A Heart to Trade

Hi, guys! So, when I was writing what would have been chapter 5, it turned out that it was about 5 pages long, so I combined it with chapter 4 so the chapters wouldn't be insanely short.

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Opening his eyes, Aminri woke with silent desperation, hoping that his brother had finally given up and had returned him to his room. But the boy had been disappointed, only to be welcomed by the blinding light of the storage room above and a deathly silence. He only faintly remembered the beginning of his day; it included waking up to the exact same scenery, with the exception of a flurry of dismal horror. After that it had been one painful torture after the other, and only him…

Harold had been the only one that morning. At first Aminri found this to be a good thing; although horrible things were destined to happen, they would at least be of a lesser degree as opposed to the previous days. Or so he had thought. Instead, Harold had entered the storage room only a few minutes after Aminri first woke and started almost immediately at his business. At first it had begun with only a few quick thrusts of Harold’s fist into Aminri’s stomach, and occasionally a kick to the legs. That was all that was done, and his brother had left. After that the boy had simply sat in the darkness of the cell, wondering what would happen next, hoping that his brother would simply leave him there for the rest of the day. But he eventually returned, and overtime his visits became more frequent (Aminri had counted them to be at least ten by then.) With each visit, the pain increased and his sanity slowly dwindled. Every time had been different, and, surprisingly, none had been sexual. It had only been one beating after another, either with a cane or with Harold’s bare fists. The boy didn’t understand his brother’s motives; perhaps the young man was bitter about Aminri’s rejecting him, or perhaps this was his sick way of expressing his feelings. Aminri didn’t know, and he probably never would.

So now Aminri was lying alone and paranoid on the ground, the cold air nipping at his bare chest. All the boy had to warm himself was his wrinkly collared shirt and his underwear, which lay in a heap across from the boy. The poisonous smells of the wine cellar were slowly making Aminri mad and nauseous, having been exposed to it all day long. As he attempted to lift his arm a sharp pain rang through and immediately he plopped it back onto the concrete. At that he lulled his head back hopelessly, basking in the pure silence surrounding him and the absence of his torturer. Aminri closed his hazel eyes dreamily, attempting to drown the agony by joyful thoughts, but nothing came to mind. Nothing but a pair of blue, calculating eyes…

No, Aminri had no hope in the man left. Not with the situation he was in now. No one could help him, or rather, no one wanted to help him. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, simply for the sake of venting, but he’d already cried himself dry and he felt far too weak to even open his mouth. And then there was the second option… Aminri remembered the cane that Harold had left in the room from the previous beating. It lay only inches away from the boy’s hand, the gleaming outer coating of the ebony wood absolutely glorious in that moment. If no one could rescue him, then perhaps it was time to take matters into his own hands. Adrenaline ran through his veins as various images flashed through Aminri’s mind, all ending with Harold’s subsequent death. How Aminri basked in the thought! It wasn’t in his character, no, not at all, but if it meant the end of his torment he was willing to take the risk…

The door creaked open just as Aminri’s fingers grazed the wood. “Ari,” Harold’s voice rang from across the room, “Get up. You have a phone call.”

The boy quickly pulled his hand back and lifted his head weakly, a deep anxiety resonating through him. Although his brother was commanding him, he could not comply, and he feared the consequences. His body was in far too much agony for him to stand, let alone walk up the stairs to the telephone. “What are you waiting for? Get up!”

“I…I can’t…” Aminri croaked.

Harold let out a long sigh and pulled his brother forcibly from the ground by his arm. The boy whined in response, afraid that his shoulder would pop out of place. “Come on,” Harold said as he jerked Aminri forward.

It was a long, tedious travel up the stairs to the living room, and with each slow step up Harold’s temper rose. But finally they made it there, where the phone was sitting lonesome on a small, round table in the center of the room. With one quick shove, Aminri’s brother left him alone with the person who was waiting patiently on the other end of the line. Slowly the boy stepped forward and lifted the receiver, his hands trembling. “Hello?” he said.

“Ari?” they replied, the voice oddly familiar, but hard to distinguish through the phone’s scratchy sound quality.

“Y-yes? Who is this?”

“It’s Zane.”

The boy froze in place. What reason did the man have for calling him? “Oh, hello…”

“Good afternoon. I was calling to see if you were alright.”

Aminri bit his lip. “I…” he looked cautiously back before continuing. “He’s hurting me…every day, it’s always the same…please help me…”

“What?” Zane replied, dubious.

“Please, I…” Harold passed by the door, glancing into the room as he did. “I’m…fine. Yes, I’m…I’m just fine.”

The receiver was silent. “Zane? Are you there?”

“Yes, I am. My apologies…but about what you said before…”

“Yes?”

“About being ‘him’ hurting you?”

Aminri glanced at the door, then looked quickly back at the phone. He figured that Harold couldn’t hear what Zane was saying, and began to form a lie in his head if the brother ever asked. “Yes, that’s right.”

Zane was quiet once more. “What is ‘he’ doing to you there? Are you being abused?”

“...yes, that’s right. I suppose I should rewrite that part.”

He wiped his sweaty palms on his shabby, tan trousers. Zane was not a stupid man, the boy was sure of it, and so Aminri was sure that he’d know what he was talking about. “…Should I go and see you again?” Zane asked.

The boy’s heart nearly flied out of his chest as a wave of joy ran through him. “Of course you can! And then perhaps you could critique it?”

“Yes, I could,” Zane replied, playing along with Aminri’s charade, a reluctant look in his eyes.

“Alright, I suppose you can see it when you return.”

“I will try my best to get there as soon as I can. Until then…be careful. And…” Zane lowered his voice cautiously, “if the situation worsens, call me immediately, if you can.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Goodbye.”

And with that the conversation ended. Harold entered the room and leaned against the doorframe. “Well? What were you two talking about?”

“We were talking about a story that I was writing… I showed it to him when he was visiting with the Duke. He seems to have taken an interest in it.”

“I see. What else was there?”

“He was also asking if I was doing alright.”

“And that’s all?” Harold raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, that was it.”

“Good.” Harold stood up straight and left without another word. Aminri nearly called after him, intending to ask if he was going to take him back to the cellar. But he decided that the act would be foolish, and would only result in more unnecessary pain. So Aminri sighed, retiring to his room to continue his diary entries.

~ * ~ * ~

Zane hung up the phone, his mind running in circles as he pondered what could possibly be happening at Aminri’s home. The fact that the boy was talking in riddles was odd, and the man couldn’t help but be worried.

He left the lobby and entered the hall, burying his hands deep into his pockets as he set his mind on alerting his father. He hadn’t noticed his older brother, Dawson, walking quickly before him, and abruptly ran into his shoulder. “Watch yourself!” Dawson shrilly cried as he gave his brother a quick shove.

He turned on his heel and retreated down the hall, brushing his shoulder as if wiping away traces of dirt. Zane shrugged, having been used to his brother’s over-reactive tendencies, and once again set off for his father’s office.

Zane knocked heavily on the door. “Yes?” rang a voice from the other side.

“It’s me, father,” Zane replied as he crossed his arms across his chest.

The large, ebony double doors opened at the reply, revealing Anthony’s tired expression. “Father…were you out late again?” Zane asked, concerned.

Beneath Anthony’s deep blue eyes were two prominent dark circles, while his soft pink lips were fixated into a deep frown. His typically straight, noble posture was hunched over, making him appear his old age of 47 as opposed to his usually youthful looks. “Yes, I returned home around three in the morning last night. You know how demanding the king can be…” Anthony replied, his voice soft and low.

Zane murmured to himself, frustrated at his father being overworked as he walked past his father and entered his office. “I have something important to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Ari seems troubled.”

Anthony blinked, absorbing the information, but straightened after a moment. “What has happened?”

“Over the phone, he told me that he was being abused and that someone was hurting him.”

“Well, did he tell you directly?”

“Yes. He said ‘he’s hurting me.’ I think the person he was referring to was in the room with him at the time, so he was trying to hide it with something else. I want to go check on his condition.”

“You can go in two days,” Anthony abruptly replied.

“Why not today?”

“Your family is here visiting. They’ve only just arrived. You are my son, it’s only proper for you to stay and welcome them home for at least a few days, not just one.”

“Dawson can have that job. He’s the first son, after all. I am only the second. Besides, isn’t that a bit contradictory, father? You said I could go out and play cards with my old friends from the military tonight, and yet you will not allow me to investigate my husband’s possible abuse? This is extremely important! This entire ordeal can change the entire contract! If the Parselle family is being abusive, then why should this marriage be allowed at all? I understand your intense drive for the change of the noble families’ ways and thinking, but this is too much.”

“I understand your concern, Zane. But please think things through before you barge into my office and yell at me about my decisions. This marriage is far too important for us! For the entire society! Don’t you see the chaos that we’re tangled up in right now? You know the mission me and the other major families have created. We’ll all marry and create a peace treaty with each in order to convince the lower tiers that cooperation is the best way out of this mess. As the most influential family, our marriage is the most important! Besides, Aminri’s not your husband quite yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Fine, do what you want, father. Just as long as you know what you’re doing. But you saw what those children said! You know how they treat Aminri!”

“Children are cruel, Zane, especially siblings. Surely you know that by now. He wasn’t bruised, he wasn’t bleeding, there’s no evidence of physical pain. Your family is more important than going to investigate something that isn’t known for sure. Why are you so attached to him? You’ve only met him for a day. I understand that he’s a very nice boy. I would probably become drawn to him myself if I were you, but this is very out of your character.”

“The fact that abuse is even possible at all is enough,” Zane firmly replied, squaring his shoulders. “He is to be my husband, and it is my responsibility to see that he is healthy, whether or not I’ve known him for one year or one day.”

Anthony smiled at his son, then sighed and slumped his shoulders as his exhaustion began to overtake him once more. “Well, you still must serve your family, Zane. Two day, that’s the latest. I’m sorry, but your aunts and uncles most definitely would not be pleased if you left any earlier.”

Zane grumbled to himself and nodded, turning to leave the room in resignation. He softly shut the office door behind him as he entered the hallway, his mind distressed at leaving Aminri with his abuse any longer. But his father was right. He had no proof of it. Only Aminri’s words…

And yet, the boy was a kind one, without a hint of dishonesty or even disobedience. Zane trusted him, having no doubt in his mind Aminri was indeed telling the truth. Yet Zane could only spend the rest of his time with his friends. Although he loved them, his top priority was Aminri’s safety. He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to enjoy this outing as much as he’d like to.

Once again, he went to the phone and lifted the receiver, then dialed the Parselle’s number. “Hello?” Claudia’s voice rang from the phone.

“Yes? Is Aminri there?” he asked.

Claudia said that she would go get him, but was interrupted by the faint speech of someone else. Zane figured it was a man, with the deep tone, and was surprised when she returned so quickly. “No, I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment.”

“May I leave him a message, then?”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Can you tell him I’ll be there in 2 days?”

“Yes, I will,” was Claudia’s curt answer.
Zane said goodbye and thanked her as he quickly hung the phone up. He hated Claudia, more so than he thought was appropriate, but even then he couldn’t help but have a great disdain for her disrespect for Aminri.

He headed slowly down the stairs and entered the dining room, where a young man with messy brown hair was situated. “Will,” Zane got his attention, and almost immediately the man looked attentively up.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m ready to go, now. You know where it is, right?”

“Yes sir.” Will, the private coachmen, replied curtly.

Zane nodded in approval and followed him to the front of the estate, where the coach was sitting tall and proud. The ride out of town was a long and bumpy one, with the cobblestone streets and tall buildings soon fading into a flurry of the passing countryside. The man found himself grumbling about his sore bottom by the end of it as he stepped slowly out of the coach. Will laughed at the man’s discomfort, commenting on how Zane was getting old. Zane laughed with him, having learned long ago to be insensitive to Will’s humor. He thanked his old acquaintance with a small tip and set off for his get together not far from where they had stopped. The man shuffled through his pockets and got out a single slip of crumpled paper, the front of it covered in nearly illegible writing saying, “Carver’s Avenue 40.” Zane looked nonchalantly around at the various houses that surrounded him. They were shabby and old, with the years of their existence plain from the faded paints that coated them. Each individual one was rather far from the other, a calming silence hovering over them; much different as opposed to the city, where each house was suffocated by the neighboring ones as the chaos of the street life outside was never ending. Upon each peeling wall were a set of two or three rusty copper numbers, and from a glance Zane found the house he had been looking for.

He stepped onto the front porch, the dusty floorboards beneath him screeching painfully in response. With three heavy knocks he got the attention of his friends inside, the once bustling house now growing silent with the exception of a set of loud footsteps approaching the door. “What’s the password?” a dramatically low voice sounded from the other side.

“There’s a password?” Zane asked, dubious.

The door opened, the rusty hinges creaking, and revealed the grinning face of a dirty-blonde haired man. “Looking lively as usual,” Zane commented as he tousled the man’s hair.

The other three men situated around the dining room table greeted him happily, shortly lifting their cups and cards. Zane said his greetings in return, more than happy to finally see his old military friends once again. It had been months since he’d last saw them, having been far too busy to give his attention to their usual outings. “Come, sit, sit! The game’s just started!” one of them coaxed, motioning towards a chair besides him.

Zane took his offer gratefully and drew his cards from the deck. “Glad to see you! It’s felt like forever,” the man across from him commented as he threw a card into the pile.

“Yes, well, it’s been busy around the estate. Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Joseph just don’t know when to shut up and stop bickering.”

“Ah, the old couple’s gotten sour, eh? Not too surprised,” another friend said.

Zane looked about the room. “Is Clovis coming?”

“Hm? No, I’m ‘fraid you’re lover boy’s not. Said he had somethin’ important ta do,” a gruff man with a stubble about his chin replied.

Zane shrugged, hiding his disappointment. He had been most eager to see his old friend. And although the gruff man’s comment was only a joke on their close friendship, Zane couldn’t quite say that it wasn’t entirely untrue…

A knock came at the door then. “I’ll go get it,” the man with the dirty blonde hair said.

He stood from his seat at the table, laying his cards face down, and went to answer it. He opened the door just a crack, intending to ask what the password was, but was silenced as a sharp pain went flashing through his stomach. As the man went stumbling back, stunned as a blossom of blood spread across his shirt, the group of men in the back went rushing for their fallen friend. As they did a tall, light haired man emerged in the doorway. “Stop!” his booming voice ordered as brandished his pistol with one hand, the bloodied knife in his other.

Immediately the group of friends froze in place. The man was a large fellow, spanning a monstrous height of six feet, nearly seven. Although the man was slightly pudgy, there was no doubt that he could deal a great bit of damage. At the top of his head was a mess of nearly white blonde hair, and just below that were a set of dangerous green eyes fixed into a feral gaze. Zane’s frozen stance melted then as he relaxed and took a step forward. Immediately the silver barrel went flying into his direction, the stranger’s eyes narrowing at the sight of Zane. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” Zane commented, his voice menacingly low.

“Oh, I’ve missed you dearly.” Zane was silent, his shoulders squared and his arms crossed as Aaron continued, “I’m so flattered that you managed to remember me.”

“Zane, you know this crazy bastard?” one of the friends asked.

“Quiet!” the man snapped.

“Aaron? Dirty Aaron? Oh hell,” the gruff man replied, placing his hands on his hips. “’ve only heard stories, but never ‘magined I’d see the man mahself. You’ve quite a hist’ry on ya.”

“I said quiet!”

The dirty blonde groaned as he held his stomach and struggled to stand. “Let them go, Aaron, they have nothing to do with this,” Zane softly replied.

The dirty blonde groaned once more and grabbed Aaron’s pants leg. Scoffing, the man kicked him in the ribs. “Stop it! We have to do something, he’s going to die!” another friend panicked, moving to help him.

Aaron shot the floor before him, making the men jump. The friend retreated slightly, though with his resolve to help ever evident. “Stop this, Aaron,” Zane said, “Besides, with all this commotion it’s sure to rile up the neighbors.”

“Oh, my little fairy, that won’t be a problem. I’ll make sure this job gets done fast. And well.”

With that, he pointed the pistol at Zane’s head and shot. Out of instinct, the man ducked quickly, a loud thump sounding as his knee slammed down onto the floor, and grabbed hold of the legs of one of the chairs, flinging it straight at Aaron. But the throw had not been strong enough, and with ease Aaron caught it and flung it back. Immediately the friends leapt into action, trying their best to detain the madman but failing, having been deflected like flies by the man’s gargantuan arms. Aaron turned his attention back to the man at his feet, who was now pointing his own pistol at the man’s head. “Always keeping one handy, eh?” Aaron eyed Zane, who sat kneeling with his arms outstretched.

“Give up. I’m not afraid to shoot you.”

“Oh? And I wonder what the court will say about that?”

“There’re four good men here ready to plead in favor of him,” one of the friends replied, and in turn the other three nodded their heads.

Slowly Zane stood, squaring his shoulders as he continued to take aim at the man’s head. But, in an almost inhumane flash of quickness, Aaron ducked beneath his range and tackled him to the ground. Their bodies crashed to the ground in a flurry, and before the friends could fully grasp the situation, Aaron was laying Zane, his large hands squeezing tightly around the raven-haired man. Zane coughed and wheezed, punching at the man’s side to get him off. The gruff man leapt into action, grabbing a nearby plate and smashing it over the man’s head. But the white, broken pieces of porcelain scattered about Aaron’s shoulders and his hair was still not enough to diffuse him. Instead, his rage was only enflamed, his grip around Zane’s neck tightening. Zane shot a menacing glare at the man, to which he was given a cocky grin.

In the background the friends made futile attempts at stopping the madman, having no major weapons to injure the man with. Slowly Zane decided to regain his composure, calculating his next move as his face began to redden. He reached his hand up and threw the hardest punch he could at Aaron’s face. The clash of knuckles against flesh was heard, followed by the sharp crack of bone. Aaron stumbled back, leaving Zane room to pull his own body up. In a rush of adrenaline, Zane grasped Aaron’s collar and lifted him up into the air. Again, he aimed at Aaron’s face, the familiar crack being heard once again as the same cheek was struck. Over and over Zane’s fists pounded into the man’s face, the blood from the man’s broken nose blossoming over his fists. In a blur Zane’s leg thrust at the man’s abdomen, hitting it with such a force that the larger man went tumbling back. The slamming of Aaron’s body on the floor was a defining moment for Zane’s victory.

The raven-haired man turned and faced his friends, who were half standing in awe of him and half huddled about the fallen friend. Ignoring their shocked expressions, Zane walked coolly over to the dirty-blonde man. “How is he?” he asked.

“Not doing too well…” one of them replied, “he’s lost lots of blood…”

“’There a hospital nearby?” the gruff man asked.

“Yeah, there is. If we carry him, we can probably get there in ten minutes.”

Zane nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

~ * ~ * ~

Zane snuck quietly back into the estate, careful not to wake anyone at the late hour he had returned at. The entrance hall was dark and desolate, with an eerie silence that had once dominated it now interrupted by Zane’s echoing footsteps. The man headed tiredly up the steps, wanting only himself and a bed to rest on. He stumbled half consciously into his room, scratching his head as he sighed deeply. He was sure his father wouldn’t mind his being home so late; after all, it wasn’t an unusual practice for him and he was an adult. In fact, the only reason why he was staying in the estate with his father was for the marriage and the family meeting. Otherwise, he would be staying in another house not too far from Anthony’s. Zane wondered if Ari thought he relied on his father; the thought of such a thing embarrassed Zane, and as his mind wandered he warily rested his head on his pillow. Almost immediately these thoughts left him as he fell into a deep sleep.

~ * ~ * ~

Aminri went crashing down onto the floor, a sharp pain shooting through his whole body. “Harold, what’s gotten into you?!” he sobbed loudly, the agony that he was once sure he was spared now unleashed once more.

“I heard of your little fiasco with Zane Bennington!” Harold snarled, a feral look glimmering in his eyes, “And that he’s apparently coming in two days to retrieve you!”

For a moment Aminri felt a glimmer of joy, but, like a fading ember, it quickly died as he was returned to the earth and was once again faced with Harold’s twisted expression. Again, another blow was thrown at him, and the salty, bitter taste of blood ran strong in Aminri’s mouth. Again, Harold thrust his leg into his stomach, and the breath was knocked straight out of the smaller boy. Again, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed upon the walls of the cellar. Again and again and again bruises were piles upon bruises.

Aminri could feel the ground leave him as Harold brought him roughly up by the collar. “I didn’t think that you could possibly get more whorish than you already are! But I suppose I was mistaken…don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure you repent for many years to come!”

“Please, oh, please, Harold…” Aminri begged with all his heart, but no matter how pleading he was, his voice was but a whimper. His throat ached from the yelling he had done before and from the intense thirst that bound him.

His brother simply ignored him. Instead he crashed his knuckles into Aminri’s cheek once again, without hesitation. The boy could no longer handle any more damage; Harold had been venting upon him for quite some time. But even so, the older brother disregarded the blood dripping down the boy’s chin and the horrid blackness that had engulfed his right eye. Bruises had already begun to form across his arms; in fact, there were so many one could say that his skin appeared spotted. For so long Harold had regarded this very boy as the loveliest thing he had ever set his eyes on, but in that moment his obsession had transformed to mere disgust. A grotesque expression fell upon his face as he eyed the pitiful, battered thing before him.

Aminri looked up at his brother, his eyes watery. “Don’t you look at me!” Harold lashed, striking one final blow to Aminri’s head.

The boy went tumbling to the ground, his consciousness finally leaving him in one final act of mercy. Immediately his mind was swept away as his vision was abruptly blanketed by pure blackness.

But his mind seemed to return, and soon he opened his eyes, expecting the entire ordeal to be a dream. But he wasn’t quite sure that he opened his eyes…again and again he blinked, but no matter what he was met with the same blackness. Terrified, he stood, his past injuries seeming to have gone, and fumbled about foolishly in an attempt to grasp whatever he could. Nothing, though, was there to feel. He was but with himself in this void. The boy, terribly lonely, remained there for what felt like forever, simply standing in the dark.

Aminri loved dreaming, as much as its realism frightened him. The practice served as a surreal escape from the world around him, and served as a parallel to his constantly sprinting and constantly suspended lifestyle. The thought of never quite being sure whether one was dreaming or not was highly romanticized in his mind. This instance, though, was far too bizarre. The boy gazed up at the vast blue sky above him, seemingly endless in its pure, cloudless existence. He then shifted his gaze towards a beautiful sea before him. Although the waves of the ocean were slowly receding and returning upon the shore, they bore no sound. Without seeing them, it was almost as if they didn’t exist. The sands behind Aminri seemed endless, with layers upon layers of what was a sort of desert piled upon one another to form the scenery. He wasn’t sure how or when he got there; he only knew that the pure silence surrounding him was deeply disturbing.

Aminri felt uncomfortable in this place, with only himself to keep him company. The boy looked carefully around. Well, he was sure that he was alone, but he had a heavy feeling in his heart that he truly wasn’t. Standing, Aminri wiped the sand off of his trousers and inspected the area behind him. No one. Shrugging, the boy turned back around and began to sit…

A cold, calloused hand was laid upon his shoulder. The boy jumped, and turned abruptly around, frightened out of his wits. Behind him was a ghostly figure, with skin almost white and bloodshot eyes. For the brief moment that Aminri had set eyes on the woman, he believed her wavy blonde hair and large, hazel eyes to be unsettlingly familiar. Without ceremony, the woman shoved Aminri backwards, hurdling him into the freezing waters of the ocean’s waves. Although logically the boy should have simply fallen onto the shore, he instead fell right into the sea, the vast body swallowing him with a soundless splash.

Deeper and deeper the boy fell to the bottom, a parade of bubbles trailing by him all the while. Aminri grasped his throat as he struggled for precious air, his life seeming to grow farther and farther from him the deeper he fell. A sweep of coldness passed by him, and instinctively Aminri opened his eyes. Soft blonde hair floated like a halo around a deathly pale face, which was fixated into a blank stare that pierced through Aminri’s heart. The boy opened his mouth and emitted a gargled, drowned scream. The woman swam ever closer to Aminri and wrapped her arms around him, the coldness of her skin against his spreading throughout his whole body.

Then, the boy found that he could breathe again. The water that had once engulfed him melted into the scene of a lonely grey cellar, and his suffocated sense of smell was now filled with the fresh smell of wine. Aminri collapsed onto the concrete floor, frozen by the chilly air and his drenched body. The boy coughed and wheezed, breathing in as much as he possibly could and ridding himself of any misplaced water.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Aminri sat up and examined the room. At first the boy was dazed, looking around the room with skeptical, half-lidded eyes. He closed them, trying his best to remember where this place was…

Then he gasped sharply, a sudden panic filling him. He stumbled as he quickly stood and headed towards the door, needing to leave this place as soon as possible. He left a trail of dark grey footsteps as he walked, all of which, in his eyes, seeming to be mocking him. Aminri cursed under his breath as he tripped, and struggled to pull himself back up. The door to the cellar opened, and somehow Aminri knew just who was there. As the boy looked slowly up, the rest of him that had survived this dream so far died. “How lovely you look right now, Aminri, covered in all of that water…” Harold drawled, his eyes glimmering.

“Stay back!” Aminri exclaimed as he crawled backwards, his eyes wide with horror.

“Don’t go away, Aminri,” Harold replied with mock sorrow. “I’ll be so lonely without you.”

Each step Harold took towards the boy was in unison with Aminri’s increasing heart rate. Nearer and nearer he advanced, until his face was only inches from his brother’s. “I love you very much, you know. I can’t live without you.”

Aminri sobbed and covered his face, shaking his head ferociously as if trying to deny what was happening to him. Harold knocked his hands away and grasped his shoulder’s. “Say you love me.”

“N-n-noo…” Aminri whined, begged, and pleaded his brother all at the same time.

“Try again.”

“...ne--nno,” Aminri replied once more.

“Again, Ari, again!” Harold’s voice slowly rose.

“I love you, I love you!” Aminri sobbed, holding himself tight. His brother’s soft, loving gaze upon him was unbearably painful.

“Good boy.” Harold smiled, and tightly grasped Aminri’s throat.

~ * ~ * ~

Aminri was horrified at the sight of Harold leaning over him when he first awoke. The young man was staring at him with a disturbing fascination, his brow slightly furrowed. “You had a nightmare.” Harold’s voice was cutting, with neither a hint of concern or empathy.

“Y…yes, I did,” Aminri meekly replied, heavily disturbed.

Harold positioned himself closer to the boy, much to his dismay. “What was it about?”

The brother trembled, then grimaced as a sharp pain rang through his body. “N-nothing…I scarcely remember it…”

Aminri softly hissed as Harold squeezed his heavily bruised arm. “Don’t lie. What was it about?”

The boy, despaired at the agony his body was in and frustrated with his painfully swollen right eye, bitterly wondered why his brother was so obsessed. “Ari? You know, I heard you call my name in your sleep. Perhaps it was of me?”

Again, Aminri trembled, though fiercer this time. “I…I…” the boy stuttered, “…yes.”

Harold grinned, almost victoriously so, and scooted ever closer to his brother. “Please, Harold!” Aminri blurted. “Please, don’t hurt my anymore, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Harold stared blankly at his brother face, now streaked with hot tears. “If you’re so sorry, then say you love me.”

At that Aminri gasped, his eyes widening. The situation was all too familiar, leading Aminri to have the lingering suspicion that he had never woken up. Irritated at his brother’s silent reply, Harold snapped, “Say it! Or all that begging will have been for nothing. Or do you want me to snap your arm in half?”

The boy broke. He rolled himself into a ball at the foot of the bed and sobbed the hardest he ever had in years. Where was his father? Or his step mother? Hadn’t either of them wondered where he was yesterday? Why wasn’t his father alarmed by all the screaming he had done before? Maybe he just didn’t care, or was even praising Harold for doing what he was too cowardly to do himself. “Stop that crying!” Harold snapped once more.

“I love you!” Aminri replied, his voice just below a scream.

As if drunk off of the phrase, Harold grasped his brother by the shoulders. “Say it again.”

“I…love you.”

“Now kiss me.”

Aminri looked at his brother, mortified. He paused for a few moments, contemplating what he should do to escape, but soon gave up. There was no exit, now. The bed creaked, interrupting the tense silence that had once inhabited the room. The entire estate was unusually still in that moment, with the two men seemingly the only people in the world.

~ * ~ * ~

“So you beat him down? Ha! That’s my cousin for you,” Howl laughed.

“The man sounds insane…” Lydia added, still heavily worried about her brother.

“He is insane,” Zane replied. “It’s amazing how he still holds that old grudge. Though I can’t really say I’m surprised…”

“What is the grudge about, anyway? Some old military scheme?” Howl crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair, readying himself for Zane’s story.

“To put it plain and simple, he abused his power and soldiers. And not only that, I discovered that he had somehow managed to get ahold of drugs and were selling them to lower ranked soldiers. So, naturally, with my discoveries, I reported to our commanding officer and had him dishonorably discharged. After that, I don’t know for certain what happened, though I have heard rumors. One of which includes his wife divorcing him. Luckily, last night, two other men and I managed to rush my injured friend into the hospital just in time, so he’s alright now. The other men took care of Aaron and sent him to the nearest police station.”

“Hmm...interesting,” Howl replied, rubbing his chin.

Neither Howl nor Lydia had ever heard of this aspect of Zane’s life, and both of them couldn’t help but admit it was rather intimidating. Still, Lydia was more than relieved at her brother’s safety. “…oh!” she burst, “I nearly forgot!”

The woman stood and headed for the living room door. “Forgot what, now?” Zane asked as he watched his sister go.

Lydia didn’t reply, though, and left to her room only to return minutes later holding a small jewelry box. “I’m sorry, cousin, I’m afraid I don’t play dress up,” Howl said, raising one eyebrow as he wondered what the true meaning for the box was.

“Oh, hush, you!” Lydia angrily replied and lifted the lid.

Inside was a small bird with flamboyantly bright colored feathers and two small, glistening black eyes. It peered up from the bottom of the box in response to the light that filled its vision. Seeing Lydia standing over it, it chirped loudly. “Again, sister?” Zane sighed, standing to see the bird. “Hasn’t father already discouraged you from bringing injured birds back into the house? It could be diseased.”

“Oh, I know, but this one was particularly hurt.” She scooped the bird up into her palms and held it out to her brother. “Isn’t it adorable?”

Zane stared at the bird, silent, and simply blinked when it chirped at him. Lydia pulled the bird away and headed towards the window, a grin on her face. Opening her hands, Lydia released the animal into the world as she reached her arms outside. The bird flew off into the distance with the bright light of the sun bouncing off of its feathers, giving it an almost other-worldly glow. Lydia sighed and leaned against the pane, the crisp afternoon breeze flowing through her long black hair. Zane let out a silent hmph as he crossed his arms and eyed the single, pure white feather that was left in its wake upon the floor.

~ * ~ * ~

“Harold! I’ve told you, you have no dinner for tonight!” The Earl sternly regarded his son.

“Father, what have I done to deserve such a punishment? You said I could do what I wanted with Ari, didn’t you?”

“I never said anything of the sort. I said you could bully him—”

“Exactly!”

The Earl raised his hand. “—to an extent that is unnoticeable. Does this look unnoticeable to you?” the father motioned to Aminri, who sat three chairs down from him.

The boy was covered in bruises that crawled like an infection up his arms and had one prominent, swollen black eye. “What do you think the Bennington’s are going to say about this? And especially since Lord Zane is coming in only a day!”

“You didn’t complain about the first few bruises…” Harold grumbled.

“That’s because they weren’t even noticeable! You could have easily hidden them with a shirt or high-cut trousers.”

“Ari, say something!” The eldest son blurted, turning angrily to his younger brother.

“Harold! Go. To. Your. Room!”

The young man huffed and stomped away, his steps echoing loudly in the large dining hall. Aminri sighed, hanging his head over his plate. “Aminri, are you in pain?”

The boy looked up, blinking at the sudden question. “N-no, sir, I feel fine,” he lied.

“Good. Try not to complain when Zane gets here.”

Aminri nodded and silently took a bite of his bread. Somehow, with Harold’s absence, dinner managed to be oddly serene and quiet that night, to Aminri’s relief. The boy took his time eating the rest of his meal, not wanting to go upstairs and having to face his brother once again. Claudia, though, scolded him away, him having been the very last member to leave.

Dejected, the boy retreated to the hall, anxious and apprehensive. Harold almost immediately appeared before him, having changed into his sleeping attire and seeming to sense his brother’s presence. “Ha-Harold...!”

The brother pulled him harshly forward by the arm. “I’m hungry, love. Go get me some food.”

Aminri winced at the feel of Harold’s hot, humid breaths on the nape of his neck and at the endearing names his brother had already become so fond of calling him. Harold pulled him into a tight embrace, disregarding that they were in the hall, and moved to kiss him. Bram, while buttoning his collared shirt, turned around the corner, his brow furrowed. But as he caught sight of the two, he retreated back behind the wall. His expression was that of horror, disgust, and satisfaction. All this time he had been suspicious of Harold and Aminri, and at last he had the evidence to prove it! Somehow, he felt an overwhelming pride in himself.

The boy pulled gently away from his brother, silently nodding at Harold’s request. He looked up, ready to leave for the kitchen, but caught a slight glimpse of Bram just around the corner. Panicked, Aminri shoved Harold away, crying, “Leave me alone!”

He sprinted down the hall in a fit of adrenaline and locked himself inside of his room, huffing violently. With his mind running in circles, he rushed for his chair and placed it beneath the door knob. “Oh…oh god…” he sobbed, grasping his head.

He rolled himself up into a ball on the bed, trembling fiercely. His tear filled eyes flickered over to the floor, then to the window, numerous thoughts reeling through his head. He found the window to be oddly endearing, oddly entrancing, almost as if it were coaxing him. He stood, frowning as he wiped away his tears. One by one his bare feet pattered across the floor, nearing the far wall as Aminri swayed right to left. There was no hope here or anywhere, was the conclusion the boy had reached. The final string attaching him to the second floor of the estate had been cut, and in a flash he tumbled down from the window into a mute darkness.

----

A/N: Thanks so much for all of the reviews! I really do appreciate it! Don't worry, Harold will get (legitimately) punished soon.