She stirs. And I glance over at her, green eyes narrowing in the moonlight filtering through the dirty glass. A moment of movement, a low moan of the blissfully asleep, and then all goes quiet once more. A silent sigh escapes my parted lips, and with tongue sweeping over the dry cracks, I hesitantly rise up, the lumpy blanket falling from my scarred chest.
My gaze slithers down her naked back, and my brow crumples as temples throb with the warning of a stormy headache to come, drink still heavy on my breath, eyes bleary with sleep.
Making sure I don't wake her, I push up to my feet, the threadbare carpet masking my steps as I move away, eyes ripping away to the filthy window.

A hand comes up, calloused fingertips brushing over the dirt and grime that the moonlight is fighting to get through and fingers brush, rub away some of the filth, letting more light in, the fluff and refuse of shredded human skin sticking to mine, making my skin crawl.

A cautious glance thrown back, and she stirs again, moaning low and stirring once more, the light falling on her drawing her towards the surface of reality and a slender fingered hand gropes up to grab the pillow, the stained fabric pulled over her head, shrouding her in darkness once more.
Not a breath is released until all goes quiet, her mind sinking again into oblivion and then I turn back to the window, my hand still pressed to the cold glass.

Silently I rub until I can see out into the warm night, the air thick with bugs hovering and dancing their way around the lamplights dotted along the run down street.
The moonlight streams into the room now, my naked body, glistening with sweat in the unbearable heat looking paler than ever it has, tinted by the silvery beams, each cut and slash, each scar highlighted for viewing pleasure on my tattooed chest.

But no one is watching, but me.
I watch. I watch the street, for signs of life, for signs of....I don't know what it is I'm looking for, but I know I won't find it here.

Somewhere a dog barks, and like a silent sentinel I listen to the sounds of the night, unmoving, eyes the only sign that my heart beats.
My gaze catches sight of a hobo in a doorway across the street, his form lit up by a candle placed in a window, and I watch him as he raises the bottle wrapped in paper, he holds, to his lips, which makes my own part, tongue sweeping once more over them.
I'm thirsty, and with the teasing glimpse of alcohol that's not mine I realise this, which in turn makes my thirst that much more prominent.
With another sigh my gaze tears away and catches on two cats padding along the alleyway below, sniffing and searching for food amongst the bags of refuse and trashcans overflowing and a frown takes me, the air suddenly thick and cloying, the musty smell of the room I'd barely noticed before becoming all too apparent.

I can't breathe. My skin prickles, and out of nowhere my whole body shudders, hand clenching on the glass, nails that are too long for any man scraping the glass rendering them even dirtier than they already are.
With surprising silence I tear myself violently away from the window, feet pounding the carpet, sounding out muffled thumps as my hands grope and claw for my clothes. My feet find a shoe, and it rolls as I kick it, hands groping floor to find where it lays, god knows what extra filth I'm picking up as I do.

Nausea floods me out of nowhere, the memory of the filth taunts me and my actions become jerky and unfocused in my need for escape from it.
But God is on my side tonight it seems, and my hand snags the jeans, laying in a crumpled heap on the floor next to the bed.
A snap of a glance up to her motionless body and I back away slowly, my hip hitting the corner of her dresser, a hissed expletive ripping from my open mouth as pain stabs and then just as quick dies. I don't wait to see if I've woken her, I turn and hurry out of the room, catching sight of my vest top thrown hastily off the night before, on the stairs.

Yanking on my jeans and zipping up my fly, I shove my solitary shoe on, grabbing up my vest and pulling it on as I descend.
Into Hell.
Or as close to it as I can get while still being alive.
Unlike other people though, I am at home here. I'm at home amongst all the trash and refuse, at home amongst all the hobo's and drug addicts that wander the streets like ravenous zombies. I'm at home in the dirty back streets that hide the nefarious and criminal.
This is my playground, not much different from where I came six months ago. But at least here there are no memories of...her.
Yes, I am at home here, and why wouldn't I be? Because dirty streets, trash, criminal pleasures....are all I've ever known.

From the moment I came screaming with tight little fists into this world I have known nothing but dirt, filth, the depravity of man. This is my reality, my normality. This is where I feel comfortable, where I can rule. And I rule. Or at least I convince myself I do.
Call it an over-blown ego, call it arrogance, call it protection from the insecurities that plagues my every waking moment, call it what you like.
You cant figure me out, no one can, and many have tried, myself included, I just am what I am.
I'm complicated, man. I'm complex, what's that saying?
Like an onion, many layers. And the deeper you cut, the more you'll cry...

Ha...

Another shoe, tossed without care by the door, hoodie near it, dropped on the floor in the frenzy to get her sat on my dick.
Another humid, stinking night, another bar, another drink, or several in fact, another woman, draped over me like oil, fawning at me like I got gold dripping from my nipples. None of it helps. None of it makes the pain of separation go away. But still I take those legal highs, the only kind I'm allowed these days.

Does it count that I've hung around with some very unsavoury characters in the last few months, watching them get fucked up from across the room, needles piercing skin, my hungry eyes feasting on the sight of their highs, my own pleasure taken from seeing theirs.
I want to feel that pleasure, that tickling pleasure that floods, masking everything sharp and prickly inside. But something won't let me step over that line.

Maybe it's knowing how much of a fuck-up I was before when I was on the weed, the crack, the Heroin. Maybe it's knowing that stepping over that line would mean the loss of everything I hold dear, because I know that this is the last. It's the last time I can fuck up, and not have them walk away from me.
My brother hates drugs, hates them with a passion and it's for him that I stay clean, oh partly for myself too, I don't like the person I was when I was high. My moods were too erratic, I was too much of a loose cannon, suicidal thoughts never too far from my mind but it's mainly for him.

I cant....I cant lose him. I cant lose any of them. Life without them just...isn't worth living. They have no idea what they've done for me, my family. From the first, when I met him, Zero...or Brain as I knew him back then, was there for me. Fuck, I hated him.
A chuckle escapes my lips as I tug my other shoe on, hoodie slid onto my shoulders, arms slipping into sleeves, zip done up as I head to the door without a backward glance.

I really did hate him back then. Know it all, calm and steady, manipulating, always-fucking-right mother fucker!! Asshole. I cant help the smile curling my lips as the door closes softly behind me, the air no cooler outside than it was in and I pause a moment, eyes closing, a deep breath taken, the nausea slowly subsiding as my anxiety calms.
I lean a shoulder against the doorframe as dirt covered fingers grope my pockets for cigarettes and my eyes flick open once more as I relax now that I've escaped the cage of another interrogation, which would have been my fate had I stayed.

Stay with me. I don't want you to go. Why won't you stay? Am I not enough for you? Don't you love me? You did last night. You said you did.
Cue the accusing tone, and the hurtful look in her eyes that doesn't even touch the surface of my heart. I feel nothing as I look at each one, nothing, and I leave each in their turn, to varying reactions. Still nothing touches.

The spark of flame lights up my face for just a moment, and my green eyes narrow as I survey the street, the predatory glint never far from the pale hues, set in a young looking face that belies my true age, the fuzz of thick beard covering most of it.

Does he know, do you reckon? How much he's done for me.
No one else gets it, they think he's a puppet-master, pulling strings, but it's not like that. Why do we, I follow him blindly?
Because he saved me. From myself. From a life of being used and abused by pimps, from a life of drug dens and broken down buildings, glazed eyes staring at nothing as the needle drops from my hand to the floor.

This was the life I'd been leading up until I met him. Until I met Alana, because it was through her I met him.
I don't want to think of my childhood, but the memory is inevitable and flashes of what happened to me taunt me, pictures of the dirty basement, the filthy stained bed, the racks of tools, of drills and hammers and knives and so many other things that can be used to torture someone...

And he is there, yelling like always, calling me names, names that at the time I didn't understand. Fag, homo, poof. To a six year old this means nothing. But the violence does, it means everything, it's in these years that your adult self is shaped. And boy, was I shaped.
My mother is screaming, and I'm watching him cut her, my heart beating so hard that I think he can hear it.
This isn't out of choice, you understand? He likes me to watch, he forces me to see what he does to her, every goddamn day, though he goes out to play poker with his buddies from the force, every Thursday night. So at least we get one peaceful night in seven.
But I don't understand, I don't understand what he is doing, or why, it's too much for me to comprehend. All I know is that I don't like it. It's painful and sickening to watch.

I want to go to her, kiss her cheek and hold onto her frail body, make the tears stop running down her face, cover her naked breasts because they embarrass me.
No one should see their mother this way.
No one should see their father torturing, and hurting their mother in the way he does, the tools hung on the walls mused over like a kid in a sweetshop.

Eenie, meeni, oh I think I'll use this one tonight, it gives such sweet decoration.

No one should have to watch their father raping their mother, while you're tied to a chair, naked yourself, obscenities shouted at you because you can't...because you don't...enjoy the sight.
He soon grew frustrated, and turned his attentions on me, thinking that a beating would make me desire her. Would make me want to do to her, what he does.
But it failed, I didn't want her, I didn't want to make her cry like that.

And he became more and more frustrated, and angry with me. I wanted to please him, to make him stop shouting. His voice hurts my ears it's so loud. And he's in my face, his all red and blotched. But I don't please him.

And soon things changed. He began to lose interest in my mother, took more interest in me. And his interest was painful. It came on tides of white hot pain that made my throat ache.
That's how it started, just with my mouth, tears in my own eyes now, but as the years rolled on, he made me do more to him, did more to me, until one night.....my world changed forever.
That night is forever etched on my memory but I can't relive that part of my memory. Something in my head has blocked it, but I know what happened and I carry it with me every day, everywhere I go.

It's made me who I am today.
A sarcastic asshole. A button-pushing dickhead. A brawling thug. A torturer. A rapist. A murderer.
I am all these things and so much more. And I can't change. Why would I? This is all I know. It's all I know how to do, all I know how to be. In these things I find normality.
I ran from home at fifteen, couldn't take anymore, but life didn't get any better for me. Not at all.

I tap the ash from my cigarette and my eyes slide over the dark street, a door slamming gaining my attention. I draw back into the shadow of the doorway and watch silently as a man stalks past, and only when he is gone do I lean forward again, light from the moon and a nearby fly covered lamp lighting my features.

Yeah, Zero, Alana...they definitely saved me.
Before I met them I was moving from place to place, not stopping for too long, while trying to find a safe place to call home. But each city was the same.
Each one had the pimps, who picked me up, trapping me with the drugs that blotted my mind and memory, which saw me working for them, working streets, working my ass off (literally), grubby men's hands pawing at me each night. It could be a banker, a high class gent in town on business, it could be cop, just like my old man, it could be a high-ranking judge....all their faces blurred into one soon enough. I cant remember any of them.

Two years I worked this way until one night my pimp, Travis, I think his name was, tried it on with me while on a high. You know what they say, you should never try your own product. Well he certainly lived to regret it that night. Something in me snapped and....well, he's dead now.
So fucking what? Many more cockroaches to take his place.
My lips curl in a smirk and I raise my cigarette to my lips, taking a hit of that sweet, sweet nicotine, one of three things I'm addicted to these days.

I'm one of those cockroaches now, and happy to be so. I learned the hard way, that it's dog eat dog out there.
You can either be the nail or the hammer...And I am no fucking nail anymore.
My teeth grit and my head lifts proudly, eyes narrowing to slits, the look in my eyes cold and hard as I survey the street once more, finally lurching off the step I'm standing on, to start wandering down the street, towards town, towards the lights and sounds of the seedy life I'm currently living in.

You'd be surprised, I'm sure, to know that i enlisted in the army soon after i left the streets, some guy was passing out leaflets on a stall in a town i passed through and i thought...why not? Free board and food. Seemed like a good deal. I lied about my age of course and then spent seven years fighting other men's wars, until a mortar shattered a knee and i was discharged.

With nowhere to go, no job, no money i soon fell back into the criminal underworld, this time as a pimp myself, a thief, a rapist, a drug dealer. I did it all, tried my hand at everything, but i seemed to have a real gift for rape, for manipulating bitches into shedding their clothes and parting their legs for me. And that's when i would turn, take what i wanted from them, discarding them after like a used rag. I didn't care.
Nothing pierced that cage of steel containing my fucked up black heart. Nothing touched me.

And that's when Alana found me. She drew me into her gang, The Gambits, she gave me a roof over my head, food, a place i could call home, where i felt safe, for the first time in my life ever. It took a while for me to respect her, trust her.
I didn't trust anyone back then, hell, i still don't now. My default position is either Fuck You or Suck My Dick whenever i meet anyone, I'm always on the defensive, it's just how i am, and you can fuck off if you think i should apologise for that. You earn my fucking respect and trust, you don't get it by who you know, or where you live, or what you do in your career.
Impress me, or else back the fuck off.

And if you're a cop, don't even bother. I don't like cops. In fact i hate them with a blinding passion. And what? Apparently, that's typical psychology shit of hating anyone that reminds me of my father. Ha.
There's only ever been one cop I've trusted, and that....shit, that was just about primal urges. But he did prove himself to be decent in the end.
But aside from him, cops aren't to be trusted. Shit, i wouldn't spit on them if they were on fire.

Another smirk draw my lips and i tap the ash from my cigarette again as my gaze catches sight of Casa de la Trova, the bar i work in. The place is situated in Santiago de Cuba, the 'east capital' of Cuba and this...this is where I've spent the last five months living and working.
Hand reaches out and i yank the door open, stepping inside the gloomy interior, eyes falling onto Dom, one of the bartenders currently doing nights. He glances my way and smirks at the sight of me, the hint of a knowing look in his eyes.
A nod of familiarity sent his way i head towards him and grunt my usual order of a large whiskey at him. I mumble something about needing to shake the snake, and i crush out my cigarette in the ashtray before turning and making my way through the drunken tourist revellers, towards the 'baño'.

The sound of my steps echo's loudly on the tiles in here, and a frown takes my brow and a memory suddenly snaps into my head.
Kian.
How could i forget, i haven't. Not at all. I can never forget what i did to him. It's inexcusable. Anyone else, fuck 'em, don't give a shit what i do, hell most of the time i dont even remember their faces, but he...he was....had been a friend, a friend who'd just said the wrong thing at the wrong time and triggered my infamous temper.
It never should have happened. It ruined everything really.
What is he up to right now, i wonder. The tiniest smile curls my lips and my mind wanders as i remember his face, that stupid smile of his, that nervous look in his eyes as i tease him, wind him up a little.

Fly unzips and i manhandle my generous manhood as i think of him, one hand propping me upright, flat to the wall.
We had something good, something surprising, to us both.
Hell, for me it had only been sex, and then....he'd got to me. He'd gotten under my skin somehow. No one ever does that, i keep everyone outside the family at arms length, and if i feel they're getting too close, i do something to push them further away. Go figure.
I don't know what it was about him that got to me, i can't put my finger on it, but he was one of only a select few that I'd ever really felt anything true for.

And of course there has been many...many girls...and guys over the years.
Alana was the first I'd loved. Bitch. Loveable, sexy, and a cast iron bitch. Now rendered crazy by life. She really was the first girl i ever genuinely thought about settling down with, i was so lost on her, but instead of that happening, she'd cheated on me while i was in jail, with a guy who later turned out to become my best mate, and then family. Ipos. Fucker. Ha, life is strange huh? I'd even loved him at one point...but that...that's a whole other story.

A smile cracks and i sigh as the warm stream of piss starts flowing.
Alana's betrayal was what started me off killing, funnily enough. And i was so damn good at it. It became a habit, a pleasure for me. Thanks for that, girl.
Then there was Sicily, who changed her name to Kayla, a needy, pain in the ass drama whore that i stupidly fell for waaaay back when i was too young. The relationship had been constantly volatile and fiery, violence on both sides but looking back i realise now that it wasn't love i felt for her but obsession. Fuck knows where she is now.
Britt, cute in her innocent way, fun to fuck but i didn't love her. Neither did i love Ankii, another needy one, but a cute guy. Way too young though, immature.
Milo. A grin cracks and a chuckle sounds. Milo. That fat sack of flesh, sweet and one i felt strangely protective of, though again, no love there.

Eva. Clio. Brooke. Shit, i cant remember all the damn names of who I've fucked over the years, too many to count, what can i say, I'm a man-whore like that.
One i will never forget is Lauren....well, the less said about that the better. Batshit crazy, probably more psychotic than i am, drama queen, Lauren Russo. The mother of my first child...my son. A sharp pain stabs me in the chest and i feel breathless and dizzy a moment as the stream of piss withers, dripping urine onto the toes of my 'Fuck You' sneakers.
No, that is something i will -not- think of. Cant. Cant do it.
That's a much too painful memory, the death of my unborn son. At the hands of a man who still hasn't been made to pay. Benjamin Stoneage. One day. One day revenge -will be had.
But not today......Think of something else. Now. NOW.

Footsteps echo as the door squeaks open and my gaze snaps up to a young guy entering, taking up position next to me, dick being whipped out. I probably spend far too much time staring at him as i piss my sorrow away, each second taking me further from those painful memories of the night my son died.
And my thoughts turn back to Kian as easy as if sliding between satin sheets.
Oh yeah, he....he did get close. Too close. I wasn't even aware of how much i cared for him until I'd seen him with her at that party. Peri. Bitch. Fucking whore-bag. If it hadn't been for the fact Kian was stood next to her I'd probably have ripped her face off and stuffed it up her ass. I knew her of course, she was an acquaintance of Zero's, though we'd never been close. But right then, when I'd seen her with him...I'd hated her. With a passion.
The party had been a disaster. People had been using drugs, and that coupled with my stupid jealousy had driven me out. That had been the end really. Kian hadn't understood....why i had been so...fraught.
But then why should he? It was just sex right? It should have stayed that way. Would have been way less painful when he'd left if I'd have stopped it at that. Even now, thinking of him....i miss him. The banter we had. The laughs.

The guy next to me zips up, gives me a cursory glance and i cant help but smirk at the nervous look in his eyes as he escapes without washing his hands. Fucking tourists. All fucking scared of their own shadows. I mean, do i look like I'm about to shiv him or something? I look down at myself and notice the dirty, crumpled look of my clothing, the stains of god knows what on the fabric, and a sigh escapes as i finish unloading my bladder.
I shake my head, realising i probably do look just like that and i zip up, turning to wash my grubby hands. A grimace of disgust as i view them and i turn on the faucet, running cold water over them, soap cupped in a palm rubbed into soft bubbles.
Rinsing them away, i glance up at the cracked mirror, the view of my distorted face making me feel a shudder of something dark again. I stare at myself, the bathroom fading out a moment as my mind takes over and i think of her.

Aiya. Now that's love, right there.
All consuming, passionate, obsessive, jealous, suffocating but blissfully torturous love.
I love her with the heat of a thousand suns, always have,.
It's only ever been her, through all the years, she's the one that's held my heart, even when i refused to admit there was anything there. And for years I'd done exactly that.
When i first met her, back when i was with Alana, and Zero in the Gambits, running my beloved pub, Nuggins, i was floored.
Who was this curvaceous, tanned beauty, with eyes of starlight, and hair as soft a fey creature? From the second i laid eyes on her i couldn't get her out of my mind. This was after Alana, well, the first time with Alana anyway, we split after a few months, then hooked back up years later. Complicated, i know.
Anyway, as i was saying, Aiya...she delighted me from the first, but i was so terrified at the thought of any kind of commitment i kept her at arms length. We fucked around of course, and when Alana left, Zero too, for new pastures, leaving the gang in my hands i recruited Aiya as my second. Couldn't have picked a better partner, she was strong in areas i was weak, she was the yin to my yang.
She soothed me and kept my heart beating when it threatened to stop from the pain of the life i was living. She was like...a breath of fresh air, in a stuffy room.

Yeah, i know, i 'aint the kinda guy to get mushy, i hate all that soppy, girly shit, but she...she inspires me that way. I'd do anything for her, I'd die for her, kill for her. Take a bullet for her, she makes me feel like i can do anything. She sees the good in me, and believe me, there is good, it's just buried. Buried under years of pain, and sorrow, buried under mountains of hatred, anxiety, fear and rage.
But she sees it and she draws it out, she makes me want to be better, she makes me want to sing loudly.

A low laugh slips from my lips and my smile is echoed in that cracked mirror.
Zero would Gibbs-slap me if he heard me say that. He hates it when i sing.
And i love to sing. I'm lucky that I've been gifted with a decent voice, in another life i might have taken up the gauntlet and gotten myself in a band. Someone said once that i sounded like that Josh Turner dude. The one that sings country shit. I'll take that. He's got a decent set of pipes on him.

I suddenly become aware that my hands are freezing cold and i tear my eyes from my distorted reflection, to note that the cold water is still running over my hands, for sure they're clean now, and i take a small step back, bending to splash water on my face. Not only to wake myself up, but to freshen me up a little, cos shit, i look rough, that much i can make out from the broken mirror.
Straightening up again, i turn off the faucet and move to grab some paper towels from the dispenser, drying my hands as my thoughts turn back to her.
The pain immediately hits, and that's why I'm here, in Cuba.
Because we're no longer together. Life...life got in the way. I don't know what happened. We just...drifted apart. The love didn't change but...things, life did. She has Sage to take care of now, my son that i knew nothing about till a few years back.
She needed out of the life i live for a while, she needed to keep him safe, and i understood that. But i also understood that when she left...something was different. Something....ended.

And it tore my icy black heart open. Nothing can cut me like she can. And there is nothing that can dull the pain of separation from her. Not even Heroin could blot it out I'm sure. I've never believed in that 'One' love shit. But through it all, she's been there. Years i spent avoiding getting too serious with her, i dated others, Clio, Sicily, i fucked around, and then when the gang fell apart in the gang war that saw several members die, i left. I didn't know she was already pregnant. I never would have left her. Or maybe i would. I dunno, I'm a much different person now to who i was back then.
I moved from place to place again, never staying too long and then i found Hathian, saw Clio within the first few moments, had a drink, then bumped into Kayla. I mean seriously, were all my exes here?
Shit hadn't changed between me and Kayla, it was still violent, that first re-encounter brought me back face to face with Zero, i didn't know of course that she'd had a couple brats by him, so when i raped her i thought I'd just walk away and that would be it.

But Zero soon found me, gave me the beating he felt i deserved for raping his baby-mama and i took it like the man I'd grown to be. Then he invited me back to his. I became, once more, family to him, and in the coming days i re-connected with Alana too, who was with him. And met many others. Maks, Du..Kat, Monk. Lauren. Maks, such a cute motherfucker. Damn i tried hard to get into that ass. But it wasn't to be. Ah well, there were plenty more fish out there.

The rest is history. Alana and i dated again, for a second time, shit went wrong, i got heavier into drugs, Aiya was a distant memory. I didn't think of her, i kept myself busy, got into the gang life, learned how to be the man i am today, from Zero, who became not only a friend, but a mentor too in the coming years, and then a brother. The family changed over the years, people left, Maks, Kat, Monk, Lauren. And new people came in, Ipos, Gen. She became a good friend to me too, but then, too soon, she left. And so did i.

My life was chaotic back then, i was shooting up daily. Getting high at every turn, overdosing at least once a week, drinking way too much, making stupid decisions, acting the fool. God knows how Zero coped with me, before he sent to rehab for a year.
I started killing too, my first kill, i still remember. The feel of thick, warm blood on my hands was intoxicating. The taste, the smell of it, was even more so. From that day i was sold on the taking of life. It was a new high. It had been such a slick kill too, faultless. No mistakes. And she'd been such a sweet death. I can still see the look in her eyes as i shoved my knife up her cunt. Its the sweetest way to die.

I cant help smirking as i toss the paper towel in the waste basket and i turn to leave, a guy entering, his shoulder brushing mine and for a moment our eyes meet, and i know he wants me. It's easy to tell when someone does, there's a look in their eyes. No words are needed.
I keep on walking, tearing my eyes away, my dick giving a twitch where it lays curled in my jeans. He's not the high I'm looking for tonight, maybe tomorrow I'll let him suck my cock, but tonight....tonight I'm looking for something else. Something a little....darker.

I re-enter the bar, and Dom frowns, waves a hand at me, flicking his digits towards a glass of whiskey, that by now is slightly warm with how long I've taken in the toilet. I give a nonchalant shrug and pass through the crowd again, the twerking asses of a couple blond tourists catching my eye. I take a moment to perv as i pass, and one of the girls throws me a flirty smile, i know that look, and i smile back, throwing in a wink for good measure.
I don't have to do a thing, she'll come to me. They always do.
I find a seat, grabbing up my whiskey and i take a large swig, feeling the copper liquid burn my throat with a sensual familiarity that i can never get enough of. Sure, i probably do have a drink problem, but it's under control these days. Well mostly.
I still have that volcanic temper that I'm known for but i control it much better in my 'old age'. Even so, its not unusual for me to get into a scrap most days.
But then i love a good scrap. It gets the blood flowing and my dick hard. I like the violence, i like the pain, i like the sting of skin torn, and blistered and bruised. I get off on it, strange as it sounds.
Maybe I'm a masochist, but we all gotta have a kink, right?

The blond doesn't take long to slither up beside me, and her flirty smile matches my own as i slide my gaze down her thin body. I'd much prefer her to have more meat on her, but beggars can't be choosy, and the local girls know me by reputation now. Five months in Cuba and everyone knows my name and what I'm capable of. Which is good for making people leave you alone, though every now and then you do get a 'stag' coming up to you to butt horns.
But it never gets them what they want, most of them are piss-poor tourists who's only scrap has been a feckless throwing of drunk punches at the club.

Having had many a fight, I'm well versed in fighting dirty, and they never match me in skill. It almost makes me miss home, least there the fights are at least equal. Here....I'm too tough for my own good. It's boring.
The girl is saying something, i frown, pulling my mind back to the present and i glance down at the capped off stub of my little finger, where once i had one. She's asking what happened to it. I raise my eyes to her face and taking a breath i tell her that after getting into it with the cops, i was arrested, locked up in solitary and then tortured, and beaten, before being made to watch my nephew have his ear cut off, having my finger cut off by a corrupt cop right after. I grin, a wolfish, predatory look in my eyes as i wonder if she'll believe me, and of course she thinks I'm joking.
Oh if only she knew....

She jabbers away, her jersey girl accent grating on my sensitive ears, and i swear if i hear her say 'like' one more damn time.....
'The Stub' is why I'm actually here, you know. I needed more work on it. When the wound had been stitched up, it hadn't healed right, and the skin had pulled too tight which gave me a lot of pain. So i found this clinic not too far from here, private, that did excellent surgery work on this kind of thing, so that's where i spent the first month of my vaca.
The last five months though have been nothing but barwork, drinking sessions, fucking, dancing with sexy hoochies, and hustlin'. Did manage to make a couple of new connections too, for the import business back home. Cuban cigars and coffee, check. Zero will be pleased.

Damn, she's still going on. I really need to shut this girl up. I stare at her, charming smile fixed to my face and she thinks I'm listening to her talk about her life back in the 'hills', her lil dog Fifi, and the fact her mum is...like...so out of order for not getting her a car for her 21st, but I'm not.
I'm actually thinking about which part of her i want to cut first.
Cos this bitch, she's gonna bleed tonight.

Okay, enough is enough. I down my drink, sliding it back onto the bar and push to my feet, she looks surprised. stopped in mid-flow, thinking I'm leaving. I dip my head and whisper in her ear, give her a wink, and then I'm gone, the sound of generic dance music fading from my head as i step outside. I fumble for my smokes, sweeping my gaze round warily, and lighting up i turn and make my way round the side of the bar. The air is still warm, but the streets are silent, and i slip into the shadows to lean against the wall, near the back of the property.

I don't have long to wait, she comes stumbling, drunk, round the side of the building, almost falling into the van, which blocks me from view at the road, and i cant help shaking my head as she places the pink cowboy hat back on her head.
Seriously....no fucking class. Not like....i shake my head, i don't want to think about her right now, i cant. I take a couple hits of nicotine and then flick the cigarette away, right at her, which makes her squeal and she gives me a disapproving look.
I flash her my most boyish, apologetic look and she comes to me, all skinny limbs and beer breath, and i wrap her up in my own arms, lips honing in on the soft flesh of her neck. She groans and i know she wants it, hard and fast, up against the wall.
Well I'm nothing if not accommodating. One hand lifts and slips into her top, fingertips finding a nipple and i squeeze it tight, maybe a little too tight, but i cant help it. I'm addicted.
To drink. To sex. And to something else. All three will be satisfied tonight.

I cover her mouth with my own, kissing her with a fierce lust, a ferocity that bites and possesses her completely, and then suddenly she gasps and her eyes bulge wide, mouth opens more as a silent scream tears from her. I bite at her lower lip, and grin wickedly as i pull back slightly, just enough so that i can look into her face, to see her fear and pain, and feast on it. My head tilts to the side slightly as i devour every emotion that flickers across her face and i can see that she is confused as to what is happening.
Nothing that hasn't happened many times before, bitch. You're just another name on a long ass list, i tell her.
And then her head slowly lowers as she looks down, and then i look down, and my smile grows at the sight of thick steel plunged deep in her belly, blood welling up around the handle, the red liquid trickling over my hand and dripping off it onto the ground and her fake prada strappy pink sandals.

Her eyes widen even more and she looks up at me again, our eyes meet and i give her that wink again, before i lean in and kiss her sensually on the mouth. I whisper to her, telling her that before this night is over, she will be dead.
And i will watch her die, i tell her , and i will savour the buzz of watching the light fade from her eyes. And then i give a low chuckle, stupid bitch. Did you really think that a vacuous tart like you could please me in any other way than to die? You are nothing compared to....to...her.
She slithers to the floor as i suddenly yank my army knife out of her and i watch her fall, her eyes still wide and on me, un-believing of all that is happening. I know what she's thinking, vain bitch.
But I'm too pretty to die. Wrong bitch, you're way too ugly. Crouching by her, she starts to shake, the fear and pain too much for her, but i ignore her now, leaning forward to wipe the blood from my knife on her unbuttoned but tied at the bottom shirt.

Shoving my knife back into my belt loop i push back up to my feet and glancing round warily i then reach for her and drag her away from the wall, so she is flat on her back, silicone tits pointing to the stars.
This is my other addiction. Pain, rape, death. Torture, evil. It's a career I'm dedicated to. It's a job i love.

I lower myself onto her, forcing her limp legs wide and I'm unsurprised to find that she isn't wearing any panties, none of these tourist slags never do. Which is great for easy access. My eyes stay on hers, and hers on mine as i fumble at my fly, unzipping it, drawing out my dick, which grows in hardness quickly, by the second. What can i say?
Death, blood, pain, both inflicting it and feeling it myself makes me hard. Maybe it's my fucked up childhood, who knows. Either way, this is who i am now, for better or worse.
I don't wait, i shove my dick into her hard, without any care for her comfort and I'm pleased to see her wince as i tear out again, her eyes filling with tears as she starts to beg.
I need her to stay quiet, and i clap a hand tightly over her mouth.
Now she starts to panic, the realisation of what's happening to her, hitting her like a brick and i watch with lustful eyes as she begins to thrash, and kick, her body bucking, muffled screams hitting my hand like feathers. I laugh quietly and start to fuck her harder, and harder, grunting as i go, my tongue snaking out to lick her cheek, which makes her cringe and turn her face away. The other hand snaps up, and i grab her chin, yanking her face back to mine.

I need to watch, i want to see.

I watch with avid fascination as she sobs, and with each thrust, more blood sheds from the open slit in her belly, her life fading with it. On and on it goes, thrusting, fucking, grunting, her clothes and mine becoming covered in dust from the ground we lay on, blood mixing with the dirt below, a brush of scrub nearby splattered as i throw my hand to the ground to support me.

And then i see it, the light....it's fading. I stare hungrily into her eyes as she dies, my face the last thing she sees, and when she is finally dead I'm overcome with a ferocious need for release. I tear my hand off her face now and claw at her top, tearing it, her dead body being jolted as i fuck her like a ragdoll, and as lips close round her stiff nipple i can feel the blood between us, helping me thrust even harder as i slither back and forth over her.
Hands grip dirt and my head snaps up again, only to snap down once more as i sink my teeth into one of her breasts.
I bite. Till i taste blood, and i let it fill my mouth as i begin to fill her full of spunk, my own body now jerking, an animalistic growl making the blood in my mouth bubble as air escapes.

And then it is over, and i am suddenly cold, deflated. Left feeling grubby again and in need of a wash. I push myself weakly off her and stagger to my feet, looking down at the dusty, broken doll I've left on the floor and i smile. It's enough for tonight. I move away and clean myself up with the hosepipe nearby, washing the blood from my face, though the blood on my clothes will take some getting out.
Good thing i brought enough clothing with me to last a lifetime.

As i make my way back to my seedy motel room nearby my spine unbends and for the first time in weeks i stand up straight, my mind calm and untroubled.
But it doesn't last long, stepping through the door my mind turns to thoughts of home and i slump onto the bed, the faces of my family and friends....Zero, Ipos, Garrett, Kaid, Ryker, Seth, Kian, Dani....my favourite sister, Dani...flooding my consciousness. Maybe it's time to go home.
I groan and pull a pillow over my head.

Not yet. Not yet.

((This is ooc, this is not a journal anywhere ic that you'd be able to read. This is the musing, rantings, ravings of what goes on inside Matts head. I may or may not carry it on when i get back. We'll see. Oh btw, if i missed out any exes names, sorry, but my memory is shit. Ha!

On an ooc note, I've had rl pc and net issues which have kept me away, I'm working on getting better net which will allow me to come back, so I'll see you all soon 'kay?))