letting go || peterick

【３１】

***TRIGGER WARNING***

The sun peeked through the barbed window, causing Patrick's irises to burn. The old, rusty chains wrapped around his wrist made his pale skin itch in irritation. Stray tears splotch his pink, bruised cheeks with fear filling his quivering bones. He shuffled closer to the wall, whimpering softly when the bruises and cuts on his skin touched the freezing, stone floor. His baby blue eyes scan the dull room he was in. There was a small stain-filled chair with his shirt and ripped pants laid neatly on it. 

Patrick shivered lightly, only wearing the large over-sized shirt that belonged to him and his space-themed boxers, while pulling his arms closer to his petite body. "F-Fuck," he whispered quietly when he heard his stomach growl in hunger. 

The blonde jumped at the loud, screeching noise of the basement door slamming open with a strong and angry force. His steady footsteps cause the stairs to creak under his weight. Once he reached the floor, he faced the chained man with a devilish grin. 

"Morning, Puddin'. Did ya sleep well?" He asked and his southern accent made shivers run down Patrick's spine. He didn't answer back, keeping his eyes and mouth shut. He snarled and stomped over to him. "I asked you a question, slut." He spat out. He reached over, grabbing Patrick's face harshly, causing the small man to yelp out in pain and surprise.

Even though his face was being held tightly against his ugly, sweaty hands, Patrick was able to nod and mutter a small 'yes'. He smirked while letting go of Patrick's jaw from his grasp. "Mm, good," 

Patrick opened his eyes to catch his dark, nearly black, brown eyes stare at him with an intense amount of hunger. "Ya know, angel," Patrick stiffened up at that nickname. Pete used to call him that. But usually, when his boyfriend would call him that, it would make Patrick melt, feel all warm, and fuzzy. He didn't cause that same reaction. In fact, it just makes Patrick feel uncomfortable and bothered. "I'm hungry for somethin' that ain't food," he whispered and leaned forward, placing sloppy, wet kisses on Patrick's neck. 

"G-Gerardo, p-p-please sto-op," But instead of listening to Patrick's desperate pleas, he continued kissing and biting the pale, soft skin. 

He roamed his hands around Patrick's small frame, ignoring the blonde's tears and scared whimpers. The tall man pushed him down, pinning his arms to his sides. "N-No, stop!"

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed with venom lacing his voice. 

Patrick closed his eyes, still trying to pry off the bulky man when the sound of the doorbell rang in their ears.  Gerardo sighed and moved off of him, giving Patrick a hard slap against his face. "Don't move, and I swear if I hear ya scream or cry out, I'll shoot ya right in the fuckin' face. Ya, hear me?"

Patrick nodded, shakily. He went closer to the shorter's face, gripping his hips tightly. "I said did ya hear me!" 

"Y-yes, y-yes, I heard you,"

He smirked. "Good," 

And with that, he left the room.

----

"Dallon, are you sure this is the right house?" Pete asked while looking at the old, battered home. Dallon retracted his finger from the rusty doorbell. 

The tall giant rolled his eyes. "Yes, Pete. My mad-hacking skills are never wrong." 

"This is the 4th house we've been to." Pete scoffed while waiting impatiently at the door. 

"Shut up," 

"Mm, make me,--" The door slammed open, revealing a tall, probably taller than Dallon, man with days old gruff. He was muscular with ink practically pouring out of his arms. 

"What do ya want? And who are ya?" He asked with a threatening tone.

Fuckin' rude.

Dallon put on a friendly smile and responded with a friendly tone. 

"Hi, my name's Dallon and this is Pete. Sorry, for interrupting but we were wondering if you've seen a short strawberry blonde around here?"