Post by Trace Blackburn on Jan 26, 2010 20:27:02 GMT -5
Of course the first hit could never compare to how his heart clenched. Nor the next, or the next, or even the next one. No, this angry, continuous hitting didn’t hurt very much. Or really at all compared to how he felt. In a sick way, he didn’t even mind this. Because this meant he still cared about him. This meant that Mark still loved him, wanted him. After all, the man would never put so much effort into someone he didn’t care about. Weakly the boy raised a hand to his bloody nose, it was broken. The boy was no doctor, hell; the boy wasn’t even that smart. But he did know that it wasn’t supposed to bend that way. Shaky legs finally gave out, and he dropped to his knees—coughing. His body shook and bent with the strain of it, hacking his very life into his hands. When it came to Mark, pain was love. So he wanted to hurt as much as he could.
“Boy, what’d I tell ya ‘bout talkin’ to that brat?” Trace couldn’t even open his mouth to speak. His throat too abused and bruised to open enough to allow the passage of sound though it. The most he could make was a quiet gasping noise, and it hurt. Still he tried his best to answer his elder. His master, his best friend, his boss, his father, the person who was once his everything, and who he still deluded himself into believing he was. He was brought to another bout of violent coughing as he was kicked in his side. The red liquid dripped from in-between his fingers, only to be lost on the tile below. Joining its smeared brethren, on the once white tile.
The liquid dripped from his mouth, falling as he slowly brought his head up. The face of his long time friend came into view and he smiled softly. It even hurt to smile, but that didn’t matter. He still loved Mark, and he wanted to smile at his loved ones. Yes, Mark was someone he loved. Mark was his god. One of the few constant lights in his life, one that had never once blinked out. A shining light Trace could always rely on, no matter what. Mark knelt; staining his dark pants even darker with the payment for Trace’s so called sins. He cupped the younger’s face softly, kissing him on the forehead. Like a sacred ritual. “Kid, ya know I love ya.” Gently he stroked Trace’s cheek. “Which is why I gotta discipline ya like this. You understand. Right?” Trace smiled brightly, lovingly at his God. Then nodded slowly, to show his understanding. Of course he understood. He had been bad, had disobeyed his savior. He needed to repent. The loving hand of his god could be the only one to do that.
Trace fell to the ground as he was struck across the face, his head hitting the red-stained tiles violently. “Trace, ya gotta listen ta me. I don’t like doin’ this.” His god was a forgiving god. “You’re my boy. I hate seein’ ya hurt.” His god was a loving god. “I’ll keep lovin’ ya. But ya gotta listen.” His god was a gracious god.
“love ya... Mark.” Trace somehow, though sheer will had forced out.
“I know boy. I know.”
Bells chimed in the dark.