depression silhouette - Valenta Mental Health · Rancho Cucamonga

How had he ever escaped this place? He knew that he had, but sometimes the past was a bit fuzzy, and he had to calm himself down to remember that he’d managed to get away finally when his parents had been out for the day, looking for their next target to con. They’d left him home alone, but he’d been old enough to stay on his own for years, and had finally decided to just take off and risk it. He’d been determined that if they did find him that he would keep running until he couldn’t run any longer. Perhaps he’d scream that they were after him, that they were trying to kill him, or rape him or something equally horrible. That might get people to pay attention, especially since his father often said there were plenty of bleeding hearts out there trying to change the world.

Yeah, that’s what he’d done, he had run. He’d gotten the hell out of this place and never looked back. But something was making him look, and experience this all over again.

The door to his bedroom slammed open as his mother kicked it with one of her slippers, cursing as she stubbed her toe.

“Hey!” she yelled, “Your father needs his breakfast you asshole! Get your lazy ass up and fix him some eggs or shit!”

“You do it,” said a voice he barely recognized as his own. When had that happened? Hadn’t he said that he would make breakfast the first time around? Something didn’t feel right, as though he was somehow going off script and needed to get back in line somehow.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?!” his mother screeched.

“I said take your harpy ass back and do it yourself…bitch.”

His heart was pumping so loud that he could hear the blood thrumming through his veins. He didn’t have to wait long for his mother to come storming across the small room to reach down and grab a handful of his dirty shirt, no doubt thinking to haul him up before walloping him across the face, a favorite tactic of hers, almost as fun as explaining how he was such a klutz to the police and social workers, a line he would then corroborate as well as he could. It was different this time though.

“I guess you need another application of manners you little punk!” she snarled. He waited just another second as her left hand rose, the ring band on her finger glinting in the morning light. Even as that hand was moving though he struck, yanking his hand out from behind his pillow as the light glinted off another metal surface as it sank home and caused his mother’s eyes to widen noticeably.

Wait, had this really happened?

(to be concluded)

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.