See You Hurt
Tito Cabassa x GN!Reader
3570 words
Summary: Tito, your dealer, takes you in as a guest after your boyfriend kicks you out. He doesn't charge you rent, but you earn your place another way. PLEASE READ THE TAGS!
Tags: MDNI, TW, DDDNE, dubcon/noncon, drug use, addiction, predatory behavior, grooming, domestic violence, age gap (reader is around 19, Tito is 32), sex work, sexual exploitation, homelessness, coercion, major character death, overdose, referenced penetrative sex (reader receiving), referenced oral sex (reader giving), delusion, domestic fantasy, derogatory terms. (Let me know if anything was missed!)
"Good for nothing slut!
Bang! The apartment door slams in your face, leaving you standing outside of what used to be your apartment, with a trash bag full of your belongings. Your boyfriend of two years has kicked you out, for good this time. Now, with nothing but the clothes on your back and the items in your bag, you have nowhere left to go. A shelter is an option that you consider, but then you might lose your stuff. Its all too much to think about for the moment, and you really need something to take the stress away, even just for a moment.
So, you go find Tito. Remembering where he lives is easy since you've been there enough times over the past 2 years living in New York. He was one of the first people you remember meeting in the city aside from your boyfriend. Ex boyfriend? Doesn't matter anymore. After a short bus ride and walk, you soon arrive at an unfortunately familiar brick building, the one with weeds growing through the concrete in the sidewalk and graffiti on the wall.
Once inside, you find apartment #8 and knock lightly. When you hear nothing from inside you knock again, harder, to which a familiar pissed off voice replies.
"One minute! Fucking Christ..." You can hear his footsteps.
You're glad he's at home because it would've sucked to have to sit here sober for god knows how long until he arrived. Tito opens the door. His hair is damp, probably from a shower, and he's in some "at home" clothes (meaning a white tank top and some old shorts). Obviously you aren't supposed to be here, and he's clearly annoyed. But as he looks you over, noticing the trash bag, he pieces things together.
"Did asshole finally kick you out?" He asks. You nod. Tito looks all smug, and he should since he's told you for years that your boyfriend sucks. Of course, he wasn't telling you that to protect you, but because he genuinely hated the guy. Your now ex almost got Tito busted, twice, so he has enough reason to call it like it is when if comes to him.
"Yeah. He told me not to come back, so I'm gonna find somewhere to camp out later. Maybe a shelter. But I wanted to get a little..."
"Of course you do. That's all you ever want." Tito interrupts you. Despite the annoyance in his tone, there's a hint of satisfaction in the way he speaks. He thinks lowly of you, but keeping you hooked means he makes money on you. At the end of the day, you're a means of making rent for the month. You're an object. A broken ATM, lights flickering in the cold and keys worn from use.
He brings you inside and you follow him to the kitchen. He sits you down on one of the worn chairs and leaves to get you your supply. The apartment is nicer than you expected, not that it's any bigger than your old place. Tito seems to keep things a little more tidy, even if there are some coffee stains on the counter. Once he returns, he puts a baggie of pills in front of you. It's enough to get you through a week or two, probably. You take it and stash it in the bag. Once you look up, you find Tito staring expectantly.
"What?"
"No 'thank you' for that?" He asks. Before you can open your mouth to answer, he continues, "Don't thank me yet. I got an offer for you."
"What is it?" You ask cautiously, a little suspicious. Tito, as one might be able to guess by his job and who he hangs around with, is a bad man. His morals are practically absent, and you know he's at least partially to blame for the way your life is going as of late. That smile forming on his face isn't helping you trust him.
"I'll let you stay here, rent free." He says it like it's simple. You know it isn't. Tito doesn't do charity and you doubt he has suddenly turned a new leaf.
"And?"
"And what?"
"The catch. What do you get?" Tito is silent for a moment once you ask, considering how to pitch his idea. He stares at the table a moment before looking at your again. Your body, your soft lips, and finally your eyes. Sweet and too gentle beneath the thin exterior of distrust. He already knows that you'll do good for him.
"In return for a place to crash and giving you your fix, you let me pimp you out. I'll make sure you aren't murdered, I swear. You just gotta suck some dick now and then and you get a bed and food. Simple."
Those sound like casual words from Tito, and they make your stomach drop. Even after everything, you haven't had to resort to sex work yet. What if the men are rough? Cruel? Give you diseases? It all makes you want to say no, but... Tito is offering something good. You won't be on the street, you'll have all the drugs you need, and you won't have to pay him money.
Glancing at the baggie he gave you, and thinking about how cold the streets are at night, you weigh your options. Tito can tell that you are actually considering it, and holds back a smirk.
"We good?" Tito asks, putting his hand out to you, as if making a business deal. He already knows that you're in a tight enough spot that you really have no other choice. You take his hand and he squeezes yours a bit gentler than you expected. A smile spreads across his face as you speak, hesitantly.
"Yeah... Just for a bit."
A few weeks have passed now. The couch is your bed, your jacket now hangs at the door next to Tito's leather one, and this is starting to feel normal. Despite living together, the contact between you two has remained somewhat minimal. During the day the apartment is yours, and you figure Tito either has the drugs well hidden or on his person, not that you go scrubbing for them... that much.
At night, when Tito gets home, you get ready for whatever "job" he has set up for you. You don't know your client, where to meet them, or any of the logistics. Tito insists on handling everything, including dropping you off and picking you up after. Most clients rent you for about an hour, after which they give you the cash. You keep some, but Tito ultimately decides how much. Usually not a lot.
Tonight, around 1AM Tito and you are driving to another spot. Usually, he would pick you up this late, no drop you off, but it's important. The client is offering more money than usual, a couple hundred dollars. Tito drives you to the location and drops you off, turning down the radio.
"I'll be back in an hour." He says before driving off, leaving you to go inside alone. Waiting for you are three guys. They're all pretty tall. Big... They don't waste the time that they paid for on pleasantries, and within minutes you're on your knees. Some clients are surprisingly gentle or even nervous when you arrive. These men are neither of those things with you.
Your knees are bruised as well as your hips, imprints of the floor and of brutal hands on your body. Your mouth is dry and lips swollen, and your legs shake as you try to walk. Clumsily, you stumble over to Tito's black sedan and get in the passenger seat. He gives you a quick glance.
"All in one piece?" He asks, as usual. He can't have someone badly damaging his new asset, can he? Of course not. He doesn't want to see you hurt.
"Yeah, I just... need a shower... and sleep." You reply, rubbing your eyes as exhaustion starts to set in. You need than just that, but you aren't in the mood to ask for it.
Tito starts driving, keeping the radio on as it quietly plays a song that you vaguely recognize, but can't quite remember the name of. You watch as the lights pass by outside the window, blurry and yellow hued. Once back at the apartment, you go to the bathroom to shower, washing away the grime under your nails and the stickiness between your thighs. You try to avoid thinking about how much sin has accumulated down the drain as you leave for the living room.
Tito is there. Your legs are weakened from the events of the night, but you make it to the couch before plopping down beside him. He notices the trembling in your legs and frowns, not that you see it. Your eyes are closed, head resting on Tito's shoulder. For a while it is good, better than good even, as Tito's warm body presses against you, his shoulder firm but somehow feeling like the most comfortable pillow. He doesn't pull away until a few minutes later, when he moves to grab something for you. He places water and a Tylenol on the coffee table.
"Night." He stands up, taking the heat and comfort with him.
"Goodnight..." You take the pill and soon fall into sweet unconsciousness.
Tito can't help but feel something when it comes to you lately, and it's getting more difficult for him to ignore. The money makes it all hurt less when he picks you up bruised and exhausted, but still it gnaws at him. He lays flat on his back, staring at the ceiling while the feeling of your head resting on his shoulder lingers, impossibly intimate. You are perfect, he thinks. You're soft and too kind for the life you have and you live under his skin now.
Even in sleep he is tormented by dreams of more than a head resting on his shoulder. He dreams of you in his kitchen, cooking up one of those cheap dinners that you two often share. He dreams of you in his arms... in his bed. It's driving him a little nuts, actually. There is something about you, maybe your eyes or your way of speaking, that just has him by the throat and won't let go. He hates it, this weakness, and he wants to treat you cruelly... But he would never hurt you. He doesn't want to see you hurt.
You feel more at home in the apartment each day, and with each night you become more desensitized to the work Tito has forced you into doing. Even coming home bruised up, you feel comfort, knowing you're headed to a warm shower, a meal, and Tito's fingers gently running through your hair as you drift off on the couch. You think often of the little smile Tito has as he puts pills into your mouth, and how it's the same smile as when he feeds you the first bite of dinner.
The client for the night let you go home early, which meant you had to get the hell out before they threw you out. Tito wasn't there yet and you figured you could walk. Snow falls and accumulates on the sidewalk ahead of you, cold biting into your feet through your crappy sneakers. You walk for what feels like a long time, mind wandering as you watch the season change before your eyes. Its the most beautiful thing, you think. The lights make the snow appear like fireflies falling to the ground. You're too lost in this little world and your high to be aware of your surroundings.
You fall over when a hand firmly grabs your shoulder, upsetting your balance. Your hand scrapes on the cold sidewalk as you catch yourself. The man is already hauling you back to your feet as you process what just happened.
"Fuck. The hell was that for?" You yell, finally facing the man. Tito is angry. Angrier than you've seen him in a long long time, maybe ever. He starts dragging you down the street, not so hard that you fall, but with enough force that you are stumbling to keep up.
"Fucking idiot, scaring the shit out of me like that." He opens the car door, shoving you inside before he goes to the driver's side. The drive is quiet for a bit, but Tito is fuming. You know it is bad when he's silent, refusing to look at you. He almost looks afraid, but you aren't sure why. He steals glances at you after a few minutes, as if checking that you're still there. Truly, you can barely remember the last few hours of your life, your body melting into the seat. You're halfway gone.
"My shit was laced." He says it lowly. There's a short stretch of silence before he goes on.
"Tony... you uh. you remember Tony?" You nod. You already know what happened by the way Tito brought it up. Tony was a lot like you, hooked on what Tito supplied him and at the mercy of his addiction. He's your age, too. Or, he was your age.
Neither of you bother to say it. It's a familiar outcome.
"I was worried when you weren't there. Thought you went off to go die in some alley." It scared the shit out of Tito. He didn't want you gone, not now, not ever. He can't see you hurt.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. The guys, they-"
"It's alright, not your fault. Just don't ever run off like that again."
Silence once again fills the small car. You feel guilt pressing down on you. Tito feels it too, for the first time in a very long time.
And for the first time ever, Tito thinks about getting one of his users clean. He thinks about cutting you off. Sending you into rehab. Helping you stay off the drugs. It would lose him money, but he needs to be able to feel you and see you. Though, if you get clean, what stops you from just leaving? What keeps you in his life other than the drugs? He needs to think about this. About his plan for you.
Once home, he lets you shower and waits on the couch. As usual, you emerge with damp hair, exhausted from another long, harsh night, and you sit beside him, head on his shoulder. He plays with your hair and puts an arm around you. He notices you falling asleep and makes a decision. He nudges you awake.
"C'mon. Let's go to bed." He hauls you to your feet and you rub your eyes. You're a little confused, sure, but an actual bed sounds like a very very nice place to be. Once in the dim room Tito calls his own, you look around and take note of a few things. The two or three pieces of clothing scattered about, the empty shot glasses on the nightstand, and the grey bedding. He lets you lay down, covering you with blankets and sliding in behind you, holding you. You find it awkward, maybe a little frightening at first, but soon you realize he isn't grabbing at you or being at all rough. His arms are holding you like something precious. You quickly fall asleep in his warmth, and he makes up his mind as he hears your breathing slow down.
His bed becomes yours, and the couch now sits vacant at night. He touches you like you're sacred and kisses your neck as he holds you, whispering about keeping you safe and giving you a good life. He makes sure you sleep in bed with him where he can know you are living in his embrace. It feels like love. It must be.
At night, in the dim light of the kitchen, you two share a warm meal every night. Often something from a can, or comprised of leftovers. But it is good. Feels real. Tito always watches you take the first bite, just to see how you like it. You always seem to enjoy it.
"Too spicy?" He asks. His voice still usually comes out flat, sounding almost uncaring to the untrained ear. But you're trained. You know he means it sweetly now.
"Just right."
His plan for keeping you around is coming together. He can't trust his own supply as much as he used to after the incident with Tony. He wants you away from opioids all together. Without the drugs, the only was he can think to keep you around is to make you his, officially. He is going to ask you out, properly.
He knows you're at home, relaxing. Probably high or asleep, or both. He finishes dealing and visiting with a buddy of his and then goes to the store. He gets you some flowers, cheap but real pretty. He also finds a 15 dollar necklace, and he buys that too, imagining how it'll look on you. He can't wait to get home and see for himself.
It's cold in the apartment, so you're in bed, wrapped in the blankets. You glance over at the blurry pills on the nightstand that you took earlier... They look fuzzy and you feel sick to your stomach as you lay there in bed. You just can't bring yourself to get up, despite knowing that a trip to the bathroom to vomit and drink a little water would help. The bed just feels too warm and too comfortable. Besides, the familiar smell of the sheets is good... it makes you smile as you close your eyes.
You breathe slow and start slipping in and out of sleep. You let it take you, the numb feeling, your breathing getting slower and slower until..... .. ... . .. .
Tito comes home, goes to the bathroom and fixes his hair. He knows you're sleeping, so he doesn't want to wake you yet. He makes sure he looks slightly cleaned up, though he doesn't do anything too special. He opens the bedroom door, bouquet on one hand along with the little box containing the necklace. He smiles upon seeing your sleeping form, walking to the window to open the blinds and let some light in.
you sleep heavy, so he goes to you and nudges you.
"Hey." There's no response to the soft greeting. He shakes his head and tries again.
"Babe, time to get up." Again. Harder. You just move limply as he pushes you onto your back. Eyes shut, mouth open, no air coming through. The flowers are dropped to the floor, the box making a small sound hitting the carpet.
He doesn't know CPR, but damn it if he isn't on top of you trying to imitate mouth to mouth, and trying to do those compressions he's seen people do in hospital shows.
"Fuck, baby, something." He mutters as he continues to try. It feels like it goes on forever. At most 12 minutes pass by before he gives up on you. You are cold and stiff already.
He holds you for a long while, not crying. Just processing. He murdered you. Got you hooked when you were just a seventeen, kept you around, let you into his home... But he was planning on fixing you up, and that counts for something. He tells himself that he gave you a good life near the end. He fed you, made sure you were clean and warm. He couldn't be that bad, right? He never wanted to see you hurt.
He brushes aside the hair that's fallen over your face. You still look so pretty. After a moment of hesitation, he kisses you, your lips cold and clammy, and lays you down. One last whispered confession of love is what he gives before leaving the room, accidentally stepping on the discarded flowers.
Finally he calls 911 to tell them what happened. He has a cover story, and the incriminating stash of pills and other goodies isn't in the apartment. He tells them that you, a friend, were crashing at his place. That he had no idea about your drug problem and that he came home to find you already gone. Too young. Too soon. Too tragic for him to talk about any more.
After the very short investigation, in which nobody was around to dispute the idea that you got those pills all on your own, they ruled your death an Accidental Overdose. The case closed. The department failed to find any family to contact, no parents, or siblings, or cousins. Your cremated remains were unclaimed. Tito volunteered to take you, and after 4 months of signing papers and waiting in a probation period, you were back in his room. Only now, your place was on the shelf next to an unopened jewelry box and wilted, rotten flowers.
Tito hasn't looked at you since he put you there. He hasn't dusted the urn off, and hasn't put new flowers beside you. Why bother? He doesn't see any of you in that container. Only ashes. Only dust. Now he can only catch glimpses of you in the eyes of young addicts who come begging for more.
And he gives them more. And he watches them succumb to it. And he moves on. He knows better than to let them in. Knows better than to care when he sees them hurt.
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