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Mea Culpa...

Zayn, Preplague | Angst | mention of : Sexual and physical abuse (not graphic) |

Zayn woke up with a jolt and a choked gasp. He couldn’t recognise where he was, which meant something was wrong, and he had a pounding headache, which confirmed something was VERY wrong. The young man never got hangovers...

The dancer looked around and saw he was wedged between two men he couldn’t place in his memory, two more men were laying on heaps of pillows on the floor, everyone of them deep asleep, snoring. Everyone of them reeking of alcohol and cigarettes... and something else.

Trying to keep whatever he had eaten last night in his stomach, the young man tried to get off the bed and then winced. Shaking, he pushed the blanket off of himself slightly and saw a myriad of bruises and scratches on his naked tan skin: angry bites, violent hands, demanding kisses... and it hit him. He remembered why he was there.

Disgust that had nothing to with the strong smell of the room made his head swim, his stomach turn, and his heart hurt. He very slowly slid off the bed, making sure nobody was woken up. Found and pulled on his clothes and started to open the door when he heard a grunt. The dancer froze in place, terrified, but when the creator of the sound simply turned over and continued snoring, the petite dancer slipped out of the room.

He was at a brothel, one that rented rooms by the night, it was drapped in silks and chiffons, sheer fabrics he himself favoured so much. This made him feel even worse. Making a huge effort, he gulped in air the moment he reached an open window and continued to make his way out of the horrid building.

Finally out of there, the hazel eyes of the young man blinked in the blinding morning sun. He was in the red district, somewhere he had never gone. Yes he was flirty, coquettish, he could to bed without that tickled his fancy, he stripped at the drop of a hat... But he had standards, and these weren’t it. He never went to bed with multiple people at once, never drunk, never high, never someone he didn’t get to know a bit first. These guys? He had no idea what his names even were, let alone anything else.

Had he really been with them? Had he really done... that? Strangers, REAL strangers; he didn’t remember seeing them before at the Rowdy Raven... It was the first time his eyes had fallen on them. And the salty bitters kept coming... What was he thinking?! It couldn’t be true!!

Walking slowly enough down the street so as not to attract attention, but fast enough to put a decent distance between him and the brothel, his memory started to jump start and he realised the horrible truth: he HAD been with multiple people, he HAD drank salty bitters against his better judgement, he HAD gone to the brothel. But he wasn’t sure he had ever consented. He knew he had been taken, but he wasn’t sure what was going on till the clothes were off, and then what would he do...? What COULD he do, anyways? they were four, he was one, and he was half the size they were...

Suddenly he remebered being thrashed, thrown onto the bed, the pain on his ribs resurfacing, the bites, the kisses... and then... His stomach couldn’t take it anymore and he stopped at a canal, doubling over the edge and throwing his stomach’s contents out into the water, tears from the effort streaming down his face, the smell of stale smoke in his long hair. He didn’t even smoke...!

“S-sorry...” he whispered sheepishly as a couple of passersby shot him a look. They looked nicely dress. Where was he now?? Oh, yes... the temple district. Sighing he stood up and made his way towards the docks. Maybe a bit of sea breeze and salty water would help him...?

As he reached the docks the sight of the vast sea made Zayn feel safer. He couldn’t think of anything bad happening there, at least not anything that wasn’t nature-provoked. As he reached the beach he sank to his knees on the warm sand and started to weep. He wept and wept, unable to stop, throwing sand at the sea, mumbling “I’m so sorry!!!” again and again...

After what seemed like hours, the sun had reached it highest and Zayn felt light headed again. He looked at the horizon, now sitting on the sand, knees close to his chest. He didn’t have the energy to go swimming, thought he might drown if he tried... Drown... No, no he wasn’t gonna sink that low, no... That would be even more shameful than... than what had just happened...

Sighing, he stood up, shook the sand off his clothing and made his way back to his shop. There were more pressing matters. He knew Asra wasn’t there anymore, the plague was getting more serious, they had had a fight... he left... Oh gods, the plague! He hoped none of them had it... He couldn’t do that to Asra... as if he hadn’t done something worse to him by letting him go alone and then betraying his own values, something Ara had said he loved about him... What was his worth now?!

The dancer sighed again and continued walking, what he could’ve given to forget... It was his fault... He did this to himself, if he hadn’t been so stupid, so angry... if he had followed Asra... and Asra wasn’t there anymore to fix it, to make him feel better... They had parted with a fight, and this was the result of his own autodestructive behaviours.

Asra had been right, he had been right all along... he should’ve left, too.

“Mea culpa,” he whispered, hitting his closed fist, fingers inward, to his naked chest, trying to control the fresh tears threatening to spill from his hazel eyes...

ko-fi / insta / shop1 / shop2 / commishes

#zayn the apprentice #preplague #angst #drabble #sorry i had to

@anarchistwood last london gig at @thebirdsnestpub with #dreadmessiah #bugcentral #preplague photo by #PhilArmstrong #ptrumpet #strumpet #midtour #bitchnwood #apocalypsetour February 2020 (at The Birds Nest, Deptford) https://www.instagram.com/p/CClikPzDt4Z/?igshid=1ux0wjw0wxybv

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