Past Unlocked
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies
Last night I saw my mother. She was wearing a dangerously low cut blouse and a mini shirt that would have turned me if it wasn't for the fact that she was my mother. My mother the whore. I remember men coming in and out of our apartment when I still lived there. I would hear through the thin walls sounds that no kid should ever hear. I saw those men pay her with a huge smile on their faces. Some came back. Some didn't. I asked her once, when I was very little, what she did with the men. She slapped me. As I grew older I figured it out. I ignored it but I couldn't block the sounds coming from her bedroom, no matter how hard I tried. I glared at the men and once punched one of them. My mother held me down while the man beat me.
But she was still my mother in my eyes and I still loved her even though I hated her. That love disappeared a few days after my thirteenth birthday. A man walked into our apartment and handed my mother money and she left. I was doing my homework but stopped to watch this transaction. I got confused as he walked over and sat next to me. He ran his fingers through my hair and I knew what was about to happen. I jumped up and ran to the door but he caught me my by ankle and I fell to the ground. I squirmed and tried to break free as he dragged me to my room. He threw me on the bed and I tried to break free.
"You're not going anywhere Conlon." He said as he climbed on top of me. I tried to fight him off as he took off my clothes but it was no use. He took off his belt and started beating me with it. I still tried to fight. I was too weak and was in pain. But that pain was nothing to the pain that came after the belt. I screamed as he jammed himself into me. I bawled and pleaded for him to stop. But he didn't until he was satisfied. He left me on my bed crying hysterically.
My mother came in five minutes later to find me a bleeding and crying in the same position he had left me. I looked up at her and the look that was plastered on her face was not the look of sorrow or pity. It was a look that looked pleased. It was then that I lost all love for her. I threw on my boxers and started expressing my loss of love for her. I told her she was a whore and a terrible mother. I screamed how she had let the man rape her only son. I told her I hated her and how I was leaving. She gave me the key to our apartment and said "Come back when you cool down Benjamin."
I packed up a bag and I haven't returned since.
