Our Tainted Dream

Nineteen: Kill These Memories

Say goodnight, Reid.

I hugged my teddy bear close, feeling the leather trailing up my naked spine. Loureis wept on the couch, hugging the small brown pillow that came with it. Once or twice he glanced my way.

I flinched as the leather hit my back, probably leaving red marks or damaging the skin beneath. It hurt, it wasn't me. I wanted to scream.

I whimpered the second time the belt hit me, harder and rougher. Loureis flinched from the sound, hugging the pillow tighter.

I called for him throughout continuous whips, but he didn't look; his gaze fixated on his feet. His smile was long gone, eyes staring into nothing. I called again.

It hurts.

One, two, three. The strokes of a brush on an empty canvas, now painted vivid red. Four, five, six. A piece of forgotten art doomed to dust on rusted nails.

"Papa..." His voice was small and full of sorrow. "When is mum coming home?" He asked, making father stop.

He quickly dropped his belt, walking up to him and stroking his dark hair, trying to make him feel better. "My darling boy, I'm so sorry." He muttered, pulling him into a tight hug. "I wish she were here too."

Liar.

Liar, liar, liar.

He wept in father's chest, holding onto him like a lifeline. When the real emotions kicked in, he growled, frustrated.

He glared at me with furrowed brows, running to his room with the couch pillow. It became his safety charm.

He wouldn't put the pillow back; he'd carry it around at all times, when he sleeps, when he plays, even when he eats.

Whipping became a daily thing¸ fear became a daily thing. And like others, I started changing. I became skinnier, constantly sick due to the rotten food and the cold night air.

And dinner was still the same. I sat on the floor, no plates, just me and my dirty clothes, worn out shoes and messy hair with draining colour.

The food smelled so nice. Who knew father was capable of cooking? Well, if he was capable of killing his beloved then I supposed he was capable of anything.

"Here." Loureis, crouched, giving me a piece of bread. His lips played a childish pout, a face he played when he pitied someone despite his eyes burning with anger.

Before I got to thank him, father sent me a death glare, a butter knife twisting in between his slender fingers.

"N-no thank you..." I murmured, gently pushing his hands away. He muttered some inaudible words before standing back up, heading to the table to eat his own meal.

Can't we go back to the way it used to be?

"Run and I'll cut you into pieces." Father hissed, shutting the door with a loud bang, leaving me lying on the cold grass.

The autumn wind was so violent at night, so unforgiving and cold. It brushed against my skin, sending a trail of shivers down my spine. The only thing I had to shield me from it was but a thin scarf.

And it's still not enough.

A tap on the window made my head jolt. A small figure popped up, his cheeks puffed in a childish manner. Then slowly, with enough struggle, he opened the window.

"Goodnight." He whispered, waving his small hand before closing the window, his left arm tightly hugging the pillow.

Part of me was happy he still cared; but the majority, felt nothing but sorrow. This happiness will not stay, it never does. When I wake, I wish to sleep. When I sleep, I wish to never wake up.