Unapologetic Lies

Background

Author: (Warning: viewer discretion advised. There will be violence, language and abuse, read at your own will). Thank You.

Such small hands, tracing against the jagged edges of the wooden chair. I was fascinated by how long the legs were, pressing back upon the chipped wallpaper. The apartment was pitch black, but if you were observant enough, you could hear the faint distant screams of my mother. She was never alone, and always seemed to yell. Her bedroom door was locked, and I was far too short to reach it. Sounds of scraping metal, and loud banging echoed throughout the walls. Mother referred to these moments as her "happy sessions". Each stranger was new, but all came and went every night, so it never phased nor crossed my mind what my mother was doing. But once everything was done, mother would escort her visitors to the door. Then, when she was ready, she would come to talk to me. I knew when my mother was around just by the smell. The strong odor of cigarettes not only consumed her clothes, breath, and hair, but her pores as well. The smell of smoke became her new natural scent, but I could never approach my mother about her own health, and how worried I truly was. She would never listen, and that became our "normal". If neither of us ask, it's not there, and if no one brings it up, ignore it.

"Colin, come here".

Mother would always call me by first name, and as she spoke you could hear the irritation in her voice. I would always listen and do as I was told. As a child, I have seen the life my mother enjoys, but never understood how she could. Our home was very dirty, and rarely ever "safe". I had no choice but to hide anything remotely dangerous. After the divroce of her and dad, mother always seemed to get upset and threaten or mistreat me. As I approached her, my mother was lying down on the floor, sitting beside her bed. The pungent aroma filled my nose once more, but worse. My feet are shifting, and trying to avoid stepping on all the clothes on the floor, and broken glass. There were hidden shards used to keep me out of her bedroom, but I knew better to transpose in her space. I didn't want to be up all night, fearing she would bang on my door again for countless hours.

Colin: "Yes ma'am".

Before the words could even mirnate in the air, mother took her back hand and struck me in the face. The fear and tears streaming down my face, as my cheek began to redden and swell.

"YOU PIECE OF SHIT"! "HOW COULD YOU DESTROY THIS FAMILY"!?

I was too shocked to understand what mother meant, as the ringing of my ears grew louder. I was laying face down on the rusted carpeting, covering my face, trying to protect myself. The more my mother yelled, the more I cried. She would tell me to keep quiet, but I never made a sound, doing my best to try and not to aggravate her even more. As my face rubbed against the infected floor, I could smell pee. Almost like a Philldalphian subway. The smell, it was as if I could taste it, and then I realized where I fell. Mother didn't care where she went, as long as she did it. It was times like this that I questioned what men found attractive about my mother, but it wasn't her that they loved, it was whatever she was providing them.

"How about I teach you a lesson, come here".

My heart was racing out my chest. I felt a strong grip behind my neck, as mother grabbed my shirt, lifting me up and locking me in the bathroom. And then it all made sense. Mother never did lead this guest to the outside door, but inside the bathroom. I really couldn't tell the difference, I was trying to distract myself, but it was already late. It was if time had stopped, that I could feel the cold large hands touching my shoulder. The man was smiling, as my eyes widened, and my heart stopped. The man was bigger, stronger, and had greasy hair. His skin and touch were cold, as his eyes were as black as the apartment, but the small light in the bathroom provided all that I needed to see. His finger nails were long, and sharp, as his nail beds were black from old blood. His clothes were ripped, and badly torn, but that didn't stop him from tearing my own, and forcing me down on the filthy bathroom floor. I screamed, yelled and cried. I begged, and pleaded for my mother to let me out, and forgive me.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT JOHN, I CAN NEVER FORGIVE YOU".

John was my father's name. Mom would always get us confused since I always looked like my father, but even then she had never shown me any remorse. This was my life now. And I can say I finally have understood my place, and how my mother will never truly love or care for me, and now I just have to accept that fact.