~I spent my time watching my surroundings, unaware that it was not the future I was running toward but the past I refused to forget.

At least until I found my way again.

~I felt as if I was being strung along and jerked from end to end, smashed to bits and glued together again.

Until I decided I would no longer be broken.

~I couldn't see; I was blind to the friends I had even though they were right in front of me.

I wasn't looking hard enough.

~I found that my world was without color; naught but black and white.

But I found the shades of gray over time.

~My suffering was endless.

Until it ended.

Arthur Kirkland,

London, England

June 5th 2163

"Arthur, get your ass in here!" shouted a voice.

I cringed and walked into the den with a fearful expression on the inside of my face. As expected it was... him. The bane of my existence. My younger brother, Peter. I felt like I was going to die; he was working me hard. "You called, sir?"

"I want you to go and get Alfred for lunch; he's here visiting, you know. It's a pity you can't see him," Peter smiled cruelly. "You're too busy for your favorite son, right now."

I nodded, Of course; I'm too busy for him.

"Well, go on and send him to a nice restaurant... is the pub-and-go nice?"

"I wouldn't know," I muttered icily, "I don't go there anymore."

"Well then, send him to someplace he'll like."

"...I don't know what he even likes anymore..." I whispered.

"Yes, that's right. You've been too busy to see him for a long time. Do you want me to tell you what he likes?"

"Yes, Peter."

"He likes fast food, video games, scary movies, and he likes you. God only knows why; you've been a total horses' ass since before I was even born." Peter grinned coldly. "I might just tell him to screw off; you're hardly worth the effort."

I had to fight to keep from hitting him; he had powerful friends. I cowered as he crossed the room and slapped me across the face. He beat me around the face until I was covered in dull red blood and vivid purple bruises. He brought his foot down on my ribs, and I coughed as he made contact. I felt my throat get dry as the same blood the was just beneath the surface of my face came out of my mouth. Peter was going to kill me one of these days, but I could do nothing about it. They say that boys will be boys, but I have no time to think on that.

Peter had been such a good boy when he was younger (though he did threaten to kill me more than once). Almost 200 years ago that was.

He spat in my direction and told me to get up. He said he was waiting for me to go and get Alfred. Said he would kill me if I didn't leave now.

I left. I walked down the hallway to the guest room and knocked on the door. "Alfred, Peter wants you to come out. He wants you to go and meet him in the den."

It's all about Peter, I thought.

There was a low rustling and I stood to one side of the door, brushing my hair into my face to cover the bruises.

The door opened, "Hey, Arthu- WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?"

"Huh?"

"It's covered in bruises! Are you... BLEEDING?"

"No," I lied.

The young man in front of me towered over me and his face expressed concern. I hated that his innocent blue eyes made him look like he cared. It was irritating as hell for him to care about me when I was so damn worthless. I wasn't worth a trip to the hospital (I treated my own wounds), I wasn't worth a trip to the grocery store (I was starving most of the time); I wasn't worth anything, I was worthless. He sighed and I saw tears in his eyes. "Arthur, don't lie to me."

"I am bleeding but it's nothing serious."

"Blood is always serious!"

"I got mauled by a cat," I said flatly.

"You Liar! Don't Lie! Peter did it to you, didn't he? Didn't he?"

"No. It's my fault, I tried to move the cat without treats and got my whole damn face scratched off."

Alfred raised a single eyebrow, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Al gave me one last concerned glance and ran down the hall. I walked slowly in the opposite direction, and arrive at a door with a union jack ripped in half and singed on the edge stapled to the door. I didn't know at the time but what Peter was doing could be classified as abuse; I didn't know that yet.

My room was crap. Punk Rock, Harry Potter, Owls, Cats, and union jacks. The walls were also spattered with blood, dried blood from the last few times Peter had decided to punish me. Some people thought that Peter thought it was a game, he did not; he knew better than I did that this was not a game. Not At All.

He knew that I couldn't protect myself and he exploited that. He hurt me just to be hurting me. He just wanted to prove that he could.

I rubbed my eyes and was not surprised to feel tears on my fingers, I was, however, surprised to feel that rather than a small stream of tears, on my cheeks were a pair of rivers. I rubbed my eyes some more and sat on my bed, picking up a worn plush dove and hugging it to my chest. I lay back and stared at the ceiling, tears still streaming down my face. I think I nodded off for a while because I was suddenly awakened by a loud shout.

"Wake up!" The voice yelled, practically a bark.

I jerked upright and saw Peter's silhouette in the doorway. I stuttered, "I d-didn't mean to fall asleep, Sir."

"Oh, I know." Peter said, his voice deceptively calming. "I thought you should know, Alfred went home. He asked about you, asked if you were sick, asked if you had hurt yourself, asked why you were covered in bruises; I actually was impressed by the story. Did you really tell him that you'd been mauled by a cat?"

I nodded, hesitant to respond.

"I had no idea that you had it in you to lie so blatantly to your favorite son." He laughed darkly. "You must be punished for falling asleep. What would be a fitting punishment...?" He wondered.

"I don't know, sir..."

"...I want you to close your eyes and roll over."

I did so and Peter hit me across the back of the head with something. I felt him rip my clothes off but I couldn't move, my head hurt so bad that I couldn't focus on anything. He did something and I felt tears in my eyes even through my lashes. My eyes flew open and I could tell that I was moving slightly, forward and back. I coughed but it sounded like a sob. Peter slapped me across the face.

"Shut up, you butain... you are mine. You live or die by my hand. No one is going to save you; you are stuck here with me and you are not getting away. Rwy'n casáu chi ond rydych yn unig mor boeth… Gallaf weld pam yr Amerig caru chi gymaint… ond bydd yr hyn y mae'n meddwl pan fyddaf yn dweud wrtho...? (I hate you but you're just so hot... I can see why america loves you so much... but what will he think when I tell him...?)"

Peter laughed softly.

"Fy na fyddai, fod â chywilydd... (My, wouldn't he be embarrassed...)"

I sobbed again and Peter slapped me harder.

"Cau i fyny a gadewch i mi ddweud wrthych beth fyddai Alfred ei wneud os bydd yn dod o hyd i... (Shut up and let me tell you what Alfred would do if he found out...)" Peter was talking softly but I could feel him grinding against me. "Byddai'n syrthio allan o gariad gyda chi; Byddai'n cael ei gywilydd i erioed wedi syrthio mewn cariad â'r cyfryw butain ddiwerth… dyna beth byddai'n meddwl eich bod yn; butain ddiwerth gwaedlyd. (He would fall out of love with you; He would be ashamed to have ever fallen in love with such a worthless whore... that's what he would think you are; a bloody worthless whore.)"

I accidentally sobbed; shocked, I closed my eyes and waited for Peter to hit me again.

"Mmm... Rwy'n casáu eich perfedd Lloegr, ond mae'n rhaid imi ddweud ei fod yn hwyl... ac nid ydynt yn crio, fyddwch butain; 'i jyst yn gwneud i chi edrych yn bod llawer mwy truenus. (Mmm... I hate your guts England, but I must say that it was fun... and don't cry, you whore; it just makes you look that much more pathetic.)"