Prodigal Son

by Christine Sutton

  The man's hands moved down to her shoulders as if he was caressing her and then he clamped them around her throat. She continued sucking as the man began squeezing.

  I was beginning to feel panicked, thinking that this man was going to kill my mom. I didn't know what to do. The man began talking to her, and I strained to hear what he was saying.

  "Suck it, you fucking whore. You like that, don't you? I could kill you right now and no one would care. I could fucking choke the life out of you, and it wouldn't matter. You are nothing but a fucking filthy whore. Oh, yeah. Dirty cock-sucking bitch. You love it, don't you? Suck my cock, whore. Filthy, dirty whore."

  Once again, his face contorted. He was violently thrusting into her mouth as she gagged and choked. When he was done, he flopped down onto the bed, his now soft penis dangling between his legs.

  I was waiting for my mother to go ballistic. He had hurt her and called her names and I thought that she was going to attack him or something. Instead, she pulled her skirt down and her shirt up, taking a seat next to the man as she rubbed her throat.

  "Not so hard next time, Rick."

  "I'm paying, whore. I'll do what I want."

  "Next time it'll cost more, then," she said defiantly.

  The man sat up and looked at her for a moment. He suddenly reached out and took her face in his hand, gripping her jaw until her face squished up.

  "You think that you can make the rules? You are nothing but a stupid whore and as long as I am handing out cash, you will do exactly as I say. Got it?" He tossed her back onto the bed and got up, gathering his clothes.

  I was dumbstruck that my mother, the woman that would punch me in the face if I even thought of talking back to her, was just sitting there and taking this abuse.

  Rick finished dressing, walked over to where she sat and tapped his open palm against her cheek.

  "See you next week," he smiled and kissed her lips as though they had just had a romantic dinner, and then walked out the front door.

  My mother rose off the bed and continued rubbing her sore throat. She walked over to the nightstand closest to the closet door and picked up the half-empty bottle of vodka. Her eyes closed in what appeared to be ecstasy as she tipped the bottle up against her lips. She swigged down half of the remaining vodka and held the bottle up to her forehead. She stood staring ahead and without turning, she called out to me.

  "Get out here, now."

  I knew better than to defy her. I sheepishly stood up and walked out of the closet with my head hung in shame.

  "I'm sorry, M…," My words were cut off as her fist connected with my jaw.

  I was flung to the ground by the force of the blow. She was a slight woman, but still much larger than me at the time and her punches packed quite a wallop.

  "You little pervert. Do you get off spying on me?"

  "No, Mama. I'm sorry. I was just looking for my truck. I thought I left it in here," I cried, not even knowing what 'getting off' meant.

  "Don't you fucking lie to me!" She knelt down, grabbing my arm and hoisting me up off the ground.

  I scrambled to get my footing as she hurled me towards the bed. I was sobbing uncontrollably now. She lunged and began slapping me in the head. I raised my hands to protect myself from the blows, but she was like a wild animal, scratching and slapping. After a minute, she calmed down and stopped hitting me, but there was a dead look on her face. She no longer looked angry, but there was something even more frightening about the lack of expression.

  "Take down your pants," she ordered.

  "Please, Mama," I was wailing now in that deep throaty pleading tone that only a child could manage.

  "Shut the fuck up and take down your pants. Your daddy isn't here to protect you now. Do as I say."

  I had no choice but to obey. I pulled my pajama pants down and stood in front of my mother, completely naked. She stood and surveyed my body. I wanted to cover up so badly, but I did not dare move. I had no idea what she might do to me.

  "What's the matter? You don't like it when people look at you while you're naked? You seem to think it's perfectly okay to watch me when I'm naked, right? You watch all kinds of things, don't you? You little freak."

  I didn't answer, not knowing if my words might send her into another rage. She continued her emotionless tirade. I focused my eye on the long scar that ran across her upper thigh.

  "Fucking little pervert. Turn around and bend over the bed."

  She lit a cigarette as I reluctantly did as I was told. I was shaking with fear and embarrassment as I leaned down and placed my head on the blanket that smelled of sweat and filth. I had no idea what to expect. She could do anything she wanted to me, and I was powerless to stop her.

  I flinched as she placed her hand on my behind, gently caressing. I started to feel less afraid as she rubbed gently, letting my tense body relax a little. The moment of relief was shattered when I felt the searing pain in my left hip as she touched the end of her cigarette to my skin. I tried to pull away, but she pushed my head down into the mass of blankets, holding me still. The cigarette continued burning into my flesh as she held it in place. I could hear her chuckling to herself when she finally moved the ember away from my skin, but the pain didn't end there. She snatched up the bottle of vodka and poured it directly onto the tender scorched flesh. I screamed out, begging her to stop hurting me. She only laughed before she took another long swig from the bottle and then poured the remainder of the liquid over my body. I felt the vodka stinging as it ran down my face and into my eyes.

  She stood up and looked around, searching for some unknown thing. I stayed in my position, not even moving to rub my burning eyes. She had found what she was looking for in the form of an old telephone cord that she was now wrapping around her knuckles, leaving a half foot of the length dangling. She was saying something in her drunken slur, but I had no idea what it was. I was trying my best to travel far away.

  I cried out the first time the cord connected with the backs of my thighs. The second strike only brought forth a whimper. The third, fourth, fifth and sixth blows got no reaction at all. As the stinging in my legs radiated through my entire body, my mind traveled to another place. In my fantasies, I had the upper hand. My mother was the one that was afraid and weak, doing exactly as she was told. My father was there and he told me that I was becoming a man and that he was proud of me.

  Mother's arm was tiring, so she told me to get out. I hobbled my way out of the room and went to the bathroom to try and dress my wounds. As I looked into the mirror, my tear streaked face morphed from the innocent ten year old that had just found out that his mother was a prostitute, to the eighteen-year-old man that had killed her.

  I awoke that night in a sweat. There were no screams. I simply rolled over and wept into my pillow until I fell back to sleep.

  Chapter 17

  I knocked on the burgundy door once again and waited for Theresa to answer. She must have been standing there waiting for me, because it took no more than ten seconds for her to open the door.

  She stood in front of me, wearing a pretty floral dress that started just below her neck and ended right below her knees. Her hair was curled, but pulled back at the temples, allowing little wispy curls to fall around her cheeks. Her makeup was a palette of soft pinks that made her skin glow without making her look made up. She looked beautiful.

  I shook my head to clear the spell that she was obviously casting over me. I told myself again that she was just like the rest. Just like my mother. It would only be a matter of time before she showed her true colors.

  She smiled sweetly, and I forced myself to smile back. I entered what was now my house, for the time being and looked around with fresh eyes.

  "I have to tell you Tim, I'm still a little nervous about this." Theresa moved about picking up toys, trying to avoid eye contact.

  "I understand. If you feel uncomfortable, we can call this off. I won't be mad," is what I said out loud.

  In my head I was scr
eaming, 'Don't you fuck this up for me, you stupid bitch! I will slit your fucking throat.'

  "No. You seem like a nice guy and to be honest, I need the money and the company." She smiled again, but this time with a touch of sadness.

  "Well, I can provide both."

  "Um, ok…I should show you where your room is." She led me down the hallway to a small bedroom with a closet and a twin bed.

  The bed was covered with a quilt in shades of soft blues and greens. Nothing hung on the walls, and there was no other furniture in the room. I liked it very much.

  "I hope this is okay. I can pull a table out of the garage if you need a nightstand."

  "That would be great. Just tell me where it is and I'll get it."

  "Oh, alright. Would you like some dinner? I know it is a little bit early, but I put a roast in the oven and it cooked faster than I thought it would. So, do you like roast?"

  "I love roast." I put my meager belongings down on the bed and followed her to the kitchen.

  Theresa set out a place for the two of us and pulled Alicia's high chair to the table. She went to get the girl up from her nap, and placed her securely into the seat. After adding some of the roast and potato to the white tray in front of Alicia, she made up two plates and brought them to the table.

  We sat there and ate what I have to say was an absolutely delicious pot roast. We talked about our lives. Everything that I said was, of course a lie.

  I spun a story about my dad being an old friend of Dale's and how we were separated when my mom had to move for work, blah, blah, and blah.

  Theresa told me about her hometown and how she sang in the choir. She told me about her church and how she had met Dale. I heard the story of how Theresa fell madly in love with the much older man, and about moving into this house with him and getting pregnant with Alicia. The story took a turn when she recounted the nights alone when Dale would disappear for weeks at a time leaving the two girls alone and worried.

  I found myself genuinely amused at her telling, laughing with her at the funny parts and occasionally including Alicia in the story. The little girl laughed with glee at the slightest bit of attention, her blue eyes gleaming. I can't deny that as much as I hated it, I actually liked these two ladies.

  Little Alicia was so adorable, untainted by the world at that point. She had yet to be taught how to play mind games and use sex to get her way. She was like a lump of clay, still moldable. Still pure.

  Theresa was sweet and shy. Dale was the only man that she had ever been with, and she was a good wife to him. She was a good girl, or so I was beginning to believe. At that point, I still had my reservations. I knew that all women had it in them to be whores, and I had yet to meet one that had not chosen that path, but it seemed that Theresa was different.

  "I can't believe that I'm telling you all of this. We only just met," she looked at me, blushing. "I'm not usually this…open."

  I smiled at her.

  "I must just have one of those trustworthy faces."

  I went to sleep in my new house that night and I dreamed of the life that I had always wanted. In my dream, Theresa was devoted to me and looked to me for guidance and direction. She cooked, and cleaned, and took care of my every need. There was no deception or guile, just devotion. Alicia was a good little girl that obeyed her daddy.

  I drifted through this dream of my perfect family with a feeling of peace that I had never felt before. I saw Theresa and me putting the baby to bed and retiring to our bedroom.

  Once there, I was in control and she did as she was told; only interested in pleasing me. I saw her in my mind, laying on her stomach in the center of our bed, wearing nothing at all, waiting for me to take what belonged to me.

  I climbed up onto the bed and wasted no time forcing myself into her. I grabbed her hips and rammed into her, my fingers digging into her flesh. I took her roughly as she moaned with pleasure, knowing that she was pleasing me.

  My dream was shattered when I turned her over, wanting to see the expression on her face as I took her. The face that looked up at me was no longer the sweet face of the girl that had made me a pot roast and talked with me. The woman looking up at me was my own mother. She looked as bored and uninterested as she had on the day that I had watched her with her trick. She looked directly into my eyes and began to laugh.

  "You fucking pathetic loser. You are nothing but a coward. A pathetic fucking coward," she snarled at me.

  I cried out as her face morphed into that of the red haired woman at the grocery store.

  "You waste of space. You can't do anything right. I practically killed myself. You'll take the credit for it, though. Won't you?"

  The blonde whore with the tongue on her t-shirt. Her weathered face looked up at me with what looked like pity.

  "You can't even control yourself. How the fuck could you control me? You couldn't have killed me the way your daddy would have," she said around the screwdriver that protruded from her neck.

  Suddenly Theresa was there again, looking up at me with sweet brown eyes.

  "You can't have this, Tim. You don't get to have a family. You're damaged goods. You're just a coward. You aren't half the man that Dale is, and you never will be. Coward."

  I pulled back and wrapped my hands around her neck. She made no move to escape or to stop me from strangling her to death. As my hands continued to tighten on her throat, Theresa simply smiled. I was grunting and shouting with the exertion of murdering this girl that had shown nothing but kindness to me. I screamed out in a guttural yowl as I felt the tiny bones in her neck snap under my thumbs and her eyes went blank.

  The knocking is what woke me.

  "Tim, are you okay?" Her tiny, frightened voice called out from the other side of the door.

  After I gathered my senses and became fully aware of where I was, I got up and answered the door.

  "Hey, yeah I'm fine," I said groggily, wiping the traces of sleep from my eyes.

  Theresa stood there wearing a thick robe pulled tight around her neck. She averted her eyes and in the dim hallway light, it looked as though she was blushing. I realized that I was standing in front of her wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. I backed up and hid myself behind the bedroom door.

  "You were screaming," she said, still looking away.

  "Sorry, bad dreams…just sleeping in a new place, I guess. I'm okay. Go back to sleep, I'm sorry I woke you."

  "It's okay. If you need anything, just let me know."

  I closed the door and leaned back against it, waiting to hear her bedroom door close. Sleep eluded me for the rest of that night. I was afraid to close my eyes, frightened by what I might see if I did.

  Chapter 18

  Mercifully, Theresa made no mention of the night before when I entered the kitchen. What she did do was set a plate heaped full of food onto the table and indicated that I was to sit down and eat.

  Our days went like this for a few months. We would eat breakfast in the morning and talk throughout the day. Sometimes she would have to go to work, and I would stay with Alicia.

  Yeah…me babysitting!

  Theresa would get home and make us dinner. We would chat about her day, play a game, or do just about anything that would keep us together. She had become quite a force to be reckoned with as far as Monopoly was concerned.

  One day, Theresa returned from work looking a bit down. She went straight to her room and took off her greasy uniform. Changed into a pair of jeans and an oversized tee, she came in and flopped herself down onto the old tan sofa. She still hadn't said a word to me, and when Alicia waddled over to her, Theresa barely even gave her a smile.

  "Are you okay, Theresa?"

  She said nothing, instead suddenly bursting into tears. I went to the couch and sat next to her. I took her hand in mine and tried to calm her.

  "Hey. Don't cry. Talk to me."

  After a few minutes of sobbing, she finally calmed herself enough to talk to me coherently.

  I wiped the remai
ning tears from her cheek with my thumbs as I took her face in my hands.

  "Now, what is it?"

  She gave a ragged, heavy sigh.

  "It's been about four months since you got here. That means that Dale will probably be coming home at any time now."

  "Well, that is a good thing, right?"

  She gave me a look that caused my heart to ache a little bit. The only thing that I felt was confusion.

  "He hurts me," she said, almost too softly to hear.

  I squeezed her hand, hoping that I was providing her with some sort of comfort. She squeezed back and her tears began to flow again.

  "I'm sorry, Tim. This isn't your problem."

  "Hey, hey, it's okay. You can talk to me." I looked into her eyes as I placed my hand against her cheek. She nuzzled her cheek into my palm and returned my gaze.

  I knew it was wrong, but I just could not help myself. I moved in and put my lips to hers. She tasted like strawberry and her lips were so soft.

  The dreams and fantasies that I was having about Theresa had changed dramatically. I started seeing the two of us walking together holding hands, going out to dinner together, watching Alicia play in the park. I began thinking of her as a friend. Maybe more than a friend, in fact.

  I no longer saw her in the same way that I saw other women. She was the opposite of the type of woman that my mother had been. I watched the way she took care of her baby. I saw the love in her eyes when she held her close, and the tucking in at night, kissing boo-boos, and the reading of stories. I wondered to myself if I would have been different if I had had a mother like Theresa. Would I have turned out normal, or would I still be the same monster?

  She pulled away, looking at me as though I had done something horrible.

  "What are you doing, Tim? Why would you do that?"

  "I thought that you wanted me to do it."

  "What the hell would make you think that? I'm married."

  "I'm sorry, Theresa. I just…misunderstood." I was feeling embarrassment, mixed with anger.