Hands of a Monster includes mentions and descriptions of rape, unconsensual drug and alcohol use, obsessive behaviors bordering abusive, graphic sex, mature humor, and is generally considered dubcon.
A/N: This is an old story of mine.
I did a slight re-write so if you've read it before some things may have changed. Apologies for any typos, I still need an editor.
Read at your own risk, noting the warnings above.
Chapter One: Bitter Lightweight
Sometimes Colby wished his friends were a little more sympathetic to his very low alcohol tolerance levels. Why was it that Ashton Singleton and Tristan Locksley were always trying to get him drunk? Ever since high school it was the same story – they would convince Colby to have at least one drink. Then somehow, it always turned into two. And by his fourth Colby was done for, much to the delighted amusement of his filthy drunk friends who would just continue to drink the whole night and sucker him into doing all kinds of things.
The young male glared at his friends as they sat at their favourite local restaurant. They'd decided to meet for dinner, and it was pretty close to the campus so none of them ever had an excuse to refuse, despite the fact they saw each other near constantly.
What were friends for if not to share butter chicken on a Friday night? Which is how the conversation had started. Ashton and Tristan, popular guys in their own rights, were wondering just what the fuck they were doing there when they could've been at the clubs hooking up.
Colby hated this.
Hooking up meant they would be forcing him to drink and playing "grabs" on girls while Colby sat drunkenly in a corner trying not to puke.
"Seriously, I need a good fuck. All these exams are getting to me," Tristan said, sitting back in his chair and shoving a thick piece of naan bread into his mouth, chewing slowly. Colby's dark amber eyes narrowed and he could feel his bottom lip curling nastily.
He knew what was coming.
Before he could speak, Ashton barked out a laugh and stared at Tristan understandingly. "Let's go to Gongga. It's Beaver Night!"
Meaning Ladies Night, it was just that Ashton Singleton was as crude as they came. The same amber eyes threw a rather disgusted glare in Ashton's direction.
"No way," Colby refused, before he could be outspoken yet again. He hated Gongga most of all. It was dark and crowded in there; not to mention it was always so hot, like a sauna. He hadn't forgotten the last time he went... the feeling of sweat, discomfort, and loud music thumping in your ears.
Tristan and Ashton threw Colby an upsetting look.
"Colby, don't be like that man. You know how long it's been!" Tristan lamented. Colby pulled a face because he most certainly did not count down the days since his friend had last had sex. "Since Hannah! Do you want my dick to fall off? Do you?" Tristan looked as accusing as he sounded.
Colby refused to be guilted into this, again. He had just opened his mouth to remind Tristan that he'd only just broken up with Hannah the other day when he was interrupted.
"Yeah!" Ashton said, fist pumping in the air, his elaborate gestures and loud decibels resulting in a few glares from other customers dining around them. "He even told me my dick was going to fall off the other day."
Colby crossed his arms, barely phased by the teasing of his so called friends. "Look you cokehead bastards, I'll go. But I'm not drinking. At all – and don't get me wrong, Tristan. I would love for you to find a girlfriend again so that I don't have to be put through this bullshit anymore."
Every word true, Colby whipped out a twenty, slammed it on the table and headed for his car.
The night was going to be a long one.
"I did coke one time!" Ashton shouted indignantly, loud enough for even Colby's retreating back to hear. "One time and he's still calling me a cokehead!"
It was with a heavy heart that Colby picked up the call two hours later. Ashton's low voice was on the other line, thick with adrenaline at the night to come.
"Are you ready?" he asked into Colby's ear, without so much as a hello being exchanged between them.
Colby sighed, staring at the outfit he picked in the full length mirror he shared with his dorm-mate, Kyle. Well-fitted dark jeans and an earth-toned button up shirt. He definitely wasn't going to be wearing anything fancy, because there was a very high chance he'd just end up puking on himself anyway. As was normally the case.
His hair – thick, sandy brown and in a permanent state of bed-head – was as styled as it would ever be.
"I guess I'm ready," he replied, trying not to sound as resigned as he felt.
"Good because I'm right outside." Just then a knock sounded from the door to his room and Colby nearly jumped a foot in the air. He bit back the urge to scream and resented the chuckle coming from the other end of the line. "Let me in."
Trying for the millionth time to smooth down his hair, Colby whipped his door back and stared at Ashton Singleton like he was shit on his shoe. Which he pretty much was, in Colby's opinion. Ashton Singleton was known not only for his reckless, no-boundaries enthusiasm, but for being a filthy man slut. No girl (or guy) was too ugly, or too fat, or too anything for Ashton, with black hair cropped short and honey eyes that smouldered any person who dared look into them. As he stood in front of Colby, he swept both hands down his pansexual body and back up again, leading Colby's eyes like a cat with a laser pointer.
"How do I look?"
"Like you've got syphilis," Colby answered immediately once his eyes had made it back to Ashton's face.
"God I love you," Ashton said, now punching some digits into his phone and striding past his friend into the small dorm room. Ashton wore a permanent smile, and had a jawline most models killed for. His pale skin contrasted with his dark hair, and he wore expensive clothes the brands of which Colby wasn't even familiar.
With his phone to his ear, Colby couldn't really say anything else to Ashton. Though he really wanted to voice his desperate longing to stay in that night and not go out. He was tired of the same old shit happening again and again.
Someone picked up on the other line, because Ashton launched into conversation–long legs pacing around the small room.
"Hey, it's me. – Yeah, I'm with Colby. – Just picking him up. Are we meeting you there? – Sweet, call you when we're outside." He ended the call and then looked around the room as if suddenly trying to remember just how he'd gotten inside. "We gotta go," he said immediately, once his room-sweeping eyes landed onto Colby. "Tristan's waiting for us. Gongga's packed and they won't let him in for the reservation without me.."
Colby didn't find this very unlikely. Gongga was a hot bar, especially for University kids like himself because it was so close and the atmosphere different to a normal club. It sported spacious booths that accommodated even the largest party and was great for events.
He didn't get another word in as Ashton went and opened his door and beckoned him outside into the hall. Once there, Ashton threw an arm over Colby and began steering him towards the flight of stairs they'd have to take to the parking lot, his other hand fiddling with his phone's alarm clock.
"Got to wake up early tomorrow," he explained as if Colby had asked or cared. Though, usually, Ashton made a point of being unavailable until noon.
"Why are you picking me up anyway?" Colby wondered finally as they began their descent. He shrugged Ashton's arm off his shoulder who just used it to start up a game on his phone. "I could've met you guys there."
"Please," Ashton scoffed, selecting a difficult level he'd been stuck on for days. "We both know you would've been calling saying you were sick or something."
"If you know I hate it so much – " Colby began, feeling the heat coming to his face, "– then why do you insist I come along?"
Ashton looked up from his phone as they reached the bottom of the stairs and turned a corner to head to the exit. His phone flashed with a screen indicating he'd failed his attempt at the level. "You're our friend. Of course we want you there with us. Besides, you really need to get laid," he explained as if that were obvious, and important.
Colby did not feel better that his friends were doing this for his sake. "Pretty hard to get laid when you both get me drunk and tease me about it all night."
"But you like being drunk and teased...?" Ashton countered playfully, tone indicating he didn't see a problem even though it was the furthest thing from the truth. Colby punched him in the arm with a tight fist at his comment–unamused. "Ah, fucker!" Ashton hissed, rubbing at the spot defensively. He knew first hand how strong Colby was, and he made sure to keep an extra step of distance between them. "Anyway, I don't know why you're being such a fucking bitch about it lately. Remember when you couldn't get enough and used to follow us around?"
With lips tight, Colby pretended like he couldn't remember as they headed out into the cold night. But the truth was, he certainly did acknowledge a time when he thought Tristan Locksley and Ashton Singleton were the coolest kids he'd ever met and when he wanted to be a part of their world. Doing things Colby wouldn't otherwise have done, like drinking bottle after bottle of Tristan's Dad's beer on a school night, or roaming the streets freely past curfew as Tristan and Ashton wrestled under the lamps on the sidewalk.
God, those memories hurt. Here they were, years later, and Colby had begun to see the two for what they really were.
And he was worried about becoming one too.
These thoughts haunted him as he ducked his head into the passenger seat of Ashton's Bentley Continental GT. The car was fucking gorgeous and Ashton loved using it to roll up at the clubs with. In this car, it didn't matter if Ashton was a loser – he strutted around like he wasn't. Colby could not help the way his fingers traced the dash, enjoying the exquisite beauty his friend did not deserve.
His own car was not even worth its own weight in scrap metal.
In less than a second, he was forced back into his seat as Ashton hit the gas and sped away from the dorms. They raced into the night that Colby desperately wished was already over.
Tristan was livid when the two finally pulled up. A professional looking valet bustled up to Ashton as he got out of the car. "Good evening, sir. May I take your vehicle?"
"Scratch it and I'll kick you in the dick so hard your children will feel it," Ashton threatened sharply as he slapped the keys into the valet's hand. But then a smile erupted on the wild boy's face as he turned to his waiting friend.
Colby rolled his eyes at Ashton's night and day, but then he too was staring into the sour look on Tristan Locksley's face.
"I've been waiting here for an hour, assholes," he shouted, hair red and untamed in the sparkling lights of the club's signs.
"I told you, I was picking up Colby," Ashton explained, raising his hands in defense but leaving out the part where that had only taken about ten minutes. Colby was sure more heated words would've been exchanged had it not been for the interruption that was the bouncer at Tristan's shoulder.
"Mr. Singleton, we've been expecting you. Are these your – er – guests?" The bouncer was a very large, very built man with all kinds of dramatic tattoos littering his arms. Colby noticed his reflection in the man's sunglasses and a hand flew to his hair instantly to try and flatten it.
He was used to this by now. Ashton was a low-life, yes. But he was fucking rich and powerful in that town – all because his parents – and therefore was treated like he was God's gift to them all. This explained just some of the wild exuberance Ashton had boat loads of.
"Yeah, we want a booth and a tab started," he said, whipping on his own sunglasses.
"Seriously, Ash, the sun called; it's still fucking night time. You don't need those," Tristan said, just as tired as Colby watching people bend over and lick his feet.
"Ha-ha." Ashton forced the dry laugh, draped an arm around both friends and kicked his weight off the ground. Colby nearly collapsed under the pressure. But almost at once, Ashton was back on the ground and dashing forward to the entrance of the bar like a maniac.
And so, as soon as they sat down, Ashton asked what Colby wanted to drink.
"I'm making a trip up there," he said, jerking his thumb towards the end of the tight, booth-lined hall where a long and twinkling bar sat gleaming and open.
Colby shook his head. "I told you. I'm not drinking."
Tristan was looking around the club, ignoring the conversation his friends were having. The booth, large enough to fit at least fifteen people, was strange and empty and no doubt he was looking to fill it with as many girls as he could. "Fuck, its sausage city tonight. I only see two girls, and they're sitting with beefcakes," he noted.
"I'm sure Friday night is beaver night," Ashton said thoughtfully, pulling out his phone to check. Eyebrows lifted – possibly at a text message. "No, wait. Sorry, I guess that was last night."
Colby let his head fall into his hand with a sharp slap.
His friends were complete idiots. And that was saying something because Tristan was a mechanical engineer.
"Whatever, guess it'll be a butt'er face tonight," Ashton continued wolfishly. He looked pretty damn excited as he marched over to the bar and leaned across the glossy counter top to speak to a rather tall and handsome bartender - probably totally hitting on him.
"He better not bring me anything," Colby muttered, but he knew Tristan was still craning his neck around to hear him.
A minute passed before a group of young, pretty-enough girls marched in, taking a booth a few over.
"Jackpot," Tristan smirked, running a hand through his wild, flaming red hair. Colby watched as Tristan took his glasses off and stuffed them into his pocket, having done this since high school. Hell if Colby knew why his friend felt the need to take them off; if anything they added to his appearance.
Another minute later Ashton came back, flopping down happily beside Colby, a cold beer in his hand. "More to come!" he winked playfully, literally opening his hatch and chugging the Canadian like he'd gone for days without liquid. Burping, he wiped his mouth and set the glass on the table. "Uh oh," he began, noticing the absence of Tristan's glasses. "Hot girls? Where?"
"Shutup," Tristan hissed, but he jerked his head to indicate 9 o'clock.
Like bees to flowers, both Tristan and Ashton stared hungrily over at the next table. Colby was about to try and get a good look too, but just as he popped his head over the comfortable cushions, Ashton jerked him back down in time to greet five waitresses.
They were all holding large round drink trays, and on each was a variety of coloured liquids in all sorts of different sized glasses.
"Mr. Singleton," one of the girls announced, taking the lead and dropping her platter before the rich student.
"Wait a second," Ashton paused, putting his thumb and his forefinger beneath his chin in what he probably thought was a very endearing gesture. He glanced around at all the trays now before him and he turned back to the first waitress, confused. "I thought I ordered everything on the menu, so what are you girls doing just standing there?"
A delightful array of polite giggles erupted and Colby rolled his eyes.
This was how it always began.
The two friends were pigs.
Colby did not remember a single time he had hooked up with anyone at the bar despite going so often with these jerks. Yet sometimes it seemed the other two wouldn't have it any other way.
"I didn't know what you wanted," Ashton explained to Colby as the group of waitresses headed back towards the bar. A lot of eyes were peering over at them from other booths, including some very curious and interested ones over at the full table of girls. Colby tried to listen to what Ashton was saying. The music was really loud, and was it just him, or was it getting louder still?
"I told you I wasn't drinking, dickface," Colby hissed, crossing his arms tightly over himself. No matter what, he wouldn't give in this time.
Both Tristan and Ashton turned their heads to Colby and looked appalled; both pairs of eyes set in a kind of practiced shock. "Dude, no need to be mean. Just have one!" Tristan encouraged, sounding very reasonable even through the thumping bass.
Just. Have. One?
"Fuck that," Colby snarled as Tristan grabbed a rather girly looking drink from one of the trays and placed it in front of him with a shit-eating grin on his face. It looked like a fruity, delicious cocktail and would have probably tasted pretty good. "I am not having 'just one'. Deal with it."
Ashton's fist hit the table and all of the glasses vibrated and clinked together dangerously. The sudden noise made Colby jump slightly in his seat and he looked over at Ashton, thankful – for once – that Ashton was wearing his sunglasses.
"The fuck, Colby? I go through all this trouble to bring you anything you want, and you won't even have a fucking drink? Pick one and drink it!"
His threats were nothing more than a tantrum of a rich kid not getting what he wanted. Colby had seen it countless times before and, un-phased, willed himself to be drawn to full height before flipping Ashton his finger.
"He's being stubborn today," Tristan commented slyly, looking pointedly at his dark-haired friend.
Colby's face went white.
He hated this part most of all – the part where the two ignored him until he gave in. They did this every time.
"I'm sorry, who's being stubborn today?" Ashton asked, eyebrows rising above his dark sunglasses as he placed his hand in a visor-like position on his forehead to make a dramatic look around the very empty table.
Teeth clenched firmly together, Colby glanced away. A booth, just behind theirs, was starting to fill with many sharply dressed people. Judging by some balloons being fixed to the centerpiece, it was someone's birthday.
"You know, that ugly kid sitting next to us," came Tristan's drawl.
"This sack of potatoes?" Ashton laughed, scooching closer in the booth. "Lumpy as fuck." Even though Colby was looking pointedly in another direction, he couldn't ignore the two hands that now grabbed at his chest and twisted his nipples so hard that he winced.
"Ow-!" Colby yelled. He was immediately aware of the many eyes now turning around to get a look at what was going on. Blood rushing to his face, Colby made to punch Ashton, who dodged quickly to avoid his fist this time.
Colby narrowed his eyes and a hand swept up to rub his aching nipples. "Read my lips. I'm – not – drinking. Alright? And nothing you can say or do will make me."
Now on his fourth drink, Colby was regretting everything.
His fight had ended when Ashton retrieved the bouncer from earlier and instructed him to take Colby outside. At first, Colby called Ashton's bluff, but in the arms of the massive man dragging him to the exit, Colby had given in. Actually, he had kind of begged Ashton to let him stay. Afterwards, he couldn't understand why he didn't jump at the opportunity to go, even with the humiliation of being kicked out of Gongga, and the fact that he had no ride home.
Either way, there he sat two hours later nursing the last of his extra spicy Caesar while Tristan and Ashton surrounded themselves with girls they'd met on a sweaty dance floor. Tristan, hair red – sticking out in every direction - and blue eyes twinkling without the glasses to cover them up, was chatting up a rather good-looking blonde who was wearing a tight dress and high heels.
Ashton, on the other hand, had both arms draped around two rather plain – though excitable – looking girls. His black hair was short, and behind sunglasses his eyes were busy convincing the women in his arms that he wasn't the snake Colby knew him to be.
It was all enough to make Colby want to puke.
His stomach even turned.
There he sat awkwardly between two other girls who were looking a little dejected at the fact they were not getting any attention. One had tried to make conversation to Colby, but senseless and bitter were two things that could easily describe the young male. He chose to ignore them both, and it was only when he needed to pee so bad it hurt his dick that he spoke.
"I need to break the seal," he announced. Ashton was too busy whispering something into one of the girl's ears, so it was Tristan who turned around.
"Go then," he said with a shrug.
The trouble was, Colby was in the very middle of the booth surrounded by people with no way out except to go over or under. And since the table top before them was crowded with drinks and empty glasses, Colby chose the sticky floor.
Through a sort of tunnelled vision – that was blurry and spinning now – Colby felt his way out of the booth and crawled along the sickening floor towards the tight hallway, muttering to himself about seeking revenge on the two when he had a chance. When he made it out, his amber eyes narrowed immediately towards the end of the row of booths to the dance floor; and just beyond that, the bathrooms.
Usually when Colby broke the seal, he was done for given the fact that he was such a lightweight when he drank. It wasn't like Colby was small or anything. In fact, he stood at a perfectly average six feet and wasn't skinny in the least. Once upon a time he was the ace on his high school's swim team, and he even had quite a bit of muscle bulked up to show for it. So it was anybody's guess why the alcohol affected him so violently.
Once in the washroom, Colby couldn't recall just how he'd gotten there. Surely he had passed the dance floor – why couldn't he remember it?
It was after he'd lazily washed his hands from the sticky floor of their booth that Colby realized there was something wrong with him. In the mirror, his face was sweaty and white. He stumbled towards the paper towel dispenser and rubbed them furiously along his face, mopping up the sweat dripping from his bangs. Then he smacked himself a couple times to get the colour to return and once he was sure that he didn't look so terrible, he took a tentative step forward.
His knees were weak, leaving Colby shocked for a second when he wondered if he was paralyzed. It took an excruciating amount of force he didn't know he had to stand himself back up.
There was only one way out of this terrifying drunken stupor, and Colby focused on it. He had to get back to Ashton and Tristan.
So he took baby steps, concentrating very hard not to stumble or trip, or lose his balance by any means. It was very difficult work when everything was spinning so sharply around him.
One step. Two steps. Three steps, four, and Colby was passing drunken dancers and making great time along the row of booths.
The twinkling little lights that were above every booth were so small they looked like stars, and it was dark enough in that bar Colby might as well have been looking up at the night sky on a trampoline. So it wasn't any wonder that he was confused on what booth had been theirs. All of them looked the same. But then the heavens opened as Colby spotted a tight white t-shirt, black hair and sunglasses and immediately dipped to his left into the seat next to Ashton.
Without any hesitation, Colby grabbed both sides of Ashton's face and pulled the strong jaw towards him. "Take me home, fucker." And with that, Colby vomited all over the side of the booth, suddenly overcome by the sickness of the alcohol tainting his blood.
Ashton handed him a napkin, and Colby wiped his mouth, expecting something smarmy to come from the man-whore's mouth. When nothing did, Colby leaned his head back against the cushion of the seat he was in, one hand groping wildly to clutch Ashton's shirt. "I want to – go. Please..."
Everything was so loud, and Colby hardly registered the murmurs of the others in the booth. He knew there was no way in hell Ashton would drive him home now. He'd been drinking too. But Ashton could call, and at least pay for the taxi. The sadistic prick hadn't given Colby many other options after insisting to drive them there.
The murmurs grew steadily louder as the pounding in Colby's head hardened.
Nope. Ashton Singleton would've rather died than take Colby home.
Then, as clear as day, an unfamiliar voice broke through his spins– "Shut up. I want to take him."
It sounded as if that voice had come directly beside Colby. But that was simply impossible – Ashton was sitting there.
Confused, Colby opened his eyes he didn't know he'd closed and forced himself to look at the guy beside him once more. It was very hard. Sunglasses and black hair were spinning and Colby's eyes had a hard time focusing in.
Then the sunglasses reflected one of the twinkling lights as the eyes behind turned to look at Colby seriously.
"Where do you live?"
The voice and those words were definitely coming from Ashton's mouth but – they didn't seem fitting at all. They were different, not as hard. Colby continued to stare deliriously at his friend, mind reeling along a rollercoaster of thoughts that he was just too drunk to sort through.
And then next thing Colby knew, Ashton had him by the arm and was heaving him upwards. Colby felt the sweeping nausea hit him like a ton of bricks.
He registered that he was being dragged out of the bar, and Colby was suddenly very appreciative through the turning of his stomach. He was going home!
Then from behind him, a familiar voice sounded, and all cause for celebration went out the window.
"Hey! Colby! Where're you going?"
Impossible. That sounded like Ashton.