A Silent Cry

Chapter 3

It all started on a usual, everyday-like day, when I was just a little kid being in my home, trying to steal cakes from the refrigerator.

"It could make us sick or fat," mom always said, disapproving of us eating too much because of that very reason.

But I got some anyway. In fact, I put as much cookies in my mouth as I could when I heard talking nearby.

"What happened to you, Cain!?" mom asked.

I didn't know at that time, but it was also the very question that changed my life drastically.

Doesn't it sound dramatic to you? No? Well, in any case, I didn't think of it as such a big deal. I mean, yeah, he had a few bruises and such on him, but who cared? He was supposed to be my older brother; he could take some pain. Even if he could not even qualify as my sibling. The amount of affection I had for him equaled to zero. He didn't try to associate with me nor did I, so it wasn't really surprising. If anything, he was more like an attention-sucker in my life. Something I could not fully understand, because he was so far away from me to touch, not like I even wanted it. While I enjoyed quiet and peace, he loved to sparkle and be the center of attention, preferably the positive one.

I just did not think that he would become a monster for it, or that he already was one, only that there was something wrong with him. Especially since those bruises on him made him so fucked up, he began to avoid me and eye me with fear only in front of my parents. So yeah, it crept me out that even though I didn't take him for a pussy that he was.

Then all of the sudden, my parents began to look strangely at me. Dad even came to me on one occasion and beat me up in my room. The next day mom came to my room, looking all sorry and understanding. At that time... heh, at that time I might have cared a bit. I waited for their explanation.

No.

I actually expected her to act the way she tried to make herself look like, but the bitch didn't do it. She had the nerved to sit on my bed, invite me to sit next to her which I did, by the way.

I sat down and there was this small, tiny bit anticipation within me.

Even when she touched my hand and gently squeezed it, I thought she would understand me.

"Aran, darling," mom said. "Can you please tell me why you hurt your brother?"

"No," But you can tell me why my father hit me. Of course, only if you care, but you don't. Why would you? No one does. No one gives a shit. It's so sad, it makes me laugh. The hilariousity! The joke! Oh my, my... no, no. I'm sorry. I almost really laughed out load. Back to the story. I continued with this: "I don't understand what you're saying, so no."

Mom touched the spot where dad hit me. I twitched at the sudden pain. Domestic Violence much? Does that ring a bell, mom? Anyone? Guess not. After all, for someone to be called a victim, he must act like it. All scared to shit, trembling like a pussy. If by any chance, the victim would be smart enough to know what's happening and won't act like that, he won't be called a victim anymore. He would be called a motherfucking liar. Well... fuck you! Fuck you, you motherfucker!

Sorry, sorry. My emotions got the better of me.

At my words, mom squeezed my hands harder.

"Aran, please tell me. This is not the way to act."

"I don't care," I replied. "Is that the reason dad hit me?"

"He didn't!"

"But he did."