Chapter Text
It was a slow, gradual thing at first: the occasional shadow that Daniel caught in the corner of his eye, the torturous dreams that kept him awake in the middle of the night, that awkward moment of déjà vu. That moment he could have sworn he felt the stare of two piercing orange eyes.
He slammed the drink down as the vodka burned the back of his throat. He needed it gone—this hollow, gnawing thing. He had to get rid of this torture. Where was this coming from? Who was this coming from? His memory was a fog, but then again, whose memory wouldn’t be fogged when they were taking whatever substances someone would give them, he thought. As long as Daniel could get some sort of high, he could forget about that horrible feeling.
He looked around as he ordered another drink. “God, I have to get out of here.” He glanced at the corner and noticed a man—a tall, heavy man drinking what looked to be some sort of whiskey. “Shit, was I staring? How long was I even staring for?”
Fuck it. He knew he needed a distraction, so he approached the man, trying to pretend he wasn’t as awkward as he felt. He slid onto the stool beside him, fluttering his eyelashes up at him.
“And who might you be, my dear?” the man asked. He had a deep, heavy Southern accent; it was quite intriguing to Daniel
“Umm, Daniel. Daniel Molloy. And you?”
“Beau Gatton would be my name, son,” he said with a drunken smirk. “What brings a pretty one like you over to someone like me?”
Daniel giggled. “I’m just out to have some kind of fun, and men like you are the best kind of fun.”
“Men like me?” He huffed a laugh, taking a sip of his drink. “Let me order you a drink, baby,” he snapped at the bartender. “Bring the boy a vodka soda.”
The bartender put the drink down in front of Daniel. Daniel knew what the man intended to do; he knew he would let it happen. Of course he would let it happen. He turned his head to give the man the perfect opportunity to spike his drink, and of course he skillfully slipped it in.
Daniel began to laugh, because really it was funny. It was so fucking hilarious he couldn’t stop laughing. This man spiked his drink, and he was going to let it happen. There wasn’t a time he didn’t let a man drug him for sex.
Why? Because it was easier to deny he liked a man on top of him, with a dick up his ass. Just the thought of it made his skin crawl; he wanted to vomit.
His head began to spin after a couple of sips of his drink. Beau had this shitty grin plastered on his face, and Daniel loved it. He loved it so much. He loved the way he was going to take advantage of him.
“Should we go back to my place, baby? Yeah, would you like that? Come on now, honey.”
“Yeah, yeah, we should,” Daniel slurred his answer.
⸻
Daniel awoke with a jolt. Shit, was he lying on the sidewalk? What even happened last night?
The sun was beating down on him; it had been for hours, and everything was becoming a blur. He remembered the man taking his dick down his throat. He remembered being underneath him, each thrust making him want to slowly die. Ugh, why the fuck did he let him do that?
He knew he was about to be sick. He had to get off this fucking sidewalk and get back home—or to the shitty place he called home anyway—the painful reminder that he had nobody. God knows where his parents are now; he didn’t care to know any more than they cared to know where he was.
He took his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door. The second the door opened, the musty smell hit him. He walked into the kitchen, seeing the pizza he left out two days ago.
“No wonder it smells like shit in here.”
He needed to lie down. That horrible feeling that always came back to haunt him was gone. It was somewhat peaceful—as peaceful as it gets, at least. It was probably the drugs working their magic.
He opened a window to try and let that god-awful smell out. Daniel finally let himself lie down in his bed for the first time in two days. He pulled the comforter up, and something hot and wet hit his foot.
He practically jumped out of bed with a yelp. “What the fuck is that?” he yelled.
He moved the comforter to look underneath. It was a rat. God, he felt like he was going to vomit. How did a dead rat get into his bed?
He was too tired to deal with this; his head was pounding, and he needed to lie down. He just needed to go rest
Rest? Where did he hear that word? Fuck, here comes the déjà vu again. His head felt like it would explode.
Daniel stumbled to the couch to hopefully get some sort of sleep.
He awoke, startled, from a particularly dreadful nightmare of a dark figure standing over him, watching him—a dark figure he could’ve sworn he saw in that bar yesterday.
It was pitch black outside.
“Shit, what time is it?”
He glanced at the clock, noticing it read 1:00 a.m. in big letters. How did he let himself sleep for so long? It was only four o’clock in the afternoon when he got home.
He got up; the pain immediately shot through his head. He knew he needed something to alleviate some of it. Daniel swayed to the kitchen and let six pills hit the back of his throat to hopefully relieve the pounding in his head.
He went back to his bedroom to deal with the rat situation. He ripped the comforter off to reveal three more rats, covered in blood.
“What the fuck?”
He stood frozen in terror. Where could these be coming from? Was there a fucking cat messing with him? What the fuck was this? Some kind of sick joke?
He quickly closed the window he had left open earlier and began to try to dispose of the rats without adding vomit on top of the bloody mess that was already there.
Once it was clean, he let out a shaky breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He remade the bed with fresh sheets and lay down, putting on his headphones to hopefully drown out these intrusive thoughts.
What were the rats doing there anyway? How did they get there? Was someone in his apartment?
It could’ve been a cat, right? Yeah, it was definitely a cat. Nothing else would do that.
“There were always stray cats around here, weren’t there?” he muttered to himself.
Whatever. As long as he pushed the thoughts down, he could forget about it. He lived in a shitty apartment anyway; it was an animal or something. It didn’t matter, and he wasn’t going to waste a second longer thinking about it.
“Daniel?”
“Daniel?”
“Daniel?”
He ripped the headphones off. Was someone calling his name? He must be hearing things. Who would be calling his name at this hour?
It was quite like a whisper—like it was in his head. If someone was calling his name, that person would have to be in his room or in his head, which was entirely impossible and a completely stupid thought.
“I’m just hallucinating; it’s the effects of the drugs that just haven’t worn off completely yet.”
Don’t drugs stay in your system for a while? he contemplated. He would give it time, and it would all be gone.
“Yes, this will all be gone in a couple of hours. Nobody is here; you are just on drugs, Daniel,” he said aloud to the empty room.
“Daniel.”
“Daniel.”
“Daniel, my beloved.”
“Don’t ignore me, beloved.”
The voice wasn’t entirely inside his head anymore—or perhaps it was. It was closer. Almost too close.