The Victorious [BxBxB] ✓

Practiced Mantra

*Trigger warning for abuse*

There was a man in their room. He was an older man, probably in his forties. James could see him through the cracked door. He noticed him before he had the change to step in. That man was fucking Victor. James closed the door and took a step back.

It wasn't his issue. Victor had made it clear that he should stay away and mind his own business. He was going to do just that.

He texted Oliver, asking him if he wanted to hang out. He couldn't stay in his room now. Oliver answered a moment.

I'm starting to believe we're developing a codependent relationship.

Is that a no?

Don't be stupid, come to my room. And bring snacks.

A month later, that man returned. This time, he also heard his voice. It was guttural, deep, like someone who smoked a lot during his youth.

"You look just like your mother; you know that?"

"Yes," Victor answered. It was his usual tone, but it was hollow.

"Too bad she married your father," the man said. "Talentless prick that he was."

"Well..." Victor said, some of his tone coming back. "He was unarguably good at making money."

The man laughed. "It's more satisfying when you get the money for free."

It was the third time he saw that man that James' realized something was completely off. He could hear him through the closed door. "Come on," he said, "Keep your arms up."

He heard the sound of something. He wasn't sure what it was. "Up, Victor." The man said. He sounded so calm, and yet it made James' hair stick up on his arms. "Up!"

"Good boy," he said. "Now get down on your knees. Good boy. God, you look just like your mother. Too bad, she's a drunken whore." He laughed. "Well, I guess there's, isn't much difference there, right? Don't talk."

James felt a knot in his stomach. He wasn't sure if he could crack the door a little and peer inside. He got lucky the first time, but the door might squeal. And he didn't know whose fury he might have to endure after.

"Too bad." The man said. "That she picked your dad over me. But hey, look at where we are now. She's a depressive alcoholic, and your dad's dead. Open your mouth. Atta boy."

He stood there, almost glued to the door. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was wrong. Utterly wrong. He was so caught up in his head that he almost missed his cue to hide. He went behind the vending machine and waited until the man was gone.

He had left the door open. Victor was on the side of his bed. He didn't look well. He was holding his head between his knees, breathing loudly. James could hear the struggle each time he inhaled.

"You're ok." Victor wrapped his arms around himself. "You're ok, you're fine, you're ok. Everything is ok." James watched him and felt a pang of guilt in his chest. The way he was repeating those words made them sound like a practiced mantra.

Victor lifted his legs on the bed and hugged his knees. "You're fine." His voice was a little steadier now. "It's fine." He muttered again and straightened his back. He fixed his hair and rubbed his face.

James watched him rub his shoulder. He watched him get up from the bed and walk into the bathroom. Victor kept saying that he's ok. But everything else screamed otherwise.