(Hockey BxB) Whistle In The Wind

-𝐗𝐕𝐈-

╔══《"Maybe you'll finally chose me》══╗
after you've had more time."

       The first time Váli was hit, he was 5. It was late at night, hours passed his bedtime. However, he had woken up in the middle of the night with a scratchy throat and a nasty cough. Each hack rattled his small body, his voice hoarse.

       His room was dark, but he was too short to reach the light switch, and too scared to stretch across his bed to turn on the lamp resting on his bedside table. So instead, he climbed off the tall mattress, planting both his feet on the floor.

       Determined to be brave, he confidently marched to his door. The crack between the wood and the wall created a sliver of light. He stared out, pressing his face flush against the door frame. The smell of paint and wood stain tainted his nostrils. Reaching for the knob, he slowly pulled. Sticking just his head out, he peaked around the corner, looking both ways before shimmying out of his room.

       The hallway was completely empty, no sounds emerging from any door. Turning his attention to each one, Váli noted the lack of light slipping through beneath the entries.

       All was still and quiet. 

       Carefully, Váli sauntered out. With his right hand glued to the wall as a guide, he took baby steps forward. His heart pounded, scared for what monsters may jump out from the shadows. Each sway of a branch, creating a moving shadow, made Váli skittish in anticipation.  

        The brightness of the big moon cast light throughout the whole house. Following it, Váli headed toward the kitchen. He wanted water, oblivious of what awaited down stairs.

       When he finally reached the kitchen--and was about to celebrate his successful venture--he was startled by another person. Leaning against the counter, slouched his mother. Her hair was messed up, greasy and tangled. Her clothes were wrinkled, and her makeup was smeared.

       Through the dim light of the moon, Váli stared at her disheveled state. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her breathing was uneven. The smell of alcohol hit his nose instantly, causing the child to step back.

       Inching backwards, he attempted to leave the room unnoticed. However, he was stopped by a wobbly voice. "Hva gjør du her (what are you doing here)?" it spoke.

       Váli didn't respond, he couldn't. His dry throat had completely closed up in fear. Swallowing hard, he slowly approached. Now standing to her full height, she faced her son. In her hand rested a green bottle, near empty.

       The scared kid stared at it, noticing his mothers white knuckles, indicating her tight grip. "Svar meg (answer me)!" she yelled, stumbling closer. Before Váli could open his mouth to even attempt to respond, a flash of green glass crossed his vision. Immediately, he was knocked off his feet.

       The sound of shattering glass echoed throughout the kitchen, millions of shards scattering. Laying on the floor heaving, all Váli felt was pain. The bottle not only knocked him over, but punctured him. Loose shards had cut along his legs and arms, creating open wounds that began to bleed. Each one stung, tears overflowing onto the boys cheeks.

       The area of the shirt covering his stomach, which had been hit by the bottle, was staining red rapidly. Panting, Váli's vision doubled. Each time he dared to look down at himself, he gagged, the sight of hundreds of punctuations and lacerations making him nauseous.

       His mother, who seemed unfazed, frowned at her son. "Jeg kastet den ikke hardt (I didn't throw it hard)," she muttered, "du er virkelig svak (you really are weak)." She frowned, nudging at the glass bits with her bare foot.