The Skeletøn Bøy

SEVEN

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am." -- Sylvia Plath

++ C H A P T E R | S E V E N ++

"What did I say about books, Elliott? I believe I said no books, whatsoever."

Mother was standing behind Elliott, tapping her fingers against her hips as she stood there, looming over the child.

"But mother, it's a school book. I have to read it!"

"The main protagonist is a girl. Which is not allowed. And it is about girls pretending to be boys. I wouldn't want you getting any strange ideas to become a girl. I know you love being girly." Mother plucked the book from Elliott's fingers, and he felt fear crawl up his throat.

"What is a protagonist?"

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is that you don't read this book, or any book for that matter."

Elliott felt like crying. "But mother, that is for homework. Plus, I don't want to be a girl. I would never want that. Promise. Please give back the book."

Mother was growing angry with Elliott. Even his cute face couldn't protect him, not this time. She grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the seat, pulling him from the kitchen. She dragged him forcefully towards the basement, and then yanked him down the stairs where he tripped and fell. Like a ragdoll, he tumbled down the old, wooden steps until he hit the concrete floor.

"Mother, I'll listen. No more books, I promise." Elliott whimpered as mother pulled him back up. His ankle hurt, but he ignored the pain as she tied him to the punishment chair. He knew this chair well, and knew exactly what being tied up in it meant. He tried not to focus on the blood stains covering the floor and instead looked up at mother.

"Nope, too late Elliott. You knew better and you disobeyed. It's time for punishment. Unless you want Adrian to take your place?"

"No!" Elliott yelled. "Don't, please, I'll take it. I'll take the pain."

Mother reached in her cabinet of toys and pulled out a knife. "One cut for every page you read in your silly little book. Let's see, your bookmark is tucked in page 104. That means 104 cuts."

She grabbed his wrists and found empty space towards his elbows, and began to slash. Once his arms were beginning to fill, she reached for his legs and hips, any place where there was avaliable skin.

Elliott was trying not to cry. His eyes were closed and his mouth was clamped shut. He would not cry. He would not cry.

"There. 104 cuts." She wiped down her knife and put it back. "Now, I'm going to cook dinner. Be quiet until I come for you, okay my darling Elliott?"

Elliott watched as she pranced up the steps, and slammed the door shut. He wanted to cry, but there were no more tears. He'd held them back for so long that he couldn't seem to squeeze them out. His own mother had left him here to bleed out, and his arms and hips and legs ached with the sting. He was used to this. This was nothing new. And now he knew better than to read.

* * *

"Elliott, did you do the reading for today's class?"

Of course he hadn't - Elliott had sworn off of reading. He hated it, the thought of reading someone else's words. Well, that was what told everyone. No one needed to know why his wrists were decorated with scars.