Your Innocence ( Brallon )

Chapter 1; From Within These Pale Walls

    From the outside, the house looked abandoned. The windows were boarded up and it never looked like anyone was home. But within those soft pale walls, a young boy hummed along to quiet music. The oldies but goodies radio stationed was the only thing the boy could access on the ancient looking laptop. He wasn't technically allowed to use the computer, but Mr. Shapiro didn't mind the music as long as he didn't do anything else. That didn't really matter anyway, the boy didn't know how to use the technology anyway.
    He continued to hum the soft tune as he washed the dishes, shivering as the water splashed on to him seeing as he was wearing nothing but a pair of baggy boxers, a long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of bunny slippers to protect his feet from the cold tile. The boy quickly finished his chore and dried his hands as he heard the hum of the garage door opening followed by the sound of the alarm on the door. The alarm was always on so that the boy couldn't leave the house while his caretaker was away.
"What a good boy, Brendon. Did you finish all your chores?" He asked hugging Brendon from the back.
"Yes, sir. How was your day, Mr. S?" The younger asked as Mr.S released him and leaned against the counter.
"Great, lot's of students misbehaving, but what do you expect? All of these primitive ugly people, someone must put up with them!" The man exclaimed.
This was the thing, Mr. S hadn't let Brendon out, ever, he taught Brendon everything he would learn in a regular school system, expect what the world was really like. He had implanted in Brendon's head that the world outside was ugly, like a barren wasteland with ugly houses with primitive rude people living in them. He told Brendon he could never go outside, because the moment Brendon walked out that door, the primitive people would hurt him.
"Let's get you cleaned up and you can make dinner." Brendon nodded and made his way to the bathroom upstairs, with Mr. S following closely, watching his bum as he walked.
    Brendon stood before the taller man, trying not to feel so vulnerable, but seeing as he was half naked in a way oversized shirt, he couldn't help it. As the hot water filled the tub, his caretaker pulled the youngers shirt over his head and stripped him of his boxers. One of the many rules in the house was that Brendon could not dress or undress himself, leaving him naked most of the time. There were many rules in the house that all came with severe punishments, luckily he didn't get in trouble as much as he used to.
    When the water level rose to the top of the tub, Mr. S helped the boy into the tub and went about shampooing his mop of brunette hair. The water was too hot and burned his fragile shin, but Brendon did not speak up for fear of facing a pain worse than the burn that was slowly subsiding.
"Why are the other people primitive and rude?" Brendon asked as he played with the bubbles in the water of the bathtub.
"They didn't have anybody to love, their mothers and fathers wouldn't love them." He replied, he then looked into Brendon's eyes and pulled the young one in for a deep kiss.
This is the part Brendon hated the most, the kissing and intimacy.  Mr. S said it was fine, the intimacy, so that must mean it is fine. Brendon just doesn't like it, he knows he likes boys, from what he's seen in old yearbooks of Mr. Shapiro's sons - who died before Brendon was born. But he did not like Mr. S like that. He remembered his parents kissing long ago. He knew that couples do that, not caretakers. Mr. S released Brendon from the hard kiss and the younger forced a smile to his lips, trying to at least pretend to enjoy the disgusting intimacy.
Brendon sat patiently as the older washed his hair and his body, trying to ignore the rough hands that travelled all over his body. He knew this wasn't right and he tried to just get over it, but the calloused hands made goosebumps prickle his pale skin. The young boy couldn't help but grimace at the sight of his pasty skin that had never seen the light of day. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. When he was younger he hadn't questioned it too much, but now that he was older and had started thinking more and more, he realized that this was incredibly wrong.
He had read a lot of books that he had found in Mr. S's son's room and none of them had talked about a situation like this. They discussed journeys and quests and even just high school drama, but none of them talked about someone never leaving a house and being subject to beatings and sexual assault.
"I'm going to get you some clothes, so you can make some dinner." Mr. S stated with a smile.
    Brendon waited in the bathtub patiently as he waited for the caretaker to bring him a lousy oversized t-shirt and skimpy underwear that would do very little to keep him warm. The man helped him out of the bathtub and dried him off with a towel, not being careful around old bruises and cuts that still littered the younger's porcelain skin.
    Once he was dressed and had his slippers back on in a useless attempt to make him more comfortable in a house that was always freezing, he went downstairs and began to prepare his caretaker dinner. He carefully seasoned the chicken like it suggested in the recipe book that Mr. S had made him memorize and put it in the pan to cook. He prepared potatoes and vegetables to accompany it and a lemonade made with fresh squeezed lemon juice. He was proud of the side dishes and the drink, but the protein he had chosen to make with it was temperamental. It was dry if overcooked, but undercooked it was chewy. What if it wasn't right? He knew he would be in for a beating and he trembled as he plated the meal.
He carefully carries the food out to the man that held his fate in the palms of his scratchy, calloused hands. It was hard to hide how hard he was shaking as he put the food down and slid into the seat across from the man. When Mr. S glances up at him, he hides his nerves with a soft smile. The anxiety coursed through Brendon's veins as he watched the man cut into the chicken. The inside wasn't pink meaning it wasn't undercooked, maybe this would be okay. Maybe it was cooked perfectly and it would be a nice evening watching some lame cartoon movie on the couch with his captor.
The man's face turns into a frown and his eyebrows furrow as he chews and swallows. Brendon knew he was screwed in that very moment. He knew he had messed up and that this was not going to end well. He had overcooked the chicken, he deserved whatever punishment that was coming his way. He knew that he would get a new scar tonight, or maybe multiple that would add to his growing collection of battle wounds that would never heal
"Go upstairs, and kneel in front of the bed, with your shirt off." Brendon nodded, trying to supress the tears that stung his eyes as he made his way towards the stairs; then, Mr. Shapiro said something that made a single tear slip past.
"And, remove your pants as well."

(a/n: Hi guys! Its Madisen (Imaginnationstation ) and Ty and I are rewriting this book because its gotten a lot more reads and its a little rough. So this chapter has been rewritten)