'The fuck he's been at?!' The word anger could not justify what Monty had been feeling since Ray left the house without giving him his pay. The boys had made a deal, a deal that should not have been broken for the merchant in the maze were not doing charity. 'I'm gonna beat the ever living shit out of this bastard...'
Standing in front of Ray's house cloaked like a merchant of the maze himself, his dark eyes glanced around late at night trying to find some way to slip into the house without being caught instantly. Moving through the shadows, he slipped closer to the building. Keeping himself hidden in the house's shade, he moved around without a sound until he noticed a window by what should've been Ray's room.
'There, I should be able to unlock it and get in.' Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small hairpin and extended it to be straight. Slipping the pin in between the shutters of the window panels, he moved it up and down until he felt a latch on the other end. 'Put it under and pull it up, that should do it...'
Doing just as he'd told himself, the young boy managed to undo the latch holding the window closed. Putting the pin back into his pocket, he looked around the dark streets, ensuring nobody was watching him as he pulled himself in through the window. Once inside, his eyes instantly laid on Ray–fast asleep with beads on beads of sweat trailing down his face and the rest of his body.
'Is he sick?' Smelling the sweat and grime in the air, Monty covered his nose and began snooping through Ray's room. He was looking for the money he was owed by his 'so-called' friend. He'd bought the portrait from him after all, and it's been way past the due date for his payment.
Glancing over to him again as he slept, Monty let down his hood and pondered just why the idiot ran away from giving him his payment. Unaware that Ray was dragged away by his mother before he could give Monty anything, the boy wanted to spit on his face.
'You wanna jerk off to your mom, fucking fine, but pay me you motherfucker.' Still holding his anger, Monty kept looking around for the money that he was owed for peddling the painting. 'I should beat the shit out of him next time he comes begging me for that dream drug.'
Summoning a dark astral hand with his thief abilities, the boy stuffed the used clothes down Ray's throat with the dark hand. Choking him as he stared wide-eyed at him, Monty spat on Ray's face and began punching him while he struggled to scream with the many pairs of panties down stuffing his mouth.
Unsure if he was dreaming or if this was real life, Ray's mind was shattered more than it already was, thanks to the drugs that made him jerk off all day, night and even in his dreams.
By the time he realized what was happening to him, blood covered every inch of his face, his eyes were swollen from the beating and his mouth and throat cut in places from the crust clothes shoved down inside him forcefully.
Leaving him in a bloody mess, his own knuckles now scrapped of skin, Monty stood by the window glaring Ray down. For half an hour, the boy bounced between wanting to beat Ray some more or simply leaving the house. Finally, as he made the decision to let him live, he didn't wanna go without at least a word of warning.
"You come to my house next time and so much as look at my sister..." Clenching his fist with narrowed eyebrows, the boy let his anger be known in his temperate tone. "I'll kill you, Ray. You might be a friend, but I don't love ya more than my sister loves knitting."
A comfortable house, a horde of customers every winter even though the folks of the lower city couldn't afford to buy new clothes every year, a good standard of education for himself, and enough money to feed themselves until the next winter...In that moment, everything became clear to the tortured boy.
His friend was nothing like the sorry excuse of a man that he was, but rather a brother who innocently loved and secretly helped his sister.
Yet, his mind scrambled by his depravity and the drug to make him dream surreally, all Ray could think was how he could get the cage off of his cock–something that he wouldn't have to worry about as the next morning would come, but not in ways he could've expected, instead as an man whose fate would be 'locked' forever.