#jesse reede

He’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay. There’s something wrong with him. There is blood that drips down his legs, covering the inside of his thighs. There’s blood that drips down his chest and shoulder from teeth marks. His eyes are swollen shut, skin black and red all over. His breathing is shallow and his hips are bruised. If he didn’t know any better, Jesse would think he was dead. He was breathing, at the very least. 

Jesse knelt down next to where Miguel was on the floor. Curled in a ball, face screwed in in a pained expression. Breathing ragged and wheezy. Every breath made a rattling, whistling sound that he figured was his broken nose or some broken ribs. He wasn’t sure which. Either way it didn’t look good. He wondered who had done this to him. Jesse was sure that it wasn’t himself. It wouldn’t ever be Solomon. He was also sure that none of the ranch hands would dare come up to the hayloft to do so. If they had him alone somewhere, without Jesse or Xavier there maybe. 

Oh. Xavier. Jesse shivered, examining Miguel more closely. Blood was dark and sticky on his thighs, but when he looked closer, gently pressing a hand on Miguel’s hip. He realized there was another substance there too. White and slick. It was all over his stomach too. His own probably. 

Xavier finally fucked him then. Fucked him hard and beat him half to death. There was anger in his chest, blossoming into his fingers. Miguel was filthy and bloody and it wasn’t because of him. It was because of Xavier. Xavier laid a mark. Had taken something that was his. Miguel was supposed to be his. Now that Xavier had a taste, he’d want more. That was always the way it was with Xavier. 

His feeling stopped as he heard Miguel whimper when he moved away from Jesse’s hand on his hip. Jesse had thought about fucking him one more time before he picked him up. Finding him bleeding on the hayloft floor like that. It made him feel a warmth in his core. He shoved the thought away when Miguel quietly sobbed. Eyes so swollen tears wouldn't come through. Instead, he picked him up as gently as he could. Covered him with the small blanket Xavier kept up here for him, and slowly left the barn.

Miguel was so light in his arms. Had they really been feeding him so little? Or was he hiding the food somewhere because he wasn’t hungry? Jesse wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if he actually cared or if Miguel looking so small was just deeply unattractive to him. Jesse needed to stop thinking like that, he would end up dropping him if he did. 

Instead of taking him inside the house, where his uncle would undoubtedly be, he took him into the small stables meant for the ranchhands. Jesse found an empty one and gently laid Miguel in the soft hay there. “I’ll be back okay?” 

There was no response. Jesse hummed as he walked away, forgetting about the fact that Miguel could not hear him. 

Solomon, Solomon, he needed to get to Solomon. Solomon would help him. He also wouldn’t tell Xavier. That was the main point now, who could help without alerting Xavier? 

He snuck into the house, stepping along the walls so the boards wouldn’t creak. Making his way up to Solomon's room, he opened the door. “Solomon,” the man did not stir, “Solomon.” 

“Mmm?” Solomon groaned and sat up in bed, braids messy, in his sleepwear. “Jesse? What are you-” “Shhh,” Jesse said quickly. “Miguel needs you. He’s in the ranch hand’s stable.. It wasn’t-” 

“Was it you?” Solomon growled, feet slipping into some shoes. 

“I was about to say no. It was not me. It was..” he glanced backward for a moment to make sure Xavier wasn’t around. “It was Xavier. It’s bad. I think you better be quick.” 

Solomon was already near him, stepping close. His face was passive but there was a steaming anger in his eyes. Jesse stepped out of his way and Solomon walked down the stairs. He followed behind, more out of curiosity for the reaction than anything else. Maybe he also wanted to know if Miguel would survive it. There was a lot of blood. Something curled heavy in his chest, a lead rope in the bottom of his sternum. 

The man collapsed next to Miguel, horrified noise leaving him when they arrived. Immediately he reached to feel Miguel’s pulse. Solomon’s body was tense, face going back to its normal neutral as soon as he found the pulse. 

“You didn’t do this?” 

“Nah. It was Xavier.” “Xavier?” 

Something in Jesse twisted at the heartbroken tone of Solomon. The man knew this was bound to happen, why would he be so sad. Was he sad because it was Xavier? Or because Miguel was so hurt? Jesse didn’t know what to think, but it created a sinking pit in his stomach. Sadness? Anger? He shoved it down, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning on. 

“Is he, you know, alright?” 

“I need Henrietta down here.” 

A frown lined his features, making Solomon look even older than he was. Last Jesse checked, Solomon was teetering on the edge of 62 or so. Sometimes he looked it, sometimes he didn’t. When he smiled he lost about 10 years from his face, when he frowned he gained 10 more. Often, Jesse wondered if he was always like that, or if Xavier just did that much of a number on him. 

“Yeah, I’ll get her. I think Xavier is out… should be anyway.” 

“Go get her then Jesse,” Solomon said tersely. 

Jesse hummed, standing up straight and walking off to go find Henrietta. He stepped inside the creaky house, frowning. Xavier sat on the couch, passed out, flask open. He smelled like a brothel. Head tipped back on the couch, mouth open enough to catch flies. Jesse snuck past him. Walking up the stairs and gently opening the door to Xavier's room. 

“Hen?” 

The woman was at the vanity, staring at herself like she was trying to find something she lost. Maybe she had lost something. Being around Xavier usually meant there was a trade off. Something to lose. Even if it was just a part of yourself you didn’t know was there. 

“Jesse?? What the hell are you doin-” 

“Shut up. Solomon’s down in the shed with Migs..” 

“Why? Are they celebrating his birthday down there?” 

Jesse laughed. Celebrate? Birthday? Was it his birthday? God. Xavier did that on his birthday? His stomach churned at the thought. Even he wasn’t that fucked up. 

“I forgot about his birthday,” he mumbled before shaking his head, “nah something bad happened. Again. Solomon asked for you.” 

Henrietta stood up from the vanity, grabbing the lantern and shoving past Jesse. Everyone suspected Jesse when it came to Miguel. Perhaps that was fair. Miguel was his favorite little punching bag after all. Favorite fuck toy. Best dog he’d ever had. But this? This was too far even for him. He’d never do something like that on a birthday, birthdays are sacred. Meant to be good things. 

Jesse always got a silver dollar on his birthday. Lately though, he had stopped using it on himself. There were two redheaded children who lived in the brothel womens houses he’d been buying gifts for. One of them was already eight years old, the other five. They both had his hair. But they didn’t have the signature Reede eyes. They both had their mothers eyes. He dropped gifts off for them and left before they could see or stop him. 

He was self aware. He knew that there was something wrong with him. Jesse's way of thinking was different from other peoples. Feeling things came to him differently. There was no inbetween for him. Sad, angry and happy. There was no inbetween, there was just that emotion and nothing else. He didn’t understand how people could feel happy and sad at the same time. Or angry and sad. Jesse only knew how to feel things one at a time. 

They made their way down the stairs and Henrietta stopped at the sight of Xavier. Jesse watched her carefully, squinting at the scene in front of him. He couldn’t tell what her expression was. She didn’t even whisper when she spoke. 

“I could kill him. I could do it. Right now. It would be easy.” 

“It would be easy,” Henrietta turned toward him. Her face as always was blurry, but he squinted. It cleared slightly and her expression was something between terrified and angry. She always leaned more toward terrified. He sighed. “But you won’t.” 

“Why not? Do you think I wouldn’t?” 

Jesse grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the door. “Solomon wants you Hen.” 

She pulled out of his grip, growling at him. Eyes alight with rage. There was still more fear in them than anything else. Jesse stared down at her, calming himself with a deep breath. 

“I could kill him right now and everything would be better.” 

“But you won’t” Jesse snapped, no longer caring for the loudness of his words. Xavier was passed out anyway. Too drunk to function. He longed for that crisp blackness that came with getting too drunk. 

“How do you know Jesse? Fuck you! I could do it! I could!” 

Jesse growled, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her against the wall. Leaning in real close until her face became clear. Fear shining in her eyes. He didn’t squeeze or hold too tight. He just held her there. 

“You can’t do it because you’re still too afraid. You’re not angry enough Henrietta.” Her eyes went wide and the hands on his wrist loosened their grip. “You’re fucking afraid of him and you can’t really kill someone you’re still afraid of.” 

“Is that why you haven’t yet?” 

His chest tightened. “No.” 

“Right.”  

Jesse let her go, stepping back away. “Are you gonna come with me to Solomon or not Hen. You’re gonna wake up him with all your fucking whining.”  

Henrietta looked away, rubbing at her throat as she walked in front of him and out of the house. He followed her. The next steps felt numb. Hollowing him out as they walked to the shed and Henrietta let out a horrified cry as she dropped herself next to Solomon and Miguel. 

Miguel looked better without all of the blood on him. But his eyes were still swollen shut, and bruises littered his body. Ugly black and blue things that were dark enough to blend with the night sky. He curled up in Solomon's lap, still only covered by the thin blanket. He shivered and cried quietly, fucked up hands curled in his lap, head resting on Solomons shoulder. 

“Get out,” Henrietta said, looking back at Jesse.  

“What the hell did I do? I’m helping!” 

“You probably did this to him you fucking little shit.”  

Jesse scoffed and shook his head, “I was waiting until tomorrow to fuck him.” 

Henrietta and Solomon shared a look, frowning at each other. Was it something he said? Jesse felt awkward standing there in silence. He slid down the wall, sitting on the floor. Knees halfway to his chest. 

“I-” he paused, frowning and trying to think of the words, “I think that Xavier, has been losing it lately you know. Gettin’ meaner. Worse. Beatin’ on everyone more than usual. I want to kill him. I ain’t angry enough either, Hen, to kill him. I just wanna leave. I know a way to the river, the Salt River. I went there once on a deal with the Earl’s family. He’s just across it. I’ll do whatever ya want you know? We can go opposite ways once we get there. We just gotta get there.”  

Solomon and Hen stayed staring at him in open mouth shock. What the fuck was that about? Hadn’t they known he’d been itching to leave since he was seventeen? He asked to leave. Wanted to join the army. Thinking about it made the X brand on his back itch. He’d been whipped within an inch of his life, and branded for his threat to the Reede legacy. Jesse never wanted to be a rancher. He wanted to build things. Always liked building his mother things when she was alive. Built her a birdhouse once. Hung it up on the tree outside and watched the red cardinal live there. Raise its children there. 

If he ever got out, he’d probably try a hand at carpentry. 

“We have a plan,” Solomon said suddenly, “We were planning to escape before.” 

“Solom-” 

“Stop Hen. We just needed a place to go. Everything else is ready Jesse. If you’re serious about this. We need to wait for Miguel to heal again. Then we can go.” 

“I think we have to go whether he’s healed all the way or not,” Jesse said. 

“We know that! But he needs to at least be able to walk when we leave idio-” 

“Henrietta,” Solomon's gentle voice cut her off. “He knows. He knows.” 

Jesse hummed slightly, glancing down at Miguel, who had since stopped shivering and now was sufficiently asleep. Snoring softly, mouth slightly open, face half pressed into Solomon's shoulder. Fuck. Xavier could have killed him. 

He could have killed him and Jesse would have been alone. Jesse knew that Henrietta and Xavier hated him. But Miguel and Solomon. They were still kind even if Miguel bit and scratched at him. Even if Solomon stared at him like he was some sort of rabid animal. Miguel was the one who still looked at him like a person. He made him feel like a person. He liked Miguel, he really did. When Miguel wasn’t terrified of him, he was sarcastic and shy. Miguel was pretty in pain, but he’d seen him laugh with Solomon once and that was even prettier.  

How could he possibly ever be good enough for that laugh? 

The answer was simple, it was plain. He never would.  

Jesse wished he could go back and stop himself from fucking Miguel in that stall. The first time. But you can’t go back. No matter how hard you try, you can’t go back. Jesse could only deal with what he had. 

He was going to escape with a roomful of people who hated him. 

“So.. tell me about this plan you have.” 

____

TAGLIST:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader @cyberwhumper @kixngiggles

There were times where silence was calming, a necessary break from the horrors of the day. Then there were times where the silence was soul consuming. The lack of sound was festering in the house like a poison. It was killing her. Henrietta was sure that she was going crazy. 

Xavier barely talked to her and when he did it was short clipped answers and questions. He used to at least talk to her. He left the house early and came back late. It was like he was trying to stay away. Perhaps he was waiting until he was less angry. If he was less angry, he’d be less likely to kill her. But she didn’t even get to see or talk to Solomon. 

He’d gotten over his sickness a week ago, according to Xavier. He was up and moving, but she’d only seen glimpses of him, slipping in the house. Walking past doorways. Solomon had healed nicely, though his left cheek now had a permanently sunken look. He still had bruises all over his face, his eye was still swollen. But he was alive and that was what mattered. Besides, what would Xavier do without his resident doctor? 

They had met gazes once, when she was outside hanging the laundry. He had left the house and he turned and they stared at each other. It was just a moment but it was enough. Solomon didn’t blame her, he didn’t blame anyone. She could see it written on his face. It made her heart hurt less at least. To known she wasn’t blamed this time. But she missed him. Missed the gentle camaraderie that they had with each other. Henrietta missed her friend. 

She even missed Miguel. Even when all he would do was sit at the table and watch her as she cooked dinner. He was always making noise despite everything. His hands tapping on the table, or his foot tapping on the wooden floor. He even made noise when he spoke with his hands, noises escaping his mouth. But he’d been banished back to the hayloft in the barn. She hadn’t seen him in nearly three weeks. Not even a glimpse. She half expected that Xavier had actually killed him, dumped his body in a ditch and left him there to rot. 

A few days ago, she had gathered the courage to ask. 

“Is he alive? Miguel?” 

Xaviers answer was plain and simple, “Yes. The mutt is alive. Don’t ask again.” 

Henrietta did not ask again. She wouldn’t. She was afraid that Miguel would suffer the consequences. Miguel had suffered enough. He had especially suffered enough at the fault of Henrietta. She did not want to be the cause of his suffering anymore. It was too much guilt. It was all too much guilt and it was also the fact that she had no interest in changing her actions. She did not have remorse for asking Solomon to braid her hair or for killing Terrance three years ago. She had no interest in trying to change her past actions. The past was done, it could not be undone. All she had left was to finish the song she started. 

The song wasn’t finished. Her song was not finished. Even as she swept the floor, her song was still here. This was just a single note in a long song. All she had to do was keep playing. One note at a time, one day at a time. Henrietta was going to escape. All she had to do now was wait. There would be an opportunity, a rest in the song. A mistake that Xavier would make. All she had to do was utilize it. 

So Henrietta swept the floor, cringing when the door slammed open. The sounds of a scuffle. She stopped, broom in her hands. Half ready to use it to hit someone if she needed to. Instead, all she saw was Xavier dragging Jesse inside by the collar of his shirt, throwing him forward. 

“I am not going to tell you again Jesse, fucking bathe. Pinche kid, you smell.” 

“Xavier please,” Jesse begged quietly, stepping backwards. “I don’t want to. You know I don’t want to. I’ll use a cloth, I’ll do whatever just don’t put me in the water again.” 

The boys eyes were wild, searching for a way out. There were few times she ever saw him truly terrified. Each time, it was when Xavier was around. She’d known Jesse since Xavier took him in almost fifteen years ago. It was near when they met and he always struggled with getting Jesse to bathe. He was like a feral street dog who did everything in its power not to touch the water. She never quite knew why. 

Usually Xavier let him do as he pleased, he’d go weeks and sometimes even months without even a wet cloth touching his skin. He always smelled like shit and there were times it got so bad she swore he stunk up anything he touched too. The little shit was always dirty, grimy, filthy. It was why she hated that he had taken to Miguel in the way he did. She feared it would rub off on him. Luckily, it did not. 

Right now, she only felt contempt as Xavier grabbed him by the hair and started to drag him to the bathroom. Henrietta had filled it earlier, assuming it was for Xavier or Solomon. Now she knew exactly who it was for. The water was cold by now she thought idly. Following them to the bathroom out of sheer curiosity. 

Xavier dragged him to the bathroom, Jesse kicking and screaming the entire way. So much so that his voice cracked when they finally made it through the doorway. Henrietta didn’t follow them in, she watched from the hallway. Her heart raced, wondering if this would be the mood he would be in all day. If he came to bed like this, she was sure she would have more bruises than usual. 

The scene before her was hard to look away from. Xavier started with tearing Jesse’s shirt off, literally tearing it (Henrietta would have to mend that later).

“Get in Jesse.” 

“You fucking get in,” came the kids reply. 

“Jesse,” Xavier started, tone terse, strained. “You won’t go to town like that. Fucking bathe.” 

“Then I just won’t go to town, Tio please.”  

“I won’t ask again,” Xavier said finally. Henrietta could hear the coldness in his voice. There was nowhere for Jesse to run. He was pressed up against the wall, shaking his head. His whole body was shivering. Xavier sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he reached out and grabbed Jesse by the throat, effortlessly bringing him to the edge of the tub. Then he shoved Jesse into it. Xavier’s nephew screamed and clawed at the edges of the tub. Splashing water everywhere. Xavier used his other hand to shove the boy's head under, silencing him for the moment. 

Henrietta swallowed thickly, fear churning in her gut. Everything around her seemed to fade out as she watched, white knuckled grip on the broom. Jesse’s struggles would cease, Xavier would bring his head up from the water, Jesse would wheeze and cough, and then the cycle would start again. It wasn’t until Jesse stopped struggling completely, that Xavier hauled him out of the water, depositing him on the ground. He turned around to face Henrietta, eyes dark. 

He strolled toward her, soaked from Jesse’s thrashing, “Make sure he gets up. Solomon and I are going for a supply run in town. There are some men stationed out at the entrance and outside the house and barn. Don’t run. Don’t even try. You’ll never make it.” Then he walked past her, bumping her shoulder. When he reached the end of the hallway, he stopped, speaking again, “Do you want anything from town?” 

Hen found it hard to speak, but she swallowed the fear and did so, “Oranges, if they have them.” 

Xavier nodded, sighing softly. “I’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon.” Then he left. 

She did not move until she heard the front door close. The tension in the air melted as soon as it did. Hen sagged her shoulders and leaned against the wall for a moment. Taking in a deep breath. She glanced at the bathroom door. Listening to the choked sobs from inside the room. 

Henrietta really did not want to go in there. She had nothing to say to the sociopath of a man. One that so effortlessly and constantly hurt and burdened someone she cared about. Yet, she forced herself to move. Gathering a towel and making her way up to Jesse’s room to get some clothes. Then she forced herself every step down the stairs and through the hallway. She forced herself through the doorway. 

There was water all over the floor, probably ruining the wooden flooring. Jesse laid in a corner curled into a ball back towards her. The brand on his lower back was clear as day and she winced at the memory of her own. She laid the towel and clothes on the counter. Henrietta didn’t know that he had been branded. That was reserved for people that belonged to Xavier completely. The brand was a symbol of ownership. 

“You have a brand,” she said idly, smoothing out the creases of the towel. 

There was no response to her, there were only a few sniffles from him as he shifted further away from her. Henrietta was too tired to deal with this. Slowly, she gathered the towel and leaned over the boy. There were fading scars of a whip, cutting through the array of freckles across his back. It seemed that even Jesse was not immune to the wrath of Xavier. Henrietta always assumed that he was safe from the worst of it. Now, seeing him curled on the floor like this, it seemed that she had been proven wrong. 

“Are you feeling better?” she asked the shivering mass on the floor. Jesse was still dripping wet, shaking furiously. She never knew anyone who feared water as much as him. She was surprised he would even drink water when he did. 

“Fuck.. off..” Jesse growled. 

“I brought a towel. Figured you might want to get dry.” 

A beat of silence and then he turned around to face her from the floor. He forced himself to move, stretching out a hand with weird, choppy movements. Henrietta held it from him. 

“Why do you hate water so much?” 

“Give me the towel.” 

“Answer the question and I might.”

Jesse stared up at her for a moment, his eyes red from tears. He bit his lip and forced himself to sit up with a low groan and a cough. He pressed his back against the wall and licked his lips. Preparing himself for what he was going to say. His mouth opened and closed a few times. Probably debating whether being dry was worth talking about whatever it was that scared him so much. 

“Water makes people decay slower,” Jesse whispered, voice hoarse now for a reason Henrietta couldn’t fathom. “It also makes people bloated and weird. They turn blue. She was blue. And I tried to get her out of the water and she was too heavy.” 

“Who was?” 

“It also, it also makes skin slippery, like, like,” he paused, a glazed over look in his eyes for a moment, “like when you skin a rabbit. It feels like that. Raw and, and, it falls apart when you give it too much force.” 

“Jesse,” Henrietta said gently, “It’s okay, you can stop now.” 

“She fell apart in my hands. The water.. It had pieces of her floating around when-” “Jesse stop.” 

“My mother died in the bath. In the water.” 

Henrietta gently placed the towel in his hands. Tears were streaming down his face and he let out another choked sob. Burying his face in it. It muffled the sounds and Henrietta couldn’t help but feel grateful.  

“There’s dry clothes on the counter. I’ll make you something to eat.” 

Jesse lifted his head, staring her down. 

“Why? Why are you helping me?” 

Henrietta stood up straighter, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Was there a proper way to answer that? Not really. She sighed softly. 

“You’re only human Jesse. You’re such a filthy little rapist, who likes hurting people for fun. But you’re still just human.”  

Jesse stared at her, but she turned around and started to walk, stopping in the doorway. 

“And your uncle told me to make sure you get up,” she said, then she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. 

___ 

It wasn’t until later that Jesse came out of the bathroom, dry and in the clothes she had brought for him. He sat himself at the kitchen table, eyes having a far away look to them. Henrietta handed him a mug of tea that she made, sipping some herself. She leaned against the counter, watching him carefully. 

“Did.. Did you ever meet her? My mother?” 

Henrietta nearly spit out her drink. Staring him down. She did meet her once. Ximena had the signature green eyes of the Reede family. Dark hair that waved slightly, but it was tied in a ponytail. Her face was sunken in and her eyes were dark. Ximena never really looked well, the few times they spoke. She was quiet in nature, always smiling. Henrietta knew she was sickly, she hadn’t expected the extent. Half the time Ximena was bed bound, the other half, she spent with migraines that rendered her useless. Jesse was a lively little thing, the little energy Ximena did have, was spent trying to control her son. 

“I did a few times. She was a very kind woman,” Henrietta answered finally. It was a wonder that Ximena gave birth to the little demon that sat in front of her. 

“She was,” Jesse agreed, looking up at Henrietta. He took a sip of his tea, hands shaking still. His breathing was a bit wheezy too. Probably from the water in his lungs. 

“Breathe in the steam. I think I heard Solomon say once that it’s supposed to help.” 

Jesse, surprisingly complied, breathing in the tea’s steam with a few ragged coughs. He settled after a moment, frowning for a moment. “Did you know my dad?” 

“No. I didn’t. That was before I met your uncle. Maybe Solomon knows more about him.” 

“Oh.. that’s right.” 

“Why are you suddenly asking me questions about your parents? You’ve never asked before.” After running a hand through his hair and fidgeting slightly in his seat, Jesse shrugged a bit. Staring into the brown color of the tea. After a minute, his voice was quiet, the quietest she ever heard, barely above a whisper.  

“He never lets me ask. Never lets me talk about her either. He’s not here.. so I thought I would ask,” he paused, eyes glassy, “while I have the chance you know.” 

She found herself dumbfounded at the sudden vulnerability that she was confronted with from Jesse of all people. Jesse the boy who skinned a racoon that was found in the barn, who raped Miguel on his seventeenth birthday, who beat a man half to death in a bar in town, was asking about his parents in a childlike manner. Jesse was here with her, acting human. Perhaps, Jesse would be more likable if he acted more human. If he were like this all the time, she could almost bear his company. Humans had feelings, regrets. They felt sadness and fear. If they showed it more, maybe people would get along better. That was probably just a rude sense of optimism, getting in the way of seeing who Jesse really was. 

“Why did he brand you?” she found herself asking, her hand ghosting over her own brand on the middle of her chest. Jesse winced and took another sip of his tea. “When did that happen?” 

“A while ago. I was eighteen, so about five years ago? You were out of town visiting your dad I think. When he was dyin’.. I wanted to leave. The ranch. I wanted to join the military.” 

Henrietta had to keep herself from barking out a laugh. She couldn’t imagine Jesse in the military. Or maybe she could. Him with a rifle in his hand, shooting at people. Yeah… she could picture that. Maybe it would have been good for him. Give him some real structure. 

“I assume Xavier wasn’t happy with that.” 

The laugh that came out of him nearly startled her. It was dry and humorless. He shook his head. “Nah.. he beat me within an inch of my fuckin’ life. Hit me until I begged him to stop. Then he strung me up in the barn. Like you in the kitchen. Took out the whip. Fucked me up real good. Then he branded me. Said it was a reminder or somethin’. I dunno. It was fucked. Solomon helped. I begged him not to tell. It’s embarrassin’.” 

“Jesse,” Henrietta said softly. God, why was she starting to pity him? This fucking kid with his red hair, who was sadistic in nature. Why was there room in herself for pity? He was just like his uncle. But he also could have been different. Maybe if Xavier hadn’t taken him in after his mother died, if he’d let him join the military, who would this kid be? He’d be unrecognizable. 

“Don’ fuckin’ do that. Don’t pity me. I don’ need it. I don’ want it either. Fuck off.” 

“I am not pitying you Jesse. I’m just realizing something.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” he said, standing up, tea forgotten on the table. Cold now probably. His hands were flat on the table, snarl curling his lip. 

“You could have been a normal human once. But your uncle ruined that. Like he ruins everything. He likes his control over you. Over all of us. You’re just as trapped as we are.” 

Jesse stared at her, eyes downcast as he stared at the table. His jaw was working. He looked more tired than angry. But he grabbed the cup of tea and threw it off the table, letting it fall to the ground with a crash. Then he stormed out of the house. 

Henrietta let out the breath she was holding. 

__

Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader @cyberwhumper