Page 2 of Ravaged From Fate

But that parade ends now.

“Get your hands off her.”

I try my hardest for my voice to be loud and threatening, but it only comes out as a prepubescent boy’s. Nevertheless, I’m undaunted.

I raise my tiny fists.

If anyone’s fighting anyone tonight, then it’s going to be me and this guy. Anything to get his grip away from her. From my mother.

The man turns to look at me again.

And he laughs. A deep, full belly laugh. All at my innocent display of aggression.

He lets go of Mom. She struggles for air, but she’s okay.

“Good thing your little boy is here,” the man whispers to the woman he was strangling moments ago. “You’re one lucky bitch. I’m too kind for the likes of you. With another man with less patience than I, you might be hurt for being such a nagging whore. Or worse.”

And then he calmly gets off my mother’s bed and strolls past me, physically brushing me aside with one easy swipe from his arm in the process. He stands at the doorway and admires me one last time before leaving.

My hands are still raised.

“You’re going to be like me one day, boy, with that kind of fire inside you. You are going to get yourself into lots of trouble, trust me. You’ll understand how hard it is to be a man in a woman’s world, and maybe you won’t paint me as such a monster. One day. Yeah, you’re gonna be just like me, I can tell.”

And then he’s gone.

And I breathe a sigh of relief.

Just before Mom jumps up and wraps me in her arms.

As she hugs me, she whispers into my ear. Repeating words. Comforting herself more than she’s comforting me.

“You were getting the wrong idea, honey. You didn’t see why he was doing what he was doing. We were arguing. I had done something wrong. He wasn’t too bad. He wasn’t a bad man. He just got a bit angry.”

Even though I am ten years old and inexperienced in life, I know what I saw was wrong, despite my mother’s words. But what really hurts me, deep down, is what that man said to me.

You’re going to be like me one day…

No. No. No.

I never want to be like that man. I never want to be the kind of man who puts his hands around a woman’s neck. I would never want to be the man to resolve anything through the use of violence. I don’t ever want to hurt people like my mother.

Mom is still hugging me tight. Still talking into my ear.

“You didn’t need to fight him, Caspian. You don’t need to fight anyone. You’re always so aggressive. Always so quick to fighting.”

I close my eyes and try to block out her words.

An hour later, when Mom has finished crying and has gone to bed, I finally go back to my room. But I am still burning inside.

I want to scream. Yell. Let out all this pain.

Instead, I take one look at my drum set sitting there in the corner of my bedroom. My one pride and joy. The one thing that gives me pleasure. A release.

Tomorrow, I promise myself, I will play it until my hands are bleeding red. I will let out all my frustration on that instrument. I will practice and practice until the pain of playing obliterates all other pain inside my little body and mind.

One day I will get away from this place. One day, I won’t have to threaten strange men to get away from my mother.

One day, I will not have to fight to survive.