In a grey room far below the surface of a house, down where no one can here you scream, sat a small young boy. His prison had no doors, no windows, and his only light a small lamp in the corner. It blinked in what the boy had come to realize was a count down to pain. a count down till the lights went out and that horrible man would climb down the hatch that was above him. Then yet again, as happened every night, or what he assumed was night, considering he had no way to tell the difference between day and night, the man would come over to the bed and touch him. Touch him in ways that no one should ever touch another without permission. He would slide his hands over his body, go down to the depths of his very soul and take everything he had. Then the man would hold him, or try to, that is until he shrugged away weeping desperate for him to go. Then the man would say the same thing he always did "why wont you love me" and strike him over and over and over again. Leaving his body bruised, cut, and bloody. He would never kill him though, no that would be to easy, a way out that the boy prayed for. Instead he left him mangled, left his body defiled. The only way you could tell it was even him was his still intact face, which the man always refused to cut. "I love your pretty face", he would say as he dug his knife into the boys side, or buried his fist in his gut. Then he would stroke the boys white blond locks and look deep into the forest that where his green eyes and say, "I love you, i love you", quiet at first and then, "DON'T YOU SEE! I LOVE YOU, WHY DO YOU MAKE ME DO THIS, WHY MUST YOU MAKE ME HURT YOU?! CANT YOU SEE....WHY WONT YOU LOVE ME?!"