Chapter 2: Another Beating

The commotion in the kitchen carried a violent edge of pent-up frustration.

When the steaks were tossed into the frying pan, oil splattered everywhere. Lucian glared at the meat, and suddenly remembering something, he reached into the salt jar, dug out a heaping spoonful, and layered it on thick. After a moment's thought, he added another half-spoonful for good measure.

He ripped open the packaging for the broccoli and dumped it straight onto the plate.

Wash it? Wash what? He didn't care if the man ate it or not.

He flipped the steaks with crude, jerky movements, the injuries on his body screaming in pain with every shift.

There was a nasty bruise near his ribs, his lip was split, and his wrists throbbed from being twisted behind his back earlier.

He looked down at himself, and his eyes grew hot again.

Dammit.

He slammed the spatula into the sink.

Twenty minutes later, two plates of disastrous-looking steak were set on the dining table. The broccoli still had bits of dirt clinging to it from who-knows-where, and the surface of the steak was charred black, yet the inside was still oozing blood.

Lucian stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up toward the second floor.

"Hey!" he yelled, his voice as raspy as a broken bell. "Dinner's ready!"

No one answered.

He waited five seconds, ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and started heading upstairs. Halfway up, he realized he didn't know which room belonged to Sebastian, so he stopped, stranded in the middle of the staircase.

"Sebastian!" he shouted again.

This time, there was a response.

A door opened on the second floor, and Sebastian walked out. He had changed into fresh loungewear, his hair a bit messier than before, though his expression remained as cold as ever. However, as he walked, the stride of his right leg was noticeably shorter than his left, his movements appearing stiff.

Lucian saw it.

He remembered the kick he had landed earlier and suddenly felt a flicker of guilt.

But that guilt was instantly incinerated by rage the moment he saw the faint, mocking smirk on Sebastian's face.

"Food's done," he said stiffly, turning around and heading back downstairs.

Unchecked, steady footsteps followed behind him.

Lucian stood by the dining table, refusing to sit, just loitering there staring out the window. Sebastian walked over, scanned the items on the table, and pulled out a chair.

"Why are you standing?" He picked up his knife and fork. "Sit."

Lucian hesitated for two seconds before sitting across from him.

Sebastian sliced a piece of steak and put it in his mouth.

Lucian stared at him intently.

Chewing. Swallowing. Sebastian's expression didn't change at all.

Then he set down his utensils, picked up a napkin, and slowly wiped his mouth.

Lucian’s heart climbed into his throat, panic rising within him. Did this man have no taste buds?

Sebastian looked at him.

Then, Sebastian laughed.

It was a real laugh—the kind where the corners of the mouth curl up and there’s a genuine spark in the eyes.

"If you were just a little more obedient," he said, "wouldn't things be easier?"

Lucian froze for a second.

In the next instant, he and his chair were sent flipping to the floor.

His face burned with sharp pain, and the taste of copper filled his mouth. He was stunned, lying on the ground staring at the ceiling. It took two seconds for the realization to sink in—he had been hit.

He had been knocked right out of his chair by a single punch.

"You mother—! Ah!" He bolted up from the floor, his eyes crimson, his voice cracking. "Are you out of your mind?!"

Sebastian stood up.

Before Lucian could react, the other side of his face took a hit. This time he saw it—Sebastian’s movements weren't actually that fast, yet he simply couldn't dodge them.

He crashed back onto the floor.

The living room fell silent for two seconds.

Then, Lucian cried.

It wasn't the silent weeping from before; it was a full-blown, loud wail. He sprawled on the ground, burying his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking violently. Sobs tore from his throat, raspy and broken.

"You're freaking crazy!!!" he roared between sobs. "You're insane!!! What is wrong with you!!! I made the food!!! What more do you want from me!!!"

Sebastian looked down at him.

Twenty-one years old, six-foot-two, sprawled on the floor crying like a child.

He stood there for a while, waiting until the wailing subsided slightly before speaking.

"The first time."

Lucian’s sobbing hitched.

"I’ll let it slide," Sebastian’s tone remained calm. "Next time, you'd better think twice."

He turned toward the stairs.

As he stepped onto the second stair, he paused and said without looking back: "The broccoli wasn't washed, and the steak was too salty to eat. Do it again, and I’ll settle both scores at once."

The footsteps continued, followed by the sound of the bedroom door closing upstairs.

Lucian stayed on the floor, listening to the click of that door, and cried even harder.

He cried for an unknown amount of time before crawling up to sit on the floor, burying his face in his knees, his shoulders twitching. The lights in the living room weren't on; only the light from the dining area shone from behind him, casting a long, lonely shadow on the ground.

He lifted his head and wanted to cry again.

He couldn't hold it back.

He slumped over the dining table, face buried in his arms, and continued to wail. The sound echoed through the empty living room, sounding both tragic and pathetic.

Upstairs.

Sebastian leaned against the headboard, a pillow propped behind his waist, holding his phone. An open memo was on the screen, but not a single word had been written.

Intermittent crying drifted up from downstairs.

Are kids this age always this annoying?

He listened for a while, put his phone down, and reached back to press on his waist.

Hiss—

That kick had really been a low blow.

He lay down, staring at the ceiling, listening as the crying downstairs gradually diminished into occasional whimpers, before finally falling completely silent.

After a long while, rustling movements came from below.

The sound of plates clinking, the faucet running, the sound of washing dishes.

Sebastian closed his eyes, an inexplicable irritation stirring in his heart.