Eyes awoke to the sight of blood stained concrete. There was the reek of dried, stale blood in the air. What was surely to be a pounding headache was forming, and a shaky, weak hand lifted to press cold fingertips to his forehead. His whole body ached, even parts that he didn't even know could. Lifting his body up from the freezing stone floor, managing to get as far as propping himself up slightly upon his elbows before the sounds of the huge lock echoed in the huge room that was locked up tighter than a bank vault. Eyes squinted against the light that flooded in from the open hatch, only just making out the figure that stood at the entrance and exit to the dank, cell-like room that was called home for three nights of every month. Shielding his eyes, Vincent attempted to sit up, if only to hide his naked form from whomever had opened the door.
"Here, put this on," commanded the figure, tossing a warm blanket at Vincent. The figure then turned and left, leaving the door ajar so that Vince could escape.
But he was far from any ordinary prisoner.
Wrapping the clean white blanket around himself, Vincent slowly stood up, propping a weak, tired body up on shaky legs. Fingers dug into the fabric, holding it around his chest. It was so long that it trailed behind him, dragging in the dust and the dirt of the concrete floor that he had woken up on. Head bowed as he walked, eyes kept away from anyone who could make eye contact with him as he left the room. Skin prickled, goosebumps forming over his pale flesh as warm fresh air drifted over him, lungs finally able to breathe properly again instead of having them filled with stale, rank air. He could hear voices around him, the sounds of the world outside the window, and there was the smell of coffee coming from somewhere.
There was a loud bang, and he jumped, glancing over his shoulder as the giant of a door was closed and locked, the wheel spinning around and the locks ground into place, snapping shut. Drawing in a shaky breath, he began to return his gaze forwards, not wanting to stare at that thing any longer, when cold flesh touched his bare shoulder. Head instantly jerked around, grey-brown eyes fixing instantly upon whomever it was that had touched him.
What he saw was creamy pale skin, short cropped black hair, and warm chocolate eyes. Thin lips had curved into a smile, offering friendship and warmth. Vincent had been swept up by that smile so many times, but now he was beginning to see what it really was; a complete lie. Yet he did not let on that he knew that this man was being fake, and instead smiled back, as if glad to finally be out of that rotten hole and back into the world of friends. That hand slipped down from his shoulder, curling around his body and pulling him closer until the two were pressed together. Chin was rested upon the top of his head, and even Vince couldn't deny that it felt good, melting into the embrace. Another arm looped around him, stroking the hand in long, slow, soothing motions up and down his back. The man was cold, like the living dead, but his embrace felt warm and comforting.
Eyes closed, and there was a kiss pressed to the top of his head. "Welcome home, Vincent," the man purred, even though Vincent had never actually even left. The vault was part of the building that he lived in, making it part of his home. But this place was slowly becoming less and less of a home the more Vincent thought about it and figured things out. This place was no more of a home than his childhood home had been, and he didn't even have one of those anymore.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Vincent asked, lifting his head to look at the face of the man holding him.
"You had such a rough night last night, I thought maybe you could do with someone being here for you when you woke up." In other words, Vincent had won, this man was lying to him, and was actually just praising him for a job well good, even though Vincent had little memory of the event. "Are you bleeding anywhere?"
Vince shook his head. "I don't think so," he replied, still not pulling away. Even if it was all fake, it still felt good to be held like this. He had trusted this man - given so much to him - that somewhere deep inside it hurt to know that none of it was true. He didn't want to let go, even though he knew he should.
The man smiled again, pulling away until the contact left between them were his hands upon Vincent's shoulders. Brown eyes took a few moments to look the teenager over, making certain for himself that there were no wounds that needed seeing to. "You're a little dirty though," he teased, smudging a thumb over the dirt at his cheek, like an old woman wiping away the dirt from her grandson's face. "How about we wash you down, hm? A nice, hot shower will make you feel wonderful!"
It felt so good to have someone want to look after him, even if it wasn't for the same reasons that the man gave. He made it seem like he cared deeply for Vincent, that he meant something to him. In truth; the truth Vincent had come to find out on his own, the man saw him as nothing more than fast cash. Despite his outward appearance, Vincent was strong and able, making him the perfect prizewinner. It was a horrible existence, and Vince knew that sooner or later, he was going to have to get out of it. He just didn't know how to yet.
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