Drowning

He turned the music up louder, making an attempt to zone out the painful sobs of his mother. Making an attempt to make stop the thud that reverberated through his head with each punch. Making an attempt to drown his father’s boozy voice, roaring unintelligible words. He sat huddled on his bed. Dreading that the hating that transient amount once his headphones went silent between songs and he may hear the sounds of his mother being beaten and trashed like a piece of garbage.

It was years ago however the memory still wouldn’t leave him alone. It troubled him, suffocated him. Crushing him beneath the pain and worry that also raged on inside. He was still being haunted by the loss of everything he had loved. Haunted by the loss of everything he had never loved enough. He closed his eyes, crying bitterly as he let the music carry him away. Back to the worst day of his life.

He squeezed his eyes shut because the song ended, enduring the awful sounds disrupting the silence that he longed for.

“I’ll teach you how to respect me, you bitch!”

His father’s angry roar filled the house. The blood pounded in his head. Crashing and pulsating painfully, increasing with each sound. Each thought. Each second. He scorned himself for being so weak. He wanted to be able to stand up for his mother. The only thing holding him back was his fear.

He hated himself for being so terrified of one man. He hated himself for allowing the woman who had given him life, raised him, protected him, to suffer instead of him. He pounded his head against the wall, desperate to feel one thing aside from guilt and self-hate. His headphones slid off of his ears, exposing him all over again to the horrible reality that was his life.

Dazed, he slouched against the wall, blood trickling slowly down his forehead. He wiped it off angrily. His mother’s cries echoed in his head. Almost without realization, his hand went beneath his pillow, feeling his fingers slip over the familiar grip. He squeezed it, knuckles turning white. He gave a deep breath, waging a war deep inside him. He wished to, he needed to; the blows were becoming louder, heavier. Her screams had reduced to very painful, almost on the verge of fainting to whimpers.

His headphones slid off fully as he stood up. Before he had time to think about his decision, he bolted from his room, his right arm dragging behind him. He stopped dead as he came into the room. There was blood, everywhere. So much of blood. Tears streamed down his face. There was no way somebody may lose that much blood and still be alive. He screamed, erupting in anger, pain, hate and loss all at the same time.

He crumpled to the ground as he took in the scene: His mother, curled on the ground, lined in cuts and gashes. Her arms, her chest, her throat. The knife, the same one his mother had used to peel potatoes for a meal that they will never eat, buried in her stomach. The blood, tainting each surface, covering the ground, smirched on the wall. His father, standing over her body, covered with the crimson red liquid, disbelief and anger carved in every inch of his body, of his being. The boy tightened his palm round the grip because it seemed to slide from his hand. The molded rubber was the only thing keeping him sane, as everything tried to overwhelm him.

Trembling, shaking with rage, he raised his hand. 3 words were all he said “Should’ve been me.” He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He felt the kick of the gun, hearing his father’s cry of pain because the bullet entered his chest. New tears rolling down his face, he threw the gun and fell across the ground to where his mother lay, lifeless. The final thing he remembered of that night was pressing his forehead to hers, his tears leaving streaks in the blood tainting her lovely face.

A slim hand on his shoulder brought him back from his trance. He cracked open his eyes, a smile struggling to form despite the pain as her lovely face came to his vision. She was the only reason he was still alive. The reason he had found the strength to stay on.

“You should sleep.” His wife, said with a concerned look on her face.

 

He grabbed her hand, feeling the huge sense of rightness that came with the texture of his skin on hers. He smiled at her, the unhappiness weakening to a throb. He forced himself to his feet, putting his arms around her. As long as he had her in his life, everything would be fine. He looked into her eyes, needing her to understand how much she meant to him, what she would forever mean to him. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”