A Disorganized Mess Of All My Hyperfixations

For nearly all of his life, Rhys had been made to suffer. He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t spending his nights, crying himself to sleep and chewing on Xanax just to get through the day. He was nearly twenty now and at this point he was convinced that there had never been a time where this wasn’t “normal” for him. It had been so long since he had had a life that could even be considered somewhat ordinary.

When he was six years old, his mother had taken him to a dilapidated house in a neighborhood that he had never been before and told him that he would be living here from then out. He didn’t understand why, and she never explained why. She just screamed in his face like she always did – told him that he was terrible and stupid and too much trouble.

He hadn’t known how to not be too much trouble, she had never told him how. Then there was a group of men, big and intimidating looking men that gave him, even at an age where he was so young and naive, a terrible feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. His mother had urged him towards them, promising Rhys that they would take care of him from now on.

He couldn’t bring himself to believe her. Before they could pull him all the way into the house, he had broken away from the men and tried to run back towards his mother. Rhys had screamed and screamed for her, begged her to come back, offered to do anything – he would be the best son ever, he would never cry or complain or ask for anything, if she would only turn around and take him back home. She never did. She didn’t look at him as the men pulled him back, throwing him on the ground, hard enough that he was left disoriented, with spotty vision and bruising all over his face.

Once he was in their care, Rhys had been put to work nearly immediately. Some of it wasn’t so bad; cooking and cleaning, simple stuff. Then there was the other work, work that involved him going into a dark room and having his clothing torn from him, having pictures taken of him, being hurt in ways that he had been too young to understand just how wrong it was.

As he grew older, he had been moved from place to place, being forced to kneel on dirty floors and lay on his back or stomach as countless men did whatever they wanted with him every single day. He never got used to how degraded he felt by all of the things that he was made to do.

Every morning, when he woke up – when the bleariness of sleep and the euphoria of his dreams had him confused, he would be convinced that the life he had in his dreams was the real one. It only made it all that much more miserable when he realized which world was the dream and which was reality.

He sat up in the motel bed and let himself come to terms with the reality of his situation. Who he was and what he was. He tried not to lurch and curl up in despair and he had to put forth an incredible amount of effort to pull himself to his feet, mentally preparing himself to get ready for another day.

Once he was in the shower, with the water running loud enough to blot out any sounds he made, Rhys let out a muffled sound of frustration and rested his forehead against the aluminum tiled wall and let himself cry – ugly, reeling sobs tore from his throat in a primal sort of way. He had learned a long time ago, that he would need to let his emotions out at the right time or he would be punished.

No one liked a cry baby. He had been told that time and time again, had it beat into him until he finally understood.

He washed himself in between each sudden out pour of emotion as he prepared himself for the day. Once he decided that he looked the part and he was dressed and pretty enough, he walked out into the hall. Usually someone would be there at the front, with a card for him filled out with his daily clients and information. It was all very professional, he thought with some humor.

As soon as he walked down into the hall, he was stopped by – of all the people – Hugo Vasquez. Ever since he had known Vasquez, the man had had it out for him. Rhys had no idea why. Maybe it was because he had denied his advances, but he could never really be sure.

The first words out of Rhys’ mouth were, “Where’s Henderson?” And he had regretted them almost immediately. Vasquez curled his lips in distaste, looking down at Rhys like he was something disgusting and diseased. Strangely, it mirrored how Rhys felt about himself.

“Hello to you too, Rhys.” Vasquez replied smugly, “Henderson’s gone.” And Rhys opened his mouth, nearly asked what Vasquez did to him – he did something terrible, Rhys just knew it – but he managed to stop himself, just barely. Vasquez smiled at him, “You’re gonna be answering to me now.” He explained, voice easy and smooth.

“Okay…”

“No card tonight.” Vasquez explained, putting a hand up to Rhys from speaking. “I’ve booked you with a group of businessmen. Maliwan guys. They want to spend the weekend with you. And they’ve paid extra to film you. So you’re free until they come for you.”

Rhys shook his head just a little, “I don’t think I should be doing something like that.” He had no idea why he kept on speaking out, but he didn’t stop himself. He wasn’t really sure if he even could. “That sounds-” He was about to say, “Dangerous” but he didn’t get to finish his sentence because Vasquez grabbed him by the throat and threw him into the wall. Rhys cried out in pain as his head hit the wall,  his vision spotted a bit and he became disoriented.

“Just do what I say Rhys.” Vasquez sneered down at him as he cowered against the banister. His demeanor softened a bit, like he didn’t want to come off as the bad guy here. “I’ll come back for you in a few hours. Think of it as a half-day.” Rhys felt sick at the implication. Having to whore himself out to multiple men in one night was one thing, but having to be filmed while he did them all felt even worse.

He didn’t say anything more to Vasquez, though, he kept his mouth tight shut because he didn’t want to be hit again. Vasquez walked off, leaving him be finally. Rhys sighed, knowing he was sure to be bruised. He walked back in to his room and looked around for some makeup to cover them up suitably.

No one would want to spend any time with him if he looked like he had already been roughed up. It took ten minutes of smearing and smearing foundation and cover up all over his face and down his neck until he was satisfied that he didn’t look like garbage.

Rhys walked out and decided to go into the motels restaurant and bar. He needed a stiff drink, or seven, and something hearty to eat. He figured that he probably wouldn’t be able to eat the entire time that he was with those businessmen that were gonna gang bang him, so he might as well eat while he could.

There wasn’t anyone in the restaurant, not even the usual bartender. The only one there was a man that he had never seen before. The man looked out of place. That was the first thing that Rhys had noticed about him, that he looked like he should be literally anywhere else but in the restaurant of this shoddy little motel. But here he was, in the flesh. He was tall and athletic looking, well dressed, with well coiffed brown hair and lightly tanned skin. As soon as the two of them locked eyes, Rhys felt like it was all over for him. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, a fluttery feeling came over him that had him feeling weak and dizzy.

He ushered Rhys over with a wave of his hand and Rhys barely noticed that he was walking over to him without a word of complaint until he was right near the bar. “Hi.” Rhys said awkwardly, waving his hand lazily in greeting. “I guess the bar’s closed.” He grumbled. That was a shame. He was hungry.

The other man just grinned at him with a starry expression on his face, like he thought that Rhys was being cute. Like he thought that Rhys was cute in general. He didn’t know how he should feel about that. “Sit down.” He ordered and Rhys quickly obeyed, “What’s your name, kitten?” He asked and, before he could speak, decided to give Rhys his own. “I’m Jack.” He said, offering Rhys his hand.

“Rhys.” He replied, never looking him in the eye. He shook Jack’s hand, hoping that it came off as polite instead of awkward as he felt. He felt something like a spark when they touched. It was pleasant and a little thrilling. He never got attention like this. He got a lot of sexual attention. He got more than enough of that, but he was never flirted with, never looked at like he was beautiful and special.

He kept his hand on the other man’s, not wanting to stop the innocent contact they were having with each other. But he didn’t notice his skin being marked. Jack was the first to notice it.

He let out a soft, nearly breathless laugh as he saw it. The mark began to warp and wrap around Rhys’ wrist, and his own – tying them together with a red string etched across both of their skins. Jack never believed that he would have a soulmate. He had a lot of reasons to believe that he wasn’t the type and honestly, he hadn’t ever seen the appeal before. In his mind, he had a higher purpose.

But looking at Rhys now, with his pleading and expressive eyes, with his pretty face, with his slim frame and those long legs – Well, he could definitely see the appeal now. Jack let out a low whistle, “Well, would you look at that…” He purred in a low, dulcet tone.

Rhys looked at Jack with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. He wasn’t sure what to make of him. The whole time that he’d been in here, he had been pea-cocking his way around the space they were in, the energy about him big and bombastic. Usually that sort of attitude set Rhys on edge, because he’d come to realize in his years trapped on this strip of concrete and pavement that people like that were likely to be erratic and unpredictable, especially in the bedroom. Sometimes, they were nice decent people but other times… it didn’t end well for him.

For some reason, he didn’t mind that sort of attitude with Jack though. It suited him, came across as charming, charismatic and lovely. Rhys supposed that it didn’t hurt that Jack was nice to look at. Handsome. He didn’t realize why he was so at ease though, until he looked down at the mans finger, drumming gently against his bare thigh, that he understood it. Jack was… he was – Rhys opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a complete and utter loss for words. He would have never thought that someone like him would be permitted that sort of happiness. “You- you’re my…” He stuttered.

Jack’s smile grew into a grin, “It’s okay baby,” He soothed, taking one of Rhys’ hands in his own. The action was more intimate than anything that had ever been done to Rhys in his life. There was more tenderness and affection in that one simple touch than anything that he could ever remember his parents or anyone touching him. He still didn’t understand it. “Take your time.”

“Soulmate? Soulmate…” He blurted out, voice still quiet and broken. He sounded less like someone who had the innocent ripped from him and more like a church mouse. He was surprised, even with their proximity, that Jack had been able to hear him. “You’re my soulmate.” He repeated, firmer this time. “I didn’t think that something like that was possible for me.” But those last words were spoken with a deathly quiet to them. He was surprised to find out that Jack heard him, loud and clear.

“You?” Jack exclaimed, looking bemusedly over Rhys like he was inspecting him for any sort of defects or reasons why he wouldn’t be entitled to a happy life with a soulmate. “Why wouldn’t you have a soulmate?” He asked, genuinely curious about why he would think such a thing about himself.

Rhys went quiet for a moment, trying to find the way to explain himself. It was much easier having a conversation when he pretended to be someone else, when he was himself he just floundered. “I’m too dirty.” He finally explained, after a few moments of looking at his hands, a hopeless expression on his face. He thought that he was filthy and disgusting, rotting from the inside out – like his soul had been corrupted by everything that he’d been made to do. Everything that he had done. He hated himself.

Jack made a chiding noise, putting Rhys’ face in his hands and pulling him towards him. He stroked over Rhys’ cheekbones and let his fingers trail down the line of his long neck, until they were tracing absentmindedly over his collarbones. Rhys felt heat rising to his cheeks, giddy at the attention in a way that he never had been before. “Aw, kitten, you could never be too dirty for me.” He teased.

Rhys was about to say something back to that, but he quickly noticed that the middle aged woman at the front desk. Her name was Emily Goode and she was a long faced, unpleasant person that he had more than a few run ins with – was giving him and Jack a pointed look that said, “Get him to take you to a room and make us some money or send him away already.”

She was nearly as bad as Vasquez with how much she hated him for the crime of existing too loudly. At least she never got physical with him, which couldn’t be said for Vasquez. Rhys just hoped that she hadn’t heard any of his and Jack’s conversation. Things could only end badly for them, if she had. People would be called, and Jack could be hurt. He would be… removed. Taken to a new motel. Or killed. Probably both.

So, Rhys needed to rectify this quickly and he did his best. “Hey,” He said, in a voice that he hoped came across as sultry and secretive. Jack was moved to full attention, interested in whatever his soulmate might have to say. “Why don’t we take this somewhere… private? I have a room.” He urged, with pleading eyes that he hoped conveyed the desperation that he was feeling.

Luckily, Jack was smart enough that he noticed the change in Rhys’ tone and got the message right quick.  Rhys grabbed the older mans’ hand and led him up some stairs and down a few hallways, until they were in his room.

Rhys kept his hold on Jack’s hand, a firm grip that belied how much his palms were sweating and his fingers were trembling against Jacks’ own, until they were sitting on the crisply pressed sheets of one of the motels beds. “They’re keeping me here, the uh, people who run this motel I guess?” Rhys said, doing his best to keep his voice low as he spoke, “I’m not- this isn’t- I was supposed to-” He sighed, not wanting to say it out loud. It was stupid, he thought, but the shame kept him tongue tied. “They make me work here. In the bedrooms. On my back, or on my knees.”

He was sure that Jack understood what he meant. The hints were clear enough. Rhys kept on going, he had never been permitted to speak so long without interruption. “I want to leave with you though, wherever you’re going I want to go too, if it’s possible.” Rhys said, looking at him with something like hope in his eyes. “I’m sorry it’s like this, I wish it wasn’t. But I don’t know what I can do about any of it.”

He tried not to cry, tried with all his might – because he barely knew Jack, whether they were soulmates or not and he didn’t know how he might react if Rhys just burst into tears like he wanted to – but it got harder and harder with every second that he sat there next to his soul mate, so close to freedom yet still trapped and rooted like he had always been.

There was something dangerous in Jack’s eyes, “They’re keeping you here, huh?” He muttered, less speaking to Rhys than he was to himself. “Okay…” He said, “I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry you’re pretty little head Pumpkin, I’ll have ya out of here by tonight.” His tone was somewhere in the middle between gentle and deadly. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and intentions that couldn’t be good. “Matter of fact, I’m sure that I can get you out of here by the end of the hour.”

Rhys wanted that so badly, Jack had no idea how much he wanted that, but soulmate or no, he couldn’t expect Jack to put himself into danger on his behalf. They barely knew each other. “What are you going to do?” He asked, suddenly afraid for Jack. “Jack, these people, they’re dangerous. You don’t know what will happen.” He said. Secretly, Rhys didn’t believe that he was worth the trouble that Jack was going to for him – he was worthless and Jack would be better off forgetting about him entirely. He was just about to open his mouth and say that when his soulmate began to speak.

“Aw, Rhysie, are you worried about me?” Jack replied, grinning like a kid in a candy shop. “That’s cute. Real cute, but- uh, I can take care of myself.” He scoffed, like the idea that he wouldn’t be able to handle any situation was just ridiculous to him, “I mean, come on, look at me.”

“Jack, I’m serious!” Rhys snapped back, aghast. He didn’t know what he could say to make Jack understand – preferably without humiliating himself. “They took me when I was a child, I’ve seen what they can do.” Some of it, he thought, but what little he was enough to scare him into submission.

“So. Am. I.” There was something hard in Jack’s gaze, but it was quickly masked with tenderness. “I’ll take care of it.” Jack promised again, speaking in a low and soothing tone of voice. Rhys almost believed him. He pulled Rhys in for a quick and gentle kiss before he got up, “Stay here.” He ordered in a tone of voice that brook no arguments from the younger man. “I won’t be gone long.” And then he was out the door, leaving Rhys with a lot more questions than answers.

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Jack walked out of the room and took a breath, preparing himself for the inevitable. It hadn’t been too long since his last kill. A few weeks. But he was always in the mood for a kill – so long as his victims deserved it, because then they weren’t really victims. They would be villains and it was a heroes job to get rid of them. And Jack Lawrence was nothing, if not a hero.

From what little that Rhys had told him before he’d left, these people were definitely villains. They deserved whatever they got coming to them, whatever Jack was willing to dish out as punishment for their crimes. They had hurt so many people, caused so much pain and ruined the lives of so many children. And, if all that wasn’t bad enough on its face, they had the audacity to hurt his soulmate. His.  Nobody could just hurt what was his and get away with it. No. These people needed to suffer.

Jack went back into his car and took out some tools; a bowie knife, a nail gun and a pistol, loaded with ammo and modified with a silencer and last but not least, his clean-up supplies. He looked around the parking lot, the place was desolate with only a few cars in sight that night. That was a good thing. It meant that there wouldn’t be any chance at witnesses. He walked back into the motel with a pep in his step.

He looked around the front room and smiled as he realized it was just him and the woman who manned the front desk. She was complicit in whatever they were doing here, he thought, the look that she gave Rhys told him so. Still, she put on a nice display of ignorance and pretended to be friendly.

She smiled at him, grinning with at teeth. He noticed a bit of lipstick on one of them. “Are you having a good time, sir?” She asked, “Is there anything you need?” Jack chuckled to himself, amused by the misplaced display of kindness from her. Then an amusing thought crossed his mind.

She was trying to flirt. It was funny, pathetic, but funny. And it worked for his purposes. Jack took purposeful steps as he walked closer to her, close enough that she was nearly pressed right up against his chest. She didn’t try to push him away and it made him grin. Too easy. “Actually,” He said, wrapping one arm around her. “You know what? There is something you can do for me.”

“O-oh?” She replied, utterly charmed. “What’s that, then?”

He pulled the knife out from his back pocket, still she didn’t notice it. “You can die.” He said, in a nonchalant sort of way – the same tone that someone might use to speak about the weather.

All that she got out was, “What-” before he impaled the back of her neck with the bowie knife, twisting it inside of her. She collapsed against him and he held her tight while she weakly struggled. There was no use to it. She was gonna choke on her own blood in a matter of seconds. He doubted that it was even a conscious decision that she was making.

“Thaaaaaaaat’s it.” He cooed to her as she gurgled and cried out in pain. Blood poured from her mouth. He grimaced at that, he would have to do a lot of cleaning once this was over. Hopefully, he could get his Rhys out of the motel before he saw all of the bloodshed. “Go easy, pumpkin. Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”

And then she was gone. He dropped her like she was a piece of trash, used a long, thick coat that was hanging on the wall behind her – it was probably hers, he realized with a bit of humor – to cover her up, but not before he took the managers keys out of her pockets. He’d need those for later.

He looked through the books at the table, until he found an “Employee’s Roster” hidden underneath a lot of documents. There weren’t many people employed at the motel. There was this Emily Goode woman – but he had already taken care of her. Then there was Hugo Vasquez and Saul Henderson.

Then he decided to go through to the back rooms – there had to be some enforcer there – and sure enough, there was a man there, a tall and stocky looking man. Hugo Vasquez, he realized quickly. Vasquez spoke with an incredibly deep voice. “Sir, are you lost?” He asked, “This is… it’s an employees only area.”

He was obviously trying to be polite, but it looked like that facade was wearing down by the second. He was scared. Angry too. But the fear was more potent, he could practically smell it on the man. Jack tried not to crack a smile, or say something that would give the game away. “You work here?” He asked, even though he knew the answer. Jack put his hands in his pockets, both so he could dig out the nail gun and to make himself appear meek and unassuming. And as soon as the man gave a slight nod he pulled the nail gun out and shot him in the forehead. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Then he set to work on taking care of the bodies. He dragged the two of them into a bathroom. He kept his clean-up supplies in a satchel. It was all very standard fair.

Jack wiped the sweat from his brow, then he looked up and noticed Rhys… standing there with a frightened expression marring his pretty face. That couldn’t be good. He expected him to scream or start running, maybe even for him to shout at him and call him a monster.

But instead of any of the expected reactions, Rhys just watched him work on the bodies, making them tiny and disposable. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, but other than that his aura was incredibly muted and he was completely motionless and wordless. Jack found that incredibly interesting, but he didn’t have the time just then to ask him questions about it. He would later, he promised himself, he needed to know just what his soulmate was all about.

Rhys watched with a placid expression as he watched the bloodbath in front of him, he knew in an objective sense that it was horrifying but he couldn’t bring himself to be horrified by the sight of some of the people that had abused and manipulated him for years finally gone. No, it felt… freeing and that was what really had him feeling horrified. What kind of person was he, what kind of monster was he, if he felt so damn relieved at the sight of such gore and destruction?

Jack moved so casually, it was damn near graceful. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that he was enjoying himself. He didn’t acknowledge Rhys’ existence for a few minutes as he worked, but it was obvious to Rhys that Jack knew he was there. It wasn’t until both Vasquez and Emily were hacked up into tiny bits and stuffed into bags that Jack locked eyes with Rhys again.

Jack looked at Rhys with an indescribable expression, “Rhys.” He said, his voice coming out as barely more than a breath. As he got up, moving to walk towards him, but stopped as he noticed his soulmate backing up a few steps. Rhys didn’t run though, he didn’t even leave the room, he just kept his distance from the older man. A few steps between them, to ensure that he had some control here.

“Is it over?” Rhys asked, having a distant thought that he might be in shock. He could barely formulate a coherent thought in his head, let alone putting all his disjointed feelings into words. “Are you- are they all gone?” He asked, looking at Jack with wide, questioning eyes. “They’re all…they’re dead?”

“Almost.” Jack replied, “There’s one more. Henderson. You know him?”

Rhys nodded minutely. “Henderson’s dead.” He blurted out, “Vasquez killed him… I don’t know why.” Probably to get a leg up in this trafficking business. He’d always been disgustingly opportunistic, even for a man in this sort of business. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed in on himself.

“Are you scared?” Jack asked. ‘Of me.’ was left unsaid, but they could both feel it hanging in the air heavy and tense. He would understand, even if he hated it, if Rhys wanted nothing more than to be away from him. He thought that what he was doing was right – he was taking out the bad guys, being a hero without so much as a thank you – but he knew that no one else would see it that way.

That was something that he was willing to accept. That he would never get the recognition and praise that he deserved, for getting rid of all of the criminals and monsters that he could get his hands on. Still, that didn’t mean that he had to like it.

Rhys nodded minutely, “A little.” he admitted, he let out a shaky sigh. “N-no matter how scared I am right now, it’s nothing compared to how much I was afraid being…” his face screwed up into a disgusted, pained expression. “In this fucking place.” He gestured vaguely around the space.

Jack walked towards Rhys purposefully, until they were so close that they were nearly touching hip to hip. Rhys practically stumbled into the older mans’ chest and Jack ran his fingers through his hair, soothing down the auburn locks with love and adoration in his touch. “What did they do to you?”

Rhys didn’t answer, he just pressed tighter against Jack and took comfort in his chest. He didn’t want to talk about that – not right now. No, he couldn’t do this right now. He decided to change the subject to something more comfortable. “Do you do this a lot?” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

“Define a lot.” Jack countered, with a smile as he took a baby step towards Rhys. He didn’t want to scare the younger man any more than he already had. He wanted Rhys to feel safe with him always, even now, as crazy as that might be.

Rhys let out a quiet huff, “Okay…” He replied suspiciously, his morbid curiosity taking over for him in moments. “Why do you do it, then?” He asked.

“There’s so much scum out there.” Jack explained in a wistful sort of way. “Bandits, rapists, people who hurt people. Someone’s gotta take care of ‘em, right? That’s where I come in.” The way that Jack framed it made him come off as some kind of hero. Despite knowing that it was wrong, that what he had just done was wrong, Rhys couldn’t help but be drawn in by his words.

Rhys didn’t say anything for a moment, too floored to speak. “I guess that makes sense.” He admitted. Then a strange thought crossed his mind,“Did you know about what they’re doing here? Before I told you about what they’ve done to me?” He asked, wondering if he had been coming for them the whole time.

Jack laughed at that, “Ah, cupcake, you are overestimatin’ me.” He replied, his tone good humored and pleasant. “Not that I don’t love it! it’s cute. But, uh, no, I was just-” He kept laughing, but it petered down a bit until it was quieter. “I’m on the road a lot. I end up in places like this a lot. Usually, it’s a lot more boring than this.”

“Sorry.” Rhys mumbled so quietly that Jack could barely hear him. He looked down at the ground, in shame. He felt like he had done something terribly wrong – just by existing and inconveniencing everyone with his dirtiness. His wrongness.

Jack couldn’t understand what he meant. “What do you have to be sorry for?” He asked. Rhys didn’t reply, he just trembled in his arms. He felt rage deep in his bones, at what had been done to his soulmate. They would get what was coming to them. But for now, they needed to get out of here and onto the road. “Come on,” He said, finally, with a gentle smile on his face. “Let’s get out of here. You’re too good for this place, Rhysie. You always were.” Rhys shook his head. There was no way that he’d believe that if he knew him better, he thought.

“Wait… I need to do something first.” Rhys explained. “Give me, like, five minutes.” He added quickly, before he was running down the hall. There were others here, but they wouldn’t be able to here everything that went on – the walls were soundproofed, when they were in those rooms they couldn’t hear a thing that was going on outside their doors.

Rhys walked into each and every one of the rooms that he knew were filled with the girls and boys he had worked with for years – he told each and every one of them, personally that they were free to go now, but they had to leave before anyone more important than Vasquez came to check on them. He knew that none of them would miss the chance to ransack the place and run as soon as possible.

Then they were on their way out. The next thing that Rhys knew, he was laying on a bed in an incredibly luxurious caravan as Jack drove him away from everything that he ever knew. He fell asleep faster than he ever had before. For the first time in his life, Rhys slept well without the aid of anything but the feeling of strong arms wrapped around his waist. For the first time in his life, he felt well and truly safe. For the first time in his life, he felt loved and protected.