The Skeletøn Bøy

EIGHT

"I think you have to know who you are. Get to know the monster that lives in your soul, dive deep into your soul and explore it." -- Tori Amos

++ C H A P T E R | E I G H T ++

Elliott couldn't breathe. He'd run farther than he had expected, and his legs were practically jelly. He needed to run. He needed to escape. He needed to never look back. He didn't know how to convince Adrian to keep his mouth shut. What he said about that book sounded tempting. He wanted to share his secrets. He longed to just unload on someone, but he couldn't. They were his problems, and he would never dump them on others.

But, he also didn't want to kill himself. He didn't want to explode from keeping everything bottled up.

This was a disaster.

He pushed up his sleeves to look at his scars. They proved as a reminder, to tell Elliott not to ever pick up a book again. Not to ever disobey mother's rules. She had a lot of them - she always had. But, there was something about mother that made Elliott continue to want her love and respect. He wanted his mother to smile at him and kiss his forehead, like a mother should. He longed for her to wrap him in her arms and tell him that things were going to be fine.

Things would never be fine. Not while mother was still looking over their shoulders. Now that she was looking for them again, Elliott knew there was no hope. Mother got whatever she wanted, always. She would get them in her clutches, Elliott knew this. There was nothing he could do to stop this.

Elliott threw himself on the ground and covered his face. Tears threatened to fall, but he kept himself in check as he breathed in and out. All he could think of was mother and her face, the narrowed eyes and the sneer on her lips. Her hand as she slapped him across the face.

Elliott couldn't remember a time when mother wasn't angry at him. Perhaps there wasn't a time. He hated the thought that his mother had hated him from the moment he was born, but he was beginning to really believe this.

The sky was beginning to darken, and Elliott recognized this as the telltale sign of a thunderstorm. He should be heading back home, and back to school, but he had no urge to do so. Not when he knew Adrian was waiting to pounce and detention was waiting to suck the life out of him. He would rather the storm wash him away then head back home, to safety.

The first few rain drops hit his head and he remembered a time when his mother would let him take a shower. The few blissful times when she would allow him the luxury of washing the filth from his body. It was rare and very seldom, but those were the moments where Elliott believed things could get better. No, they would get better.

They never did.

Mother used to force him to bathe in ice cold water from a tin tub. He usually bathed outside, if it was warm enough. Sometimes even if it wasn't. She saw this as a way to keep him pristine, as if the ice water would wash away all imperfections. It kept his skin pale, mother would say. It keeps his hair shiney, she would brag.

Elliott could remember the first shower he took after the long break from them. Mat was just a baby, and mother adored him. She also adored the fact that he could become a new torture tactic for Elliott.

Once, after Elliott had apparently acted out, she forced him to sit in a chair, took Mat's diaper, and smashed it into his face. Elliott struggled to get free, but there was no stopping mother, there never was. After that incident, with Mat's stool stuffed up Elliott's nose and mouth, mother allowed him to shower. And this was only because mother was having company.