We Know Not What We Do
Part 4
Steve ended up sitting on the couch with Mocha on his lap, she keeps rolling around and trying to jump into the air. Or maybe she was trying to dance, not that Steve could tell what she was thinking. When she got too tired from trying to dance on his thigh she fell over and tried to paw at his hand as if she was a kitten. He was enjoying this, she was terribly cute. Too cute, even. But, he was distracted. From his vantage point he could just barely see Prince on the towel.
It didnât take long for Mocha to completely distract him from Prince. Or maybe it was his phone that pulled his attention, as the fluffy didnât mind that one hand tickled. He became engrossed in an article, not even noticing that Mocha stopped playing.
Mocha sat up and put her hoof on top of Steveâs hand. âDadddeh, Mocha hungwy. Nee miwk.â
He didnât realize the time, if only he was staring at his phone, he thought. âGotcha, Iâll get you guys some food.â He was starting to miss the free time, taking care of two baby fluffies was a lot more work than he had anticipated. âJust stay on the couch, Iâll come back and get you.â
âOTAY!â Mocha rolled off his lap onto the couch and kept rolling around, her tiny wings fluttering with joy.
Something was missing. He couldnât quite figure it out, well, if it was important, Iâd remember⌠He pulled out a clean bottle, the formula, and the milk. The half empty milk. His eyes went right to the towel near the sink where Prince was last. Well, fuck âPrince, where are you at, buddy? Itâs lunch time.â
He wasnât on the counter, he wasnât in the sink. The oven was still closed and cooking the poppers, and gosh those smelled delicious. Steve shook his head stop being such a shitty owner, ya fuck, he admonished himself. There werenât many places to hide, but he couldâve fallen off the counter behind the fridge or stove, either wouldâve been fatal to the foal.
It was between the coffee maker and toaster that he found Prince. The still small foal was watching him, he saw Steve make eye contact. He didnât move though, not until the coffee maker and toaster were easily pulled away from the backsplash. âCâmon buddy, itâs lunch time.â
Prince chirped and cowered, his tiny hooves trying to find purchase against the countertop. His eyes and movement frantic in his attempt to dash away as fast as a foal could. Steve attempted to be gentle picking up Prince, but the moment his fingers wrapped around the fluffy he started chirping. Price stopped struggling when his hooves left solid ground and he curled up in Steveâs hand, his hooves covering his eyes, ânu huwt babbeh⌠wan mummah⌠chirp!â
He could feel Prince shaking as he begged his âdaddehâ to not hurt him. That sight, the small purple foal curled in his hand begging, pleading for him to not hurt him anymore, it broke his heart. âHey,â he said softly, âIâm sorry buddy. It was an accident. I didnât mean to hurt you.â Prince went silent, maybe that was a good sign. âAre you hungry?â
He almost couldnât hear Prince, his voice so quiet, âyusâŚâ
âOkay, Iâmma put you back on that towel and make you some milk. Will you stay there?â
âyusâŚâ
Steve set Prince down onto a new towel and prepared the milk and formula for lunch. âPrince, do you want me to hold you while you eat?â Princeâs ears lowered and he ever so slightly shook his head. âThatâs okay, Iâll hold the bottle for you.â
With both fluffies fed, he put them back into their room. He compromised with Prince and left him on the towel, carrying that back to the room. âOkay you two, Iâve got homework to do. Iâm leaving you in here. Mocha, play nice with Prince.â He didnât give her a chance to respond and closed the door.
âAlright, time for⌠Who did this?â
Mocha looks up at Steve, her head tilting back and forth, âdu wha?â
Steve pointed at the two small piles of poop. âThe poop. Who pooped on the carpet?â He asked again looking between Prince and Mocha. Prince, as they made eye contact, scrambled off the pillow trying to hid behind it.
Mocha, however, had a guilty look and her ears drooped. âBabbeh nu knowâŚâ
âMocha.â He said sternly.
It looked like she cracked, but clearly she was doubling down. âWuz a scawy munsta!â
Even louder, âwho did this?â Points to the poop. Prince chirped in fear.
Mocha looked at the floor then tried to smile, âdaddeh, am dancie babbeh!â She tried to deflect, that little bitch he thought as Mochaâs attempt at changing the subject failed, her dance not helping at all.
He left for a moment and returned with a clear plastic tupperware container. âDo you know what happens when you poop on the floor? Do you know what happens when you lie?â He looked between the two, but he steeled himself against the look of terror in Princeâs eyes. âMocha, Iâm going to ask you one more time. Who. Pooped. On. The. Floor?â
âMocha am bad babbehâŚâ
He lifted her easily by the scruff and held her aloft, pinched between his thumb and pointer. âYou are. Not only did you poop on the floor, but you did it twice. And then you lied about it.â He didnât want to punish her too hard, they just got the litter box today, even though it looked like Prince already used it.
âBabbeh sowwy! pwease nu huwt babbeh!â Her legs flailed in the air, her wings helplessly buzzing. He gave her two hard flicks on her rump and one to her snout, each flick she twisted and chirped.
Prince watched as daddeh punished Mocha. She deserved it, he thought. There was only a slight satisfaction after what he went through today. Mocha was a bad babbeh. But he knew that daddeh could do the same or worse to him. But that thought was soon silenced as he watched Steve drop Mocha into that clear box. While it was only a foot at most, but to a fluffy it was a huge fall. He wanted to gasp, he wanted to call out and ask his daddeh to not drop Mocha, but he was too scared.
He heard the peeps and chirps as she landed in the box. âYouâre staying in this box until tomorrow morning. No bed, no toys. Next time, the punishment will be worse. Got it?â Prince couldnât hear her answer, but assumed she got it. âPrince, no pooping on the floor, only in the litter box. Understand?â He couldnât work up the nerve to talk and just nodded. âGood.â
He watched Steve put the box down next to her bed, and then he left, the only light now coming from the nightlight, because the darkness is scary, especially for babies. The only sound was Mocha crying in the tub. For the longest time she cried. Prince waited and waited, afraid of Steve coming back. Finally, he mustered the courage to check on Mocha.
Both of them should have been asleep by now, he was so tired. Instead he carefully made his way over to Mocha, every few steps the burned skin causing him to wince. As he got closer he could hear her. âwan mummah⌠huuuu huuuu⌠wan daddehâŚâ He stopped. She hadnât seen him, she hadnât even looked up, her cries almost inaudable as she suckled on her hoof. âwan PwinceâŚâ
Prince tapped on the box, staring through the clear plastic. âMocha bad babbeh. Mocha poopy babbeh. Bad babbeh.â
She gasps ânu!â
âDaddel wub poopy babbeh, daddeh nu wub PwinceâŚâ He curled up next to the box, both Prince and Mocha pressing against the plastic wall, they both fell asleep.
even in his as yet innocent state, Danceh Bebbehs call to his inner Abuser 