#wesben

"Don't touch me," the demon hissed, but he didn't mean it. His threatening tone fell into a sob of weakness as his body finally went limp. "Don't..."

"I'm here now," the angel says. "I've come to set you free. And to say that I'm sorry..." The angel continues to gently kiss at the poor demon's flesh. So battered and bruised... it turned ugly. His skin was so beautiful and soft before...

The angel spreads his wings and hides them both, as he begins to do his best at removing the ropes from the demon's torn skin. Such disgusting rope burn... it sickened and saddened him. Oh, what cruel punishment has his love been through... He yearned to make it better.

"You can't free me, no one can," the demon mumbles out hopelessly. "Please, leave me here. I've accepted my fate."

"No, my love, I will free you. Please, hold on for me." His delicate lips meet his love's swelled neck, so red and aching. He wished he could make it feel better...

"Your wings..." The demon's eyes examined the once bright and charming angelic wings, seeing that they were now torn. The feathers looked dampened, instead of a cloudy white they were stained with a yellowish-grey tent. And red... red towards the base; the wing bone. "What have you done?" He utters, in a hushed and broken voice.

The angel reminds silent. He didn't need to explain his grief, now right now. He will fix this. He believes he can fix what is nearly broken.

"If I speak, she'll yell at me," the first sentence on the paper read, "She says my accent is disgusting. And it makes me sound foolish. She constantly disregards me just because I'm not of English descent. She mocks me because I'm foreign. I hate it. I hate my accent. I hate that I'm different like this. I hate myself. I wish I wasn't here. I don't belong here. They keep reminding me of that."

Wes snatches the paper after he's finished and crumbles it up, nearly sobbing in frustration. He has an urge to tear it to shreds, too, but his hands are too shaky. Instead he lets it fall out of his hands, bouncing from the table and his lap and rolling onto the floor under his desk.

His elbows hit the table and he immediately hides his face in his hand.

--

"Mr. Brooks," Ben approaches Wes from his desk, as he's getting ready to work for the day. Wes nods curiously towards him. "What sort of accent do you have?" He cocks his head innocently.

Wes' body stiffens as he stares at him, in silence. He almost can't blink. He watches as Ben sits on the booth-like seats ahead of him.

"I always assumed you to be mute." Ben smiles a little, reassuringly. "But I'm curious."

Wes' hands go to his lap, he starts to clench his pants. He found his vent letter, he knows he did. He had to have. Of course if there's a crumpled up piece of paper on the floor, Benjamin was bound to clean it up. He could probably spot it from a room away.

Wes parts his lips only a moment as if he wants to say something, but then the doors open. He sees a customer begin to walk in, and then he looks to Benjamin.

"You should take that, I'll leave you to your work." Ben nods and stands up, leaving Wes' table so that the person could sit with him.

--

"Headmaster?"

The older woman turns to look at Ben.

"Why are you looking to fire Wesley Brooks?"

She squints, adjusting her glasses. "And how could you know if I plan to do so, Benjamin?"

"Because," he raises a pink piece of paper. "I had found this on the floor, mixed with an assortment of other scattered paper work. I assume the pile got knocked off; however, this was the only pink slip of the white sea of papers. Naturally it caught my attention the fastest," he explains. He looks to the pink slip. "Usually, when firing someone, you give a reason. An explanation as to why they're being let go. However, his paper does not. So I'm asking; why do you want to fire Mr. Brooks? His service has been more than accurate and efficient. I see no reason to let that potential go."

He hands her the slip. "It's also none of my business. I understand if you do not wish to share that information with me. But I do believe it's fair that you let him know what he as done wrong. Maybe give him the chance to fix his errors. Everyone makes mistakes."

"As you wish, Mr. Butler," she clutches the slip in her hand and begins to walk past him. "I'll tell him exactly what he's done wrong."

"Brooks!"

There was that beckoning voice again. He stands up from his chair and looks over at the opening door. The Headmaster walks in, and approaches him in a rather fast pace.

"Sit down, I didn't ask you to stand."

Wes nods and immediately sits back down, looking up at her the entire time. His hands go back to his lap.

"Brooks," she pulls out a piece of paper from her satchel, but the paper isn't in any clean condition. It's badly wrinkled, and luckily it was straightened out enough where it wasn't ripped. "I want you to read this. Out loud." She places the paper on the desk, and as if he wasn't sure before, he can confirm it now; that was his letter from the other day.

He gulps, already shaking in his seat. But he nods, slowly reaching his hands up to grip the sides of the paper and raise it. His breathing begins to get heavy, and uneven. But he tries to level it out without making it too obvious. He feels as if someone is choking him in this moment.

"Out loud," she repeats.

"I-If," he pauses a moment, "If I speak, s-she'll yell at me. S-she...she says...my a-accent is...is dis...disgusting...and...and it makes me...sound...foolish." He clears his throat. Yes, his accent was very obvious. Especially in this nervous break down he was having. It made it all the worse. But Ben had been watching via the doorway.

"Sh-she constantly disregards me...just...be-because I'm not of E-English de-descent. Sh-she... mocks because...I-I'm foreign..." Wes lips begin to tremble, as well as his still shivering body. He starts to choke on his words even more, trying not to cry in this public area. After all, the other few workers were watching. "I-I hate it. I-I hate..."

He lets out a muffled sob, "I hate my accent. I-I hate t-that I'm di-different like this...I wish I w-wasn't h-here...I-I don't...I don't be-belong...here...th-they...they will keep...reminding me...of-of that..." He lays the paper back on the table again, lowering his head.

"Do you think anyone understood a word you just said?"

Wes hesitates before shaking his head, still staring at his lap.