Page 166 of Craving Venom
“You know what the guards chant now?” His head turns. “Bitchboy. Cocksucker. One of ‘em calls me ‘Training Hole.’ They say I’m just prep for the new meat.”
He laughs again, but it turns into a cough halfway through.
“You know how hard it is to go from being a golden boy to a living cumrag? Every time someone stares too long, every time a tray is dropped outside my cell at night instead of handed to me like a person, it drills it in deeper. That I’m not worth the breath it takes to insult me.”
Silence again. Except this time it’s not peaceful. It’s clogged with everything he’s choking on. Rage. Shame. Grief so big it barely fits inside his ribs.
I don’t touch him.
But I kneel.
Right there on the dirty floor beside him.
Because that’s where he is now. And someone needs to stay with him in it, even if it’s just a guy with blood on his hands and a heart made of rust.
“Do you think…” He doesn’t finish.
I wait.
“Do you think people like us can ever matter again?”
I don’t answer.
What the fuck am I supposed to say? Yeah, buddy. You’ll bounce back. Just shake off the trauma, clean the blood off your soul, and go back to catching footballs.
No.
He knows the answer.
“We won’t,” he croaks. “Wouldn’t we.”
His head drops forward as his fingers curl into the floor, fighting a decision. When he looks up, he’s no longer the same.
“Kill me.”
I drag in a slow breath, holding it as the seconds stretch between us.
His nails dig into his own knees now. “Fucking kill me, Zane.”
Still, I don’t move.
“You’ve got it in you. I’ve seen it. Do it to me.”
I stand tall while he stays wrecked on the floor.
“No.”
“Why the fuck not? What good am I? What am I now? A hole for the next guy to fuck? I piss blood. I can’t sleep unless I’m against a wall. I’ll cry when I eat because I’ll remember choking on cock instead of food!”
He slams his palm against the floor, over and over again, each time harder, until his skin splits open.
“I am begging you,” he screams, a sound so raw it barely sounds human. “Please. Please. Please. Why won’t you fucking do it?”
“Because you want it too much and I don’t hand out gifts.”
He slumps in defeat with his head tilted back as if he’s talking to the ceiling instead.
“Fine,” he surrenders. “Then I’ll go to the guards and tell them that you sneak out of here.”
