Escape to Evie
The first thing he sees is a blurred fist coming from the left. It lands hard on his jaw and sends his thin, waving form spinning down. He lands on his stomach and tries to lean up on his left side. A cry forces its way pas his lips as a leather boot hits his abdomen once, then twice, and soon it’s landed eight hits. Blood spurts from the cuts on his inner lips from when his skin rubbed against his braces as he was hit, and fresh blood gets coughed up.
“Migelle looses. Winner is Alph.”
Back in his room at the brothel, Migelle sits on his bed, tending to his wounds. He looked up at the emptiness of the room and sighed. He wanted someone to talk to; a friend to keep him sane in this place.
“‘Hard fight today, huh?’ He would say. ‘Sorry man. I wish they’d stop picking on you.’ Then he’d help me clean my cuts and... and we’d just talk.”
Migelle looked up at the grey walls of his room, and the equally grey cot which he now sat on. His door had been locked from the outside, and he had been left one of the shitiest first-aid kit in the place. He laid down on his cot, and then there was a rummaging sound at the door, and someone walked in.
“Of course you wouldn’t knock. Why would you feel the need?” Migelle muttered to himself as the man walked in.
“You lost.” The man said, matter-of-factly. He was a large man, and he wore a dark purple suit with a green tie and matching shoes.
“I know.” Migelle replied, just as blank.
The large man sighed. “I had money on you, kid. You’re supposed to win when I bet on you.”
“I tried, but Alph’s faster than me.”
“He’s a shrimp!”
“A fast shrimp! Gimme a break, okay?”
Migelle looked down at his wounds and the man walked up and put a knife to his throat, lifting his head back up. “A break? Winners get breaks. Not you. You lost me money, so you have to get it back for me.”
The man nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m all bloody now! And I just regained consciousness! I can’t do that now!”
“Oh, that’s okay, boy.” The man smiled. “He likes them a little bloody.”
The man stepped aside and in entered another man. This one was tall and fat; he wore a grey suit that bulged at the seams and a mask over his eyes.
“This is ‘Master Dom’.”
“Oh, how original...” Migelle thought, rolling his eyes in his head.
“Master Dom would like to buy you for an hour.”
“But I paid the two-hour price!” ‘Dom’ bellowed.
“Ah, but sir, we had to go through a lot of trouble to get him in this condition; just look at his wounds! Do you think we like harming our boys? No...of course we don’t. So, it costs extra.”
‘Dom’ frowned and nodded. Migelle was thankful that he didn’t seem to have enough for a real two hours.
When ‘Master Dom’ finally left, Migelle was praying for rest. He lay down on his dirtied cot and closed his eyes.
“I can’t do this anymore...” He whispered, panting slightly. “I just can’t.”
That night was a hard one for rest; Migelle’s body ached and his room wouldn’t be cleaned until morning. Through closed eyes he saw an open door, and then himself walking out of it. He got up and went to the only open door around; the door to his bathroom.
He opened the door to his bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. The swelling on his mouth had gone down, and his wounds had stopped bleeding. He washed his shirt in the sink and stroked his hair back.
“I hate this mirror.” He muttered, turning away from it. He hated it because he could see himself in it; see what he’d done. He pulled at the edges of the mirror, trying to force the nails out. The more the mirror resisted, the more he pulled at it. He wanted it down; he didn’t want to see himself anymore; ever.
He screamed and fell back; there was a slight sound of metal hitting panels. Migelle looked up at the mirror. One of its corners had come undone, and there was a nail on the ground. He picked it up and twirled it in his fingers.
Migelle walked over to the main door of his room and started to fiddle around the lock. After about twenty minutes he realized that he would need something else to move the inner workings while he held part of it down.
He went back to the bathroom and started pulling at the mirror again. When it wouldn’t budge, he noticed a wire running through the back, holding the back panel up. He dug the nail into the panel and released the wire. IT was much too thin to be used for anything, so he twisted it around itself until it was stronger. Then, he went back to the door.
The door to Migelle’s room opened after another ten minutes of quiet fidgeting by sweaty hands. He opened it slowly; holding his breath. It was past midnight sometime for sure, and no one was up. Those that were up, of course, were in their rooms or at the front desk. Migelle decided to sneak out the back where the least amount of people would be, and moved slowly. He brought nothing with him, like the other times, and held his breath all the way down the hall.
He passed three rooms on his way out; Alph’s, Jerad’s and Hikaru’s; none of them would be missed, nor would they miss him. When he reached the back door he watched himself place his palm on it. The metal felt cool and hard; he wanted to remember this feeling. He had never made it quite this far before. He made it outside only once, but that was through the front door and he was caught quickly.
“This time,” He thought “This time I have a chance.”
He pushed firmly on the door and it opened. He pushed it open only enough for his skinny form to pass through, and closed it softly. He walked slowly through the back lot; quietly but with purpose.
“Don’t look out of place. You belong out here. You’re doing nothing suspicious.”
It worked for one glance by a worker putting the garbage out; one glance. The second glance was a step toward Migelle; eyes squinted. After that, there was running by both of them.
“Get back here, kid! Don’t make this harder for yourself!”
Migelle’s feet echoed on the pavement in the night; his shoes skidded against curves and turns, and his breath was heavy. He was still exhausted from before.
“Fuck! Get your ass back here!”
“I’m not...going...back!” His words were panted out through gritted teeth, and he ran harder. He ran through a town he didn’t know, and he ran into an alley. He ran so hard and so fast that he didn’t notice the wall until it was too late to escape it and turn back. The man chasing him panted against the only exit and smirked.
“Migelle. Why am I not surprised that it’s you?”
“Just let me leave! I don’t care about the debt! Take the fucking house and kill the old man, just let me go!”
“But you’re a favorite, kid.” The man walked towards Migelle; a hand in his pocket. “We love you.”
“Fuck your ‘love’.”
The man frowned and he sighed, pulling a gun out of his pocket. “Listen, you’ve had your fun. Made it real far this time; good job. But it’s time to go home.”
“I’m not going back. Not again.”
The man aimed his gun. ”Migelle. Come.”
“I’m not a dog!” Migelle took a step forward, and he was shot in the leg. He fell down, crying out with the sudden pain.
“You sure about that, kid?”
Migelle looked up at the man and the gun pointed at him; he gritted his teeth. “Positive.”
Thus the second shot was fired. Migelle’s eyes fluttered as he tried to keep consciousness through the stinging. He was losing blood quickly.
“Sad to see you go like this, kid. You did good back at the brothel. Real good. Good fighter; good fucker... But if it can’t be helped, it can’t be helped.”
“I-I’d rather...die...in the...alley...”
The man ignored him and rambled on. “You know, I was waiting until you were eighteen, since I got morals an’ all, but this may be my last chance...”
“Don’t you...dare...” Migelle fluttered in and out of consciousness slowly. He bit his lip and tried to stay awake as the man walked over to him, smirking with his gun out. Blackness was seeping into his eyes but still he looked up; wanting to defend himself. He would not be made into this man’s whore anymore; especially not now. He moved his gaze up, and saw something strange as the blackness finally started to take him. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked like a bottle rising behind his attackers head...