The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

twenty-three

Trigger Warning:
—> Physical abuse and assault
—> Domestic/Familial abuse
—> Verbal abuse
—> Gun violence

The carriage stops in front of the home, and Louis doesn't wait for anyone to open the door. He darts out, disregarding some servants calling his names and some footmen rushing after him to stop him, and runs through the doorway, past the maids whispering and watching the back acre through the windows, and practically breaks the rear door in the kitchen down to get access to where he knows everyone is. He's just in time to see two large men dragging a body towards a tree in front of the maids and butlers, beaten and bloodied.

"Mr. Rodgerick!" The muse screams, heaving as much as he can as he collapses next to the man. Shakily, he tries to find a place to put his hands that won't cause the butler pain. Mr. Rodgerick, with blackened eyes, looks at him. He says nothing as he takes shallow breaths.

"Ah!" The man screams as a leather boot smashes his hand into the ground. The scream's cut short by his lack of air, but Louis screams for him in horror at the sound of cracking. With tears streaming down his face, he grabs the shin and pushes the person away.

"Louis!" Mary screams when the muse is whacked upside the head. He lays on the ground, and blinks a few times to regain his vision. Disoriented, he's frightened when his father's malicious face comes close to his. He can smell the alcohol on the man's breath, but that's less concerning when Louis sees his bloodshot eyes. A warmth collects at Louis' temple before it trickles down his face like sweat. "Louis!"

The maids' screams are distant, and the cries and pleas of the other servants are no closer. Mr. Tomlinson yanks his son up by his hair, forcing him to sit up. "I've had enough of you. I give you a good life, a good education, and an amazing opportunity to marry a reputable girl with good status. I could have let you live as the bastard you are, but I took you in because your mother begged me. Did you know that, Louis? Your father is a lowly footman who paid the price for sleeping with my wife. He left his seed, though, unbeknownst to me until it was too late to use medicine."

Louis cries silently, too dumbstruck to speak as his father murmurs in his ear. "I was a good man to your mother, and she turned out to be a whore. Do you know what she said when you born? That she would never love our children the way she loved you because you came from a man she loved while I was a man forced upon her. I let her keep you for the sake of her sanity, and peace in the house. You were protected, as much as you may think otherwise. Many people protected you."

Mr. Tomlinson lets him go, and points the bloody cane at him. "I gave you everything, including my name, and you repay me like this? How dare you!"

"Harry..." The muse cries when Mr. Tomlinson steps past him. With the ringing and ache in his head, Louis gathers whatever strength he can desperately he reaches up and grips the man's leg. Mr. Tomlinson shakes him off, and smashes the cane into Louis' side. Louis screams, but uses his other hand to grip his father's hand. "Where's Harry!?"

"Harry!? You have time to worry about that homosexual!?" Louis rolls onto his side, and keeps his face in the dirt as his father screams. "Fine. Let me tell you what I did to your little devil."

Louis lifts his head slightly to meet his father's eyes. The older man is holding a piece of paper, yanks it open as he catches his breath. "Mr. Payne came last night to get his artist. I broke his hands, flogged him, and beat him. You'd be lucky if he lived."

Mr. Tomlinson stuffs the paper in Louis' mouth, making the muse choke, and growls. "You'll never see him again. Ever! He's going far away from here for the rest of his life, back to poverty, and you will never find him!"

Louis coughs up the paper, gagging lightly before glaring at his father.

"I spent years living in your image, and listening to you." He coughs, and calmly lays his head on the ground to accept his fate. With a small prayer, he closes his eyes and lets out a long breath while keeping a vice grip on his father's hand. "I won't do so any longer."

Mr. Tomlinson lays the cane on the side of his son's head gently, as if eying the best spot to hit for a quick death, before using both of his hands to lift it above his head. With an indifferent expression, one everyone is shaken to experience, he mumbles his last words to Louis. "I made you what you are, and I'll be the one to tear you down."

Maids, butlers, footmen, and young children scream when a loud pop breaks through the air. Everyone flinches, ducks, and covers themselves only to look up a few seconds later. Behind the crowd, at the rear door Louis nearly took off the hinges, stands an exhausted and torn up Zayn with a rifle in his hands. Louis doesn't look up, but can feel drops on the side of his face. There's a thud next to his head, and he shakily looks to see the cane abandoned as his father stumbles to face the shooter. Louis looks at his father's back, and sees blood quickly seeping into his shirt. There's so much that the wound can't be seen, but the spot in just off from the center of his back.

"Zayn," Mr. Tomlinson calls to the pianist as he tries to walk towards him, "what'd you do that for?"

With a stone cold expression, Zayn aims the rifle once again and places his finger slowly on the trigger. Mary and a few maids rush to Louis and his butler, quietly tending to them, but the muse continues to watch his friend confront their tormentor. A footmen tears his shirt, and applies pressure to Louis' head where his bleeding is. It makes Louis flinch and twitch, but Mary holds his head to keep him from turning away. She mumbles something to Louis, but the muse is too focused on Zayn to listen. Besides, the ringing in his ear hasn't stopped.

"Put the gun down." Mr. Tomlinson breathes out, falling onto a knee. "Come. Put it down, and come help me."

Zayn squints his eyes as the man comes closer, crawling this time. "I'm not in the mood for jokes. Put that down, and someone come help me!"

No one moves.

"You're a miserable man. Greed has turned you into a devil." The pianist mumbles back, and cold eyes stare back at him. Mr. Tomlinson reaches just a few feet away from him, but stops when the butt of the rifle is against his forehead. Some of the servants audibly gasp, turning to avoid the inevitable as Zayn distantly watches his rapist and assaulter.

"You won't get away with this. You'll be hung." Mr. Tomlinson threatens.

"See you in hell, then." Another gun shot sends birds flying from the surrounding trees.