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“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said as he paced.
She eyed the cracked table. “I thought you went to-”
“Yeah, I saw Roth. I don’t give a shit about him. Stupid prick. He’s lived a soft life, and I can guarantee you, no one has ever laid a finger on him. If he knew what I was, he’d look down his fine nose at me and put his ears back in disgust.”
Sira looked down. “Well…you could find other friends.”
“You. Don’t. Fucking. Get. It.” He marched up to her. “I was a fucking whore on the street after my Father dropped from a heart attack. After that, I was King Leneer’s pleasure slave, and I got gang-raped on the night King Taven betrayed Leneer. I was raped every fucking day as far as I can remember on the ship. A couple of friends isn’t going to fix me and make me into some perfect little lord like you think!”
She looked away as if hearing details made her ashamed and disgusted. “I said life is what you make it.”
“Everyone else made me into this!” he screamed as he backed up. “I didn’t get a fucking choice! Shit just happened. The only thing keeping me alive now is the fact that someone who betrayed me is suffering, and I can spite them because they didn’t give a fuck before.”
Sira’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Roth bought the Crown Prince.” Aspen vaguely gestured. “King Taven is a fucking liar, but Oriel could have told them where the seal was that night. He didn’t even though I was fucking screaming two rooms down while they burned me with a hot poker. He held onto nothing at my expense. His whole family was dead, and he knew he had lost, but he still let me be tortured. He only gave up when they threatened to cut off his cock. I meant absolutely nothing to him!”
She rubbed her lined face. “Aspen, I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m just trying to make things better. I’m much older than you, and I’ve known people who have been through terrible things. Some are able to get by later.”
Maybe they were good at faking it in public. He didn’t know and didn’t see how he was supposed to fake it. How was he ever supposed to be normal again when he kept feeling the men on him and hearing their grunts and laughs?
He stepped back from her. “I still love Oriel. We had…something before. It wouldn’t have gone anywhere, but I did love him, and I’m still fucking stupid enough to love the old him that I thought I had. Now, I’m also glad he’s suffering because it’s the only way I can get back at him, and that makes me just as bad as him.”
She started to say something, but he didn’t care. He went to his bedroom and slammed the door. It was pointless talking to her too.
Later that evening after Sira and Lan were in bed, he sat in the downstairs sitting room by an open window with a bottle of whiskey. Maybe he should gather some money and offer to buy Oriel. He could tie him up on the floor, burn him with a poker on his thighs and stomach, and let him see how that felt. Let him scream and beg for forgiveness. Let him say how he couldn’t take it anymore while Aspen forced him to anyway.
Sickness at himself tried to climb his throat, and he hunched in his chair while he struggled not to throw up. Father, his real one, would be ashamed if he knew what his son had become. He could just imagine the look if he knew Aspen had thought about torturing someone like that.
“That’s not how I raised you,”is what he used to say when Aspen would fuck up. But back then, it was always stupid shit like shoving a girl, or that one time he bloodied a boy’s nose because he called Aspen a name.
He’d likely turn away and not even speak to him now. And Mother…Aspen couldn’t put a voice to her, but she’d be ashamed to.
He just wanted to go back to those beach days. It was much simpler then, and he’d still owned an ounce of pride even though he’d been a street whore.
He never should have signed that contract. He thought of how King Leneer and the younger triplets had treated him like a treasured pet, and his throat ached with missing them. Maybe they’d hate him too if they knew that he’d been capable of such thoughts about Oriel.
He let the whiskey burn through him since the nausea had retreated. After another twenty minutes and several sips, shit didn’t hurt so bad. Maybe he could sleep and not dream or feel. Alcohol seemed to wipe away his dreams or at least turn them into incomprehensible smears that he couldn't remember after.
It was fucking hot, so he went outside with the bottle to sit on the steps, although the breeze wasn’t enough. Maybe he should just sleep out here. He took another mouthful. Gutter rats didn't deserve beds, and if he downed enough liquor, he wouldn't feel the ground either.
Maybe he could stay in the haze forever and dream of the old Oriel. Perhaps Elira would let him live in a fantasy world of the days on the beach and in the forest, and they’d never end.
Reality hurt too much.
“What the fuck are you doing in my front yard. Shoo!”
Something pointy poked Aspen's face. Actually, it was a lot of pointy things, and he swiped at them. The light was like a knife in his eyeballs as he moaned.
“What is it?” came a woman’s voice.
“There’s a fucking drunk in the yard!”
Oh Elira, where was he? Not that she gave a fuck about him. He rolled onto his side and felt for the bottle, but it was gone. Someone on the opposite side of the fence stared at him.
“Fuck you looking at?” he snarled as he tried to stand. His head threatened to split as the grass wobbled. Shit. He had absolutely no memory of getting up from the steps. Why the fuck had he wandered off?
