Caught Up [6/?]
Caught Up
Rating: R (overall)
Pairing: undecided
Genre: Angst?
Words Count: 1977
Summary: In a world where being different is on par with the most heinous of crimes, hiding is the only option. Being found out brings about the worst nightmares for most-betrayal, abandonment, imprisonment, experimentation.
Death.
Warning: Kidnapping and heavily implied rape of a minor.
Baekhyun is fourteen when he finds a reason to fear the dark.
He doesn't think he's been this embarrassed in his whole life. Ever. Not even in the play three years ago when his pants tore on stage and left him in front of a full house in nothing but his self-decorated SNSD briefs and an embarrassingly frilly top. Okay, maybe that time was worse, Baekhyun admits, but this time can't be far behind.
He still doesn't know why he let his friends sign him up for Mr.-Ms! Bucheon, or how they got him to actually go along with it, but he's fairly certain he's going to kill all of them. Shaving his legs was a pain, his eyebrows are still red beneath all the bb cream, and he thinks that his dress is far too short. He doesn't want to start on his wig-even in his head-and he huffs, crossing his arms so he doesn't pull it out of place. Again.
The boy next to him looks just as uncomfortable as they wait for the final results, and Baekhyun briefly entertains the thought of just leaving now. Baekbeom is waiting for him in the crowd, and Baekhyun is sure that his brother would stop laughing at him long enough to take pity on him, even if it was just this once.
Before he can put his escape plan into action though, he's being handed wilted flowers and a cheap plastic tiara, declared the winner, and he thinks that maybe killing his friends would be too tame a punishment for the embarrassment running through him. Especially when they all come clambering on stage, congratulating him with hoots of laughter and throwing him in the air, flashing the whole crowd because his dress is too damn short. (At least his briefs aren't SNSD this time).
He only lands a couple good hits before they're all running off, leaving him to head backstage to change. He huffs as he does, holding his dead flowers up to see them properly. Yep, dead. Several of the roses have gone brown, and he's sure the dry stalks behind them were supposed to have something on them. "Definitely not worth it," he whines, wrinkling his nose and completely missing the step in front of him. He tumbles forward, unable to get his footing in the borrowed heels-only five cm, but still-and expects to go crashing to the rough carpet. So he's surprised when arms wrap around his waist, keeping him upright.
The hold is a little tighter than he thinks it should be, the arms around him squeezing him until one of the tissues he's stuffed his bra with pops out, fluttering to the floor. It'd be funny if his skin didn't feel like it was going to crawl right off his body, and he squirms, flowers falling to the floor in a heap of dry stalks and limp petals. Baekhyun thinks the red-brown strewn across the floor looks a lot more like spots of blood than rose petals in the dim lighting, and he swallows, trying to find his voice.
The man behind him finds it first. "I'm glad you won. I voted for you, because you deserve it." The words are heavy against the back of his neck, the man's breath blowing loose pieces of his wig across his skin in a way that makes him shudder almost violently.
"Th-Thank you," he manages, voice barely above a whisper, afraid it'll shake worse if he speaks any louder. He's never been this uncomfortable in his entire life-SNSD briefs included-and his hands pry at the man's, trying to get him to let go. "But really, I-I need to go-"
"Home with me," the man finishes for him, and if Baekhyun wasn't fourteen and short and terrified, he probably would've laughed and told him to get better pickup lines. But Baekhyun is fourteen and short and terrified and horribly alone, as all the staff and contestants are still on stage. He tries to get his throat to work to scream, but before he can, the man is holding him off the ground with one arm, pressing a damp cloth to his mouth just as he inhales.
He knows what it is immediately, the lungful of sickeningly sweet poison choking him, body trying to reject the substance. He tries to hold back tears, painted nails digging deep into skin, heel-clad feet kicking out the best that he can, and he can't help but wonder where his mother is. She should have come back to see him, and then she'd have been able to pull her gun, arrest the man on the spot, save Baekhyun.
Should have, but she isn't, and Baekhyun feels dizzy, sick, tired, scared. His mother is a cop, and he's seen too many crime shows and read too many detective books to not know where this is going. The man's whispers of, "It's okay baby, shh," only serve to send a spike of fear through him-making everything that much worse-that contrasts with the way he feels like he's going to collapse if the other lets go of him.
He doesn't actually expect him to, and so when he pulls the cloth away and steps back to put it in his pocket, Baekhyun goes crashing to the floor. He gives a choked cry, weak legs and limp arms doing nothing to break his fall, and the carpet burns against his knees, his arm, his cheek.
Everything feels fuzzy, the room spinning, and he tries to push down the nausea bubbling up when he feels the man kneeling behind him, rough hands tugging his wig off. He whimpers, the bobby pins holding it in place pulling at his real hair, and the man's big hand pressed to the side of his face does nothing but draw more helpless noises from the back of his throat.
"Shh baby," he says again, arms wrapping around Baekhyun, pulling him to his feet, and he struggles weakly, limbs sluggish and uncoordinated. He feels sick and heavy, sure he's going to pass out.
Seconds later, he does.
Baekhyun comes to on a mostly flat air mattress, right hand suspended by a length of rope tied to a ring in the wall. His fingers are already tingling, nearly numb, and it's so dark he can barely see. He tries to swallow down his panic, but his throat is dry, and his mouth feels like it's full of cotton.
He realizes he's not alone when he feels the mattress dip, the tiny bulb in the far corner illuminating the man from behind, casting his face in shadow. Baekhyun has never been more terrified in his life.
There's a flash of white teeth before harsh fingers are pressing against his cheek, wiping away tears Baekhyun hadn't known he was shedding. He tries to pull away, but he's still groggy, and there's nowhere to escape to. "S-Stop," he manages, voice weak and so quiet he's not even sure it's audible.
"Pretty baby," the man murmurs, hands sliding up under Baekhyun's dress, his weight pressing Baekhyun into the mattress and he can feel the concrete beneath it, hard and cold against his back. He cries out, knees trying to knock the other off, free hand grasping almost desperately at dark strands, yanking as hard as he can.
It results in a backhand that knocks his head to the side, blood sliding over his tongue from where his teeth cut his cheek. The pain is sharp, but the drugs are numbing, and the combination leaves everything almost blissfully hazy, and Baekhyun can almost pretend that this is all a nightmare that he'll wake up from soon. Or maybe not wake from at all.
He feels simultaneously worse and better when he wakes again, the chloroform having worn off almost entirely, but leaving the pain that he can finally feel nearly everywhere to flare. The intensity of it takes his breath away, and he gasps, struggling to open his eyes fully to see when he realizes that they're not closed. The room is pitch black, not even the tiny bulb in the corner lit, and he tries not to hyperventilate as he strains to listen for sounds of his attacker.
His skin feels like something's crawling over it, but before he can move his one free arm to try to scratch at it, there's movement to his left. He chokes out a scream and flails his arm wildly, trying to push away the man before he can get close enough to hurt him again. He manages to grab Baekhyun's wrist and he panics, wishing there's light so he can see what's going on.
The tiny bulb in the corner flares with light, illuminating the darkness, the man hovering over him just before it shatters from the intensity, glass tinkling across the concrete. Things are silent for a beat before the man is crawling over him again, and Baekhyun thrusts his hands out as much as he can, panic choking him and he just prays for more light. If he can see, then maybe he can at least dodge, or lash out and-
There's a flash of light so vivid he has to close his eyes, tears leaking out of the corners due to the brightness of it. The man lets out a nearly inhuman shriek, and Baekhyun takes the moment of weakness to kick and buck, throwing him off. He wants to take a second to congratulate himself for a job well done, for knocking him off of himself, but he doesn't have the time.
He winces as he raises up on his knees, shaky fingers loosening the knot around his trapped wrist. There's a still too-sharp pain between his legs, something sliding down his thighs because his underwear is missing, and he wants to be sick, the only thing keeping his breakfast down being the fact that he has no time.
He manages to get his wrist free in time to dodge the hand groping blindly for him, limping toward the stairs-the only exit he can see. It is remarkably difficult to use the flickering light emanating from his palms to see and ignore the implications at the same time, but Baekhyun decides it's good practice for the future.
He steals a coat on his way out, shoving his hands deep into the pockets to hide the sporadic flashes of light that he can't quite control. He thanks everything that there is above that it's dark out, that there's no one on the street to see a fourteen year old boy out way past curfew in a dirty dress with smeared make-up.
He thinks being picked up by the police would be even worse, if the stories he's heard are anything to go by. After all, people who are different...they're not even considered people.
He sucks in a stuttered breath, limping into an alley and hiding behind a dumpster. He knows he should be happy that he managed to escape, but that doesn't stop the tears.
He'd gained his freedom from his attacker, yes, but at the price of his family, the only life he knows. His mother would turn him in as soon as she knew, Baekhyun's sure, and as much as it hurts that he wasn't able to say goodbye, he thinks he prefers it to the alternative.
He hiccups a little, curling into the wall, eyes on the dim glow emitting from his pockets. He doesn't want this at all, but he really doesn't think he could handle suffering more than he has tonight...and at the hands of his own mother.
As painful as it is to try to handle this on his own, it has to be infinitely better than being betrayed by the very person who'd promised to protect him.
back | next
Rating: R (overall)
Pairing: undecided
Genre: Angst?
Words Count: 1977
Summary: In a world where being different is on par with the most heinous of crimes, hiding is the only option. Being found out brings about the worst nightmares for most-betrayal, abandonment, imprisonment, experimentation.
Death.
Warning: Kidnapping and heavily implied rape of a minor.
Baekhyun is fourteen when he finds a reason to fear the dark.
He doesn't think he's been this embarrassed in his whole life. Ever. Not even in the play three years ago when his pants tore on stage and left him in front of a full house in nothing but his self-decorated SNSD briefs and an embarrassingly frilly top. Okay, maybe that time was worse, Baekhyun admits, but this time can't be far behind.
He still doesn't know why he let his friends sign him up for Mr.-Ms! Bucheon, or how they got him to actually go along with it, but he's fairly certain he's going to kill all of them. Shaving his legs was a pain, his eyebrows are still red beneath all the bb cream, and he thinks that his dress is far too short. He doesn't want to start on his wig-even in his head-and he huffs, crossing his arms so he doesn't pull it out of place. Again.
The boy next to him looks just as uncomfortable as they wait for the final results, and Baekhyun briefly entertains the thought of just leaving now. Baekbeom is waiting for him in the crowd, and Baekhyun is sure that his brother would stop laughing at him long enough to take pity on him, even if it was just this once.
Before he can put his escape plan into action though, he's being handed wilted flowers and a cheap plastic tiara, declared the winner, and he thinks that maybe killing his friends would be too tame a punishment for the embarrassment running through him. Especially when they all come clambering on stage, congratulating him with hoots of laughter and throwing him in the air, flashing the whole crowd because his dress is too damn short. (At least his briefs aren't SNSD this time).
He only lands a couple good hits before they're all running off, leaving him to head backstage to change. He huffs as he does, holding his dead flowers up to see them properly. Yep, dead. Several of the roses have gone brown, and he's sure the dry stalks behind them were supposed to have something on them. "Definitely not worth it," he whines, wrinkling his nose and completely missing the step in front of him. He tumbles forward, unable to get his footing in the borrowed heels-only five cm, but still-and expects to go crashing to the rough carpet. So he's surprised when arms wrap around his waist, keeping him upright.
The hold is a little tighter than he thinks it should be, the arms around him squeezing him until one of the tissues he's stuffed his bra with pops out, fluttering to the floor. It'd be funny if his skin didn't feel like it was going to crawl right off his body, and he squirms, flowers falling to the floor in a heap of dry stalks and limp petals. Baekhyun thinks the red-brown strewn across the floor looks a lot more like spots of blood than rose petals in the dim lighting, and he swallows, trying to find his voice.
The man behind him finds it first. "I'm glad you won. I voted for you, because you deserve it." The words are heavy against the back of his neck, the man's breath blowing loose pieces of his wig across his skin in a way that makes him shudder almost violently.
"Th-Thank you," he manages, voice barely above a whisper, afraid it'll shake worse if he speaks any louder. He's never been this uncomfortable in his entire life-SNSD briefs included-and his hands pry at the man's, trying to get him to let go. "But really, I-I need to go-"
"Home with me," the man finishes for him, and if Baekhyun wasn't fourteen and short and terrified, he probably would've laughed and told him to get better pickup lines. But Baekhyun is fourteen and short and terrified and horribly alone, as all the staff and contestants are still on stage. He tries to get his throat to work to scream, but before he can, the man is holding him off the ground with one arm, pressing a damp cloth to his mouth just as he inhales.
He knows what it is immediately, the lungful of sickeningly sweet poison choking him, body trying to reject the substance. He tries to hold back tears, painted nails digging deep into skin, heel-clad feet kicking out the best that he can, and he can't help but wonder where his mother is. She should have come back to see him, and then she'd have been able to pull her gun, arrest the man on the spot, save Baekhyun.
Should have, but she isn't, and Baekhyun feels dizzy, sick, tired, scared. His mother is a cop, and he's seen too many crime shows and read too many detective books to not know where this is going. The man's whispers of, "It's okay baby, shh," only serve to send a spike of fear through him-making everything that much worse-that contrasts with the way he feels like he's going to collapse if the other lets go of him.
He doesn't actually expect him to, and so when he pulls the cloth away and steps back to put it in his pocket, Baekhyun goes crashing to the floor. He gives a choked cry, weak legs and limp arms doing nothing to break his fall, and the carpet burns against his knees, his arm, his cheek.
Everything feels fuzzy, the room spinning, and he tries to push down the nausea bubbling up when he feels the man kneeling behind him, rough hands tugging his wig off. He whimpers, the bobby pins holding it in place pulling at his real hair, and the man's big hand pressed to the side of his face does nothing but draw more helpless noises from the back of his throat.
"Shh baby," he says again, arms wrapping around Baekhyun, pulling him to his feet, and he struggles weakly, limbs sluggish and uncoordinated. He feels sick and heavy, sure he's going to pass out.
Seconds later, he does.
Baekhyun comes to on a mostly flat air mattress, right hand suspended by a length of rope tied to a ring in the wall. His fingers are already tingling, nearly numb, and it's so dark he can barely see. He tries to swallow down his panic, but his throat is dry, and his mouth feels like it's full of cotton.
He realizes he's not alone when he feels the mattress dip, the tiny bulb in the far corner illuminating the man from behind, casting his face in shadow. Baekhyun has never been more terrified in his life.
There's a flash of white teeth before harsh fingers are pressing against his cheek, wiping away tears Baekhyun hadn't known he was shedding. He tries to pull away, but he's still groggy, and there's nowhere to escape to. "S-Stop," he manages, voice weak and so quiet he's not even sure it's audible.
"Pretty baby," the man murmurs, hands sliding up under Baekhyun's dress, his weight pressing Baekhyun into the mattress and he can feel the concrete beneath it, hard and cold against his back. He cries out, knees trying to knock the other off, free hand grasping almost desperately at dark strands, yanking as hard as he can.
It results in a backhand that knocks his head to the side, blood sliding over his tongue from where his teeth cut his cheek. The pain is sharp, but the drugs are numbing, and the combination leaves everything almost blissfully hazy, and Baekhyun can almost pretend that this is all a nightmare that he'll wake up from soon. Or maybe not wake from at all.
He feels simultaneously worse and better when he wakes again, the chloroform having worn off almost entirely, but leaving the pain that he can finally feel nearly everywhere to flare. The intensity of it takes his breath away, and he gasps, struggling to open his eyes fully to see when he realizes that they're not closed. The room is pitch black, not even the tiny bulb in the corner lit, and he tries not to hyperventilate as he strains to listen for sounds of his attacker.
His skin feels like something's crawling over it, but before he can move his one free arm to try to scratch at it, there's movement to his left. He chokes out a scream and flails his arm wildly, trying to push away the man before he can get close enough to hurt him again. He manages to grab Baekhyun's wrist and he panics, wishing there's light so he can see what's going on.
The tiny bulb in the corner flares with light, illuminating the darkness, the man hovering over him just before it shatters from the intensity, glass tinkling across the concrete. Things are silent for a beat before the man is crawling over him again, and Baekhyun thrusts his hands out as much as he can, panic choking him and he just prays for more light. If he can see, then maybe he can at least dodge, or lash out and-
There's a flash of light so vivid he has to close his eyes, tears leaking out of the corners due to the brightness of it. The man lets out a nearly inhuman shriek, and Baekhyun takes the moment of weakness to kick and buck, throwing him off. He wants to take a second to congratulate himself for a job well done, for knocking him off of himself, but he doesn't have the time.
He winces as he raises up on his knees, shaky fingers loosening the knot around his trapped wrist. There's a still too-sharp pain between his legs, something sliding down his thighs because his underwear is missing, and he wants to be sick, the only thing keeping his breakfast down being the fact that he has no time.
He manages to get his wrist free in time to dodge the hand groping blindly for him, limping toward the stairs-the only exit he can see. It is remarkably difficult to use the flickering light emanating from his palms to see and ignore the implications at the same time, but Baekhyun decides it's good practice for the future.
He steals a coat on his way out, shoving his hands deep into the pockets to hide the sporadic flashes of light that he can't quite control. He thanks everything that there is above that it's dark out, that there's no one on the street to see a fourteen year old boy out way past curfew in a dirty dress with smeared make-up.
He thinks being picked up by the police would be even worse, if the stories he's heard are anything to go by. After all, people who are different...they're not even considered people.
He sucks in a stuttered breath, limping into an alley and hiding behind a dumpster. He knows he should be happy that he managed to escape, but that doesn't stop the tears.
He'd gained his freedom from his attacker, yes, but at the price of his family, the only life he knows. His mother would turn him in as soon as she knew, Baekhyun's sure, and as much as it hurts that he wasn't able to say goodbye, he thinks he prefers it to the alternative.
He hiccups a little, curling into the wall, eyes on the dim glow emitting from his pockets. He doesn't want this at all, but he really doesn't think he could handle suffering more than he has tonight...and at the hands of his own mother.
As painful as it is to try to handle this on his own, it has to be infinitely better than being betrayed by the very person who'd promised to protect him.
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