chapter 22

As Benji lay sleeping on the bed, his body curled up beneath the safety of the blanket, Eric watched with a twisted sense of satisfaction. He knew that he had left his mark on Benji, his seed planted deep within him like a vile, poisonous vine.

A cruel smile twisted Eric's lips as he gazed down at the sleeping form before him. In his mind, he relished the thought of the havoc he had wreaked, the power he had wielded over Benji's innocence and vulnerability.

"He's mine now," Eric whispered to himself, his voice dripping with malevolent glee. "Body and soul."

With a sense of perverse triumph, Eric reveled in the knowledge that he had claimed Benji as his own, leaving behind a legacy of pain and suffering that would haunt him for the rest of his days. And as he watched the rise and fall of Benji's sleeping form, a sickening sense of satisfaction washed over him, filling him with a sickening sense of pride.

But even as Eric basked in his depraved victory, a nagging voice whispered in the back of his mind—a voice that spoke of guilt and remorse, of the consequences of his actions. But Eric quickly silenced that voice, drowning it out with the deafening roar of his own twisted desires.

"He's mine," Eric repeated to himself, his voice growing louder with each utterance. "And there's nothing he can do to escape me."

With a final, triumphant laugh, Eric turned away from the sleeping figure on the bed, leaving behind a trail of destruction and despair in his wake. And as he disappeared into the darkness, he knew that his reign of terror was far from over—that as long as Benji lay sleeping, his nightmare would continue, a never-ending cycle of pain and suffering from which there was no escape.

As Benji woke up, tears streamed down his cheeks, his body racked with sobs of anguish and despair. Eric watched him with a mixture of curiosity and detachment, his expression unreadable as he sat next to him on the bed.

"I let my desire control me and cause pain," Benji choked out between sobs, his voice thick with emotion. He buried his face in his hands, unable to bear the weight of his own guilt and shame.

Eric reached out and grabbed Benji's arm, pulling him closer with a firm yet gentle grip. "How did you feel when I forced you?" he asked quietly, his tone betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the mask of his usual indifference.

Benji's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to find the words to express the depth of his pain and anguish. But no words came—only tears, hot and bitter against his skin.

Eric's grip tightened ever so slightly, his eyes searching Benji's face for some sign of understanding. "That's exactly how I felt when my own mother did this to me," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not only did she bruise my body, but she stabbed me—stabbed me in the heart with her betrayal."

Benji's eyes widened in shock at Eric's revelation, the weight of his words sinking in with a crushing force. He could scarcely comprehend the depths of Eric's suffering, the pain and trauma that had shaped him into the broken and tormented soul he had become.

In that moment, Benji realized that he and Eric were not so different after all—that they were both victims of a cruel and indifferent world, struggling to make sense of the pain and suffering that had been inflicted upon them.

And as he looked into Eric's eyes, Benji saw not just the darkness that lurked within him, but also the glimmer of something else—something fragile and wounded, yet still flickering with the faintest spark of hope.

For in that moment of shared pain and vulnerability, Benji knew that he and Eric were bound together by something stronger than mere desire or attraction. They were bound together by the shared experience of suffering, by the unspoken understanding that they were both survivors in a world that sought to destroy them.

And as they sat together in the silence of that darkened room, their tears mingling with the shadows that enveloped them, Benji felt a sense of kinship and connection that transcended the boundaries of fear and pain. And in that fleeting moment of shared humanity, he dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, they could find a way to heal the wounds that bound them together, and forge a path towards redemption and forgiveness.

As Eric tenderly cared for Benji's body, his touch gentle and reassuring, he couldn't help but feel a sense of tenderness towards him. With each caress, he felt a strange warmth enveloping him, as if he were reaching out to a part of himself that he had long forgotten.

"Easy there, furball," Eric murmured softly, his voice filled with a rare tenderness as he ran his fingers lightly over Benji's skin. He couldn't explain the sudden surge of affection he felt towards him, but there was something about the vulnerability in Benji's eyes that touched him deeply.

Benji flinched slightly at the nickname, but he made no move to pull away from Eric's touch. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing under Eric's gentle ministrations.

Eric continued to caress Benji's body, his movements slow and deliberate as he worked to ease the tension that had built up within him. With each stroke, he felt a sense of peace washing over him, as if the act of caring for Benji was somehow soothing his own troubled soul.

"I'm sorry," Eric whispered, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in closer to Benji. "I'm sorry for what I did to you. I never meant to hurt you."

Benji opened his eyes and looked up at Eric, his gaze filled with a mixture of pain and forgiveness. "I know," he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me."

Eric's heart ached at the sight of Benji's tears, and he longed to reach out and comfort him. But he knew that some wounds ran too deep to be healed with mere words.

Instead, he continued to caress Benji's body, his touch a silent apology for the pain he had caused. And as they lay together in the darkness, their bodies entwined in a silent embrace, Eric dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, they could find solace in each other's arms, and begin to heal the wounds that had brought them together.