DON'T BREAK THE RULES

Chapter 39 - Jamie's Past (Part 1)

25 years ago — Jamie: 3 years old

"What did she do to you?"

His eyes were locked on the metallic table in front of him. There was no making sure this was all going to end and he was not ready to speak on anything that had happened. Besides, she had repeatedly said that she would find him if he was to open his mouth. Her eerie tone, cold and breathy, always made shivers run through his spine—these officers were lying, there was no away they could hold her away from him.

Jamie inhaled a sharp breath, his fingers shaking as he squeezed them under his thighs and lowered his head.

"Eat the food," she shoved him towards the ground. "I bought them for you, they're the cheapest kind."

"Did you just puke?" A slap across the face. "You better eat that right back up."

"Get back in the closet. If it smells, it's your own fault for peeing on yourself."

Small whimpers were heard from Jamie and he slammed his palms against his face, his nails digging in the skin on his forehead. There was no chance they would ever have the ability to keep her away from him.

"I'll always find you. You can run away if you'd like, but I'll bring you right back here. I promise you that." Another smack across the face.

There were slashes across his back, bruises all over his arms. There was no doubt that his wrist was fractured, but Jamie seemed to be in no pain. He was covered in dirt, the smell of urine rushed through their noses the minute he was carried out of that house and he was missing a few of his fingernails.

As if they had been pulled torturously.

"I need to know." The officer leaned forward towards him. "What did she do to you?"

She shoved my head underwater until I was unconscious. She beat me so bad that I broke a rib. She made me eat dog food and made me eat anything I threw back up. She ripped my nails. I was stuck in a closet for days at a time and had to go on the floor. I was burned with cigarette ends, lighters, candles. I—

"He's having a panic attack!"

Jamie fell onto the floor, his throat closing on itself and his tongue running dry. As much as he tried to force air into his throat, he only heaved and could feel all his oxygen escaping without any return. Eventually, he fell unconscious.

"What's his name?"

"Jamie McGollony," an officer responded, reading the report of Amy McGollony after Jamie had been carried to the hospital, stabilized. "All the injuries that were found, even traces of sexual abuse." His heart began to ache as he thought of his three year old daughter—he would commit murder if this was ever to occur to her. And to think that it had happened to him for years. "My heart hurts for this boy."

Jamie was taken from his mother's care and placed into Kollon, a foster home for children. Although Jamie, at first, isolated himself from others and had several issues with staff, it was only a year later that he began to open himself to others.

Especially one boy and his name was Tyler.