Caged

2

Zwei opened the door with a smile, Sullivan walking up to him. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph, the second-tier nobles in the country, entered the house. Zwei curtsied as he learned, accidentally going at a 29° angle instead of 30. Mrs. Joseph grimaced. "How unmannered... Sullivan, you clearly haven't taught him well," She criticized, walking past Zwei as if he meant nothing. Mr. Joseph, however, just examined him.

The comment Mrs. Joseph-- Fiddle-- had said, made Sullivan glare at Zwei. The boy kept the same smile, slightly sweating under his husband's gaze. "Hmm.. what's his name?" Mr. Joseph, Lincoln, questioned.

"Zwei, Zwei Lloyd," Sullivan answered.

"Age?"
"Fourteen."

"Where is he from?"
"Germany."

Sullivan answered Fiddle's and Lincoln's questions, earning suspicion from the two. "Why hasn't he said anything? He's like a doll." Fiddle comments. "He doesn't speak unless told to, or required." Sullivan explained. "Ah.. I see~ Maybe he isn't so bad after all..." Fiddle praised. Sullivan wrapped his arm around his husband's waist. "Well, Zwei was it? Please answer my question. Are you being hurt physically here?" Fiddle asked, her smile forming into a scowl.

Zwei's smile almost faltered, and Sullivan squeezed his side, warning him. "Uh.. No! Of course not! Sullivan is wonderful to be around!" Zwei let out a nervous laugh, resting his hands on his lap. "Really? Then what's the bruise on your thigh doing there...?" She questioned, using her staff to move the slit's material out of the way, revealing a blue and purple rash.

"Looks like it hurts. Right, dear?" She turned to her husband and he nodded. "I-I.. I fe-fell!" Zwei lied. Fiddle narrowed her eyes. "Fine. We will leave it at that." She dismissed. The grip on Zwei's waist had loosened, and he sighed.

The four had walked down the long hallway into the large dining room. Sullivan and Zwei sat together, the same as the Joseph couple but on opposing sides. "What would you like to eat and drink?" A maid questioned, bowing.

"Vegetable soup. Along with Speyer wine please." Zwei ordered.
"Steak and Lenox Madeira." Sullivan requested.
"Lincoln and I will have lobster with Rum," Fiddle asked.

"Of course." The maid agreed, hurrying into the kitchen to give the cooks the orders.

After dinner, the Josephs left.

"I am glad you remembered that you are my property," Sullivan said. "You look fat, you shouldn't eat for a while anymore." He insulted. "I thought I looked nice..." Zwei muttered. "You thought wrong. Now go change, you will ruin the fabric, elephant." He dismissed. Zwei nodded, rushing to the bedroom. He could feel the tears prick his eyes as he replayed what the man said.

In the mirror, he stared at himself. "Maybe I should eat less..." He said, slowly taking off the dress to look better. He put on a pair of loose fluffy pajama pants and a white t-shirt to hide his body. He walked out and sat on the bed, feeling Sullivan's eyes look into his soul. "You should not wear baggy clothes, they look awful on you, then again, you look horrible in anything.." He humiliated.

Zwei felt himself tear up again. "Come on, say something," Sullivan demanded. Zwei lowered his head as the tears fell down his cheeks, biting his lip. "Say something!" Sullivan raised his voice, sitting up on the mattress. "Please stop calling out the bad things about myself..." Zwei begged, only to have himself yanked down by Sullivan pulling his hair.

"I get to say whatever I want to you. Do you hear me? You do not have the option to tell me what to do." The man said. "S-Sorry..!" Zwei apologized. "That ship has sailed, who do you think you are?" Sullivan questioned, bringing the boy's face closer to his. "You asked me to say something!!" Zwei defended. "No, I did not!" Sullivan deflected. "Y-Yes you did..?" Zwei repeated, questioning himself.

"Are you calling me a liar?!" Sullivan asked. "N-No! I'm sorry!!" He apologized again. Zwei was punched in the face, repeatedly. He cried and screamed in pain.

By the time Sullivan had finished practically annihilating the poor boy's face, his knuckles had turned purple. Zwei's face had been messed up so badly to the point you could barely recognize who he was. His cheek had a puncture wound, a black eye, bruises all over his face, and blood running down his nose and mouth.

Sullivan pushed the boy away and stood up. "Next time, I may just kill you." He threatened. There was nothing but seriousness in his voice. Zwei nodded weakly, his tears mixing with the blood on his face. "Go clean yourself up," Sullivan ordered. Zwei just stared at him, wondering what the man's next move would be.

Sullivan raised his hand, and immediately, Zwei flinched. "GO!" The man shouted. The boy scurried off of the bed and into the bathroom.

Zwei wrapped his cheek with gauze and put little bandaids on the smaller cuts, like his lips on some scratches on his forehead. He sighed, looking at his patched-up face. Zwei looked away, turning around and staring at the ceiling as he slowly slid onto the floor, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest. He held back his tears, taking deep breaths before ultimately tucking his head into his knees and silently crying.

(A/N: I know slit dresses were made in the 20th century (2000-20XX) not in the victorian era (1837-1901). It was the only thing I could think of that would add up to Fiddle moving the dress and finding the bruise, making her ask the question. Because the types of dresses made back during that time, were mostly long, and frilly, so you wouldn't be able to see a single mark.