Penance
Fandom: ANGEL
Title: Penance
Author: 50thousandtearz
Pairing/Character: Wesley/Lilah, Wesley
Word Count: 910 words
Rating: R
Summary: “One day, when your Delilah comes along, if she ever comes for an ugly boy like you, you will have sufficient restraint.”
Spoilers/Warnings: child abuse
Author's Note: Repost of an older fic.
“Never again will I see you doing that.”
Wesley’s behind has suffered enough blows in his short life, but Father keeps on whipping. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen; if he keeps quiet maybe he’ll stop at twenty today.
(He finds it strange that she likes pain. A good smack on the rump, a tight squeeze to her thigh and she begs for more. He does not like pain, he’s had enough of it. Knives, guns, swords, fists.)
“Lust is a sin, Wesley. You deserve this.”
He hasn’t done anything to deserve this thrashing. He had just been longingly looking out the window when a pretty girl walked by. Father had interpreted his gaze lustfully and taken appropriate action to cleanse him from his supposed sins.
(He hasn’t done anything to deserve this exile. He had just been translating a prophecy that happened to be false. How was he supposed to know? They had interpreted his mistake and taken the appropriate action. He will never be forgiven.)
“And if I need to continue hitting you for another hour to drill this point through your thick skull, I will.”
He accidentally lets a whimper escape from his lips. Very bad; twenty-one, twenty-two- Father will make it longer because he cannot stay quiet. He literally won’t be able to sit for a week or more.
(Always keep quiet. She teases him when he tightens his lips and refuses to make a sound. The less noise the better, no one will hear him and suspect anything.)
“This is for your own good, boy. One day, when your Delilah comes along, if she ever comes for an ugly boy like you, you will have sufficient restraint.”
He is restrained and will never allow anything to happen. He is confident that he will never want a girl in the sinful way. He is sure that no girl will ever want him.
(She came along. She even has the same name. She came and came again. And he cannot stop her from coming, because he desires her in the forbidden way that she desires him. Where is his control? When she’s there, she steals it and hides it away.)
“You see, God kills people for things like that.”
He wishes God would kill him. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five-the blows are still coming and he might be bleeding now, he’s not sure; he’s going numb from pain. Maybe Father will kill him and be sorry that he ever hit his son.
(The blood drips from his neck and he feels numbness slowly spread through his body. She licks his scar with an acid tongue, like she’s licking away his blood and drinking away his life. If she drains him, she will never be sorry.)
“So you need to control yourself. Best to learn at a young age.”
He promises to control himself, but he loses it sometimes. Father always finds it again for him.
(He will find his control again and rid himself of her company, destroy the lust. Delilah is not needed anymore; Samson is leaving. Don’t let the door hit him as he goes.)
“Do you understand the gravity of this, boy? I trust you’ve learned your lesson.”
Thirty-nine, forty- yes, he’s learned it very well. Never let Father catch him doing anything even slightly suspect. Even the most innocent of acts can be tinged with indiscretions.
(Never let them know. Always shower before confronting a vampire, wash away the incriminating scents, clean the apartment so no traces of her remain. Wipe her name from his lips, no one need know how low he’s fallen.)
“Now go say your prayers and beg to have these thoughts removed from your mind. You’ve already had your physical penance, pray for your soul.”
He’ll go pray for his forgiveness, but also for his salvation. Save him from lust, save him from sin. Drive away the bad thoughts, rain fire on Father, cool the burning, bleeding welts on his behind, fix the torn pants that Mother won’t even notice.
(He still, sometimes, prays at night. On bent knees to whatever powers that will listen. Grant him peace, forgive his mistakes, banish his torments, heal his wounds. And then there is a knock on the door and she walks in; his misery and the exact opposite of his prayers. When he was younger, he thought there was a God, but now he knows that no one is listening.)
He painfully walks up the stairs, past Mother who closes her eyes and silences her ears when anything goes wrong, past the conspiring servants who know everything, past the window that started it all.
(He walks down the corridor to his apartment, past other cold doors, past silent rooms, past unknown strangers, almost past the door where he knows that she’s waiting behind.)
A pretty girl walks by the window and rage envelops him.
(She slides off her silk blouse and lets it puddle on the floor, ignoring his spite.)
It’s her fault and he can’t stand it anymore. She should suffer, not him.
(He knows that she knows that it’s her fault for everything. She’s a wicked woman, but has never suffered for her sins.)
He grabs a heavy book precariously balanced on the banister and throws it as hard as he can.
(He grabs a stone bookend and slams it down on the back of her neck.)
The window shatters with a satisfying tinkle of glass.
“What have you done?”
“It’s my penance, Father.”
Title: Penance
Author: 50thousandtearz
Pairing/Character: Wesley/Lilah, Wesley
Word Count: 910 words
Rating: R
Summary: “One day, when your Delilah comes along, if she ever comes for an ugly boy like you, you will have sufficient restraint.”
Spoilers/Warnings: child abuse
Author's Note: Repost of an older fic.
“Never again will I see you doing that.”
Wesley’s behind has suffered enough blows in his short life, but Father keeps on whipping. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen; if he keeps quiet maybe he’ll stop at twenty today.
(He finds it strange that she likes pain. A good smack on the rump, a tight squeeze to her thigh and she begs for more. He does not like pain, he’s had enough of it. Knives, guns, swords, fists.)
“Lust is a sin, Wesley. You deserve this.”
He hasn’t done anything to deserve this thrashing. He had just been longingly looking out the window when a pretty girl walked by. Father had interpreted his gaze lustfully and taken appropriate action to cleanse him from his supposed sins.
(He hasn’t done anything to deserve this exile. He had just been translating a prophecy that happened to be false. How was he supposed to know? They had interpreted his mistake and taken the appropriate action. He will never be forgiven.)
“And if I need to continue hitting you for another hour to drill this point through your thick skull, I will.”
He accidentally lets a whimper escape from his lips. Very bad; twenty-one, twenty-two- Father will make it longer because he cannot stay quiet. He literally won’t be able to sit for a week or more.
(Always keep quiet. She teases him when he tightens his lips and refuses to make a sound. The less noise the better, no one will hear him and suspect anything.)
“This is for your own good, boy. One day, when your Delilah comes along, if she ever comes for an ugly boy like you, you will have sufficient restraint.”
He is restrained and will never allow anything to happen. He is confident that he will never want a girl in the sinful way. He is sure that no girl will ever want him.
(She came along. She even has the same name. She came and came again. And he cannot stop her from coming, because he desires her in the forbidden way that she desires him. Where is his control? When she’s there, she steals it and hides it away.)
“You see, God kills people for things like that.”
He wishes God would kill him. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five-the blows are still coming and he might be bleeding now, he’s not sure; he’s going numb from pain. Maybe Father will kill him and be sorry that he ever hit his son.
(The blood drips from his neck and he feels numbness slowly spread through his body. She licks his scar with an acid tongue, like she’s licking away his blood and drinking away his life. If she drains him, she will never be sorry.)
“So you need to control yourself. Best to learn at a young age.”
He promises to control himself, but he loses it sometimes. Father always finds it again for him.
(He will find his control again and rid himself of her company, destroy the lust. Delilah is not needed anymore; Samson is leaving. Don’t let the door hit him as he goes.)
“Do you understand the gravity of this, boy? I trust you’ve learned your lesson.”
Thirty-nine, forty- yes, he’s learned it very well. Never let Father catch him doing anything even slightly suspect. Even the most innocent of acts can be tinged with indiscretions.
(Never let them know. Always shower before confronting a vampire, wash away the incriminating scents, clean the apartment so no traces of her remain. Wipe her name from his lips, no one need know how low he’s fallen.)
“Now go say your prayers and beg to have these thoughts removed from your mind. You’ve already had your physical penance, pray for your soul.”
He’ll go pray for his forgiveness, but also for his salvation. Save him from lust, save him from sin. Drive away the bad thoughts, rain fire on Father, cool the burning, bleeding welts on his behind, fix the torn pants that Mother won’t even notice.
(He still, sometimes, prays at night. On bent knees to whatever powers that will listen. Grant him peace, forgive his mistakes, banish his torments, heal his wounds. And then there is a knock on the door and she walks in; his misery and the exact opposite of his prayers. When he was younger, he thought there was a God, but now he knows that no one is listening.)
He painfully walks up the stairs, past Mother who closes her eyes and silences her ears when anything goes wrong, past the conspiring servants who know everything, past the window that started it all.
(He walks down the corridor to his apartment, past other cold doors, past silent rooms, past unknown strangers, almost past the door where he knows that she’s waiting behind.)
A pretty girl walks by the window and rage envelops him.
(She slides off her silk blouse and lets it puddle on the floor, ignoring his spite.)
It’s her fault and he can’t stand it anymore. She should suffer, not him.
(He knows that she knows that it’s her fault for everything. She’s a wicked woman, but has never suffered for her sins.)
He grabs a heavy book precariously balanced on the banister and throws it as hard as he can.
(He grabs a stone bookend and slams it down on the back of her neck.)
The window shatters with a satisfying tinkle of glass.
“What have you done?”
“It’s my penance, Father.”