Angst. Inspired by TheChildOfAGroup oop--
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Lies.

That's all Cross could hear-at least, that's all he thought he heard. He and Killer had been 'happily' together for around a year and some months to sprinkle on top, but apparently that wasn't enough for Cross to see just how much Killer trusted him.

This spiral of distrust all started about a week ago-on the night Killer gently proposed to take Cross away, in a different way than those awful men who greedily took his first time away. Cross agreed, and sure enough, this version was completely different... But, all the while, he couldn't help but wonder if this was true love. The love he had known was never this gentle-what if this wasn't love at all? What if what his father said was all true? No one could love a broken body, no one would take a broken mind... Cross started mentally panicking. What if he had to go back? That kind of harsh love was the only kind of love he knew to be true, after all. Not this gentle cloud of bliss. If it's something you're used to, then surely that means that nothing is wrong, right? It just means that only he is strong enough to accept the love his father wishes to provide. And besides... If he is already broken, then it's true. No one could ever truly love Cross, he might as well lock himself back with his father! His body can't be broken any more, there's no point...

With a small smile, Cross kissed his lover on the forehead.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me... I'm just a bad boy returning to Daddy. It's too late to fix the damage that has been done... I might as well be locked up until my end." Small, silent tears slipped down Cross's cheeks at his own words, and he beat himself up for it mentally-broken toys aren't allowed to cry.

He stood up, legs shaking at the thought of going back, but he pushed through. He left his room, and made his way to the front door, opening it and stepping out into the sharp air. It was so dry outside that a single breath felt as though it was tearing up his bone, but he knew that was just his nerves acting up. And so he started walking. Walking back to his abuser, to his father.

After a chilling half hour, he was there. He opened the door, and was immediately greeted with multiple men-some of which he recognized-and the wide grin of his father.

"I knew you'd be back, dearest daughter." Cross gulped at being called daughter. He was male, but not in the house. In the house, he became she. "Go on. Have your fun with her." He signaled the surrounding men, and Cross panicked, but didn't try to leave.

'She' knew better than to fight back. She left her heart out for them, and they feasted. They never stopped, even when she fell silent.

Silent.

Killer woke up to an empty bed that day, and rushed to the paper. It couldn't be. Did he really do it-? Was he not enough to keep his suicidal tendencies at bay?

He rushed out into the cold air, grabbed a paper and flipped to the obituary. No. Not... Not him. He was...

He never knew the real reason why, just that he was gone. All of the ropes loosened.

Empty house.
Empty bed.

Empty.

...

Silence.

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And I oop-- 581, oof. I'M SORRY, KILLS!