Whispers flew around the room about the boy withering in his sleep. Screams of agony tore through his throat as he was tangled into his bedsheets. Tears ran seeped through his closed eyelids and slid down the side of his face.

"Sh-should we wake hi-him up?" A boy of 7 or 8 asked innocently his blonde hair half blocking his eyesight. His shoulder jerked up as a result of his Tourette syndrome.

"NO,  Frankie," A burly boy of 17 said shoving Frankie out the way as he went to gently shake him awake, "Let me wake him up," He said sinisterly.

The boy, named Billy, swung his leg far back before swinging it dead center to Jax's stomach. Jax's eyes flew open and he scrambled back coughing his lungs out while holding a hand on his ever darking bruise.

"Why...," He began but his voice failed him as a new reign of coughs threw his voice out of balance. When he regain his voice he stuttered out in a voice just above a whisper, "W-why did you d-do that, b-bastard."

A low humourless chuckle came from Bill's mouth. "Why would I? Me?! Poor little me kicking you? Maybe because your screeching woke up the entire house!" He roared in his face.

Now most who knew Jax, before this horrific accident, would say he was quite brave. Protecting his friends with words instead of fists. He had brought many bullies kneeling before him but now...
Now all that bravery had died when the two shots had fired into the night.

"I-I'm sorry," He mumbled tears springing to his eyes and he tried to back away. Billy grabbed his chin and cheeks with a rough hand and brought his face near his so they were breathing each others breath.

"Now pretty boy I'm going to beat you till you cry but I'm going to put a sick twist on it," He said and smiled sweetly but his eyes revealed cruelty in his words as did the words them selves, "Your going to not cry out, or scream, or shout for help or I'm going to hit you harder until you die if that's what it comes down to." And he dragged Jax into the middle of the room by his hair.

"And all of you better not tell the Mistress or ya'll dead meat," He spat at the other boys ranging from 5-15 jumping at his sudden threat. They all nodded their heads like obedient dogs except for one.

He had tanned skin and wavy golden hair which hung over his face like a curtain and his face hung low. He was only 7 or 8 and he was the kid that wanted to wake him up nicely.

His head twitched to the side quickly and his sky blue eyes hid sadness.

Screams tore through Jax's throat as he was kneened I'm the chest and slapped his face. His stomach, already a canvas for bruises, was repainted many colours again for a second layer. (Onions have layers. Orgers have layers. I am sorry)

For ten minutes that torcher went on. Closing wounds came gushing back full force. After that, Jax slumped to the ground, face first. Blood soaked the floor around him in a sort of satanic circle. Tears leaked out his half lidded eyes as everytime he went to close his eyes flashes of that night whipped across his eyelids and he snapped his eyes wide open again.

It was around 3 am by the time Billy had finished and he once again dragged Jax by his hair but this time he shoved him in the closet and locked it with a key. "Frankie keep hold of the key please," He said throwing it at the blonde haired boy. He struggled to catch the key but he managed to in the end and shoved it in his pyjama pocket.

Billy then order them to clean the blood off the floor and go back to sleep.

And so they did.

Leaving him to sob.

To bleed.

And nurse what little piece of his heart was still intact.

That he was still alive.

But even that was slipping from his grasp like water nearly smoke.