Even from the start I hated him. Loathed him. Despised him. His existence hindered my happiness. They even gave him my father's name! A great name for a great man who was killed by this spawns sperm donor. Of course I wouldn't accept him. It even got so far as to me abusing him, well that's not what I considered it. It was punishment for his father's deeds. And I was always creative. I remember once I had him starve for days on end, though in my defense I gave him food! The deal was, since he followed me around and was as loyal to me as a dog that's how he would eat. Only my scraps and things I wouldn't eat off the floor. Eventually he did give into his hunger and my will, but his stomach refused and he ended up spewing chunks. Nevertheless, he eventually got it down. Keep in mind that Michael never left me alone. He was always at my side no matter what I did. So maybe I pushed things too far at times, but then I honestly believed that he was evil. Of course he didn't look it. He had flowing dirty blond hair that was always past his shoulders and he was so petite. However how could the result of something so horrible be anywhere near decent? I couldn't see it. I refused to fall into those baby brown eyes and love him like my brother, to accept that this dog was my blood even a little. This continued over the years. I feel that his inability to understand why I hated him so is why he strived for my attention, of course I didn't know that then. Especially as we approached our teenage years. I had him trained, he knew when he could come around me and when not to. What he could say and what he couldn't. He knew never to look me in the eyes. He accepted it. No matter how many beatings I gave him or how many names I called him he still obeyed. It annoyed me to the point of exploding. I tried so hard to make him hate me, but he would thank me for hitting him. He gave gratitude in kneeling at my feet and catering my every whim. I didn't understand! I tried so hard to get him not to. Of course, I enjoyed every bruise I left on him but I wanted to see sorrow. I wanted him to cower, not accept things. It was like I had a broken toy, no longer fun to play with. I suppose that could be because I was all he knew. He was a timid boy who didn't have any friends and didn't know how he should be treated. Though, even then should he not know that what I was doing was wrong? I decided to ask him. I remember it clearly, which is quite rare as my memory is regularly detoriarting. I had beaten the hell out of him. Switching from belt to fists and throwing his thin, pale body against the wall. He was bloody and bruised to the point he could not walk yet he didn't tell me to stop. He cried and yelped but I could sense the apathy in him, he didn't mind. "Why do you let me walk all over you?! Why do you not fight back?!" I screamed at him, I'm sure mother heard but as usual she did nothing. He merely whimpered in reply and tried to get up from the ground where he laid, which of course I wouldn't allow without my answer. Grabbing him by his beautiful locks of hair I slung his face hard against the wall. His breathing was heavy but voice soft whenever he told me to stop. I had never heard it before, and somehow hearing it made me angrier than before. How dare this scum tell me what to do? He wasn't even a real man in honesty. Just my punching bag. "Well? " I asked, allowing him to speak. Michael brought his arm up and wiped some flowing blood as he caught his breath and prepared his answer. "Because I love you, Gabriel. And if beating on me is what you need, I'm happy you even need me for that. So make me your whipping boy. Take everything out on me.. It's better than someone else. In a way, we help each other. " I was stunned. The words of a pacifist against my violence, he didn't judge it. He spoke with acceptance and a hint of sorrow. It was delicious. I could do ANYTHING and he wouldn't blame me. Only run back into my arms. I could scare him merely by saying I'd leave him alone. Michael who looked so sad had his eyes on the ground, and I made him look at me for the first time. The eye contact made him breathless he told me later on, but not then. He was silenced of everything but the sound of our lips dancing together roughly. At first he was confused, but as I grabbed his waist and pulled him close he wrapped around me in submission. That night I had sex with him. I had never done anything with another person, it made me feel great and disgusting at the same time. I was inside the man I hated. Making him my slut and I branded him with more bruises, only these from my mouth. He was soft to the touch and his whimpers for me only got me off. We went again and again until I felt too dirty to continue. Then I punched him for thinking he was worthy of me, to which he apologized and left me alone in my bed to think about the disgusting, yet erotic thing I had just done. It was like a video so fowl you know you shouldn't watch, but you had an ery attraction to. And so it continued.