Compassion and Oblivion

Chapter Thirty-Four: Pain Makes the Heart Grow Colder

Author's Note:

Hello Lovelies!

Please take note of the trigger warning below. The first section of this chapter contains a depiction of Physical Abuse. If this will be upsetting to you, please skip to the first set of bold asterisk symbols.

Otherwise, please enjoy the chapter!

TW: Depictions of Physical Abuse

I've been here before...

"You will never amount to anything without me, boy!" his father roars into his ear. "You remember that!"

His heart starts to race. No, please. Not this one! I don't want to do this again!

Alex watches in terror as his father raises his hand above his head to strike him across the face. He feels just as small and as helpless as he did back then, when he was just a child.

His vision blurs slightly as his father's fist makes contact. He feels every ounce of pain as he did that day, and notes the wetness above his left eyebrow - where he has a small scar from that very beating.

"You and your mother are absolutely worthless to me!" his father screams as he shoves Alex's small frame to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. "Without me, you'd be dead on the streets by now! Neither one of you have a lick of respect for what I do for this household!"

Don't do it! Please, don't say it! Wake up, wake up, Alex!

No matter how much he begged, this dream always ended the same way.

"I hate you! Go away! We don't need you!" his child-like voice cries out.

The man lets out a blood curdling laugh. "Need? Kid, you have no idea what the word need even means. I'll give you a taste of what you really need."

He approaches Alex with his heavy work boots knocking against the floor. He lifts his right leg, winding it backwards. Alex shields his eyes. At least it'll be over soon.

"Go to hell!" his dad shouts.

The dream goes dark.

***

Alex bolts awake, drenched in sweat, gasping for air. His muscles ache from the tension of bracing his muscles against his father's subconscious attacks.

The sun is just barely peeking above the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant red. Reddish-orange streams of light pour through his curtains.

The sky should be dark today. This day doesn't deserve a beautiful sunrise.

He wipes the sweat from his face and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his trembling limbs.

There's no point in trying to go back to sleep now. I may as well get an early start on my morning workout.

Alex was seven when his mother died.

Life hadn't been so great up to that point, either.

Alex's dad was a raging alcoholic. Most nights, he'd come home drunk. Most nights, under his mother's direction, he'd pretend he was asleep, so he would be spared from his father's hand. Most nights, he had to bury his head beneath his pillows to try to drown out the sounds of their heated arguments and his mother's screams of pain.