Branded (21 page)

Foxy put his hand over his mouth, muffling his words.

Bastaaard
.

Asher tried biting his palm.

“So,” Foxy said, “what’s it going to be?”

“Asher’s not my pet,” José said. “It’s not my decision.” Damn right it wasn’t.

Foxy sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” He turned to Asher. “And you, stop biting me.” He removed his hand from Asher’s mouth and moved it back to Asher’s forehead.

“You’re not very tasty any—oh fuck!” A weird sort of weight pressed down on Asher’s head.

“I know inside your mind you’re not so tough,” he heard Foxy’s voice echo through his thoughts.

“Get out of my head!”

Foxy ignored him again. “You see, José, I couldn’t break you. Not easily. You’re too stable. But how much do you think your dragon can take? Shall we find out?”

Something that felt like a needle bore into Asher’s skull, making him wince. What was that? And what was Foxy on about?

“You won’t talk to me, will you?” Foxy looked over to where José was hidden from sight by the flames. “Fine then.”

Foxy focused on Asher, who glared up at him. He wasn’t going to show fear. Not even when something weird was going on in his head. An image of his mother flashed before his eyes even as he tried to force the fox out by sheer willpower.

“What’s this?” Foxy asked.

“None of your fucking business.” The needle pushed down deeper. “Fuck.” Asher winced again.

“Don’t fight. It won’t get you anywhere.”

Like hell. He wasn’t just going to lie here and take it. Foxy’s touch was repulsive enough as it was, having the guy look into his head made Asher’s skin crawl.

He tried to escape the piercing sensation by moving his head, but Foxy’s hand was keeping him in place like an iron lock. And Asher couldn’t keep his mind from going blank. He couldn’t keep a hold on his thoughts. And then he was sitting in the kitchen of the apartment where he lived with his mother.

“You know,” his mom said, “I should have listened to my mother when she told me I shouldn’t have children. But no, I had to go and be stupid!” Her face was red and her mascara smeared “And what do I get? A stupid kid!”

Asher kept his eyes on his plate and chewed a bite of his food. Tasted like cardboard. Her cooking always did. “It’s not my fault your date didn’t want to fuck you,” he mumbled.

“You do not talk to me that way!” His mom slammed the door of the fridge.

Asher huffed and pushed his plate away. Fine. He wasn’t talking to her at all then. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done to set her off this time.

“If it wasn’t for you and your weird obsession and your—” Asher mouthed the words as she spoke them. Like the script to a movie he’d seen too many times. Not in the mood for another rerun, he got up and dumped the rest of his food in the garbage bin.

“You know,” his mom said as he turned into the hallway, “if it wasn’t for you, I’d still be with your father. And we’d be happy.”

Asher ignored her, put on his shoes. Nothing was ever going to make that woman happy.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“Oh, good! Don’t hurry back.”

His surroundings faded to black, and his memories returned. He was in the cell again. At least in body. In mind… That conversation… It had been one of many, and he couldn’t place it. But he felt a grim smile tugging on his lips. If he never came back, maybe that would finally make his mother happy.

“There’s something wrong with you if you can smile at a memory like that,” Foxy said.

“You’re the one who’s wrong,” Asher said, trying not to let his distress show. His hand was itching to reach into his pocket and get one of his lighters.

“And yet you’re the one who wants to burn something.”

Busted. Foxy was still inside his head. How did you fight something like that? “I’ll burn you if you don’t stop, asshole.”

“You think that would fix anything? Solve your problems?”

“Who are you? My new therapist?”

“No, your new boss. It’s not like therapists work with you, do they?”

As soon as Foxy finished speaking, another imaginary needle, larger than last time, pierced Asher’s head before he could brace himself. He yelped as a voice cut through his consciousness along with a vivid image of a man in his thirties. His old school’s counselor.
“You’re wasting my time, Asher.”

“That feeling’s mutual.”

The memory vanished as quickly as it had come. Only a vague sense of disappointment stuck with Asher as he tried to get his bearings back.

“It’s too bad nobody wanted to listen to your story,” Foxy said. “But I’m all ears.”

“Get the fuck out of my mind.”

“But I’m having so much fun.”

And apparently, he wasn’t done yet. Asher could only wince as another scene from his life replayed before his eyes.

“Get lost, you stupid fag!” Someone grabbed him by the nape of his jacket. He whirled around. Punched.

Oh, fuck it. That fight had turned ugly quickly.

“Have you always been so violent?”

This time Asher was prepared for the attack, but when Foxy cut through the shields he threw up, there was little he could do, no matter how much he tried to fight back. It felt like he was trying to stop the sharp end of a knife from stabbing him by pushing against it with his bare hand. It was a miracle he wasn’t bleeding from his head as Foxy pressed onward.

He stood on the playground of his grade school. “Your mom slept with my dad,” a boy in front of him said, “and she slept with Tony’s dad, too. So she’s a whore.” All eyes were on Asher. The other children expected him to do something, but what?

“You too scared to answer, now?” the boy said. “Maybe you’re a whore, too. I bet you’re just like your mom and you—”

Asher wrestled the other boy to the ground and punched him. “Shut up!”

“Are you—”

“—crazy!?” his mom’s voice shouted, rang through his mind. “You can’t go around punching other children! What is wrong with you? What did I do to deserve this?”

Asher gasped as the memory faded, feeling like he’d just come up from under water.
Shit.
He’d forgotten all about that day.

“Is that true?” someone said. Foxy. Asher opened his eyes to glare at him. “Are you just like your mom, Asher? Do you sleep around?”

So what if he did? Asher gathered saliva in his mouth to spit at Fox-Face, but another invisible knife rammed itself into his skin before he could get it out. His vision blurred. Fuck it! This was getting—

Faces rushed by in front of him. Bodies. Naked men. He knew them. Vaguely remembered them. Guys he’d fucked. Had it really been this many? Some, he couldn’t recall at all.

“Remember this one?” Foxy said as the image in front of his eyes focused in on one of the guys. Some guy in his late twenties who looked like he could use a few hour in the gym.

Asher had seen him before, but… He shook his head as if it would make the picture go away.

“He got you drunk, he took you to a hotel, and he took your virginity.”

Come to think of it, Asher really didn’t remember much of that night.

“He left while you were still trying to figure out what had happened.”

Shut up.
It was hard to think while Foxy’s voice droned on. “He wanted you because you were pretty. You knew that. That’s all people ever want you for. But the next night you went and did it again with some other man. Do you remember why?”

Asher kept quiet. How was he supposed to remember what he’d thought at sixteen? He’d done it because sex was pretty damn awesome?

“Because you liked the attention. Because you’ve always wanted people to look at you.” Foxy paused for a moment. “You’re so simple.”

Asher grimaced. He couldn’t argue with what Foxy said, but was it really so bad to want attention? To be simple?

“Sometimes simple is good.” As the words left his mouth, Asher looked at the flames. José was still here somewhere, listening to all this. Foxy gave a short laugh.

Bastard
.

What the hell was so funny?

“That’s cute, really,” Foxy said. “That elf told you that didn’t he? You think he meant that? You think you can trust something a man says before having sex with you? Really, Asher. You should know better.”

If Foxy hadn’t taken a hold of his one usable hand at some point, Asher would have punched him now.

“I do mean what I say,” José spoke up, and even though Asher couldn’t see him, he glanced at the flames.

“Tsk,” Foxy made a disapproving noise, “be careful with what you’re saying, elf. This one might end up liking you. And what would you do then? You’d have to be the one to do the leaving.” What was that supposed to mean? Foxy turned back to Asher. “But you wouldn’t mind that, would you? Deep down you know you deserve it.”

“Shut up!” José sounded angry. “Just, shut up already! None of this is any of your damn business.”

“Scared I’ll tell your pet what you really think of him?”

Asher groaned. Why did people have to talk about him like he wasn’t there? Like he was some kind of pet?

“I don’t care what
anyone
thinks,” he cut in.

“That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it?” Foxy said, glancing back at him. “But you do care, and you know what it makes you? Pathetic.” He smirked and leaned in closer until Asher wanted to sink into the ground to get away.

“Let me tell you a secret,” he said, whispering into Asher’s ear. “He thinks you’re an idiot, he thinks you’re stupid, and he was going to ditch you as soon as you get out of here. He doesn’t want you. You know that. No one ever has. No one ever will.”

The words stung more than they should have. They were only words, but they caused this weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like his insides had just been flipped upside down. It was stupid. Of course José didn’t want him. Foxy was right. He did know that. But it was all right. Asher didn’t need to be wanted, had never needed that. So how had he started thinking that maybe,
maybe
sex with Blind Guy was different from all the other times he’d been screwed? Just because Blind Guy had made a big deal out of it? Ridiculous. Asher closed his eyes and inhaled, tried to push this unwarranted feeling of dread down as it rose.

“Oh no, you’re not doing that.”

Before Asher could quench the hurt in his stomach, a different sort of pain flared up in his head. Asher gritted his teeth, tried to fight off the intrusion.
Enough already.

“I’ll tell you when it’s enough,” he heard Ketsu say as pins and needles cut through his defenses, sinking in deep, making his eyes water. The world went black around him—only to explode into a chaos of voices and colors.

Flashes of children unpacking presents. Laughter. “You want something for your birthday? There, take an apple. They’re good for your health.”

His child self sitting alone in the sandbox of the dimly lit playground, drawing flames into the sand with his finger. “Hey, kiddo, where’s your parents?”

Asher looked away to find himself in front of a two story house with a small flower garden out front. “Come, Ash, meet your little sister.”

This isn’t real, he told himself.
This is all in my head. This is all in the past.
But with all the noise around him, he hardly heard himself.

The images faded and new ones formed in front of his eyes. People he hated. People who hated him. Teachers, children and their parents, homophobic teens, his mom, his grandparents, his dad.

Their voices rang through his mind like gunshots.

“We don’t want you here.” — “I pity your mother.” — “Why don’t you just go and die?”

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care
, he chanted the words like a mantra, tried to make his own voice louder than the ones barreling in on him.

“Burn yourself for all I care.” — “Go fuck yourself, you stupid faggot.” — “We’d all be better off if it weren’t for you.”

The voices grew louder, intermingled until he could not pick them apart anymore. He wanted to cover his ears, but his hands would not move. He had to listen to it all, as if someone had put earphones on him and turned the volume all the way up. Until something snapped and all he heard was himself scream.

The noise around him faded, leaving only the sound of his own fast breathing. He kept his eyes closed and reveled in seeing nothing. It was like that moment just after a nightmare when you woke up and waited for the panic to ebb away. Only this time it didn’t. Because it wasn’t a nightmare. It was his life.

“See how people treat you?” Foxy’s voice. “You’re trash to them.”

“Fuck you.” Asher hated how weak his voice sounded. Hated how weak he felt. He needed a moment to himself to sort through his thoughts. Or to burn something to make them all go away.

“Do you need more convincing?”

He hated Foxy, too, because Foxy wouldn’t just fuck off and leave him alone. No, Foxy was attacking again. Asher felt the sharp press of Foxy’s blade on his mind. Asher couldn’t fight it. It hurt for a moment, a red hot flash—and then…