Broken [boyxboy]

Chapter Eight

I woke up before Laurie the next morning. 

I could hear Andrew and Mattie through the crack in the open door. They weren't making much of an effort to be quiet. 

"P-Please, no," Mattie begged. "I-I can't. I'm t-t-too sore. L-Later, I will later. Just... it h-hurts right now." 

"I don't care," Andrew chuckled humourlessly. I heard a rustling of clothes and what sounded like Mattie struggling. There was a loud thwack! and then "You know what happens when you fight it, Mattie. Don't try to fight it." 

"B-But sir..." there was a loud scream and another smacking sound. 

"Shut the fuck up!" Andrew hissed. "Do you want to wake them?" 

The screams and strangled moans continued, but Mattie had clearly clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle them. I felt I should go and help and even got as far Laurie's - our - bedroom door. But as soon as I got there I was stuck, rooted. Part of me, most of me, wanted to dash over and grab Mattie and run with him until he was somewhere safe. But there was a voice in the back of my head that told me that would just get Mattie into more trouble. Swallowing, I tried to decide what to do. In the end, I didn't have to. Laurie did it for me. 

"What are you doing, Myth?" he asked. 

"I... I just... I heard Mattie crying..." I said. "I thought that..." Laurie sighed. 

"I know you want to help him," he said. "But you'd be doing more harm than good if you tried. Just come back to bed." 

"But..." I swallowed. "How can you listen to that?"

"It gets easier," he said, uncomfortably. "Please come back to bed." There was a pause then he adopted a sterner tone. "I won't ask you again, Myth." 

I hurried back to the bed and got back in with him. He pulled me onto the mattress and lifted the duvet over our heads. The sound was muffled but still there. Laurie pulled me close to him and leaned his forehead on mine. 

"I know," he whispered at my pained look. 

"He's a bastard," I whispered back. Laurie chuckled. 

"Try living with him," he said. "He was always cruel to me growing up - stealing my toys when we were children and the suchlike. It got worse after we were turned." 

"How old were you when you were turned?" I asked, curiously. Looking at him, if I had to guess, I'd say he was in his mid to late twenties. He thought for a minute. 

"Twenty three," he said. "Andrew was twenty five." 

"How long a go was it?" I asked. He thought again. 

"Well I was born in 1825," he said. "So that'll be... 1848? Yes, that's right. It was my 23rd birthday. I'd been out working on my father's farm through the day, and then we'd had a party at their house through the night." 

"You're 165," I observed. He chuckled. 

"I suppose I am, yes," he said. "I've done well, really, haven't I?" 

"So you were there in World War 1?" I said. "And World War 2?" 

"Fought in both of them," he said smugly. "Under different names, of course. I change my name every eighty years or so." 

"What were you called before you were changed?" I asked. 

"Albert Higgenbottom," he said. He raised one eyebrow. "Is it any wonder I changed it?" 

 "Not really," I admitted. I paused. "Were... were your parents changed as well?" 

"No," he sighed. "No, they weren't. They were killed; my father was a vampire hunter, you see. They killed he and Mother without a second thought. My sister Alice too, she was 17..." 

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling bad. "I shouldn't have asked." 

"No, it's okay," he said. "It was 165 years ago, I'm over it." 

"Right," I said. He tangled his arms around me and snuggled me close. We didn't say another word to each other, just lay, listening to the sounds from the other room and each other's breath. 

I'm still alive :D And I'm back. Whoo-hoo!