Pulled Through the Fence

“Running through the parking lot, he chased me and he wouldn’t stop, tag, you’re it.”
Tag, You’re It ~ Melanie Martinez

He didn’t really know about it until he was reminded of that day he and his brother set up a lemonade stand on the end of his street. Ben had messaged him an old picture of them standing by the makeshift stand and holding a large pitcher of lemonade. The photo made him shiver for no reason, and he felt himself close in on himself slightly. He didn't remember that day very well, but he knew something had went wrong. Mallory fidgeted with his phone before grunting and throwing it onto his bed. His brother knew about his uneasiness about that day, yet Ben still insisted on torturing him about it. But he didn't know why he was so uneasy, he just couldn't remember. He couldn't remember no matter how hard he tried.
The brunet grumbled and cracked his knuckles, a habit he'd had since he was little, then moved towards his bathroom. He felt like a zombie, and he looked like one too, that was for sure. He stared in at his reflection, gazing into his own bland brown eyes, his pupils dilated slightly from the harsh light of the bathroom. He leaned down to the sink to splash cold water on his face, sighing at the numbness that set in as he continued to do it over and over again. When he stopped, his face was red and his lips were blue. It was just another regular day for Mallory.
He carefully pressed a towel to his face and then headed out towards the kitchen. He started to make breakfast, carefully cracking the eggs into the pan and scrambling them. He popped two pieces of rye toast into the toaster, getting out the jam and butter. Just the way she liked it. When he heard her soft footsteps slowly move down the steps, he quickly turned and greeted her with a gentle smile.
"G-Good morning, Mistress!"
She regarded him with nothing more than a grunt and a roll of her eyes. The blonde moved passed him and placed most of the scrambled eggs on a plate, pushing passed him again towards the table.
Mallory tried to keep his smile as he stood up straight and regarded her with a polite stance. He slowly turned to finish putting jam on her toast. Strawberry, he'd memorized it like the back of his hand. It was strawberry jam, but there had to be more butter than jam. The butter had to be made of vegetable oil, and the jam had to be organic. It was hard to find in the dead of winter, but for Devi, Mallory could do anything. He placed the slices on a small plate and took it over to her, using the utmost of care. He may love her with all of his heart, but he knew he had to be careful. Or something bad would happen, something really bad.
His mind wandered back to the old photo, trying to remember what it felt like. He and Ben were making a pretty nice profit, and they were feeling great about themselves. He couldn't remember who took the picture, though, which unsettled him a bit. It was a girl, he surmised, not his mother but someone slightly younger. Maybe in her twenties, he was guessing. She was blonde but he couldn't remember her face or her voice. Mallory just remembered the uneasy feeling she left in his stomach.
Turning back to Devi, he avoided her eyes. It was impolite to look her in the eyes when she wasn't talking to him. She took a sip of her coffee and leaned back in her chair, humming.
"What are you going to do for me today, baby?" she said, her rough voice shooting sadness straight through his heart. He wished she would say that she loved him. Just once.
"A-Anything you want, Mistress," he said, bowing his head to her. She seemed to be content with his answer and went back to her breakfast. Mallory's stomach grumbled and his face heated up in embarrassment. "M-Mistress, may I.. p-please have something for breakfast?" His voice shook with an uncertainty that represented his whole demeanor about the situation. He was so hungry, but didn't want to offend Devi.
"Sure baby, come sit in my lap," Devi said with a sly grin, pulling him towards her and pressing her lips to his, forcing her food into his mouth. Tears welled in his eyes, and he felt himself almost gag at the action.

Unfinished.