Trigger warning: Rape, and also incest. Incestuous rape. Anyway. Please don't enjoy this.
Arthur was drunk again. Arthur, always Arthur once it had begun. He wasn't Daddy, or Dad anymore, he was Arthur, and Arthur was terrible. No one else knew about Arthur.
Alfred lay in bed, in a baggy night shirt and boxers, trying so desperately to fall asleep as he listened to the clanking of glass bottles and shouted curses downstairs. Sleep, sleep, he had to sleep. Arthur always knew when he was faking, probably because of how shaky his breathing became at the knowledge of what was coming.
...Silence. He halted his breathing momentarily, listening intently. Silence. Except for the heavy, halting footsteps that were growing so unfortunately louder. No, no, stay downstairs. Not tonight.
Alfred squeezed his eyes shut tightly, breath coming more quickly than before as he struggled to gain some warning. The third stair squeaked. If he could just hear...
A high-pitched squeak, eerie and long in the otherwise silent house. Another a minute later, on the seventh. There were only twelve. Alfred's lip started to quiver, his eyes to water. "No," he whispered into the darkness.
"Please Lord, keep me safe from harm and don't let it hurt too badly this time, please Lord," Alfred begged a god that he was sure had abandoned him by now. He was impure. He was a filthy, filthy being, worth nothing more than what he got on at least a weekly basis.
His door slammed open and he whimpered pathetically, tears beginning to overflow. "Please Daddy, no," he begged hysterically, nose starting to run as well. "No Daddy, please, not tonight," he managed to get out, breath caught in his throat.
"Shut up, y'ungrateful bastard!" A sharp pain bloomed in his cheek. He'd have to wear make-up tomorrow. He could take it off after he got beat up, though. Braginsky and his gang had been threatening him for ages for being a queer.
He sniffled at the blow, curling his legs pathetically to his chest. "No, Daddy, please," he whispered as the flood gates broke completely and he started sobbing. Alcohol muddled fingers fumbled as they pulled down his underwear.
"Shuddup, I'm on'y givin' ya whatcha deserve!" Another slap, pressing his face against his pillow case. It would need to be washed. His tears tended to remain as evidence in the thin fabric. And all he wanted to do was forget. Forget nine years of his life so he could be normal, so he could trust that he was worthy to go to heaven when he died from the abuse as he was sure he would, forget so that he wouldn't flinch when his friends touched him absently, so that the smile he plastered onto his face at school won't be fake anymore.
"Please, dear God, help me, please, stop, Daddy, no!" Alfred was squirming, writhing on the sheets, trying to get away from the now pantsless man climbing onto his bed on his knees. His legs were caught quickly, spread wide and pinned down like the delicate wings of a captured butterfly.
"Please, Daddy, please, stop," Alfred begged between breaths that he had to gasp to get. Maybe he'd pass out. His fingers twitched uselessly against headboard. He clung to it like a lifeline, but his strength had fled him with the mere idea of penetration.
"Didn't ya hea'me?! Shut up, whore!" He squeezed Alfred's calf tightly, forcing a sob from his lips. Jeans, too. He'd be hot tomorrow. Hopefully it wouldn't mess up his make-up. He wouldn't be able to wear shorts, because that would definitely bruise.
Arthur was already prepared to rip the boy he was supposed to raise to shreds, emotionally, physically, and mentally. Alfred screamed as he was forced open, torn, defiled. It was beyond pain, and it hurt on an emotional level. Babbled begging for mercy slipped between lips wet with saliva and tears as it continued. It was hours upon hours of torture, relentlessly driving him utterly insane.
Prayers, and apologies, indistinguishable from one another made their way out into the warm air as Arthur grunted with effort at keeping Alfred's legs pinned as he thrust. "Nnmm..." He whimpered quietly as Arthur released inside of him after what seemed like an eternity of fucking. The blood often made it a little better, but this time he knew that it had just stained the sheets and caused him more future trouble than it was worth.
Arthur pulled out with a last growl of sound. It burned, and he felt utterly disgusted with himself as a mixture of blood, pain, and semen slowly oozed out of his torn entrance. His legs were limp on the bed, and Arthur climbed over them. "I love you, Alfred," he said bitterly as he pulled on his pants, "just like I loved your pathetic excuse for a slag mother. You deserve no better than her."
Alfred was still crying, silent tears trailing constantly down his red cheeks. He stared at the dark ceiling with blurry eyes, the arms by his sides just as lifeless and unwilling to move as his now exhausted and pain-riddled legs. Too weak to move. "I love you too, Daddy," he whispered as the door shut with a loud click that rang of finality.
A/N: I wrote this in like an hour, at one in the morning, and I cried while doing so, so please don't judge me too harshly. Reviews are love. ~Al