Bruises Under The Hoodie

He was drained, but the customers kept coming into the restaurant. It was small and old, but it had been around for a really long time, so it was popular. He was assigned to washing the dishes. Because of this job, his skills in this area were pretty solid. But he wouldn't say Mr. Santino agreed with his claim.

The man in his fifties really loved picking on the younger employees. It was his joy to see them having a hard time. However, one employee had been getting on his nerves lately, and it was causing his face to wrinkle even more.

This employee had started two months ago. He tried to make him mad, but it only backfired on him. In the end, the old man decided to stop for a bit. He would attack once the opportunity showed up. For now, he had to lay low, or else he might get kicked out instead of the infuriating guy.

The infuriating guy he was talking about was just silently and diligently washing the dishes, like always. Their boss couldn't say anything to the guy either because he was a big help to their small restaurant. Even when the older employees insulted him, he stayed silent. Even when he was tired, he never complained.

Other than Mr. Santino, no one seemed to hate him, but that didn't mean they liked him either. His gloomy demeanor and the way he carried himself kept his co-workers from wanting to talk to him. His hair covered half of his face, and often, they could see bruises on it. He always wore the same black hoodie, as if he didn't have anything else to wear. The individual in question presents a rather problematic appearance, almost as if he embodies the problem itself.

At noon, his part-time shift ended, and he sat down to eat his lunch - a hard-boiled egg and white rice with little hearts and flowers drawn on top using ketchup. The rice was even shaped like a heart. It was unfortunate that he couldn't afford to buy proper ingredients to make himself a proper meal for the time being, but at least he could still manage to make a cute lunchbox.

"What a shame," he muttered as he thought about his current life. If only he had been born into a well-off family, he could probably create a cuter lunchbox than this one. It's really such a shame.

The sun was scorching, and he was sweating profusely, but he wouldn't dare take off his jacket. His body felt too ugly; the bruises hadn't healed yet.

His third part-time job of the day ended at ten in the evening, but he couldn't go home yet. Not until he gave half of his earnings today to the man who claimed to be his 'father'. Well, he wasn't really his father and didn't deserve to be called that.

Four years ago, a wealthy old lady took a liking to him, bringing him under her wing. He was elated at first, but she died shortly afterward due to a heart disease. In the end, Marcus, the only son of Mrs. Simon, decided to be his guardian because he thought that his mother would want him to care for Cave.

He thought he had finally found a father figure. However, all that changed when Marcus's company went bankrupt. He became violent, abusing him in any way possible. Marcus even started touching him inappropriately, saying he should repay him with his body for taking care of him.

The boy clenched his fists as the unwanted memories resurfaced. He left the mansion but kept coming back once a week to repay him. Of course, he never gave him his body or his dignity. He only came to pay with money.

Marcus insisted that if he wouldn't pay him with his body, he must pay the half a million he used for the surgery on his right leg. He had been in an accident three years ago, and Marcus was the only person he could rely on. He never would have thought that he was a monster wearing a sheep's clothing.

Whenever he couldn't give him money, he would beat him up. Cave can defend himself against Marcus, but he felt like he had to let him do that because Marcus had spent money on his leg surgery. Cave owes him big time, so he has to endure it.

The mansion looked old and eerie, very different from before. He entered and was met with a terrible sight. Bottles and cigarette butts were everywhere, and the smell was rotten, but he was already used to it.

He went upstairs and found Marcus sprawled on the ground, holding a half-empty bottle of wine. Cave discarded the bottle and moved the drunk man to his bedroom. He made him lie on his back and decided to also get rid of his shoes.

He is on the process of removing his left shoe when the drunk man opened his eyes.

"Heh, bastard. What are you doing here?" Marcus slurred as he tried to get up, swaying on his feet and accidentally hitting the boy in the chest.

Cave was shocked when the older man suddenly grabbed his shoulders, causing them to fall onto the bed. A foreboding feeling made its way to his heart. He may be stupid, but he knows what's about to happen if he lets this person do what he wants.

He tried to push Marcus away, but the man, although drunk, is still bigger than him. Marcus held his wrist on top of his head and started to grind his crotch on the boy's stomach. "Disgusting" is the only word he could think of while the man on top of him was pleasuring himself.

"I want you, Cave. Let me-"

But before the man could finish his sentence, he was already pushed down. He fell from the bed, but Cave doesn't care. He ran to the bathroom and puked.

When he came back to the bedroom, Marcus had already passed out. He put his payment beside the lamp. Before leaving, he gave the bastard a hard kick in the stomach and a punch on the head. He was going to wake up tomorrow and wonder why his body hurts.

However, instead of feeling happy for inflicting pain on the person who hurt him first, Cave only felt guilty. He came back to his unit with a heavy heart.