Page 6 of He Should Be Mine

And I know just how to punish him.

I grab his slender wrist and start pulling him towards the hallway. He startles and leans back, instinctively throwing his weight away from me. But his fluffy socks are sliding on the polished floor. I drag him out of the room. Withhis free hand he tries to prise my fingers off of his wrist, but my grip is strong.

“What the fuck are you doing!” he yells.

I ignore him. I drag him up the hallway, all the way to the small guest bathroom by the front door. The one neither of us use. The one with the broken light and no window.

He shrieks as I shove him in. He screams when I slam the door shut. I press my shoulder against the wood just in time for his first frantic charge at it. The door shakes. I shake. But Molly isn’t going anywhere.

“Let me out, you motherfucker!” he wails, as what feels like his entire body slams against the door.

I grunt and brace myself.

Molly hates the dark. He is terrified of it. It’s childish and ridiculous. Of all the things that can hurt you in this world, the dark isn’t one of them. Molly knows this. Better than most. Nobody has ever protected him from cruelty. He has been abused, used, bought and sold. Chewed up and spat out. He has experienced the very worst of humanity. He should be terrified of men, not shadows.

He wails and rattles the doorknob. The door is flimsy, but I’m not. Despite how much my stupid knee is protesting. Molly is not getting out until I decide to free him.

He screams and kicks the door. I can hear the fear and panic in his voice. It’s rapidly overtaking the anger.

As absurd as a fear of the dark is, Molly’s biggest mistake was ever letting anyone know. He should have bottled that shit up. Hid it. Giving up your weaknesses is a grave mistake.

He never should have told me.

“Dario! Please! I’m sorry!”

His voice cracks. He sobs. Great wracking sobs. I can feel him curling up on the other side of this thin plank of wood. I can almost feel his body heat. It is like he is pressed up against me, as close as he can get.

He sobs and sobs. His breaths are loud and erratic.

My heart is hammering. My guts are twisting. I feel like I might be sick.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He is not at all angry now. He is not even pleading. His voice is hopeless. Despairing. Broken.

I force a swallow down my throat. I glance up at the camera. How long is long enough to satisfy Riccardo? If he even ever looks.

He might not ever see Molly sneaking out. Or me chasing after. All of this could be for nothing.

“Please, Daddy,” Molly whimpers in an impossibly tiny voice.

My heart stops beating. That wasn’t a teasing, mocking, flirtatious,Daddy. Molly wasn’t talking to some sexual partner. That was his inner child pleading to whatever scumbag of a father figure he was cursed with.

I leap back from the door as if it has suddenly turned into lava. It falls open and Molly tumbles out into the bright lights of the hallway. All curled up in a small ball.

He scrambles to his feet. His arms wrap around his narrow chest. His head stays down, but I see his tear-streaked face. All red, blotchy, and swollen. He is still beautiful. It shouldn’t be true, but it is.

My arms want to pull him close. Hold him. Hug him. My lips want to comfort him and whisper that everything is going to be okay.

But I can’t do that.

Molly wouldn’t let me, even if I was weak enough to try. Molly doesn’t know comfort. He has never had anyone hold him when it wasn’t for sex. He’s always been alone.

“Go to your room,” I croak.

Head still down, arms still wrapped around himself tightly, he glides past me and disappears into his room. The door shuts.

I stand and stare at it.