Mercy

My introduction to Elliot’s perversions occurred chiefly due to my body’s natural response to sexual stimulation. At first, he created the illusion of attempting to shatter my wholly pessimistic opinions on having sex by assuring me that the act wasn’t solely used as a weapon of depravity. He cooed and whispered his sweet nothings into my ear, terms of endearment meaning nothing in the depths of his dismal spirit and only uttered in desperate efforts to get laid. Being the recently retired gutter-dweller that I was, having preyed upon headlights with an aptitude that made my skin crawl, just the notion of fucking Elliot made me nauseous despite how attractive he was to me prior to finally renouncing his chivalrous façade. No amount of gentle murmurs or flattery was about to coerce me into tearing my clothes off for him, but being rejected just wasn’t written anywhere in Elliot’s dreadful agenda. He assumed that maybe, if persistent enough, I would concede defeat in outright annoyance merely to oblige him into silence, yet no such rout was achieved. Time and again, I would remove myself from his grasp after a heated marathon of tongue-wrestling once I grew wary of his hand coyly toying with the zipper of my jeans, and he would slink away to sulk in his dismissal by nursing a drink or five until he passed out. Eventually, he began to take my relentless denial personally, and his way of nurturing his bruised ego back from humiliating emasculation was to take me with or without my blessing.

I knew something was amiss when I noticed how uncharacteristically aggressive he’d become, digging his nails so deep into the flesh of my arms that he drew blood in a matter of seconds. Every touch purpled beneath his ill-intentioned fingertips; every kiss nipped ravenously into my skin. He wasn’t the same gentleman that had plucked me off the streets with a promise to create a better life for me, nor was there any fleck of sympathy left in his gray eyes. Elliot had morphed into the vile creature he truly was, and I would rapidly become acquainted with just how merciless that creature was wont to be. No matter how frantically I squirmed, he managed to remove the clothing separating him from my exploited genitalia. I was impaled, repeatedly, before I even had the chance to free myself.

As if being raped wasn’t horrifying enough, Elliot happened to notice a firmness prodding his leg that refused to be ignored no matter how urgently I willed it away. How could my body possibly misinterpret such an attack as a pleasurable experience? My eyes welled in pain and frustration as the hatred for myself and my goddamn unnecessary boner intensified with each malicious thrust of Elliot’s hips. I desired nothing more than for the sadistic bastard not to detect the erection, but I would have no such fortune.

Grinning broadly, he’d grunted, “This isn’t over until you cum.”

Needless to say, an ejaculation was much more laborious to achieve than my hard on, even with Elliot’s teeth grazing along the sensitive skin of my prick.

It was all I could dwell upon as Billie Joe kneaded my crotch, lips content in suckling my neck to further the throbbing in my stimulated member. Despite the vast discrepancies between him and my rapist, the only images that bothered to plague my consciousness were those of Elliot sucking me raw, knowing full well that I was receiving no sexual gratification in the assault whatsoever. As his mouth migrated to my own to launch a second oral investigation, the fingers of his free hand rooting through the mop of my unruly hair, I could exclusively perceive a flashback of my assailant forcing his lips against mine in twisted pursuits of inflicting the taste of my own orgasm upon me. It didn’t matter how strongly I needed Billie Joe in that instant, for my mind was sent astray by the maddening lunacy of violent reveries. I was unable to dismiss the absurd thoughts from gracing my brain with their revolting presence.

Billie’s hand ceased its sensual palming, and soon he commenced in extricating my clothed member from the jeans that restricted them. The variations between the feel of his fingers around me as opposed to the simplicity of limited contact were immeasurable, sending shockwaves of ecstasy pulsating throughout my body in spite of the mounting nausea in my gut. It was wrong. I was filthy for even fathoming that getting fucked at such a time was even remotely comparable to a decent idea. Revulsion intensified with each steady pump of Billie Joe’s hand.

As I felt my body inching dangerously close to soiling the old man’s remarkably skilled little fingers, I pulled away.

“S-stop,” I panted, refusing to meet Billie’s confounded stare. I’d evidently upset him, perhaps even embarrassed him, but I was unable to bring myself to follow through in activity that had only managed to traumatize me in the past.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong, Fairy?” he murmured, confidence instantaneously smashed.

“Not at all…I was about to…to…you know, and I just…I can’t,” I stammered, tripping over any and every possible solution as to why the flying fuck I would deny myself the glorious release, which concurrently denied the old bastard the satisfaction in knowing that he was capable of rendering me stupid with lust.

“I’m sorry, I shoulda known better. Ain’t even been three days since you got outta that damn apartment…fuck, I’m just as bad as-”

“Don’t even go there. Don’t you fucking dare,” I hastily cut in, but the last word of Billie’s sentence sliced through the twilight, slaughtering the intimacy and replacing it with reserved abhorrence.

“-Elliot.”

“No!” I exploded. My hands violently trembled as they scrambled to zip myself back inside of my pants before I continued, “If you were as bad as him, you would have raped me first, but you didn’t! You tried getting me off…not the other way around!”

“But I sure as hell didn’t stop you from blowin’ me,” he mumbled, gaze maintaining a steady hold on my body as I maneuvered away from the one person who actually gave a damn about my wellbeing.

“Why do you keep bringing that up?!”

In a soft, timid voice, Billie replied, “Because it matters.”

I whirled around, hands curling into fists, to find the old bastard leaning upon the tree I’d been pinned against mere seconds prior to my outburst for support due to his cane being just far enough from his reach to be inconvenient. Without a word exchanged, we both looked away to stare at the object abandoned in the gravel, vaguely wondering which one of us would crack first and retrieve it so we could persist on our mission of reaching his home. Considering the depth of the current conversation, however, we both remained rooted to our respective areas.

“No. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Stop trying to turn me into some fucking saint because, honestly? What was going through my mind in that moment was far from sentimental,” I spat, face flushing with misplaced anger, though the old man couldn’t possibly distinguish the reddening hue to my countenance.

“I know that. You treated the situation like I was ‘nother one o’ your damn clients,” he mumbled, arms crisscrossing about his torso to shield himself from the chill settling itself among us.

“Stop doing that! Do you have any idea how aggravating it is not being able to hide anything from you?! I can’t even feel safe in my own head anymore!”

Billie was silent, soaking in every syllable with vigilant scrutiny to make absolutely certain he’d heard me correctly. He warily peered over in my direction with an outright quizzical expression as he stated, “You ain’t ever felt safe in your own head.”

At first, it felt as if whatever shred of humanity left inside of me snapped, and a blinding repugnance for the old bastard blanketed my thoughts with a shady hue, veiling my vision with its spiteful aura. I assumed every ounce of pessimism and contempt was meant for the self-confessed psychic seeing as I hadn’t become infuriated until he wrapped his slutty, tarnished arms around me. He was using intimacy to further gain my trust, as if every traumatic second I’d spent held captive in my own apartment meant nothing to him. The sheer impossibility of his sudden lapse in judgment caused my stomach to lurch, twisting and knotting itself to the point of inevitable regurgitation while my mind insisted upon internally tearing Billie apart with no remorse.

What I didn’t recognize was that all negative thoughts weren’t meant for the old man at all. They were subconsciously directed towards the man who had broken me in every fathomable way.

“Fuck you,” I growled, turning my back to the frail man who was clinging to himself for comfort and stumbled away from him, fists clenched.

If I’d had a fucking car, I would have left that lush, forested environment, never to delve into a profound enough sense of repentance to turn back again. If hidden within a vehicle, I wouldn’t have been able to heed Billie Joe’s feeble mewls of protest and crawl back to him with my tail between my legs.

“You just gonna leave me out here to die?”

“Yep.”

“But…but Fairy, you even know where the hell you’re goin’?”

Snarling under my breath, I retreated. I had absolutely no inkling as to where his home was located, and ambling off into the woods at night surely spelled suicidal on my behalf. Not only was I furious with the bastard, I was irritated with how often he was able to outperform me when it came to simple common sense and semantics. Not once was I clever enough to intellectually baffle him, yet I presumed it had to do with his ability to jump inside my head long before I myself even knew what the hell I was dwelling upon. It was impractical to even consider matching wits with him and succeeding.

He would always know the goddamn answer first.

Billie Joe straightened himself as he saw my brooding form drawing nearer, expecting some form of apology, but I remained tight-lipped and silent as I snatched his cane from the gravel and hurled it at him. It struck him across the chest and tumbled once more to the ground, provoking a vicious coughing fit to erupt from his ailing lungs as he bent to retrieve the shimmering purple item. His coughs grew in ferocity, and it soon grew evident that he would not have the strength to stand on his own even with the assistance of his cane. Incapable of withstanding the intense pang of guilt that washed over me for inflicting such agony upon the old man, I vomited into the vegetation on the side of the road. Hesitantly peeking over at Billie once the contents of my stomach finished wreaking havoc upon my esophagus, I nearly gasped when I witnessed him on all fours, also retching onto the unfortunate ground below him.

Wiping his mouth, he sneered, “You’re a goddamn bitch.”

“I wasn’t trying to knock the wind out of you…and I thought I wasn’t the bitch this time around,” I pointed out, offering my hand to pull the old bastard into a standing position.

“You keep pullin’ bitchy shit like that ‘n’ cryin’ every time I touch you, then it ain’t gonna be possible for you to be the dominant one here, Fairy,” he explained. “’Sides…you ain’t the one who gets visions from my past with one fuckin’ touch.”

“Wait…so you saw…you saw why I begged you to stop?” I demanded, unsure if I should accept his paranormal declaration or not.

“Yeah. I was tryin’ to make it go away, but I guess Elliot ain’t leavin’ your mind anytime soon, is he?”

“No,” I confirmed. “He’ll always be there.”