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𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕠.
It was Mr. Walsh, he was unnecessarily cruel. There were others too, Mother said it was our duty to please them. Each one of them had a special liking for one of us, though I didn't like the others either, they weren't as mean as Mr. Walsh.
Last time he came, he broke three of my ribs and even made my head bleed. Whatever they all did was painful and dirty enough, but this man liked to take things further. He liked to use different instruments on me. Knives, whips, paddles, electric shock and what not.
But I was glad that he was fixated on me, my little brother would be left alone, unfortunately that wasn't the case for Will. He was already kneeling at Mr. Walsh's feet like an obedient slave. I hated to see him so weak and defeated, I wished we could just run away.
I hated being here. Mother and father never gave us food on time, they beat us all the time and then they would invite their friends to do dirty things with us. I didn't like what they did to us, it wasn't really clear what it was but I still felt disgusting.
I was standing by the entrance of the dining room, hiding as long as I could. But someone pushed me harshly into the room.
"You filthy boy, why are you still standing here? Take off your sweater and go serve your masters" said my mother.
She was a vicious and poisonous woman, she was always so angry at everyone but Connor. She hated me and Will but my twin was her golden boy, he was exempted from servant jobs and wasn't beaten as much as we did. Lucky him.
Switching my brain off, I crawled near Mr. Walsh's feet and kissed his shoes. I kept my head at his thigh and waited for further instructions. I would hate to anger him, last time when I refused to cooperate, he whipped me with a bullwhip fifty times. I still had the scars as a proof of it.
He somehow always wanted me to serve him, always. Will usually tried to draw his attention away from me but to no avail. His hand came on top of my head and started to pet me.
His hands had a lot of wrinkles on them, perhaps it was just his age. William told me that he was sixty one. That's older than our parents who were still in their fiftys.
"Oh my lovely slave is hiding from me? We'll take that into consideration when we decide your punishment tonight" His creepy voice entered my ears making me shiver in fear and disgust.
My father, who was sitting opposite to him sniggered. His laughter made my blood boil, he was so happy when we were in pain. Why? What did we ever do to him? All the other children tell me stories of their parents loving them, giving them gifts, taking them to vacations but look at ours.
