Good Intentions

Chapter I: The Caged Crow

I feel your pain

The pain in losing someone so close to us,
The pain in losing someone so dear to us
Knowing that they were just right here with us

I feel your pain.

We never really say good-bye
Just I'll see you home someday soon.
The pain to us that any time or any day that
Our loved ones don't have long to stay

I feel your pain

The pain in knowing this has
happened to you.
The pain in knowing what more
tears we have gained.
But through all this,

I feel your pain.

-Octavia B. Hawkins-Richerson  

******

"Never interrupt me like that again, Aaron!" Lucas hisses at me in disgust, towering over my miniature figure. My eyes flicker to the veins popping out of his neck like an angry bull and I push myself into the wall as far as I can, as if I could somehow sink through the wall and escape out of this hell-hole. My heart was throbbing inside my chest, the sound of it ringing through my ears and beating relentlessly against my skull.

Don't look at his eyes, Aaron. Don't.

Lucas loves it when I look at him in the eyes; that's where the fear lies. He can see my fear and when he sees my fear he gets feverish, face red and breath heavy. When he gets feverish it's like a switch flips, and he goes into a blind rage, hitting me like there's no tomorrow. And when he starts, he doesn't stop until he sees blood. That's the one and only thing we have in common; our determination.

I look up.

Shit.

He smiles, thrilled, and I swear I see my own dread reflected in those merciless pupils, glazed over and unfocused. My stomach sinks every time I see that wicked, sinful grin on his face.

Lucas balls his fists up tightly and I immediately sink down into a ball like shape, a wretched scream tearing loudly out of my throat as they crash into my frail body.

"Lucas, please stop! You don't have to do this! I promise it won't happen again, I promise!" I plead to him, tortured screams bouncing around the vacant walls in deep echoes like a prayer to a savior that will never come. I try to hide behind my trembling hands, but resistance is futile and all I can think to do is lay there emotionlessly, taking his hits like a rag doll.

******

I stare pointlessly at my reflection through the cracks in the mirror and sigh, watching as the tears that slowly trickle down my face warp and wrinkle in the glass. I wipe them frantically away from my face with a baggy sleeve.

You can't cry, Aaron. That's what he wants.

He wants me to give up. He wants to see me suffer. I will never give him that fulfillment. I may scream and I may tremble, but at the end of the day I'll still be standing, and my face will be dry. That's about the biggest 'fuck you' I'm capable of giving, but damn does it feel good.