Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Adam sat at his workspace, impatiently waiting for the toxicology report to come back. As he waited, his mind began to wander.
The room was cold, so cold. Cold and dark, like a nightmare.
His eyes darkened, a shadow crossed his face.
The pain was so great, he was crying, crying hard. His leg was on fire, throbbing, aching.
"Adam?" A voice came out of nowhere, bringing him back to the world. He spun around to see Jo staring at him curiously.
"What?" he asked, hoping she would be gone soon.
"Adam, I just came to get the tox report from you." She answered, still staring at him.
He let out a sigh of relief. "It's not ready yet, I'll have it to you in a bit," he said, hoping she would leave.
Jo nodded slowly and turned to go. Before she exited, she turned back. Adam looked at her.
"Adam, could I see you in my office later today?" Adam nodded, praying it wouldn't be so she could pry, he hated when she did that.
Prying eyes, searching. Whatever was lost, he didn't have it, but it didn't matter. It was still his fault it was gone. It was always his fault.
Jo walked out, leaving Adam to his thoughts.
Later that day Adam walked slowly into Jo's office. She was sitting at her desk, filling out some paperwork. He must've stood there for five minutes before she finally noticed him. Instead of jumping like some people did when he appeared silently, she simply smiled and indicated the chair in front of the desk. "Sit down," she said.
Adam sat tentatively and waited while she finished her work. When she was done she set down her reading glasses and looked up at him. Before he could ask, she said the words he most loved to hear, "You're not in trouble."
He let out a big sigh of relief. Then, "I wanted to ask you how you've been feeling lately. You seemed a bit off today and this week, I was wondering what was wrong."
Adam let out another sigh, this time one of dismay. This was exactly what he was afraid of.
Fear coursing through his veins. He was afraid, so afraid. The room seemed to get smaller and smaller as the darkness closed around him.
"Adam? Are you still with me?" Adam looked at Jo and realized he was zoning out again. He shook his head.
"I really need to be going." He began to stand up but the look on her face made him hesitate.
She smiled, but it only made him more nervous. "You know Adam, it's ok to talk to people about what's going on. Just because you're scared doesn't mean you have to hide it." He nodded and she smiled again.
Smiling. Evil smile, two rows of sharp teeth ready to bite him. Fist raised, striking down on him, making him bleed.
He cleared his head of the image and Jo leaned forward and gestured for him to begin. He hesitated, not sure where to start. As if sensing his discomfort, Jo tried a different approach. She asked a question.
"Tell me about your parents." Damn. He thought. That was the question he had been avoiding. How had she managed to jump straight to that one? He cleared his throat noisily, and shifted in his chair, then began.
"Wow, uh, my parents, well, um, I mean, my mom, she was nice, she was really, really nice… nice and pretty too, she had the most beautiful eyes and smile… she was the best mom ever." He mentally kicked himself for stammering so much.
His mom, sitting in the corner, crying. The monster walks into the room, closing the door in Adam's face, going for his mom, so vulnerable. A scream follows.
"Adam?" Jo said. He looked up. "Adam, what about your dad? What was he like?" Adam opened his mouth a few times not sure what to say.
"My dad was… tall," he said slowly. Jo laughed.
Laughing. Deep, horrible laughing. Laughing at him, lying there in a bloody mess. His breath reeks of beer. The sound is deafening, horrible.
"But what was he like?" she asked again. "You said your mom was nice, was your dad nice too?"
Adam shifted in his seat again. "He was nice… sometimes."
Jo's face became serious. "What do you mean, sometimes?"
Adam shrugged. "He was nice sometimes, other times, not so much. Usually, when he had been… out."
Front door slamming, stomping in the hallway. He hides in a closet, hoping to avoid what was probably the inevitable. The door is yanked open and he is jerked out. He hears the sliding of a belt, the snap of leather.
He looked at Jo. She had a very Mac-like look on her face, all serious. But whereas Mac's was cold and indifferent, hers was caring.
"Sometimes my dad would go…out. And when he came back he'd be… different."
"Different how?" she asked. He sighed and bit his lip.
"He got… angry."
Metal hitting his back. He cries out, but it doesn't stop. He feels his shirt being pulled off and the pain gets worse. Warm, wet fluid slides down his back. Tears are streaming down his face but the monster is relentless. The monster is saying something, something angry, but it falls on deaf ears as his vision begins to close around him.
It was then he realized there were tears streaming down his face now. He looked at Jo. Her expression hadn't changed, so he went on. Wiping away the tears, he took a deep breath and said the truth he had been holding back for years: "He hit me."
It all came flooding back to him. The repressed memories, the nightmares, everything he had locked away to try and forget.
The monster holds him by the shoulder and shoves him down the basement stairs. He hits the cement floor and hears a loud crack as pain shoots through his leg. He stares up at the door closing behind the monster as he walks away to where his mom is trembling.
The tears were coming on worse now, and he couldn't hold them back anymore. But that didn't stop him. "I remember once, when I was nine, I went to the comic book store and it began to storm outside. I didn't want to get caught up in the rain so I waited it out there. The owner was nice and took care of me, and when it stopped I went home. I was late for dinner and when I stepped in the door I was knocked onto the floor. He hit me over and over and then locked me in the closet with no supper."
The monster comes downstairs, he's angry. "WHERE ARE MY FRIGGIN' KEYS BOY?" he screams and begins searching, then kicking. Kicking his leg, it's already hurt, why is he kicking? It hurts bad, so bad.
Adam was sobbing now, but kept talking. "Then, when I was thirteen, he came home one night late while I was sleeping. He came into my room, smoking, pulled off my sheets, and put out his cigarette on my leg. The same leg he broke when he threw me down the stairs when I was six. I woke up screaming and he just hit me and told me to shut up."
The monster is going back up the stairs now, back to his weeping mom. He slams the door, leaving Adam in the dark, cold room. Who knows what's hiding in the shadows, but whatever it is, it's better than his father.
Adam was gasping for breath between sobs, barely comprehendible. "When he threw me down the stairs, he left me locked in the basement all night. My mom let me out the next morning but before she could take me to the hospital, my dad found her. He sent me to school, and I went. I walked around for half a day with a broken leg until the teacher asked me why I was dragging one leg behind me, and I told him I fell out of a tree. The school nurse examined me and then sent me to the hospital in an ambulance when she realized it was broken." The last word came out as a high-pitched squeak.
Jo stood up and walked around the desk to where Adam sat sobbing and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He instinctively flinched, and her face darkened at the fear such a monster had instilled in the young man. But there was nothing she could do but comfort him so she began to use the same soft "Shhhs" and "It's oks" that had worked so well on her own kids.
After a while, the crying ceased and Adam relaxed. His breathing slowed, but the look of pain and terror remained in his eyes. She looked down at him, hoping for an answer. What she got was him abruptly standing up and leaving, with an "I've gotta go" as he left. She began to call after him, but hesitated. It was then that she made it her personal mission to do whatever it took to help heal this young man's wounds.
All she needed was time.