by V. F. Mason
Uncle Bill nods, comes closer, and lightly punches him on the shoulder. “What kind of father are you that your son doesn't know how to do that? You’ve been slacking.” Everyone collectively laughs, and I relax a bit.
Father is not angry, which is always a good thing, but with his mood swings, Mom and I don't really know what will set him off.
With relief, I join my friends, who talk about PlayStation and Disney trips while I eagerly listen, since I have nothing but books to occupy my time.
Even cartoons are strictly forbidden, because they’d take away Dad’s time from the sports channels.
“We’re going camping this weekend with Dad,” Alp suddenly says, while Gideon adds, “Me too.” Then he splashes water at me and I dip down, grateful it doesn't stain my favorite shirt. “Come with us?” he asks hopefully, but I just shake my head.
“I don’t like to go out.” That's the excuse I always give to everyone, that nothing but school interests me, and it’s not hard to believe with my nose constantly in a book. On the bad days, I wonder why they even stay friends with me and buy me ice cream if I can’t.
And I can’t most of the time, because there is no money to spare.
The rest of the day passes by with tasty food, good times, and warm water, while Uncle Bill teaches me how to swim and dive.
Once Dad closes the door after his last guest leaves, he places his palm, splayed open, on the door, and my mom’s breath hitches as we see him shake with barely contained fury.
She pushes me in the direction of my room, but he turns around rapidly, grabbing me by the nape. I stifle a groan of pain in my throat because he doesn't like them, and he screams in my face, “You like to insult me, bastard, just like your whore of a mother, huh?”
He’s dragging me through the living room when Mom hits his back, begging, “Let go of him, Matt.” He doesn't listen and throws her on the floor with his beefy arm as he continues to walk.
“Mom?” I call, not knowing what to do as fear rushes through my veins. I’ve never had his anger directed at me before. She was always there to intervene. One of the reasons he always started with me was because he knew she would always protect me and never let him hurt me.
“Uncle Bill is your favorite person now, huh? Well let’s see what he has taught you.” With that, we end up in the downstairs bathroom. He turns on the water in the bathtub and picks me up, only for me to land painfully on my back as the water splashes around me. It’s ice-cold, soaking my clothes instantly, and I try to sit up, but he presses on my chest, keeping me on the bottom, while muttering, “Let’s see how long you can stay under.” And slowly the water covers my entire face and ears. It’s too high to breathe, so I hold my breath, but it’s hard, so hard that I move frantically, desperate to find an escape from his hold but not succeeding. He pulls me up then, and I gulp in as much air as possible, but then he pushes me right back under. I choke beneath the water, my lungs burning from lack of oxygen. He repeats the action, lifting me up and pushing me under five more times before he stands up, wiping his hands with a towel while I grab the edges of the tub, breathing frantically and finally managing to turn off the water.
My body is almost paralyzed from the cold, running on adrenaline alone, but I have to get out of here before he comes back.
Tears mixed with water stream down my cheeks, and I hide my face from him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he laughs as he leaves the bathroom. “Let it be a lesson, boy.”
A lesson.
Everything is a lesson with my father.
Mom rushes inside, pale as a ghost, and I notice a red mark on her forehead; she must have hit the table with her head. That’s his favorite thing to do. She sways a little as she comes to me, probably still dizzy from her wound. She wraps me in a towel and rocks me from side to side.
She murmurs softly into my ear, “My baby, my poor, poor baby.” As I inhale her scent, I think that everything is okay, because she is here to protect me from the monster.
New York, New York
June 2018
Psychopath
Ella rolls back from me, lying on her side, and covers herself with a blanket from head to toe. She breathes evenly, although she’s probably dying inside.
After all, despite her claims, her body surrendered to me; even if her mind can never accept me, her body knows who has owned it for the last month.
All this time, when I’ve imagined kidnapping her and introducing her to all my sick wants and desires, that for some reason I desperately want to inflict on her, I never thought that once she was here all I’d want to do was take her the fuck away.
My darkness demanded to be seen by her, because she claimed she loved me. But for the first time in my life, my darkness didn’t need to hurt; it needed to possess.
The damage I’ve done to her beautiful skin is minimal. Sure, it’ll sting, so she’ll remember her challenge, but that’s about it. I could never bring her more hurt, and that pisses some part of me off.
Faking a relationship with her was part of the game, and certainly entertained me. I needed to learn her weaknesses, make her fall in love with me first so I could fully enjoy all of this. It was hard some days to act like a lovesick fool, but if it brought me victory? I didn’t mind.
Right now though, I don’t feel all that good about my victory, because although her body was in it, mentally, Ella was not.
Who the fuck have I become?
Disgust washes over me as I get up, putting on jeans and pulling at my hair, unpleasant memories entering my mind.
The beast inside me roars to get out, and I need to be far away from her to get a hold on these confusing emotions that are so foreign for me.
Grabbing another blanket from the chair, I cover her with it; although her eyes are closed, I know she’s awake.
With one final glance, I close the cage behind me and go back to the house, where the raging inferno inside me can calm down.
Although I have a suspicion that nothing will be ever the same.
Ella
Waking up groggy once again, I sit up swiftly, only to be reminded how much my body is sore after Kierian had his way with me, and disgust at my willing body sets in.
How could I have allowed it?
I remove the blanket and see myself dressed in a white flannel dress that reaches my ankles. The chain lies nearby; I’m free of it. A buzzing sound comes from above me, and the sink slowly drips water, which is getting on my nerves, so I do everything I can to block the sound from my ears.
I get up, looking around but not seeing Kierian anywhere.
He left me alone in his basement! I come closer to the cage and pull at the bars, but they don’t budge. I kneel in front of the lock, studying the small opening all around.
Searching through my small prison, I try to find anything that will help get me the hell out of here, but I find nothing. If I had a bra, I could have used the metal from there, but he had to kidnap me in the middle of the night.
Screaming in frustration, I kick the bars, only to have pain travel to my knee, and I mutter, “Ouch.” I touch the wall, hoping there is an opening in it, but come up blank there too.
Same with the floor, so much fucking stone that it would be impossible to dig.
My fingers are red and swollen from constantly searching for a means of escape, and my throat feels dry, although I ignore the food and water he left for me on the table.
Eating and drinking will mean agreeing to his methods or taking his generosity, and I won’t do that.
I try a few more times to squeeze between the bars, to scream for help, to find a way out, when it finally sinks in there is no escape from here.
With a silent cry, I kneel in front of the bars, clutching them tightly as my body shakes with sobs.
“Think, Ella, think,” I murmur to myself, desperately needing to hear my voice so I won’t go insane. “How can you get the hell out of here?”
Slowly, I go back to the mattress and sit there, rocking back
and forth, until realization hits me.
And with that, I fall asleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Psychopath, 9 years old
“Mommy, he is so beautiful,” I whisper, clapping my hands as a tiny puppy searches for the source of the pat I’m giving, and the lady laughs softly.
“I think he already likes you.”
Tearing my gaze away from the Labrador, I raise my eyes to her hopefully. “You really think so?”
She nods, grinning widely, but then she winces and a light sneeze escapes her. “Sorry,” she apologizes, but I just shrug.
Christmas lights brighten up the neighborhood, as everyone has gone out of their way to decorate their houses, some with Santas, others with sleighs and reindeer, and some with both.
People are laughing all around us, engaging in snowball fights while running toward the end of town, where the biggest Christmas tree is located.
My mom catches my longing stare toward the kids who are inexplicably happy and hugs me closer, running her fingers through my hair, as I exhale heavily. “Do you like the puppy, honey? How about we give it a home?” she asks cheerfully, and I blink in surprise, because I know the rules as well as she does.
No one is allowed inside the house without Dad’s permission.
The lady’s face brightens as she extends the puppy to me while he leans and licks my nose, barking softly, and a giggle slips through me. “Here, take him for free. Merry Christmas.” She sounds relieved, since it’s the last puppy she needs to find a home for. Her dog recently had a huge litter, and since she had no way to keep them all, she just gave the puppies to anyone who wanted one.
We probably wouldn't have even encountered her if it weren’t for Dad’s order to go out a few times this week to stroll around the neighborhood and wish everyone happy holidays so no one would be suspicious. He mostly spoke to my mom, and I didn't understand half the stuff he said.
“Thank you,” I whisper, bringing it closer to my chest and hiding my face in the soft fur, happiness unlike any other spreading through me when images of how we can play together dance in my mind.
A companion and friend who’ll be with me all the time, even when Mom cries in the bathroom or when she sleeps the whole day because she took magic pills.
At least that’s what she calls them.
Mom pushes me in the direction of the house just before a car pulls up. She freezes, and I tighten my hold on the puppy as Dad gets out of the car, waving at the lady and smiling at us warmly.
Oh no. This usually means bad things.
“Darling,” he greets Mother, placing a grocery bag in her arms, and then ruffles my hair, tangling his fingers in it and pulling painfully, but I don't show it.
No emotions in front of people. His list of orders is always never ending. “It’s cold out here.” The puffs of air leave his mouth as he points at the door. “Let’s get inside.” We go in, and with each step, my heart beats faster and faster, and I feel it in my throat, as I don't know what to expect next from him.
Once we are in the hallway, the door shuts behind us, and Mom’s painful gasp echoes through the house. My shoulders sag and I close my eyes, tears welling up in the corners.
I hear the bag fall to the floor, and I spin around to see him dragging Mom by the hair to the living room, not caring in the least how she hits her hips and knees against the furniture. He throws her on the floor, slapping her cheek harshly, which knocks her head to the side. “What kind of clothes are these?” He fists her small jacket and shirt that barely cover her from the cold since he refused to buy her new stuff for the winter, claiming she would use it to seduce someone. Whenever I asked Mom what it meant, she just told me to forget about it, but how could I? Is there a child who can forget his or her mom’s tears?
“You bought it,” she croaks, and then sends me a smile as if reassuring me everything is okay.
“I never bought this. You just want attention. Well, I’m here to give you mine.” He rips the clothes from her as she tries to hide her naked skin from his gaze, and then he unbuckles his belt. “Get ready.”
“Please, Matt. Don’t. Not today. Not on Christmas.”
Dad laughs sadistically while squeezing her chin so tight her lips come together and she breathes deeply through her nose. “Why would I give a fuck about that?” He’s right though. We don’t have a tree or toys or gifts. He doesn't even allow Christmas songs. He claims to hate it, and whoever does what he hates… always has to face his wrath.
He removes the belt from the loops with a loud whoosh. Immediately, I scratch my skin, remembering the last time he hit me with it across my back and how the bruises didn't fade for days, even though Mom put ointment on them daily. Dad even excused me from PE in school so no one would know.
The puppy chooses this moment to whimper in distress as he shifts in my arms, eager to get down, but I don't let him. Dad stops what he’s doing and narrows his eyes on me. “Just what are you holding there, boy?” I step back, not answering, but that doesn't fly with him. He flings Mom on her back and she groans as he snatches the puppy from me, while I shout, “No!” He dangles it in the air, swaying it from side to side, disbelief written all over him, then drops it, but thankfully the puppy lands on his paws although a little unsteady.
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” he mutters, and then grabs me by the nape, squeezing so hard I choke. “Who allowed you to bring this here?”
Mom covers her face, ready for his blow once he knows the truth, but I lie, wanting to protect her.
“I did. Mom didn't see it.”
His brow rises as he leans closer, his breath fanning my face, as he asks, venom lacing his voice, “So you are brave enough to make your own decisions, huh?” He pats my cheek, delivering a hard blow with each touch. “Then get the fuck out of my house.” Then he kicks the stumbling puppy and it hits the wall, whimpers spreading through the room. I run to him and pick him up; the frightened and injured puppy trembles and whines in my arms.
Dad opens the back door and throws me outside. I land painfully in the snow, but I still hold the dog. Mom begs him, “Please, Matt, please. He didn’t mean it.”
“Rules are rules. Say goodbye to your bastard.”
“Mom!” I call, but all I see is her terrified face as he shuts the door. I rest my back against the steps as my soaking wet clothes become colder with each breath and the puppy’s breaths are raspy against my chest. “Sshh.” As light snowflakes settle on my skin, I pat him, hoping Dad’s blow didn't do much damage.
My body is shaking, my teeth chattering against each other as the frigid air registers in my mind more and more, but I use all the warmth from the jacket on the puppy. “If we live, I’ll call you Max,” I whisper in his ear, relieved to hear light snoring coming from his muzzle.
However, I can’t block the sounds coming from the house as dishes shatter, and Dad roars, “Useless piece of shit!” Then flesh is slapping against flesh, probably him using the belt on her, because that’s his favorite torture when she doesn't manage to make good tea for him.
“Matt, please. My baby—” Another slap.
“Your bastard.” She screams in agony, and I don't have to see it to know he kicked her in the side while she is probably lying on the floor, soaking in the hot tea spread in our kitchen. “Repeat after me if you want to see him in here. Your bastard.” Nothing happens as he obviously waits for her reply, but I can’t hear her response before something else crashes, and he yells, “You bitch!” I can hear them better now, which means he’s dragged her back into the living room. “Bastard. Say it.”
Mom finally gives up, defeat evident in each word. “My bastard.”
“Good girl. And now you know what to do to lift my mood before I have to see your bastard, don’t you?”
I close my ears, because I can imagine what will follow next.
I start to sing my favorite song and picture a different place, hoping to eliminate everything else, although Mom usually keeps
quiet during these moments.
I’m on a beach, reading a book, the ocean caressing my toes, as I enjoy the sun and sand while my mom laughs softly behind me. A place where Dad has no access and I’ll never have to be afraid.
A place where I don't have to watch my every word or expect pain every single day.
A place that doesn't exist.
I don’t know how many hours pass, but I’m almost numb from the cold as my eyelids close, sleep claiming me by the time my mom opens the door and gets me inside, instantly wrapping her arms and a soft blanket around me.
“Mommy,” I say groggily, “Max—”
“Get that dog out of my fucking house, now,” Dad orders from the couch, his football game blaring loudly where some man comments on an amazing quarterback… and I hate it.
Hate it with all my heart.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Mom says as she takes Max away. I try to stop her, but it’s useless and she lets him out. “I will try to do something about it in the morning.” But what will change in the morning anyway? She shouldn't have allowed me to have him, then!
She gave me hope! At those thoughts, I snap back to reality as guilt flashes through me for feeling angry at Mom. She is not at fault.
He is.
“No, Mom, please. He’ll die.” Tears are streaming down my cheeks, but she just shakes her head and takes me up to the bathroom, where she makes me a warm bath all while applying antiseptic on her wounds.
In the morning, the first thing I do is check the backyard for Max, hoping to get him to someone who can love him freely because they don't live with a monster.
But all I find is his dead body lying on the piles of snow.
Let it be your lesson, boy.
Someday, I will teach him a lesson too. That is a vow I intend to keep.
New York, New York
June 2018
Psychopath
As quietly as possible, I unlock the cage and step inside while Ella lies on the mattress, the blanket softly covering her body.