The Butler's Master

Exile - Part 2

[Exile – Part 2]

It was a non-descript corner of the town that Kyren found safety and shelter from the angry mob. There, the helpless tears burst forth from a terrified boy who had done his best to survive on his own, who had been so angry at his parents but so helpless in recruiting help. Kyren's tears that had been held back since the first day of his exile flooded his cheeks despite his thirstiness and general dehydration. 

He might have tried to bury his feelings underneath the hatred and anger, but Kyren could no longer deny it as the tears spilled. He missed his family. He missed everyone who had made part of his daily life back in the mansion. He missed his butlers who had always served him wholeheartedly and never complained when he asked things from them. He missed Keyron who was always around to offer him helpful advice whenever he was in need of them. He missed his father who was always ready to smother him with love. Back then, he had thought that his father's overly loving treatment was disgusting and unmanly. Now, Kyren just wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in Brandon's embrace and be told that everything would be alright.

But none of the kind and caring words came. None of the warmth came. And then, when nobody gave the homeless-looking crying boy a second look, Kyren cried himself to sleep, hoping for a better day, for a savior, for his mother to relent and take him back home.

It was only when Kyren was deep asleep that a pair of shoes stopped in front of the vulnerable boy. The only man to ever pay attention to the homeless boy knelt down on one knee, ignoring the dirt and dust that could possibly get on his jeans. Steady hands slowly reached out and gently pressed on the boy's forehead, feeling for his temperature.

The man softly swept Kyren's fringe out of his face, and traced a light forefinger over the cut lip and swollen cheek. The wound had been opened, but was now covered in dirt and egg and vegetable remains. The hand moved gently up to smooth Kyren's silver-blond hair, stroking it a few times despite the dirt, grime and food that had gotten all over it. It was not particularly fair to call Kyren's hair silver-blond now; it was more of a dirty yellow-white instead, with areas of grey and black from being soaked in dirt water when the boy had been sleeping in dumpsters.

The smell that exuded from the boy would turn off any righteous townsperson, but the man ignored all smells that came from Kyren.

A facial towel appeared from the pockets of a black leather jacket and slowly began wiping the boy's face softly and gently, removing whatever traces it could. The dried egg, layers of dirt and grease caked on top of one another could be removed with a bath, but the facial towel was removing as much dirt as it could.

"Mum..." Kyren mumbled, frown creasing a dirty brow.

The man paused slightly at the stir, but continued wiping, not missing the tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Dad... Kaylen..." The boy continued to mumble, and the man was quietly surprised to find tears being squeezed out of the corners of already closed eyes. He watched in silence as the tear rolled down the side of the boy's face, making another track across the dirt and grime.

"Keyron, Kylar, Kyvan... I'm so sorry... I've been a bad master..." The true words were spilling now that the boy was unconscious.

The facial towel continued to wipe the tears gently. When there were no more tears left, the moist item was pocketed quickly, and hands gently guided the boy's arms around broad shoulders. The man adjusted himself so that he was crouched in front of the boy, slinging Kyren's arms over his shoulder and tugged gently so that Kyren's weight was pressed against his back.

The man was gentle as he hiked Kyren up his back, straightening up with ease despite the weight of an added fifteen year old boy on his back. Holding carefully on to the boy who was slightly shorter than he, the man made sure that Kyren was still deep in his fevered sleep before setting off, putting one gentle foot in front of the other.