The Psychiatrist's Pet (On Hold)

Introduction

A small, young boy with mousy brown hair and a thin, feeble body was shoved against a cracked and chipped wall, his knees buckling under him as he felt the impact.

Hazel eyes welling with tears shifted upwards to stare shakily at his assailant, a tall, muscular man who reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The man above him staggered slightly, hands balled into fists as they dripped with blood.

But the blood was not his own.

It was the boy's.

A loud inhale was heard from across the dirty, unkempt room. A woman sat on a rickety chair overlooking a large window, with black, curly untamed hair. A rolled-up piece of rough, stained paper was held between her pallid, thin fingers. It was lit at one end, and she coughed as she exhaled the smoke. It smelled foul, as does the smell of marijuana that drifted through the air.

Blood dripped from the boy's nose and he threw his hands up to block any blows coming from the drunken man. Cowering against the wall, breathing raggedly in an attempt to contain the sniffling and whimpers from ever escaping his shaky, soft lips. His skin was scarred and cut, it was a wonder the drunken man had not had any intention to do anything serious, yet.

'Every day', the boy thought to himself. 'Every day this happens.. Maybe one day I will die.'

He reached a hand up towards his face to wipe the warm crimson liquid onto his sleeve, wincing. Suddenly, the wailing of sirens broke the unsettling, miserable silence.

It was common in the area, they lived in a bad neighborhood after all, where fights often broke out and drug use was an ordinary thing. The woman, his mother, still sitting in the rickety chair hummed with curiosity, yet didn't utter a single word, caught in her own world, her eyes glazed over. The father, the tall muscular male, grew livid as the noise grew increasingly closer. His wild attention turned towards the boy cowering on the ground before him, his drunken disposition intensifying by the aggravating noise.

"Did you call the fucking cops? Huh, was it you, you little shit?!" He practically roared the sentence, and it was clear he was intoxicated, by the wavering eyes that couldn't focus properly and the ridiculous, angered look on his face.

He grabbed the child up by the collar of his shirt, pinning him to the wall and watching him splutter and cough and gasp as he tried to regain his breath, his throat being grasped now, pressed against the wall. He could taste the foul metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and his vision wavered and got out of focus.

The sirens got closer until they were at an almost unbearable kind of volume, so loud that it made his mother cringe slightly; but she never roused from her daze. Screeching of several tires was heard outside their driveway. Shuffling and loud footsteps were heard from behind the door, then the sound of creaking and straining metal hinges and splitting wood.

The door crashed to the ground and the mother turned, eyes bloodshot, in the direction of a group of lethally serious cops. She provided them a shaky smile. "heh. Hi, officers." Her voice came out slow and uncertain, stupid even. She laughed, too high to be aware of the situation she and her husband was currently in.

"Drop the kid, now!" One of the policemen now held out a gun in front of him, having pulled it out of it's holster; pointing it straight at the man's forehead, grip still and unwavering. The man growled in aggravation and threw the harmless child to the side, the boy making an audible thud against a hollow wall.

"Put your hands up!"

One of the policemen made his way over to the boy, speaking softly. "Now, come here boy, everything will be alright," he cooed softly, extending a work-calloused hand towards the small male.

The boy's body shook as ragged breaths and sniffs escaped him, hot tears streaming down his dirtied and bruised cheeks. As he saw the hand being extended towards him, he screamed. "Get away from me! Stay away from me!" He quickly scrambled backwards, weak with fatigue, blood staining his smooth features. His hazel eyes were wide with panic and fear, pure hysteria. The tears never ceased to flow, flowing relentlessly like a river down his cheeks.

He stood up on shaky legs and ran, ran out of the house.

"Hey, kid!"

His body ached. His heart ached. Why did his parents hate him so? He tried to keep in his tears as he ran through the city streets, being ignored by the pedestrians and passerbys. He felt his knees buckle under him and shaky sobs escaped his lips. The moon hung high in the sky, the only thing lighting the darkness above.

~

Hazel eyes flew open, a groan escaping pale lips. His body was slick with sweat, his hands were clammy. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, standing up from the thin mattress on his rickety bed. With a scowl, he went over to the bathroom, barefoot, and observed his reflection in the mirror. Tired, dull eyes stared back at him, ridden with black bags underneath. His chocolate, choppy short hair was tousled with sleep.

"This always fucking happens." He groaned to himself. His eyes darted to the alarm clock on the small table at his bedside.

12:00 AM.

Shit.

It was almost time to go. He hurriedly brushed back his tousled hair and inserted his eyebrow piercing, putting on his double studs in each ear and rushing to his skimpy, small wardrobe. He pulled out a plain cotton black tee and some black skinny jeans to match, trying to slip on everything at once. He struggled putting on his shoes, hearing his phone buzz irritatingly on the small coffee table.

"Jeremy, where are you?" The voice on the other end of the phone crackled.

"I'm almost there. 27th avenue, right?" He asked, and the voice on the other line replied,

"Yes."

It was a confirmation.

Jeremy nodded. "Alright. I'll be there in ten." He pressed the small end button on the phone and pocketed it, looking at his reflection once more on his way out.

With a soft sigh, he stared at the sky, in the dead of night. The moon hung high in the sky, the only object there, glowing a bright white.

Just like that night many years ago.

With a frustrated sigh, he closed his eyes, and headed towards the small, white Chevy parked on the driveway.

A small, sly grin spread over his pale face for just a fleeting moment.