Calvin woke up cold, on the floor, covered in bruises. His thighs screaming in pain.
A note lay beside him.

Hey Cal,
Thanks for last night, I'll be over again soon. I like your scars, they're pretty, I gave you some more. The bruises look nice on you. I noticed you're getting a bit fat. Wouldn't want to loose everything you earned.
-P

Calvin gagged, throwing away the notes and staring at his thighs. He would never be able to wear shorts again. He would never look into the mirror and like his legs again. Deep cuts lined his thighs and stuck together with dry blood. His backside felt sore, courtesy of Peter rough handling.
For a moment he though of calling Greg.
No.
He'd think Calvin was attention whoring, whining for affection.
The police?
No.
They'd tell Greg.
He was Calvin's emergency contact.
There wasn't anything he could do without risking Peter hurting him again.
So he decided to put up with it.
They could fix this mess once Greg got home.
Calvin remembered the note, and looked down at his stomach. He poked it, the tip of his finger disappearing into a small lump of baby fat.
He was fat.
God, how would Greg love him if he was fat.
Calvin stood up, wincing as he stumbled over to the bedside, grabbing his phone and opening twitter.
"You don't deserve him."
"Worthless fag."
"Kill yourself."
"Why would he date you?"
They were all right...