A/N: Alright! Look at me and my bad self! I updated so quickly! This chapter won't be having Kratos' new master in it, but it gives more insight into Kratos' psychological standing as well as just Bretta's character in general. I really enjoy writing her and I hope you guys enjoy her too! Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed last chapter and thank to those who favorite/followed me and/or Branding! You guys are great!
Read on and enjoy!
Chapter Four: The Shower
Bretta and Kratos headed out of the office, travelling down the stairway that overlooked the ocean before heading out the double doors. Turning onto a dirt path, the two strolled past the fine buildings and structures, reaching the back of the property which sat connected to the castle wall.
Several shacks lined the castle wall, their wooden frames sagging under the weight of standing for so many years without repair. Kratos could see the other servants and slaves hurrying in and out of the buildings, feet padding against the soft dirt. Bretta heaved a sigh, looking back at the auburn before giving him a small smile, "Sorry it's so busy. With the young master coming home, everyone's in a hurry to get things cleaned up."
It didn't bother him, actually. He was honestly just happy to be in the open air again. Hurrying people didn't bother him anymore, not like before.
Making their way inside one of the middle most shacks, Bretta shouted overhead, "I'm coming through! Move or be squished!" As they entered, a kitchenette area was to their left while a couple of tables and chairs were to the right. Past a wall and a curtain, bunk beds lined both sides of the room, people snuggling between them to make room for the large woman that was coming through.
"Bretta, ya'd best being careful. I'd hate fur ya ta gets stuck." A very heavily accented voice spoke, a middle aged man grinning as Bretta shot him a look.
"Get to your gardens, Harneld. Or I'll stick you in one of those flower pots you got lying around." The man only grinned wider before motioning for her to continue walking. She made her way through the thin pass of beds, Kratos following close behind, until she reached a door. Pushing it open without so much as a knock, there were several shouts as she called inside. "Get yourselves dressed. I don't care what you're wearing as long as it's hiding your junk!" Several more complaints came but everyone complied. She squished herself between a set of beds and the wall, the men and women inside filtering out, some fully dressed while others were wrapped in thin towels.
When everyone was clear, Bretta gestured in, "After you."
Kratos headed in, seeing the shower stalls to the left and the toilet stalls to the right as well as a long mirror sitting parallel with the entrance. Bretta came in after him, placing a large hand on her plump hip, "You can strip and take a shower in here. I'll bring you some clean clothes." Kratos turned his head towards her, nodding slightly.
A shower. He wasn't sure when the last time he'd taken one of those was. Trying to remember caused his stomach to turn, horrid memories resurfacing in his brain. He was chained to the wall, scorching hot water rushing down his back. It burned so badly, made him want to scream. But he'd always hold it in, never letting so much as a whimper exit his lungs. That would anger Sigheart, the man changing the temperature to ice cold, causing excruciating pain. Switching between both settings for a while, he'd finally finish him off by whipping his back while it was still scolding hot.
"Are you okay with that?" Bretta's voice cut through his thoughts, making him blink a couple of times. Looking at her, he gave a tentative nod.
She raised a thin eyebrow but didn't say anything, turning with some effort and exiting the room with a gentle closing of the door.
It took a moment for the auburn to feel completely alone. The voices of those who were hurrying outside still bled through the fractured wooden panes with ease. The rushing sound of wind, the cawing of birds, all of it still filtered its way into the room he was in. When everything sounded distant, however, he began taking off his clothes. Not daring a glance in the mirror, he walked into one of the showers and turned the water on, being greeted with instantly warmed water.
It startled him at first, but it began to feel nice. The way it washed down his skin, scraping away dirt and grime; layers of filth caressed off his skin by the water's warm hands. He reached for the soap, scrubbing at himself from top to bottom, the suds tickling him. For the first time in a long time, he was able to lather soap on his face, cleaning away the dried blood that'd come to rest upon it. He was also able to let his hands wander over his newly cleaned skin. His fingers gingerly ran along his chin, feeling the scarred skin of several slices. Sigheart had slashed him along the face to force Kratos to maintain consciousness. They'd added up over the years and feeling them only terrified him. Moving to a new location, they danced across his neck, feeling the bruising that had yet to heal. Working their way around, they grazed the charred skin on the back of his neck.
It stung, hurting him, causing him to drop to his knees.
He was breathing hard, the fresh memories of being branded burning into his mind once more. The way Sigheart laughed at him, mocked him. The way the rest of them watched with glee set in their eyes. He was nothing but a toy to them, some kind of caged bird they'd never set free. He could feel it there, fingers probing it even though it stung.
The brand, crusted and singed, was the entire reason for the hell he'd endured. When Kratos had first been taken in by the Araser, he'd threatened them and mocked them. Throwing every insult he had at them, he'd convinced himself that, even though his parents had been killed, his younger brother was still out there and would be looking for him. Yes, his brother had run away to join the military but he'd receive word of what the Araser had done and he'd make them pay. He'd save Kratos, kill the ones who'd murdered their parents and they'd leave. He would get the last laugh.
His arrogance had bought him the attention of Sigheart, who swore he would not give up until he broke Kratos' spirit, determined to brand the auburn himself once the boy was nothing more than a whimpering shell of his former self.
The auburn had been stupid in thinking he could resist that and now…now he wore that cursed brand.
Without thinking, he began clawing. It burned, hurting worse than the memories did, but his nails wouldn't stop. They dug into his skin, working to rid his flesh of the vivid mark once and for all. The water that cascaded down from his back turned dull red, twisting down the drain.
He could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes, hear the words Sigheart had said to him on that day.
That brand will forever bind you and I.
Why was he still alive, still wearing the disgusting mark that damned Araser had given him? If he could die, that would end it all, end his suffering and free him from the binds that tied him down.
The tears broke free, mixing with the rusty water before tumbling down his face.
Kill himself.
That's what he needed to do.
End it all himself. Finally take some initiative in his life and end it all right here, right now. Sigheart couldn't win if he didn't rule over Kratos. It would be his last act of defiance, his last stance to show he wasn't completely gone.
His nails only dug deeper, making the pain ring through his body. His entire body shook, fear and rage mixing together just like the water and the blood. He'd do it, he'd do it, he'd do it. Kill himself and get it over with, end everything so he could float away in the darkness that was death. Sleep eternally in a hell far more pleasant than the one he was in right now.
With both hands now, he clawed at the burned marking, each rip at his flesh bringing about searing pain. Every damned memory of the last three years came washing over him just as the water was.
Kill me!
Kill me!
Over and over again in his head, he'd screamed it, shouted it, pleaded it, but it'd never came true.
Kill me!
Kill me!
"Kill me!"
There were strong arms pulling him back, his broken body tumbling into something soft and thick. Struggling against it, he was shouting incoherently. "Don't…no! Please, no! Oh God, I'm sorry! I swear…not again, please!"
"Calm down, Kratos! What the hell has gotten into you?" His struggling stopped instantly when his mind recognized the voice behind him. It was Bretta's voice, filled to the brim with concern. It was evident in the way she held him back that she'd witnessed him only moments before.
Going slack in her grasp, he took several shaky breaths. Not trusting his voice, the auburn kept quiet. Once Bretta deemed him safe to release, she did so, Kratos dropping to his knees before he started sobbing again.
"What's the matter?" This wasn't her first time dealing with distressed individuals. Kneeling down as best she could in the small amount of space, she placed a hand on his shoulder. Tension rose through his shoulders, stiffening them instantly. It caused her to jolt her hand away quickly before she slowly lowered it back to her side. "I'm sorry."
Kratos didn't look at her, fear coursing through him, "please don't tell on me…I promise I'll be good."
Bretta raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down a couple of times, "Tell on you? What is this, grade school? I'm not going to tell the Grand General anything. He doesn't understand what you're going through…"
Honestly, Kratos figured she had no idea either. However, he didn't dare voice his thoughts, keeping them very much locked inside. "You won't tell him will you?" It was almost too painful to say, the very thought of the man causing the torn up branding to sting even more.
Bretta shook her head, "Everything that I saw, that you say, will be kept between you and me. I double promise not to tell anyone anything." Her movement was painstakingly slow as her hand came to rest on Kratos' thin shoulder only after it touched them tentatively. She was judging his reaction to her. When there was no clear sigh of rejection, she laid the beefy palm across the boney surface. "When I first got here, I'd been bought as a slave, too. I was terrified, like you, and I felt so alone. It was like the entire world had turned its back on me, but you know what?"
The auburn only half looked at her, eyes empty. She gave him a smile, "I decided I'd start doing it all for myself."
There was a small hint in Kratos' features that he was confused by what she was saying, so she clarified, "The moment you start working for them, your life is over. However, if you work for yourself, they can't own you. So I don't get paid, so I don't get benefits but you know what I do get? Respect, achievement. I set and strive for goals, even if the Grand General would laugh at them."
He tilted his head slightly, though his eyes didn't lock with hers, instead on the ticking water that sat inside the shower he'd just been yanked from, "Like what?"
"Like what?" She scrunched her eyebrows together, deep in thought, "Well, my son's birthday is coming up, actually. I've decided that I'm going to sneak out to see him. That's my big one right now."
Other than the sound of the water on the tile, silence wondered between them for a moment. Bretta was gauging him, judging if Kratos was ok now. She kept her hand in place, the weight of it catching Kratos' attention.
Turning his head away from her, he whispered, "I'm fine." Shrugging her off of him, he attempted to stand, legs shaking under him. None the less, his feet held his weight but he used the wall in front of him to support himself. The sting at the back of his neck seemed to ebb back into existence as he stood, so he leaned his head down to keep himself from getting dizzy.
"You sure don't look fine." Bretta made her way to her feet, looking at the back of his neck carefully. A gentle finger touched the broken skin, "You're bleeding real bad-" She was cut off when she heard a growl, almost inhuman. Her eyes could see through the mess of auburn that it was coming from Kratos.
"Don't touch me." It wasn't a warning, it was a threat. She backed off immediately, hand pulled away protectively.
Nodding, she spoke, "Alright, alright. No need to get fussy with me. I won't bother it but, could you please tend to it? I don't want it to get infected." Huffing at him as she placed her large palms on her hip, she muttered more to herself than anything, "Geez, you are something else, aren't you?" Turning around, she grabbed hold of the clothing she'd brought in, pushing it towards him. His wine colored eyes turned her way, gazing at the clothing before looking away.
"Right…" was his reply, his voice barely above a whisper. Reaching a tentative hand out, he snatched up the clothing and pulled them towards himself, relieved she hadn't pulled them away at the last second, taunting him and asking for him to reach again.
Bretta turned back around, walking towards the exit, "I'll be outside the door. If you need anything, just holler." Opening it and closing it behind herself, she was out of his sight in the matter of a second. It was only then that he noticed how terribly he was shaking, rather it be from cold or fear he wasn't sure.
Not bothering to touch the burned area at the back of his neck, he stepped back in the shower and rinsed his hair, feeling the harshly cut strands between his fingers. His hair had been excessively long, not having been cut for around three years. Of course, after the branding, Sigheart sliced it off to display to the world his little toy. Shuddering and shaking his head, he forced his mind to focus on what he was about to do.
Stepping out and shutting down the water, he felt a bit of relief when he saw Bretta had indeed stayed outside of the room. She hadn't wandered in to check on him, to make sure he didn't start scratching at his neck again. Picking up the clothes he'd received, he stepped over his disgusting ones and looked at the mirror which sat opposite the door.
Now that he was clean, he imagined he looked significantly better. Though his skin was still pale and purple in places and much of the scarred flesh still fresh, he at least looked presentable, especially when he got on some good clothes.
Slipping into the uniform he'd received, he looked at himself once more. Thankfully, most of the battery and bruises were hidden by the long sleeves and long pant legs. Pulling on the final touch, an embellished vest streaked with purple and silver, he buttoned it up and looked at himself for the final time.
How he hated the way purple looked on him. His hair was red and, in his opinion, purple clashed and looked atrocious on him. But it wasn't like he could do anything about it now. Letting out an internal sigh, he turned around and headed for the door. He'd be heading into a new life of servitude and he wasn't looking forward to it. But, he hoped against hope, that it wouldn't be as bad as what he'd already gone through.
No more torture, no more pain, no more suffering. He'd simply become no one in a massive sea of someones, ammoniums for the rest of eternity.
