Story Excerpts

Jared, excerpt 3

/Drip./
/Drip./
/Drip./

Jared curled further into himself, trying and failing to get out of the way of the leaking water. He couldn't feel his toes or fingers anymore, shivering so much he ached. The basement was always the worst punishment, and he never thought it could get worse, but it did. Now it was not only dark and unnervingly silent, but it was colder than normal, and wet. The basement had a leak, and with the storm going as it was outside, the bottom of Jared's wire jail had about an inch of cold, probably filthy water in it. His father had left him in the bare minimum - a thin tank top and underwear - as if his main goal was to get Jared sick again. He could feel the cold settling in his bones, his flimsy clothes soaking wet.
The cold wasn't enough to fully distract him from the pain though. His father had literally thrown him down the staircase, and he was pretty sure at least one bone was broken, and some small piece of him feared a concussion. He couldn't see though, he had no way of checking the areas that shot agony through him with every move, even when he was going numb with cold.

(You have to stay awake, little one. A severe concussion will kill you if you sleep.)

"Maybe he wants me to die down here." His lips burned when he pulled them apart, and immediately he could taste the running of his nose. It made him want to throw up, but if he threw up, he would have to lie in it. Father would likely make him stay in the cage for longer, too, as punishment for losing his stomach.

(No, little one. Daddy loves you, so very much.)

That didn't make sense though. How was this love? Mom never laid a hand on him, and she said she loved him every night, when she tucked him in to bed. If dad's violence equated to love, then did mom's gentle nature mean she didn't truly love him?

(Love is shown in many ways, Jared. Mommy loves you too, so much. I just show it in a different way. I give you love through bedtime stories and baking cookies. Daddy gives you tough love.)

"It's so cold, mommy. Cold and-and painful." He wanted to sleep the pain away. Just rest his eyes for a few minutes, because for once, his mother's voice was making him feel worse. He wanted her to materialize and pull him into a warm embrace, and sing to him until he could sleep.
He wanted her to be alive. The memory of that wolf's jaws around her throat, blood spattering the walls and the couch, he wanted that to be a dream, if only he could reverse time and bring her back, he would give /anything/ to have that life back.

(Jared, buddy please!)

Something about mom's voice changed, but Jared couldn't figure out what. He was so tired and cold and he wanted to forget how much it hurt. He wanted to dream about mom again.

"Don't leave, mommy..." He whimpered into the frigid basement air, hoping she would follow him into his slumber as he let his consciousness go.

Image: Appearance reference for story-age Jared (17 years old)