We Are Broken • Geetrick

1

The market is busy today.

Busier than normal, at least. Everyone is bustling around, buying groceries. People trying not to stare. Me? I'm not one of them. God no.

All the others are too poor. Too afraid that they, themselves, will end up in these stands. Handcuffed, eyes lowered, degraded until they are nothing compared to those of us who are rich.

I'm rich, parents died when I was young and I inherited their money, so I'm wealthy enough to buy and keep my freedom. Meanwhile, everyone else here have next to no money. And if they're unable to pay for housing, clothes, food... they're taken away and sold to masters. To owners.

I am one of those owners.

Well... not quite yet. I'm looking for one, a boy, I already know. I want him to be good looking in a submissive way. Obviously on the skinnier side (most slaves are this way, though) and I want him to be good for whatever I need whenever I need it. Mostly someone to take my stress out on because I need to keep my billfold. I own a big company and I don't need to lose that anytime soon. It's inherited by the family and I'm the eldest out of my brother and I. That's just how it goes.

So I stop by the stand. The slave stand where there's a group of people gathered. Clothing that only the richest of people can buy and the occasional person who doesn't have as much but needs the extra hands.

People part way for me, whispering to each other a, "oh my god is that Gerard Way?" here and a, "he owns Way industries!" there. I've never been a fan of the publicity but it makes me smile when I know people recognize me.

I walk to the front of the crowd, looking across the slaves and judging each one carefully before looking to the owner, a brunette with dark brown eyes, worn and tired but still bright.

Without a second thought, I walk forward and ask, "which is the best one you have?"

He looks up at me and his eyes widen right away, "Gerard Way."

"I asked a question." I nod.

He clears his throat and looks around, still distracted by me, "Well it depends on what yer lookin' for."

I follow his gaze, "weak, somewhat attractive, I honestly don't care. I'm looking for something to let my stress out on."

He scratches the back of his head and begins leading me through the stands. The tired eyes of the slaves reflect back at me, begging for some food but I don't care. They could rot in hell for all I care.

"This here is William," the man says. I look across the dirty boy. Black hair bad a lanky frame, wearing nothing but a rag that somewhat represents a shirt and a pair of dirtied jeans, "He'll do house chores all day if yeh ask and he's cheap, but he ain't gonna work in the field."

I watch his brown eyes flicker away from mine and I finally shake my head, "no."

The owners hums and watches as I look around for a moment.

"What about that one?" I ask, pointing to a dirty blond on his knees with his head down, a dark leather collar around his thin neck. There's something about him, maybe it's that he's paler than the rest, soft skin framing his delicate face. So beautiful it almost looks untouched but I know damn well he's gone through at least 10 other owners.

"The Baby Blue?" The seller asks, pointing to the same boy, "He'll get on his knees for ya when you say the word, but he ain't no good for shinin' yer shoes."

"How much?"

"Well, he's a sex slave with the occasional housework. I'll sell him fer... fifty thousand."

I shake my head, glaring at the owner, "No, you're milking me here. The most I will do is thirty."

He sighs and after a moment nods, "I can agree on that. You'll take him?"

I smirk, "I'll take him."