Mornings
"PLEASE! STOP!" screamed Stiles.
"You know I can't do that little fox" sneered Theo, as he took out his whip and slashed Stiles' undressed back again. A little whimper can out of Stiles' and Theo smiled in satisfaction.
"Now, there's a good foxy, remeber, I'm doing this for your sake, to teach to be a good son. Now go to bed before I take out my bat." At that, Theo turned on his heels, and headed upstairs.
He didn't move, at least not yet. He just lies still for a moment, on the cold basement floor, in his puddle of blood, crying to himself. He glances at the clock hanging on the wall, reading 2:15am, before realizing he needs to get some sleep. He slowly gets up, straightens his back, anticipating the pain that shoots up his spine. He quietly groans to himself before going to the sink to wash the blood off his body. He soaks his tower, and runs it across his body, see the new soon to be scars. After he gets most of the blood off, he gets a mop and slowly cleans the mess. When he finished, he grabbed a clean pare of boxers and went to his bed. (Or should I say mattress.)
The following day is always the worst, every little movement you make, you could feel the pain. Stiles tentatively got out of bed, brushed his teeth, and put on a t-shirt and jeans. It was six a.m. Many would say it's an early time to get up, but for Stiles it was two hours too late. He usually woke up at four a.m., so today, he had to work fast, which would be extremely difficult considering his circumstances. He quietly went upstairs to get the cleaning cloth and sponge, and quickly went to work.
He finished at around 10 a.m. not good, but also not that bad. He went back down to the basement, took the keys, and went to work.