before taking a quick glance at the bill being handed to her. "Maybe we'll see each other again… I'd like that." And with those words, she turned, giving Blake no time to reply with more than a bye.
Watching her walk off, they realized that this might have been a precaution to keep them from following her home. Such a nasty thought, and they would have felt bad about it, if it weren't for the fact that it was entirely reasonable. It was her good right to be critical of them, after all. Blake sat there, looking at their own hands. They were so different to her, in every aspect. Maybe they should leave too. With a short nod, they bid the barkeeper goodbye, who seemed to be relieved to see them leave. It was late after all, how late, Blake had no clue. Stepping outside, the cold wind hit them, waking up them up again. The cozy bar and the whiskey had kept them warm, and comfortable so far. Where to now? They didn't know. And more importantly, their body didn't seem to agree with the idea of moving a lot either. Slowly, they walked along the houses, fingers tracing across the harsh surfaces, from concrete to doors to glass, just following at a pace they were able to stomach.
It took Blake at least 20 minutes to notice that they were being followed.
They had stopped, feeling like they needed to vomit, when the sound of steel capped boots hitting the ground finally caught up to them. The night was incredibly dark and unknowingly, they had stumbled deeper into the unknown, sticking to small, badly lit alleys. It was where they usually felt the safest, but now, head spinning, it made it all so much more difficult to process. Still, their hearing was good enough to figure out that there must be at least 3 men following them. A short glance behind them, they realized that they didn't recognize a single one of them… and that they really screwed up their numbers.
8 men. Blake started to run.
Their steps were sloppy, and the only thing keeping them going was the momentum, but they knew they had to go. One look had been enough to know what these men would do to them. There was only one thing on Blake's side - they knew this part of town well. Jumping across railings and switching from one small alley to another would usually work, but their stalkers were persistent. Just for a moment, they thought they had gotten away, one jump to a low reach rooftop - but right that moment, someone grabbed the back of their shirt and pulled them back. Blake hit the floor at full force, bricks digging into their skin, like there was no layer between them at all, leaving them breathless for just a moment too long.
"How much can you offer?" the shortest of them asked. Head pounding, it took them a moment to realize what he meant, but, despite knowing it would cause them incredible pain, they replied: "Nothing."
An excited laughter escaped one, then another, and soon the whole group of men. Blake's whole body tensed up, preparing for what would be next. But they didn't attack them yet, instead, grabbing them by the arms and walking. Blake tried to pay attention where they were going, despite feeling sick to the stomach, but it got more and more difficult to focus. Would they take them to a chop shop again? There was another kidney inside them, and more, if their life wasn't of importance. The streets turned from paved stone to old concrete, and living spaces into factory buildings. After a few more moments - it felt like an eternity - they stopped. "Don't run again." That was the only warning they were given before the first hit connected with their head.
Then a blade struck their leg, making sure they could not run, even if they tried. Blake cried out in pain, trying to pull back, but another arm wrapped around their chest to keep them from thrashing. "15 minutes, boys. That's all we've got." Blake couldn't make out who said it, but he must have been the leader of the group. It didn't matter anyway. There was no place for thinking as another fist buried itself into their stomach. They gasped, and another hand found their head. "Keep making those pretty sounds," someone said, pulling their lower jaw down. They had no choice in the matter, as another knife drove into their lower abdomen, leaving them screaming.
Blake lost track of time, as they were stuck in a loop of stabs and cuts and punches and kicks - and hands, hands all over them. Grabbing, pushing, pulling. Their brain was made of nothing but pain and nausea, but still, they could worry where this might lead. "Please, don't," they didn't even know who to or what exactly to beg for. Somehow, a hand found its way underneath their shirt, while another was traveling further down their back, a cold blade grazing their skin. Would this kill them? Blake took a deep breath, as best as they could, and tried to make peace with their potential demise. But the man in front of them took his time, just idly cutting into their chest, like he was trying to draw something. Compared to the countless deep stabs and the connected pain that was still echoing in their head, this felt like nothing.
"Enough!" A voice cut through the haze, and unceremoniously, Blake got dropped to the floor. They gasped, unable to move much at all. Someone stepped in front of them, they could only see his shoes. "Your debt is paid. Good night." That was the only thing they were told before the men walked off, bickering and laughing. Some of them clearly had wanted more, their wandering hands were proof enough, but no one dared to turned around. Soon quiet returned, and Blake was alone. Despite the pain that seemed to reach every corner of their body, they were grateful it was over.
As their brain cleared up enough to really think what to do next, Blake's hand wandered across their chest and stomach, and they started to count. As their fingers grazed the many wounds, they realized that they barely felt any of them. That was an incredibly bad sign. Was numbness a sign that they were dying? Was their blood loss already this bad? Just crossing the easily accessible skin, Blake had found at least 20 stabs and cuts. They needed help, right now, preferably from a professional. But they couldn't afford anything. Unless… There was one person who came to mind, one person that Blake could stand the thought of selling themselves to, even if it meant getting fucked while bleeding. And thankfully, his place was incredibly close by.
Getting up onto their feet felt like it took an eternity. While the urge to stop and vomit was ever present, Blake knew they had no time. Slowly, they pushed through the empty streets, hands keeping pressure on the worst wounds on their stomach. It was a futile attempt, but they needed to believe that it would keep them from bleeding out before reaching that door. Just a little longer, just a few more stops. It was hard to stay on their feet, as the whole world was slowly spinning in front of their eyes. It would be so easy to just close their eyes and stop, take just a little break… But Blake had to keep going, the chances of reaching the building in time were low enough as is. As they walked past doors, their destination finally in sight, they started to wonder if they even remembered it right. This place was so much smaller than in their memories. But there was no more time to go somewhere else.
They stood in front of the door, barely keeping on their feet, and knocked. Once, twice-
Milán looked down at them. Blake had to smile, seeing him again. Despite their last meeting, they were so incredibly happy to see him. "You shouldn't be here," he sounded confused and angry, but Blake couldn't answer. Their legs were finally giving up. They prepared to hit the floor, but instead, strong arms grabbed them and pulled them closer, inside the building. Carefully, Milán picked them up and closed the door behind them. His body was warm, and despite the pulsing pain inside their head, they leaned closer to him and shut their eyes. They trusted he would take over now. Blake didn't have the strength to go much further.
The next time Blake opened their eyes, they woke up in a bed they didn't recognize. Trying to stay calm, they cautiously looked around, waiting for danger. But the room was small, and crammed with books, no clear dangers around. The soft light nearly made it feel homely, if it weren't for the fact that all furniture was made of metal. But as they were looking to the left, they froze. Right beside them, sitting on the floor, was Milán. He was asleep, head resting on the bed, and Blake had to wonder how long he had been there. Only now, trying to sit up a little to get a better look at the room, did they notice that they were naked. Instinctually, Blake reached for their stomach, and to their surprise, it was all covered in bandages. Their chest was the same, and if they were to guess, their legs didn't look too dissimilar either. They had been taken good care off.
Looking back at Milán they had to wonder if he had already taken something as payment. He didn't seem the type of man to be into sleeping beauties - and they barely counted as one - but their organs were still right there. Or had been. The thought alone was enough to make Blake's stomach turn, which strained their wounds, and brought back all the pain they had been at once. A shudder ran down their spine, a faint gasp escaping their throat as tears started to run down their cheeks. It wasn't as bad as before, they tried to reassure themselves, but their brain didn't really care for the difference between now and the night before. Panic started to take over, as they felt their heart hammering against their chest and their vision starting to get blurry. Only when he pushed something into their hand did they realize that Milán was awake. They swallowed the pill dry, while reaching forward to grab the man however they could. He didn't resist, letting them pull him closer. He simply pushed them back into bed, careful not to touch any of the majorly injured areas. "Stay."
Calming down was difficult, but eventually, the painkillers kicked in and left Blake with a dull echo of their body's state. As the pain lessened, they finally let go off Milán's arm. But the man didn't leave, instead, calmly informing them: "You could have died." Blake didn't answer, just nodded. What else were they supposed to say? He was right after all. But Milán didn't seem too happy with that reply but he seemed to accept it for now. Good call, considering Blake could feel the exhaustion catch up with them again. "We can talk about this later," Milán got up. "Get some rest." While that didn't sound good, they didn't have the energy to think about it. Now that the pain was nearly gone, they fell asleep again in no time.
Of course, sleep didn't magically fix everything, but it didn't hurt either. There were no dreams, just the memory of pain, and glimpses of the past Blake didn't care for anymore. It didn't matter. They just wanted to sink into the void and feel nothing at all. When they woke up, an unknown time later, they were still as exhausted as before.
When they woke up, Blake didn't move for a while. They just waited, but nothing happened. There was just silence, and their head still hurting. They could fall asleep again… but that wouldn't solve anything either. Wherever Milán was, he seemed too busy to check in with them. Maybe they could use that to their advantage. They fucked up badly, after all, and there was no joy in being a sitting duck, even though Blake didn't really know what else they were going to do out there. But they had to try. Slowly, Blake sat up, holding their stomach as if that could save them from more pain. It wouldn't stop them, but it slowed them down. Step by step, they got out of bed, until they got onto their feet and needed a moment to breath. Trying to distract themselves, they started to read the titles of the books closest to them. Much to their surprise, it all seemed to be nonfiction, medical and technical literature. Apparently there was more to Milán than being a butcher.
They took a step, and started to stumble. Grabbing onto the bookshelf, they managed to regain their balance. Their legs burned, but still, they needed to keep going. It was difficult to focus on being quiet when everything ached, but Blake tried to do their best. Reaching the door, they realized that all those precautions hadn't been necessary - loud, rhythmic music was playing outside the room. They could have tripped and crashed into the bookshelf, sending everything to the ground and no one would have heard. The music should cover their steps, which was good, but it also meant that they had no clue what was going on outside. Taking a deep breath, they decided to trust their gut, and opened the door just a little.
Peaking outside, the quickly realized where they were. This was the same long concrete hallway they escaped the first time they've met Milán. But they were at the end of it, and there was no way they could run, so Blake took the moment to really take in all the details. There were 10 doors in total, the one they stood in included. A few of them stood wide open, light illuminating the corridor for a few sections. Now, outside the room, the sound of music was less muddled and Blake could hear a voice calmly singing along the industrial metal. So Milán was really well distracted. Maybe they had time to explore, if not find a way out of this situation.
Still naked, they had no choice but bear the cold floor underneath their feet as they walked up to the first door. Where were their clothes even? Had Milán taken them to clean them, or was he just hoping for free, but frankly mediocre, free eye candy? They stopped, just a few steps away from the first door, and waited for any shadows to show on the floor in front of it. But there was nothing, no movement at all, and the voice seemed further away anyway. So… no harm in looking, right?
The room was nearly empty, a stark contrast to the crammed bedroom they had just left behind. Only one corner was used, filled by a machine Blake had never seen before and frankly, couldn't even guess a use for. There was nothing here for them, not even windows to glance outside. They sighed, all the pain moving here felt pretty useless just about now. But, there was no use dwelling on it, they had to keep going. The walk to the next room felt just a little easier and steadier already, leaving Blake hopeful. Once again the watched the light for any dancing shadows, a sign of life, but as nothing happened, they walked in.
This was clearly meant as storage space, two walls taken up by heavy-duty shelves filled with medical equipment, some of which Blake even recognized, while the third wall was covered in filing cabinets. Curiously, they walked closer, fingers grazing the different storage containers while they walked past them. Milán was either very busy, or a paranoid sort of prepper. That sort of madness would fit his purposefully calm and collected demeanor. Suddenly, before they could touch the filing cabinet they just reached, they were violently pushed against it. "What do you think you're doing?" They did not know what to say, but let out a pained whine as their wounds were moved by the pressure. "Were you trying to run away again? Are you that stupid?" Even without seeing him, Blake could picture how mad Milán was. But he did seem moved by their pain, moving back a little. What took Blake by surprise was his hands on their hip and shoulder, pulling them against his body and away from the cabinet. What was he doing?
"Please, don't," was the best they could come up with, once again unsure what they were even asking for. But it seemed to work on Milán nonetheless, who let go of them for just a moment. "Sorry," he didn't wait, but picked them up, now a lot more careful not to hurt them further. Blake did their best to be quiet, scared he might get upset again, but looking up at his face, they couldn't help but think he looked scared. "I uh- I was looking for you," they tried to make sense of it all. "We need to talk after all." But Milán didn't reply, didn't even look down at them, and instead, just carried them into another room. The space was filled with so many plants, it took Blake a moment to realize it was a bathroom. Rather unceremoniously, Milán placed them in the bathtub. They froze in place, despite wanting to protest, just waiting to see what he would do. No comment given, Milán switched on the shower and tested the water before pulling back their head and rinsing through their hair.
There was only the sound of water splashing, as the two of them quietly went through the motions of showering. The water turned brown, and then red, and Blake had to wonder how they ended up in this state. They used to be so cleanly. The strangeness of the man torturing them, cleaning them now wasn't lost on them either. Finally, the water stopped and Milán crouched down next to the tub, to actually look at them. "You're either the dumbest or unluckiest person I know," there was a mix of disappointment, sadness and a third thing Blake didn't recognize. "Why did you come here?" Blake moved, making themselves smaller but turning fully towards the man. They disliked this whole game, making themselves look harmless, but if they wanted to get out of this, they were going to have to show real vulnerability.
"I didn't know where else to go," they admitted, looking at the floor. "I was bleeding to death." Before Milán could reply, Blake decided they needed to add something more, to make this even remotely convincing. "I have nothing anymore. No job, no flat, no money. I couldn't go anywhere else." The butcher frowned, he clearly knew damn well how much he contributed to this. "Who exactly did this to you?" He asked instead. "And why did you think I'd be different?" He dropped his head and glared at them with the sort of intensity that made it impossible to lie. Not that Blake was planning to, honesty was for once actually preferable. "Some guys bought up my debt for 10 minutes of fun." They sat up properly, making sure that he could see their now drenched bandages again. "I don't trust you, don't get it wrong, but I know you wouldn't let me die there. And my last offer is still on the table, if you want payment." For a moment, he didn't seem to understand what they were talking about. But then, with a sigh, Milán got up and left the room, leaving Blake to wonder where this was going.
"I'm not going to fuck you," Milán returned, with an arm full of medical supplies. "At least not like this. I don't need any of your wounds to open up again." He offered them a hand and pulled them onto their feet. Leaving them no time to shiver, he wrapped a towel around their hips. Blake was about to complain about their chest being exposed, but Milán already started to remove the old bandages. So strange, to have a man this close to them, and not pay any attention to their scars. But no, he was so professional about it all, not even saying anything when they flinched as the disinfectant burned. Blake didn't dare to look down, they really didn't need to see any glimpse of their inside again. So instead, they focused on the matter at hand: "So, what do you want from me, in return?"
Pulling up the towel to their chest, Milán started work on the bandages on their legs. It felt so strange, to have his fingers so close to their inner thighs. He didn't answer, instead, focusing on cleaning and dressing up the stab wounds. So soft, and cautious… If only he would move a little further to the left and - The thought alone was already too much, and Blake had to reach up and hide their face for a moment. Why did he have to behave like that? He reached up to their stomach. Why couldn't he just take them up on their offer and let them be done? It would make things so much easier. "I want you to work for me," he finally got up, and turned away from them. "Not to repay me, but so I have a good explanation for why you are staying here."
"What?" Blake didn't know what else to say. They had just about zero skills that could be useful to the butcher, at least to their knowledge. Before they could ask more, Milán pulled them closer. It wasn't a full hug, but his hands were on their back and his face was close enough to they could see a fine scar running from his nose bridge to his left cheek. "You said you have nothing. I did that to you. So let me fix that." Blake looked at him like he lost his mind. He only did that because he was hired to, that if he didn't someone else would have. That this was a stupid decision, no matter how you looked at it, and that he should just throw them out, back onto the street… But why ruin a good thing? If he offered, no, if he wanted them to use him, why shouldn't they? They had nothing.
So right that moment, looking into Milán eyes, Blake decided to take as much as possible, to make themselves irreplaceable, to dig a hole into this man's chest and make a nest for themselves, if he really was this willing to let them into his life. And they wouldn't feel bad about it, not one step of the way.
They leaned forward, arms warped around Milán, and pulled him as close as possible, until their skin seemed to melt into his clothes.
"Thank you."