Playing Rough

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From the way he acted and the way he spoke Nathan knew he was a spoiled brat. Get me this. Get me that. Constant commands. But Nathan didn't care, soon the boy's parents will be back and he could go to Grace's party.

Occasionally he glimpsed up from his phone to watch the little boy Bran as he ran room to room. "The little shit has way too much energy." He muttered, and went back to Facebook, which was filled with photos from the party. That's when he noticed the time. "Shit."

"Alright Bran, that's enough. Come on you need to go to bed."

"No!" The brat screeched. "I want to play!"

"You need to go to bed! You parents will be back soon."

"No! No! No! No!" The boy replied, running in circles around the couch.

"You're annoying me now kid! Get to bed!" Nathan grabbed at Bran but he wriggled and ran to the kitchen. Nathan made chase but was met with a crash and high pitched cries. Cutlery was everywhere.

"Look what you've done, now I have to clean this fucking mess up!"

Nathan knelt to deal with the silverware, cursing under his breath. The boy was still crying, holding his knee.

"Go to bed now!" Nathan screamed as to be heard over Bran's cries.

The cries stopped suddenly.

"No." The boy whispered in Nathan's ear. "I told you. I want to play."

Nathan felt a hot pain shoot through his Achilles tendon. He tried to stand but he collapsed, his foot crunching and spurting with blood.

Bran stood over him with a bloody bread knife, smiling.

Nathan's hand shot up but was met with another slice. He backed away from the boy, crawling slowly.

"Wha... What have you done? You stupid little brat, when your parents come back they'll..."

The boy butted in. "They'll get rid of the body..." He stopped smiling. "They always do."

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