#xlikeamonster

It had finally happened.

Since he was sixteen, Sean had been forced to help his dad dispose of several bodies. He never asked questions as to who they were or what they had done. But he knew his family served the Dark Lord and the same was expected of him. He didn't exactly have a choice in the matter if he wanted to maintain his family status. His home. Everything he knew and was being prepared for, groomed for. He'd already become a disappointment upon being sorted into Gryffindor, though why he didn't really know. The house was strong, brave. Slytherin just bore a natural dislike of them as they were always in competition it seemed.

But all anyone could think was that he was different. Defective even. Now his father believed he had to be twice as sadistic and cruel to engrave the lessons he taught his son. The son that was not living up to his expectations. Sean knew it. It wasn't a well-kept secret by any means.

And this was just another form of punishment. Another step of many in the neverending twisted lessons Lorcan had to 'teach' his only son, only child. Sometimes Sean lay awake at night wishing he'd never been born. Other times he was just angry and determined to be better than his father, prove everyone wrong that thought little of him. And most of all, he was thankful he was an only child. With what he went through, he shuddered to think what would have become of a younger sibling. Or older even. What it would've meant for him, for them.

@darcymacmillan

This time, his father had made Sean do the killing, merely keeping the victim sedated and out of it. The only cushion he'd give to the young Irishman. He was in tears as his father guided him coldly, no sympathy or compassion whatsoever. Lashing out at any trepidation Sean had at any time. How anyone could ever love the man was beyond Sean's comprehension. But he knew his mother wasn't a saint either. Honestly though, he didn't know her well. Only what she'd allow him to see, to hear, to know.

He didn't know any better as an adolescent. How could he?

Afterward, he stared at himself in the mirror, eyes rimmed red and circled darkly with the lack of sleep and distraught with what he endured through the night. He cleaned himself as best he could with shaky hands and fled to the place he always sought for some solice. MacMillan manor. Climbing through Darcy’s window in fresh clothing, though he felt as dirty and caked with blood as he’d been, he stood just inside for a moment, catching his breath and trying to rid his mind of the horrors wrought.

The sun had only begun to rise, just faintly illuminating the Irish countryside by its first rays breaking. "Darce?" He whispered as she lay curled under the blankets in her bed. "Darcy, please.." He pleaded quietly before giving up with a defeated sigh, more tears welling up but he blinked them back. Without another word, he slipped in beside her but didn't move to cuddle up to her, merely laid as close to the edge as he could with his hands over his face.