Moonlit Man (bxb)

Chapter 14 - Excess Baggage

It was happening again.

This time Sam found himself in his bedroom, not his bedroom - a bedroom. Two single bunk beds were pinned on either side of the walls in a dull and dimly lit room. TV static and echoes of crying children could be heard. He slipped out of the bed and headed towards a mirror - hanging, slanted on the wall with peeling wallpaper. He saw his fifteen-year-old self - medium height, slim build and messy brown hair that falls in waves over the forehead. Down the steps, into the living room. A middle-aged woman was sat on the sofa, holding a bottle. The room was of a muddy-green and filled by the thick stench of beer and damp which permeated the air. Sat next to her was a larger, heavier man who gawked at the television with slightly squinted eyes as a thick stream of cigarette smoke slithered away from his face.

"So, he finally decides to show up, huh?" The grey-haired woman spat in a thick Southern accent as she nudged the man next to her.

"Get me a beer, boy." He ordered, while keeping his eyes locked on the television.

"Okay." Sam muttered automatically before turning towards the kitchen.

"Wait. What did you say, boy?" The larger man now turned his head towards Sam and locked his beady eyes with him.

"Uh-- Yes sir." Sam stammered while taking one hard gulp.

"That's better. You better remember that for the next time, before I beat it out ya. Got it? ... Damn Mexican." Sam returned and handed the bottle to him. The man takes one sip and suddenly hurls it against the wall, knocking a picture of a young boy on the floor. "Why is this beer so damn warm? I told you ... the only thing I like warm is your mama's pussy." The woman started chortling as he said that. "You should be grateful we saved you from that shithole you were in, boy. You're living under my roof now. So next time I tell you to do something - you do it properly."

Sam could feel the vein on his temple pulsate as his fists clenched. This was the day he realized that anger costs more than what it earns. His mother was off limits. It happened so fast. His blood was warm, and his jaw was clenched. Months of living with his so-called foster parents laced his heart with revenge and rage which were fanned by time and silence. But at that moment, before he could realize anything, he was engulfed in flames. The rage took over him and he found himself lunging towards the man, swinging. A couple hits had connected as he heard the smack of his knuckles meet the man's fat face. A few curse words were spat by the larger man as he stumbled to his feet and clasped Sam by the throat, lifting him off the floor. The woman staggered back against the wall, watching in disbelief. He flung Sam onto the coffee table and proceeded to inflict a barrage of punches. Blows to the head, blows to the chest and blows to the lower abdomen left him laying limp on the broken coffee table.

The larger man then reached down and armed himself with the broken end of a beer bottle, while approaching Sam's bruised-up face. He was now on top of the younger boy and carefully pushed his honey-brown hair back while pinning him down with his free hand. Sam looked up at the man's black pupils as they locked on with his. He was met with the stench of beer and cigarettes as the man hissed, "you really have fucked up now boy... It's time you learnt a lesson on manners." He began to place the dark green glass on the corner of Sam's hairline and proceeded to carve into the skin. Sudden successive flights of stinging pain pierced through him, as he scrunched his eyes shut, wondering if this was how his mother felt. A small stream of red trickled down his face as he shut out the world.

Suddenly, he found himself under the harsh, clinical white light of an overhead hospital lamp. He awoke to find himself sore and dressed in the standard gown for patients. A stinging sensation radiated from his forehead. His hand instinctively reached for that pain, only to be met by a thin bandage tightly wrapped around his head.