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Waking up hungover was not new to Whitney.
He decided that it’d be a great idea to have a party at his house for his birthday. He invited his friends, his friends’ “partners”, and of course, his adorable little slut. It was overall a great night of drinking, entertainment put on by his favorite bratty kitty, and more. Now, Whitney had a slamming headache and nausea that made him want to vomit his guts up.
Speaking of his bratty kitty, he looked over to the corner of the living room and saw Milo laying on the floor. The cute little femboy was dressed in a set of lacy white cat themed panties and bra, a cute cat collar Whitney had given him a while back, and white stockings with pink paw pads printed on the bottom of them. Said clothes were now torn up, but it only added to the catboy’s charm. Those paired with his soft blonde cat ears and tail, his pretty face, and cute feminine body made him the object of desire for everyone last night. Whitney was almost jealous, which he did plan to take out on the boy later, but it was his idea to make Milo the group fucktoy last night. His slutty kitty just loved attention.
Milo was lying on his back, head lolled to the side, but he couldn’t fully see his face due to the darkness of the corner he was laying in. Whitney figured he was just sleeping everything off. He took so many cocks last night that it completely fried him. He was covered in bruises of varying degrees of colors and circular burns that only cigarettes could cause. He was also covered in cum both inside and out that had dried overnight. It had to feel disgusting, but it fit Milo in Whitney’s opinion.
Whitney sat up, pressing a hand to his aching head. God, he needed some aspirin or a smoke or both. He didn’t feel like getting up, but good thing he had someone who could get him what he needs. He picked up a nearby empty beer can and chucked it at Milo.
“Aye, slut.” Whitney called out loudly, expecting Milo to stir.
Oddly enough, Milo didn’t even flinch. Milo didn’t move at all so Whitney picked another can up, this one half full with lukewarm beer and threw it at the catboy. The beer spilt all over Milo’s prone body, but even still, Milo didn’t move. That should have woke him up. That would have woken anyone up. Whitney wouldn’t admit it, but it made him feel unsettled. Milo was never still like this even in his sleep. He always seemed to toss and turn and it often got him kicked out of bed.
Getting up from the couch, Whitney made his way over to Milo. The closer he got, the more that uneasy feeling seemed to nag at him. This was so unlike the cheeky brat he has grown fond of.
‘Something is wrong.’ The small voice in the back of his brain whispered, but he tried his best to ignore it.
“Stop ignoring me or I’ll let a dog knot you ag-“ The threat died in his throat as his hazel eyes met glazed over green.
Milo’s eyes were open. They were half lidded and full of unshed tears above streaks of ruined mascara. His eyes looked like they were trying to roll back, but didn’t fully succeed.
Now that Whitney was closer, he could see that Milo’s face had dawned a new blueish tint. It was like he had been deprived of oxygen, but whoever did it didn’t bother to let go at any point for him to get air. Whitney shifted Milo’s collar to feel for a pulse, feeling dread pool in his chest. That’s when he saw it. He could barely make it out, but there was rope burns on the catboy’s neck just barely seen above his collar.
If that wasn’t bad enough, he couldn’t find Milo’s pulse.
“Shit…” Whitney uttered as he stared down at Milo.
He was frozen in that moment. Milo was dead; he was murdered and Whitney had let it happen. He never wanted this to happen. Whitney was a lot of things; a delinquent, a cheater, a bastard, a low life, but one thing he wasn’t was a murderer. Sure, he has done some fucked up things to Milo before, but he never wanted the catboy to die.
Milo didn’t deserve to die like this.
Whitney’s migraine was suddenly a light tickle compared to the heaviness in his chest. He was hyperaware to how gross he felt in the moment; how his sweaty clothes stuck to his body and how to smell of alcohol and the very faint trance of Milo’s sweet perfume clung to his frame. He wasn’t aware that he was starting to collapse until his body decided that right now was the perfect time to empty his stomach.
Whitney pitched forward, barely able to brace himself on the wall with a shaky arm before he gagged. The scent of death was heavy around Milo’s corpse. The sickening smell was more than enough for his churning stomach. Whitney vomited right there, right next to Milo’s body. The acidic taste of bile stung his throat, but it was nowhere near as painful as the throbbing in his chest.
He had finally done it.
He had taken someone’s life with his shitty decisions.
Whitney couldn’t even remember if he was the one that took Milo’s life or if it was one of his friends. Even if Milo had been killed by one of his friends, it was still Whitney’s fault for letting them do it. He had invited Milo and forced him into a situation were he’d be fucked by a bunch of drunk men. He knew they’d be rough with the boy and he didn’t care.
At that point in time, Whitney thought it’d be fine. He’s stopped his friends before when they were too rough Milo so he figured he could do it again. Apparently, he had been dead wrong this time.
The traitorous thought that it could have been him that did it still persisted in his brain. Whitney has anger issues. Anyone could tell you that one and those issues tend to worsen when he drinks. He has put people in the hospital before, but he didn’t think he’d be able to outright kill someone. Least of all Milo. Milo was always so receptive to his advances and on the off chance he did piss Whitney off, he was good at calming him down.
Whitney sank to his knees next to Milo’s body, just staring off to some random corner of the living room. He needed to look somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t Milo’s face. He knew he should call someone to report Milo’s remains, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to move. He just curled in on himself and tried his best to ignore the stagnant rotting smell of death and the pungent odor of alcohol laced vomit.