Her always so soft, black as midnight hair framed her face in luxurious waves that bounced with each movement. Her skin, so different from his own… so pale and radiant with its subtle glow. Much unlike his own that was ugly, calloused and scarred. She had the eyes that emulated mirth, and she would often laugh. No matter how many times his father beat her. Her voice was a joy to listen to. He fondly remembered all the nights she would read to him before he fell asleep in his warm bed.
She was his mother, though he didn't know who his real mother was. She was probably 10 years younger than his father, and she no doubt was nothing but a trophy wife to him. Irregardless of that, instead of being proud of her beauty—he drank. The swelling in her face always faded within a few days. He made sure never do any serious damage to her, even in his drunken stupor, to preserve her beauty. He remembered feeling sick with fear. Felt tears run down his cheeks while he was in his bedroom, while he could hear her screaming at his father to stop. Looking back on it now filled him with disgust.
She came home late one night, hair dishevelled and a dreamy look on her face when she quietly closed and locked the front door. He remembered her hips swaying as she walked in the direction of the stairs, only to stop in her tracks when she saw her husband. Her dreamy smile dropped. She cleared her throat to speak, but her voice came out sultry. Her eyes widened when she saw two empty bottles of wine on the ground next to his feet, as her husband sat in a chair, facing her. While he sat on the carpeted floor with a swelling black eye, puffy cheeks, and a split lip.
That night was the worst his father has ever been. He remembered that she tried to reason with him at first. Until he threw one of the empty bottles at her head. His eyes stung with tears that refused to fall. All he could do was whimper soundlessly as he watched his father approach her fallen figure, through the broken glass. He saw his father's hand covered in blood after throwing her by the hair towards him. He saw her slight figure shaking in fear as she silently sobbed on the floor. She didn't dare get up.
"Why don't you tell our son where you've been?"
She cried harder and looked up at him. He remembered that half her face was covered in her own blood when she reached out to him for one of his little hands. "Sweetie…" she would begin to say, her voice hiccupping. Though he would never know what she was about to say next.
"Your mother is a whore, Sarevok." His father cut her off as he was near the piano, his fingers pressing down on the keys one-by-one.
Back then, he didn't know what the word meant. All he could think of to do was to reassure her. "It's going to be ok, mother…" It was a lie, even his stupid, childish self knew that.
His mother smiled sadly at him, knowing what could possibly come next. She reached out to him and gently touched his cheek, leaving behind a faint handprint. He remembered that was when his tears finally fell as he touched her hand on his cheek with his own.
His father laughed. The glass crunched beneath his shoes as he walked towards them, his arms behind his back. His father knelt on her stomach hard. She writhed and screamed when he held her wrists in one hand. All he could do was watch in horror. He remembered begging, pleading him to stop when he saw his father bring out wire from his pocket. His father paid him no heed.
The steel wire wrapped around her pale, delicate neck, acting as a garrotte. A bloodied hand of hers reached up to him as her airways constricted, her face becoming discoloured and bloated. Her body thrashed, scratching at her own neck to try and loosen the wire, and scratched at his face. With each passing second, she could feel her consciousness fade. Three minutes passed, and he let go when he felt the life leave her body, her eyes rolling at the back of her head.
His father stood, slightly panting. He regarded his son, "should you be disloyal to me, you'll suffer the same fate as her."
He could only stare in disbelief at his mother's dead body. When his father walked away, he crawled closer to his mother and cried.