Sam's Past (Samgladiator Fanfiction)

The sad truth

"He's fine."
Fine. Fine! FINEFINEFINEFINEFINE!

Sam was now three. He had gone to a day care while his father worked, for a year. He was fine. He was the picture of a happy child... On the outside that is.

His mother was not the woman he had called mommy. She was cold and cruel and despicable. She convinced Stanley he was fine with her..... He wasn't. His mother would mentally abuse him. Always calling him worthless, something that she shouldn't have let live. She made him clean, cook, everything and anything until his body ached. She tried to force him to play instruments when that was the new kid craze. She tried to teach him to hide his identity.
And every time, when Stanley came home.... Everything was fine. She was the picture-perfect wife who seemed to be the picture perfect mother. So over 2 years, words confused him. Every time a word was used wrong he'd go to his room and never come out. From his babysitter when he told his stories to his mother.

"How was he?"

His father would ask. The response was almost always identical.

"An angel. He was fine, really."

"He was great dear, just fine."

"He's fine dear, he just hates messes."

"I think he's okay, Mr. Gladiator. He's got an imagination, but it's fine for his age."

"It's fine if he hides his tail a bit, he just tries to fit in."

He was at daycare, waiting in his chair, at his table, drawing in his book. That book was terrifying for someone so young. He alienated himself from others, not that they cared. His father was coming a little late so he was the last kid left in class. He heard the teacher pick up the phone.

"Yes? Oh, hello Mr. Gladiator... Oh no I understand. Yes, no trouble at all. Oh, Sam? He's fine."

Sam squeezed the pencil so hard it snapped in his hand, the noise among the silence startled the teacher. She walked over to him saying she'd call back.

"Sam, you alright?"

Am I alright. Am I? Is anyone?

These aren't thoughts he should have. He was shaking slightly, he forced the book into the teacher's hand. The teacher was confused, he'd always hidden the book from her. He went over to the bean bag corner and held his knees to his chest. The teacher was cautious as she opened the book. She was shocked. All that was in the book was repeated, written over words.

Liars➖All
Alright
OkAY
pErfect
Fine. Fine! Fine fine fine fine fiiiii➖
The rest were angry dark scribbles. She only had to wait a few minutes until Sam's father was back. She brought the book and she was questioned by Stanley a bit upset at how this went unnoticed in class. She said the worst words add she took him over to Sam.

"I don't know he seemed perfectly fine."

Sam snapped.

He ran around making an awful scream. He began running at the teacher until he pushed her down. He was hoping to the higher wall stand. He knew what they kept up there. Scissors, metal cup holders, even the old sharpener. At first, he threw pencils, then she made a terrible vain attempt to calm him.

"It's OK Sam!"

There was a reddish color in his brown eyes. He threw the sharpener after he'd hopped away from Stanley. It hit the teacher and a visible bruise was forming as she tried to hide. He hoped back and threw the scissors which perfectly struck her arm, causing a painful horrified shriek. It hurt his ears, as he covered them he'd closed his eyes tight. This put off his balance causing him to fall from the high wall. He'd landed head first on the counter that separated the playroom from the teaching board in the front. His back hit the plastic chair as he fell, or more appropriately continued, to fall off. Stanley was mortified, not just at the situation but that his son may be hurt. An ambulance was called and both teacher and student were rushed to the hospital. The situation was odd. On one hand, the teacher's story was inconceivable. On the other, the police's search warranted the story completely plausible from the crime scene.

"Mr. Gladiator?"

"Yeah, doc? Is he okay?"

"He's suffered a concussion and has done pretty bad bruising. However, I'm not too worried about that as much as I am for his mental health."

"What?... My boy is fi-"

The doctor interrupted.

"Mr. Gladiator, no one wants to believe something could be wrong with their child, but this is for the bettering of your son. I'm going to send in a therapist when he wakes up."

Stanley looked at his boy, hooked up to an IV. Sleeping soundly.

"If something's wrong?"

"Then I'll personally take care of who the therapist is, running them by you first of course. The first one, however, is my personal choice."

"Ok... As long as he's healthy, then... Just help my boy."