Boys Like You and Girls Like Me

Prologue

"Baby don't cry, it shows weekness."
The boy turned to his mom and said: "No. It shows I've been strong for too long."

---

"I've been notified of abuse in this house so I have to take a look Maurice." The woman said and shoved past Maurice.

Maurice is my mother.

She doesn't abuse me.

Nor does my father.

At least I don't think they do.

I ran from behind the corner to my room.

The lady walked in.

She looks at me and a frown creases her face.

"Do you hurt?" She asks.

"No." I say.

She comes over and asks me to take off my shirt.

I was surprised at her request but take it off anyway.

She shakes her head and touches my cuts and bruses.

It hurt.

I felt pain.

Excruciating pain.

The woman leaves the room and I quickly put my shirt back on. Embarrassment staying for a visit.
When the woman leaves I hear Maurice yell: "You can't take away my son! I won't let you!"

The door slammed.

Footsteps pounded the stairs to my room.

I knew what was coming.

I braced myself.

"You brat! Why would you take your shirt off! I told you what would happen and you didn't listen! I told you to say you were fine!"  Her hand came flying and I fell to the ground.
I tasted blood on my lips and saw her knife come down. I rolled out of the way.

She was drunk.

I smelled the liquor and the cigarettes.

She had been drinking and smoking while the woman was here? 

I smiled as the knife came down and she missed.

I smiled when she slapped me.

I was going to be leaving soon.

I was going to be saved.

This pain was bearable now.

I was leaving soon.

It was just another normal day.

---

"He what?!" I heard my father's voice yell later that night. The lady was gone but mom was not happy. And now I knew that dad wasn't going to be either.

"He showed her. Her showed her his bruises!" Mom yelled.

"Well, did you tell him not to?!" Dad yelled again. They always fought like this.

"Of course!" Mom yelled again.

There were the pounding of footsteps before my bedroom door burst open and my angry father stood there.

"Why did you show her?" He asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. She wanted to see them,"

"'I don't know' is not an answer!"

Slap.

"Why did you show her? Your mother told you not to!"

Again, I shrugged.

"Use your words!"

Slap.

It was like that for the rest of the night. Between my mom and my dad. Back and forth.