It was seven years ago, where rain broke into a Wednesday. Cas was rushing down the stairs, having woken up late. When he got to the kitchen, Silas was already waiting, fully dressed in his work suit.
Everything about the man was harsh and orderly. From his stiff monochrome bespokes to the way he addressed his sons, his voice clipped yet it possessed a calmness that was pulled taut. His expression was cold, carrying an unspoken threat that was unlike the moments when he was with Lily, that Cas didn’t believe this was the same man who had appreciated him for his welcome.
For the first time, Cas felt afraid.
Silas turned to him. ‘It appears that I have not made myself clear. Breakfast is to be served at half seven.’
‘I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.’
‘No. You won’t.’
Cas could only watch as Silas’ hands were brought into view, a belt grasped in one of them.
‘It has already been a month,’ he spoke. ‘When will you learn your place?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Cas choked out. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
‘Remove your shirt. Or you are to leave the manor.’
When Silas ordered him to kneel, Cas obeyed.
‘You will count to ten. Be grateful that it is not worse than this.’
It was a pain he’d never experienced before. One. Two. Three. The end seemed further with each number, almost impossible to reach. Every once in a while he tried to look toward the doors, hoping, and hoping. But there was only the snap of leather, and his throat raw from the screaming.
When Silas released him, Cas initially wanted to return to his room. But the thought of climbing those steps was too much, and instead, he entered the gardens. He hid in a corner that was his own and wept.
Since the day of the funeral, Silas was a changed man. Cas wondered if he’d grieved, or perhaps there was no love at all he’d felt toward Lily. Cas didn’t understand. But one thing he knew, it was that the man did not intend to accept him.
Cold rain peppered against his skin, stinging his injuries, but Cas refused to go inside. Hugging his knees, the sobs became muffled, and he didn’t know how long he’d stayed there.
‘Here.’
Cas looked up, startled that he was not alone. A blonde haired boy had crouched beside him with a black umbrella, offering a handkerchief. As always, Cas didn’t hear him come. Johan was present when he wanted to be, and it seemed as if nothing was ever disagreeable in his view. Like his father, he rarely smiled, if ever. There was a certain genuinity to him, though it was the kind that was more passive than not. The kind that was repressed out of necessity, for the idea of being close to anyone was no longer possible.
Cas took the handkerchief hesitantly, but Johan only watched as he wiped his eyes. Neither of them spoke.
Clutching the material now, Cas wasn’t sure what to do. Once he had meant to return it, but Johan never confronted him even days later, that he had finally tucked it away. Many years had passed since, that he’d surely forgotten. What would he say, if he knew I kept it? Would he remember at all?
The imagery came flooding all at once. The hardback slamming against the floor. The metallic taste sharp against his tongue. The torn manuscripts floating from perfect hands, like soft petals of spring, and Alexander gripping his wrists so hard he thought they might break. He heard Johan’s voice, demanding the essays to be written again. The papers grazed Cas’ cheek, scattering over his still frame, licking cream carpets. He saw Johan’s gaze burning with contempt, of a promise he intended to keep.
Catching himself, Cas returned the handkerchief to the drawers. He did not deserve his forgiveness.
Comments (0)
See all