Brahms Heelshire - Lamb to the slaughter

Part Thirteen - Offending Hands

While pulling myself off of Brahms, he groans slightly, grabbing after me but only pulling back thin air. The dull aching between my legs of having him inside me for so long makes me smile in contempt. Playfully blowing him a kiss, I pick up my discarded clothes and head back to my room. Even though we've been up this long, there's no point in not getting ready for the day.

Quickly getting myself ready and picking up my dirty washing, I head for the kitchen, asking Brahms if he has any himself.

All I hear is a small groan from him. Arriving at my destination, I stuff the washer with my load of washing. Turning round, I instantly see my shadowing company, holding a b load than what I was.

"Thank you, Brahmsy." I take his clothes from him and place them in the machine as well. After turning it on, I turn back to him.

"Want to help-- Brahms? What's wrong?"

His arms are crossed and is no longer looking over at me. He doesn't answer me but huffs instead, walking back out of the kitchen and stands just beyond the door. I make my way over to him, calling out his name.

Standing before him but not being able to get his attention, I look at his turned away mask. "Please tell me what's wrong, Brahms. What has upset you?" The question lingers in the air for a few seconds before any reaction comes.

Brahms' head slowly turns towards me. His eyes seem so unfamiliar now. So... Angry. It's not even just with how little I can see of his face. His whole demeanour has changed, but not for the better.

His arms unlock from each other and his hands go gripping at me; One gripping at my shoulder and the other tangling into my hair. He pulls my head forwards before slamming it back into the wooden cupboard behind me.

One.

Two.

Three.

I'm released after the third hit and Brahms' hands retract themselves from me. My own arms now cover my injured head, my vision spinning and losing focus.

I slump down to the floor in a way to escape his offending grip. His bare feet can be seen walking away on the other side of my shielding arms.

It's several minutes before I stand back up again, grasping at the wall for support. But I don't begin to follow after him. I don't want to risk him hurting me more.

I manage to stagger into the kitchen before slumping down into a chair, wondering what exactly could have caused his outburst.

The distant ticking of a grandfather and the occasional creak from the house is all I hear. Was coming here worth it?

I don't know how long I am sitting at the table before getting up again. I don't even know where I should go.

Sorry this was so short and horrible. I'm having trouble with thinking of what to write lately.