The kid was DRAINING. In some ways, Dante had regretted letting him into the holy grail of medication, but it also presented a bit of a BLACKMAILING option. Sure, the guardâs job could be on the line, but Casper being a patient â a new patient â the rest of the staff was not going to take that boyâs word over his own. Keeping hold of power and exerting it was becoming too easy of a pastime. In fact, Dante was SEARCHING for excuses to find more trouble. That was the only way he got off, which was probably why he unlocked the coded area in the first place. That was the thing about his title in a place like Saint Dymphna â Dante could do ANYTHING and would never be questioned.Â
Frequently, his own boss would OVERLOOK any signs of abuse or misconduct. Anything that had been inflicted was allowed when it came to Dante. Whether that be because he was hired by a close friend and due to his connections he was safe, or because the hassle of paperwork to cover the hospitalâs ass was far too much â both were equally viable options, weighing them back and forth didnât seem like much of something to bother with. Instead, the brunette accepted his job and easily BENT rules as something he could take for granted â something he could push to the limits and see just how far he could spill over the edge.
Levelheadedness â well, there were specific times in which the brunette had thought he was at the point in his adult life where heâd reached the ultimate BALANCE. Perhaps it was with his ex girlfriend, or maybe with Jacen that he felt that happy medium. But the more he invested thoughts in the nature of it all, he realized it was not as such. Trying to keep himself in a prime mindset was exhausting. Dante didnât extinguish too many emotions and that was probably why the only thing he wanted to do was see someone get hurt. Fear and pain were an ELIXIR to the other emotions he felt and he held onto that, unable to have a fiery desire to exhibit anything else. That was, perhaps, why many of his relationships failed. They wanted more of a loving, eloping ROMANCEÂ and Dante didnât know how that worked. As for faking it â well â the man was never really good at being a liar.
Evidently Casper was in the process of trying to push the guard to the BRINK. It wasnât going to be a breaking point for Dante, though. He may get violent, but his voice didnât shake upon the impact of its booms. The man had gotten quite talented at holding himself together and despite the physical altercations, his real anger was mostly triggered by the times he was letting himself go for too long and needing a good fuck. And thankfully it wasnât that hard to find a cadaver that would let him use them for the night and DISPOSE of them in the same day. People at bars, other guards ( if he was that DESPERATE ) and the occasional fool at the club gravitated towards Dante. He couldnât tell if it was because his hand had found HOMES on their skin or if he was that magnetic. What Casper didnât understand was who he was up against, and unfortunately for the boy before him, the brunette didnât have much desire to show him that either. Dante didnât just SLUT around. He hunted his prey.
Fucking Casper was the LAST thing on his mind. Fucking him up however? Yeah. Beating him up would be nice. Especially because it would put them on different playing fields. Dante advanced, his hand taking the scruff of Casperâs shirt into a ball and forcing him to his feet, the other in a fist went slamming into the youngerâs stomach, the addictâs back lashed into the wall, echoing the entire hall. The same rock of acceleration went flashing into Casperâs jaw, a SHOCK spazzed up Danteâs arm and it felt like decades before he heard the crushing of the otherâs teeth ramming together in anguish. He didnât need the boy to back him up when it came to the after effects of what was going to happen. There was no fun in that. But what he was doing wasnât sufficing. And why?
Abuse wasnât exactly the sort of word most people thought of fondly. For most it was negative. Abuse was something most people had forced on them. It ruined there lives and for some landed them in a place like this by no fault of there own. Abuse for Casper was one of his favourite words. Mostly because it so often followed the word drug. And he did love to abuse drugs. Loved to stuff them in his veins and down his throat and breath them in as much as possible. Heâd been using and abusing ever drug he could get his hands for ten years. HIs Crystal had only come around in the last two years of all that but before here their were others. So many others that it was hard to come up with a drug that Casper hadnât tried at least once. Crystal put them all to shame though. Sheâd take his abuse and love it. So heâd take hers right back and love it. Abuse was good. Abuse was high. Casper might as well have been addicted to abuse.Â
Why should physical abuse be any different? It wasnât. Not really. Not for Casper. In the past when drug dealers or there lackies had beat him up for not having the right money at the right time, theyâd always hated just how turned on Casper got by the whole thing. Physical abuse, pain, the feeling of skin on skin was just down right sexual for him. He couldnât explain it or put what happened in his head into words. He loved it. His body thrived on it. That only went double when he was high. People, in the past, had called him nuts for it. People had called him crazy for a lot of reasons. The fact that he could cry, because he did feel the pain as pain, and be hard at the same time just really threw people for a loop. It had stopped a lot of beatings in the last. No one wanted to beat the weird tweaker who got off on it. Just another abuse that Casper loved.Â
Well, sort of. Pain really was a hate, love, sort of thing for him. He still felt it. Hurt from it. His brain still told him to leave the situation. To either run or fight back but something else, in the back of his head loved it. It was the same sort of feeling he used to get when his parents would beg him to stop using. He knew they were right. He was killing himself. Ruining his family. But in the back of his mind that little voice reminded Casper how much he loved to kill himself. How much he loved getting high. How much more he loved the abuse than he did his family or anyone else for that matter. Casper supposed pain was the same sort of thing. He loved what killed him. Loved what hurt him. That was just the way he was wired. Or the way that drugs had wired him. Or maybe that was just how heâd always been. Heâd been fucked for so long it was hard to tell anyone. What was Casper and what was abuse.
A low laugh fell from Casperâs lips as the first hit came at his stomach. His laugh cut off short as he wind was knocked out of him. A spray of pain twisted in his gut as he gasped for air and pushed his hands against Danteâs arm as if he was going to fight back but he wasnât really trying. Heâd offered himself up as a living, breathing, punching bag and he didnât care if Dante beat him to death. He twisted back against the wall and drew in one deep breath before Danteâs fist hit his face. He felt his lip split and tears sprang up in his eyes. His face and body flushed bright hot as adrenaline hit his body hard. He felt his throat tighten and the pain in his jaw throbbed as he stumbled back and then fell forwards. It had been a long time since Casper had anyone really lay into him like this. He was hard and he was crying. His whole body was shaking and part of him wanted to take off but
He fucking loved what killed him.Â
For a moment he just stayed on all fours in front of Dante. His world spinning, his ears ringing, and his lip bleeding down his chin, down his neck. He blinked a few times as the sounds of his own crying hit his ears. Casper was suffering. His chest hurt. His stomach hurt. HIs face felt broken but he was sure it wasnât. Wrapping one arm around his stomach, he pushed himself up with the other and leaned back against the wall to keep himself up right. His whole body shaking. âMâsure youâre not done.â He managed to get out in a low gasp. He tried to draw in a deep breath but winced and gripped his stomach where Danteâs first blow had hit. He leaned his head back against the wall and looked at Dante, tears still rolling easily down his cheeks. You look pathetic. You are pathetic.Â