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Destined for Destruction	By : ShadowSanctuary Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1463 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Destined for Destruction
- 1
Destined for Destruction

Walking the streets at night forces me to play a gome ome
game of Russian roulette. My customers are the handguns in my business, cocking
their barrel-like genitals in my face, grinning because they know they�ll
always have the upper hand when I�m around them. Their chambers are fully
locked and loaded, held by iron-hard hands that could easily break bones. Some
have actually fractured parts of me. I hope I never give them the pleasure of
committing worse than that. But my chances at survival dwindle each time I
leave my apartment, whenever a psychotic patron approaches me, every day I wake
up in a trash littered alley, bloody beyond recognition and without any
recollection of what happened. Why do I do this to myself? What twisted fuck
allows himself to be publicly degraded for twenty bucks, sometimes earning less
than scrap change in an ashtray? The answer may not be pure, but it sure is
simple: me.

I�m
the one pushing myself to do this, to be a human sex animal, sucking off every
infected heathen who taunts me with some bills. I�m the boy-turned-bitch,
flashing perfect strangers my childish, underdeveloped body. I�m also the idiot
who chose to stay with an egotistical, insecure asshole. Someone who swore he�d
never hurt me. Someone who even dared to claim he loved me.

That
liar. It�s not even a year into our relationship and he makes it his
entertainment to fuck me harder than any of my clients do. Damned rapist. I
sometimes wonder if my being stranded unconscious is the work of a random drunk
or my so-called lover�s doing. There�s a catch phrase that hangs in the crowds
of gang bangers, white-collar crooks, and other shady creatures that roam the
causeways out here: there�s some things in life you�re better off not
knowing. For the most part, I ignored whatever anyone told me. Taking the
advice of an addict, alcoholic, or drug dealer never appealed to me, but their
little slogan haunted me worse than my fear of being abducted did. I guess it
made sense to me �cause there was a ring of truth to it. The hung-over freaks
had that right: there were some things I was better off not
knowing. And contemplating whether or not I would be my boyfriend�s next
statistic was one of them.

My
head hurts. Thinking about complicated crap makes the hour seem later than it
is. A quick glance at my watch tells me it�s only one a.m. It already feels
like it�s somewhere around three thirty, quarter to four. I lift my eyes from
the asphalt and dispel an annoyed sigh.
&nbs[end[endif]>
Oh,
joy, I
think sarcastically, four more hours. Only four more hours to go, then
that�s it. Another night�ll be over. I�ll be free.

Freedom. The idea of going wherever I want and doing
whatever the hell I choose to almost makes me laugh.

Being
free�what�s that? Really, what the fuck is that all about?

Shaking
my head, I jam a shaky hand into my cool, crotch-level shorts. The bottoms are
snazzy, but the damned things cut off my circulation. That�s not to mention the
fact that they ride up my ass every time I make a move, or that they give sickos
a free shot of tail as I pass them by. I can stand pulling the leather out of
my crack, but I hate-I mean really fucking hate it-when some loser at a
crosswalk assumes I love having my butt grabbed. Those screw holes. I�m a pay-per-view
babe, not a play-per-view charity. Get the fucking Playboy channel
if you can�t keep you�re cock to yourself, you arrogant bastards.

Hey,
I tell
myself vacantly, it�s all about letting yourself go, about being totally
free, right?

Cracking a bitter grin, I pull out a box of smokes from my
pocket.

�Mmm�� I murmur, practically salivating at the sight of my
dearest, oldest friend, �cancer. Possible lung problems. Death by nicotine.�

Gingerly,
I pluck a cigarette from the carton, throw the empty cardboard over my shoulder,
then stick the coveted prize in my mouth. I can already taste the rolled
tobacco on my tongue, driving my senses wild with its intoxicating scent. For a
few seconds, I stop shivering. The cravings for noxious gases are declining. I
can�t believe how much the notion of inhaling dangerous chemicals calms me
down. Who cares if I don�t get a gig tonight? I�ve got what I need right here,
in my hand, and that�s all that matters. Nothing can get to me- not getting
raped, having the shit kicked out of me by the light of my life, not even my
chronic paranoia of never returning home again. Bullshit, that�s all bullshit
to me at this point. Now it�s just me an� my mistress, Virginia Slim, enjoying
each other�s company by sucking the life outta one another. I�ll gladly drink that
honey up with a straw. Yeah, baby.

An
early morning wind ruffles my bangs, as I search my jacket for a lighter. I�ve
got a whole freaking convenience store of items shoved in these satin
compartments, everything from Tylenol (half a bottle spent on last night�s
hangover), to gum, last-minute cosmetic touch-ups, even a few condoms to guard
against STDs. Rubbers. Now that�s a joke. Hardly any of my customers
agreed to use protection. Most flat-out refused.

�God
damn it!� I swore angrily, teeth chomping at the bit, wanting nothing
more than to give into habitual addiction. �Where�s it at? Where is that
damned thing?�

My
hands rummage through the onyx compartments once more, shaking with
anticipation, motivated by an oncoming withdrawal. There�s no way I�d be able
to handle being out here alone without my menthols. No way, no how. It just
can�t be done. Frantic fingers scour every hole present, touching everything
around them, feeling nothing but numb as they push countless objects aside.

�Let�s
see�� I mumble absently, forfeiting potential jobs for a longer break, �lip
gloss, eyeliner, foundation, breath mint wrappers, miniature vibrator, a pair
of hoops, arm socks-� Realizing my beloved flame thrower was nowhere to be
found, I balled my hands into tight fists and clenched my jaw. �Shit! Whm I m I
gonna do? Just what the hell am I supposed to do now?�

Great.
I haven�t met my quota yet, I�m freezing in clothes that can�t equal more than
a yard�s worth of material, and I�ve wasted an ass load of time looking for a
cheap butane lighter that was probably stolen while I was on the city bus.
Yeah, sweetheart, Yami�s gonna love that pitiful excuse of mine. I bet
he�ll be so amused by my stupidity that I�ll be choking on my own blood before
sunrise tomorrow. Pissed at myself, I press my head against a street lamp,
sullenly staring at the cracks in the sidewalk as a car skids past.

Shoulda
bought the damned thing. I reasoned internally. Gas stations up the blsellsell �em four for a
dollar. Why jack around trying to find some fire starter when they go for such
a low price elsewhere? Am I really so dumb that I can�t save myself the trouble
and just go pick one up? What am I, some fucking masochist?

Too busy talking smack; I don�t even notice the dark figure
in front of me until a sharp pain rips through my body. Cold reality is
gripping me by the hair, jerking my head back, provoking a terrified scream
from my throat, but I never get that far. One large palm covers my mouth while
another jabs a weapon in my siTherThere is no doubt in my mind what is
happening. I am being held hostage. No mercy will be shown. I�m on my own. In
other words, I�m as good as dead.

�If
you struggle, if you try to make a single break for it while I have you,
I�ll slit your throat.� the shadow threatens in a low, menacing voice. �Got it,
you prissy cunt?� When I didn�t respond fast enough, he stuck his blade by my
neck, poking my Adam�s apple with the dull tip. �Got it?� he repeated,
more loudly, even more aggressively.

Not
ready to journey to the afterlife just yet, I quickly nod my head. Any wrong
move could set this guy off. He was a real piece of work all right, using
fear-based tactics to get me to comply with his dirty demands. I hate being a
whore. I mean I really, really hate being this way. If the controlling,
possessive bitch I was engaged to didn�t threaten to decapitate me, I would
have quit this God-forsaken �profession� of mine ihearheartbeat. But, as luck
would have it, I�m not in a position to make that kinda choice. I�m not even in
the right position to prevent myself from becoming another murder story.

Where
are you?
my blood-shot eyes question the apocalyptic skies. Where are you angels
when I need you? Where�s that precious heavenly father that�s rumored to grant miracles
to the destitute, who preaches that simply believing in Him will save you from
any self-created hell?

�You�you
coward.� I spat hatefully under my breath. �God, if you truly exist,
you�re nothing but a demented coward.�

How
else could a loving, compassionate creator let shit like this go one? What
other explanation was there, besides the one I came up with? Well, fuck the
religion rap. Fuck religion, fuck it all, �cuz no one cares how far you fall.
No one. Not your abusive reject of a fianc�e, lunatics who stalk you on the
street, or God Almighty perched on His big, cocky cloud throne in heaven. No
one gives a damn about you. Not even yourself.

Feeling
closer to hell than I ever have, I let myself be dragged behind a ghetto
pawnshop, imagining the broken glass on the ground to be shards of an angel�s
wings destined for destruction.
- 1
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Destined for Destruction