Twisted Deceit (Deceit #3)

Chapter 1

The last remains of what was a panic attack, held on. My heart may beat sluggishly in my chest, having no choice but to slow with the liquid meds that were forced into my body, but the tears weren’t stopping. Nor did I think they would any time soon.

I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t cried. When I was content? Happy, even?

Bouncing from one home to the next didn’t help, obviously. I still ended up near death more times than I wanted to count. I still suffered when all I wanted was love. To be accepted. Heck, I’d have been willing to be invisible.

If only what I wanted was what I got.

Instead, I was here, drugged and fighting sleep. Every single time I was forced to join the blackness of a fake sleep, I woke up in a place that was worse than the last. I lost hope of ever waking up in a safe place.

Sniffing, I turned to my side, curling my legs up against my torso as much as I could. The bruises that covered my stomach and chest hurt with each movement, with each breath I took. The pain I could deal with and easy to ignore after so many months living with it.

Even with a scratchy white blanket over my body, the chill of the room caused shivers to wrack my body.

I just wanted it all to end. I wanted the pain, the horror and suffering to just stop. I wished for my heart to stop beating, even though that wasn’t likely. The steady beeping of the machine next to the bed I lay on was too loud in the silence of the room.

It wasn’t the first time I wondered why it was me. Why did the world hate me so much, where I had to fight with each breath I took just to stay alive?

My breath caught in my throat as my body fought with what my brain knew. The meds were pulling me under, bit by bit, making the outskirts of my vision darken. It didn’t matter that my eyes were closed and the windows were blocked by thick curtains, hiding the night away. I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to wake up, either.

My body knew that where I was right now wouldn’t be the same place when I woke up again. Would I be chained to a bed once more? Would I be tossed into a freezing basement? Or would I be back in a decent enough place that was at least warm and had a bed?

The last place I had been was with other boys, most of which were older than I had been. I was sure I was the most pathetic of the bunch out of the eight or ten of us that had been held in a room and rented out to service other men and women on an almost nightly basis. Some of us were certainly used more than others.

The only good thing there had been a bed and food. To most, that alone wouldn’t have been much, but to me, it was everything. I had been starved and beaten so much of my life, that a single small bed and area shared with other boys had been like heaven. The high protein bars hadn’t been the best, but it was food my body hadn’t rejected. The other meals hadn’t been super filling, but still editable. It was the only thing that kept me alive, since my heart had yet to decide to give out on me.

But even that was iffy. I knew it was only a matter of time before my heart figured out what my brain already knew. There was no longer a point in trying to live. No point in trying to fight the dark grips of death that I desperately wanted to find comfort in.

Scrunching my nose, hoping the itch in my nostril would disappear, I let my body relax, no longer able to fight the meds that had been given. I knew, when my eyes would reopen, all hell would be upon my shoulders, pushing me closer to death.

It didn’t matter where I was, or the why’s, as every limb grew heavier and heavier. The steady beeping of the machine next to the bed was accompanied by a dripping that flowed into my veins. Other than the easy access to give me drugs I didn’t want, I didn’t know what the point of it being in my arm was for. It was annoying in more than one way.

With the constant background noises, my brain was in that half-awake, half-asleep mode. My body was weak, pulled under the spell of drugs, yet my brain didn’t rest. It never would, if I wanted to be honest.

The only good thing about the drugs running through my system was the fact that I didn’t jerk against the cold hands that touched me. Something was slipped on a finger, the inside warm and slightly tight, yet it didn’t give me enough reason to force my sore eyes open. I wasn’t sure if they would open anyways.

Another touch along where a needle had been inserted into my arm, and with it another gush of cold liquid was pushed into my veins. Moments later, the last bit of lingering pain disappeared from my body, leaving every part of me even heavier than before.

“Everything will be okay now.” The soft female voice spoke, so low I barely caught it.

I highly doubted anything would ever be okay. I was a lost cause, and she shouldn’t try to soothe me. Not when I was never going to get away from the life I had found myself in. There was no way out, unless it was death. And that, I was holding my arms open for me to be claimed. It was only a matter of time.

Then, and only then, would I find peace.