On the Run

Chapter One

Luke punched his hand into a wall and growled at his wife. "Must you do everything wrong?!!"

She cowered in a corner, her hands shielding her face. "I didn't do anything, Luke, I swear! I just put the dishes in the dishwasher and it broke, and I couldn't do anything about it! Please, just listen. . ."

He gave another punch to the wall, so hard the woman shrieked, and he glowered at her. "You dunce, its all your fault, stupid woman! You never get anything right, do you? Now, I have to call the repair man and spend valuable money, because of your carelessness and utter stupidity! Foolish thing!" He glared at his wife with so much hate, she balled up further.

Luke took a deep breath, and clenched his jaw tightly. "Now, be glad because I'm in a better mood today, if not, you wouldn't have been able to do anything for two days straight!" Now, get out of my sight,you piece of garbage! Dumb girl," he hissed, so spittle flew from his mouth and landed on the woman.

She stood up sharply and ran from the Master Bedroom. She shut the door loudly and raced to the storage room, locked it, and sobbed quietly.

Luke looked at the door hatefully, and then stared at his bloody hands, and sighed deeply. He went to his way. Unfortunately, the stupid woman was always there to bear the brunt of his anger, he thought.

He looked at his hands again, now balled into fists, and shook his head. He slumped to the ground, and held his head in his hands. It didn't hurt. Nothing ever did, anymore. He could kick his leg into steel, and it he wouldn't feel any pain, not even one bit. He wondered whether it was because of his anger, or he was just born like that. His mother told him that when he was born, he didn't cry when he was out, so his father and the doctors gave it a good laugh, and dismissed the abnormality. Twenty six years later, here he was, suffering the consequences.

After some minutes of deep meditation, Luke stood up from his position, and went out of the bathroom, still pondering about his life.

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Why must it always be her, she thought. At first, when the hunk of a man called Luke asked for her hand in marriage, she thought she was fulfilled in life. Now, she wished she could turn back the hands of time and say 'I do not' when the priest asked whether she wanted to marry Luke.

She heard a knock on the door and whimpered. It was Luke,coming again to inflict pain on her, even when she had already bore it to the highest level, coming to lower her self esteem, even when it had gone down so low, nothing could be done to raise it, even if it was just a notch, coming to. . .

"Mom. Mom? It's me. Don't worry, mom, you can open the door. Its not daddy. He's not here, please open the door, mom."

"Simon? Is that you?"

"Yes mom, you can open the door now."

The woman stood from her slumped position, went to the door, and opened it just an inch. When she was sure that it was only Simon, and Luke was not behind him, she opened the door widely and ushered him in. "Come in quickly, son. And lock the door behind you."

Simon looked at his mother's face in concern. "Mom, I heard shouts. And punches. Are you okay? Mom, did he. . ." His voice broke, "did he. . .hurt you?"

His mom smiled, no humor in her eyes. "I'm fine, don't worry. He didn't hurt me at all. Just some punches on the wall."

Simon stared at his mom. He wondered how she was doing it, coping with the insults meted out to her unjustly. He always heard his mother sometimes, screaming for help, and he'd try to help sometimes, but his mom was one stubborn woman. Anytime she was suspicious that Luke was coming, all the time, she would drag him and his siblings, and lock them in a room. She did this all the time. But Simon was strong. Or at least he thought he was. At eleven, he was already the tallest in his class. He thought he was strong too, but he hadn't seen anything yet. At least, that was what his mother told him. He breathed out heavily and looked at his mom. She looked haggard, scars and bruises decorating her face and the rest of her body.

He voiced his thoughts. "Mom, I've already told you. I can do this, I can help you mom. Please, just let me. . ."

"No!" Her voice was sharp and resounding. "No," she continued in a quieter tone, "I can't do that," she muttered,  more to herself than to Simon. The latter glanced at her worriedly. She had been doing that, whispering and murmuring to herself, whether anyone was there or not.

The woman looked at Simon. "Please, don't, son. I can't bear. . .to see any other person but me get hurt. Please, don't. . ."

Simon exhaled, heavily. "Okay mom," he said, but with a determined glint in his eyes. His mother did not catch it.