Silent Touch

A teenage boy was scrubbing the dirt and grime off the tilled floor. The boy was working up a sweat, but he told himself that if he did a good job, maybe he won’t get hurt this time. He heard the click-clack sounds of a woman’s heel. It indicated that she was coming. He stood up quickly and dusted himself off. He then stood up straight and waited.

The woman came through and inspected the teenage boy. The woman was in her late thirties, with curly dark blonde hair and cold blue eyes. Her posture was stiff and hanging out of her fingers was a lit cigarette. She looked at the teenage boy over, and then inspected the floor. She saw how clean it was, but there was still something off about the floor.

“The floor is still too dirty,” the woman confirmed, stabbing him in the upper part of his arm with her lit cigarette.

The teenage boy hissed in pain, but bit his lip so he wouldn’t let out a cry of pain. The woman smirked when she saw the fear in his eyes and the tears that were threatening to spill over. The woman slicked the cigarette to the floor and pushed the teenage boy down to the floor.

“Clean it up,” the woman spat.

The teenage boy nodded his head and began to scrub the tiled floor again. He soon let the tears spill over, but wiped them away so the tears won’t hit the tile floor. He looked up and peaked out the window. He wanted so much to be able to go outside and meet people his own age. He knew he couldn’t, though, because he’s forced to stay as a slave for the horrid woman. He heard her coming back and he quickly began to scrub the floors.

“Mason?” a familiar voice questioned.

He looked up and saw the woman’s son standing in front of him.

“Master Young,” Mason greeted, standing up and quickly bowing to him.

“Mason, we’ve talked about this,” Master Young told him.

“I know, sir, but it’s required that I call you Master and nothing else,” Mason told him, keeping his eyes on the ground.

The teenage boy, Master Young, sighed and walked away from where Mason was standing. Mason took a deep breath and kept scrubbing the floors, wanting to do a good job and making sure that he didn’t screw up.

Mason placed the food on the table and poured the wine into Ms. Young’s wine glass.

“That’s enough,” she told him.

Mason stopped pouring and placed the wine bottle in the bucket of ice it belonged in. Ms. Young cut her steak and took a bit out of it.

“It’s too soft. Do it again,” Ms. Young demanded.

Mason bowed softly and took Ms. Young’s plate and walked towards the kitchen where the chefs were cooking.

“Steak too soft?” the head chef questioned.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mason replied, placing the plate on top of the counter.

“I swear, she needs to make up her mind on the steak,” the head chef, Amy, commented.

“Well, I don't want to do anything that might upset her,” Mason confirmed.

“Look, either way, Mistress Young will try to find a way to hurt you. Just mark my words,” Amy confirmed, going back to cooking the steak to a taste that Ms. Young would like it.

Mason waited for Amy to finish and quickly took the new steak towards her. He set it down in front of Ms. Young and saw Master Young almost finish with his dinner.

“Would you like anything else, sir?” Mason asked him.

Master Young looked up and shook his head.

“No, thanks-”

“Christopher, don't be so modest. He offered is he can do anything else for you,” Ms. Young confirmed, taking a bite out of her steak and grimaced.

“This steak is too hard,” Ms. Young confirmed.

Mason bit his lip and was about to take the plate away, but Ms. Young stopped him.

“That's enough. I don't want you to touch my food. Now be gone and be sure you're prepared at seven,” Ms. Young told him.

Mason nodded his head and ducked away, watching the Young family as he walked away. He pressed his back on the wall and slid towards the floor. He let the silent tears escape from his eyes and knew what would happen at seven. He was scared shitless, but he had to make it through this time. He stood up and began to walk towards his room.

“Mason,” a familiar voice called out.

Mason turned around and saw Master Young walking towards him.

“Master Young, I'm sorry for ruining dinner for you,” Mason apologized, bending his head low in shame.

“Mason, I've told you countless times before. I told you to call me Christopher. It's weird when you call me Master Young,” Christopher confirmed.

“I'm sorry Ma - sir,” Mason corrected himself.

Christopher sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder, making Mason flinch from his touch.

“Look, you don't have to answer to my mother, you know,” Christopher confirmed.

“It's not that I have to, it's more that I'm forced to. I know you're looking after me, but the truth is, I'm doing this so that I won't get hurt,” Mason confirmed, backing away from him and looked at the clock. “If you'll excuse me, sir, I have to get ready.”

Christopher saw Mason leave and go up the stairs. Christopher took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. There was no way to convince him that this was all wrong. Everything he was doing was wrong. In fact, he would hear his cries when days like this happened. He wanted nothing more than to soothe Mason and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

“Christopher, darling, you're needed elsewhere, remember? You were going to meet that young girl from the shop,” Ms. Young called out to him.

“I'm going, mother,” Christopher called out, grabbing his jacket and looked up the stairs.

Mason was peering through, biting his lip and making his way towards Ms. Young's room. Christopher took one last look and he was out the door.

Mason sat on the bed, clutching onto the robe that was hiding himself from Ms. Young. Speak of the devil, she soon came in and smirked at him.

“Well, that just won't do, now, will it?” Ms. Young teased, stepping towards him and yanking the robe off of him.

Mason squeaked in disapproval and looked down on the sheet. He was wearing nothing but the underwear that he was forced to wear and it made him feel incredibly self-conscious.

“I keep telling you that you need to gain more weight. You never listen, do you,” Ms. Young cooed, placing a finger on his cheek and forcing him to look up.

Mason looked up and soon heard the crack of the whip. He felt the sting and he screamed. Mason refused to cry and bit his lip.

“You never listen, do you, pet? I'm going to have to teach you to listen to your Mistress,” Ms. Young stated, getting on the bed and forced him to lie down.

The last thing to be heard was the cries and protest of Mason as well as the crack of the whip.