The Kings' and Monroes' lost their everything in a span of one night. Their parents were killed leaving the King's little brother and the Monroe's little princes to be taken under the cover of the dark.
Years later the two powerful families have joi...
*Before you read this chapter there is some distressing themes such as abuse and suicide. You can skip this chapter and won't be lost in other chapters.
Please be aware of others and remember if you need to talk my messages are always open. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
If you skip see you next time*
———————————————————— -Flashback-
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The wallpaper was hanging down from the walls revealing the brown musty color of mold. You could smell two distinct scents that flooded the room like a dam.
The room smelt off damp and, the most disturbing, blood. The room stank of blood. It didn't just smell of blood, however. The red stains covered the room in hand prints, like a second paint job.
Any normal human being would be horrified by the stench. They may even throw up. But these people weren't normal. They had no soul. No commission. Especially for children.
The wooden floor boards were no better. They were cracked and rotten. If you didn't watch, where you were going your foot would be impaled with either a nail or a splinter.
The tiny cracks of the floor board disclosed the kitchen below. Taunting the staving boy inside. The rattles could be heard through out the house.
But don't be fooled, those weren't a baby rattle. That would be too innocent, too pure for this house.
The rattles were coming from the blood stain room. The boy who was tired up by his neck and arms, not enough to strangle him but enough so there was some torture, tugged against the metal chains failing for some relief.
He'd been here for a week and already he felt like giving up. He and his family had been separated, pulled apart by the devastations of life.
The boy had been through hell and back, but he still had hope. But even hope couldn't help him here.
His belly ached with hunger begging for food he didn't have. The cuts and slashes on his body were becoming infected so much so that every time he moved, he experienced pain.
"LET ME OUT!" The boy screamed, which was muffled with his painful cry. The boy knew better than to cry and wail but he was in so much agony he had no choice but to scream out.
The rough man with a big beer gut came into the room. "Shut up! All you do is complain." He said coming close to the boy. His spit travelling from his mouth to the boys battered face.
The boy made no sound, he didn't even breathe. He contained his tears for as long as possible. "Such a weak little boy. Can't you see I'm helping you? You're lucky 16, not everybody has this experience of growth".
