This is an original story. It is a sort of prequel to 'Hurts so good', and it is a fic about my original character Alex. I have been on the fence about publishing this, but I felt the need to tell his story. For those of you who have read 'Hurts so good', he is a familiar face, but this is a standalone piece. I want to write more about this family, so this could possibly be the beginning of a sequel to Hurts so good. I'm not making any promises, but I want to tell Alessa's story as well. A little girl growing up with werewolves... We'll see.
Introduction
Huddled between two dumpsters, a young boy tried to make himself comfortable. It wasn't easy. His body was still aching from the beatings yesterday, and even if it was a summer temperature during the day, it was quite chilly at night. He'd been a bit cocky walking around in this big city. For the first time in years, he felt free.
Thirteen hours later, when the packed lunch was consumed and the sun was setting, he didn't have that same confidence anymore.
With about two hundred dollars in his pocket, he could have found a better place to crash, but he didn't know how long he had to stay away, so he needed to save the money for food and other necessities.
Shivering in his skimpy outfit – he should have brought a thicker jacket – he contemplated on calling his mom, but he didn't want to cave in just yet. He wanted her to know that he was serious about this, and hoped that she'd come to her senses soon.
She'd tried to contact him. He knew she would do that. He knew she'd be home from work around six, expecting him to be in the kitchen preparing supper. He could almost see her before him ascending the stairs to check if he was in his room. She would see the note as soon as she entered.
First, she sent a text asking where he was. He didn't reply. The note he'd left explained it all. When it started to get dark, she called, but he didn't pick up. Five times he rejected her calls before he turned the sound off. That was almost three hours ago.
At that time he was sitting in a park, watching people pass by, and he was still a bit excited over the feeling of freedom. Nobody seemed to pay attention to him, and it felt really good. Back home, he could hardly sit still for a half hour before his father – his stepfather – started nagging him about what he'd done or what he'd not done.
For the last couple of years, it felt like he was living his life on a tightrope. One missed step and he would fall. The previous eight years hadn't been easy either, but back then he'd at least got a warning before he got punished.
He only found solace when he could crawl under the covers in his bed at night with a book. He had to hide most of them from his stepfather. Anything that didn't have a Christian theme was banned in the house, so he kept them in his backpack and carried them back and forth from school.
Two days ago, he'd been a little careless, and had left the Oscar Wilde biography under a cushion on the couch. He totally forgot about it, and he never got time to retrieve it before it was too late. The beatings he had to endure was worse than ever before.
He didn't suffer any major trauma, which was probably just pure luck because his step-dad hadn't held back. In serious pain, he still had to cook supper, and the only thing that kept him on his feet was the hope that his mom would finally see what a monster she'd married.
When she came home a couple of hours later, she'd tended to his wounds. He begged her to take him away from there, but she'd made the same old lame excuses for her husband. He should have known. After making him promise to never bring those kind of books into the house again, she'd sat with him until he fell asleep.
The next day, he complained about the pain; his shining new black eye helped a lot, so she let him stay home from school. As soon as he was alone in the house, he started packing. He dug out an old duffel-bag from the basement and shoved some clothes and toiletries into it.
After looking at his backpack for a moment he decided to bring that as well. He didn't want to fall behind in school because of this, and decided to try to be a good student, even if absent.
He had saved up a few dollars himself, but it wouldn't last so long. He knew that his stepfather always kept a stash of cash in his office. The amount varied, but there should be enough for food for a few days. When he found almost two hundred dollars in the drawer, he wasn't sure if he should take it all. Contemplating about the punishment he'd be subject to, he soon realized that it wouldn't matter. Stealing two bucks or two hundred would earn him equal amount of beatings. Regardless, he was adamant about not coming back until his mom had gotten rid of the man.
Hitchhiking to the nearest big city, he felt powerful and cocky. When day turned into night, the temperature dropped significantly, and what had felt like an adventure, turned into serious worries.
He had to find a place to sleep, and was happy when he entered the alley behind a small restaurant. Between two dumpsters; being directly under the vents that brought some warm air from the kitchen, he decided to stay for the night. With some cardboard that he found nearby, he lined the space to avoid sitting directly on the pavement.
He was still cold, so he dug through his bag to find something to wear. The knitted sweater would probably not keep the cold out completely, but it would help. When he pulled it out, a piece of cloth followed. The little apron that his mom made for him when he was little brought tears to his eyes. He didn't remember much from before she met the man who became his stepfather; he was only four, but he did recall sitting on her lap as she sewed the white lace around the edge of the tiny little apron.
-o-o-o-o-
Alex always wanted to help out in the kitchen. It was quite cute how her little boy followed her every move as she cooked for the different parties she catered.
Sonya looked at him as her savior, and she never wanted to leave him, but she had to work to make ends meet. That she could do most of it at home helped a lot, but eventually, she'd have to leave him with a sitter.
Sonya had had a turbulent life until she got pregnant. As the only daughter of a couple in their early forties who thought they would never conceive, she'd been pampered and spoiled by her parents. Her father was the head chef at a renowned restaurant, and her mother managed a posh lingerie store at the fashion mall.
After a year being a stay-at-home-mom, Mrs Moretti went back to work, and they had to get a babysitter for their daughter. Sonya didn't remember any of this, but she knew that until she was old enough to attend preschool, there had been seventeen different nannies at the house. None of them were good enough. The last one stayed on for four months – a record – but they decided to keep her over the summer because they were tired of interviewing.
Sonya's years in elementary school had been awesome. She was one of the most popular kids, and everybody wanted to befriend her. She was the first one in her class to get a computer. By modern standards, it was barely usable, but back then it was the best thing since sliced bread. Everybody wanted to come to her house, and her parents didn't mind.
They lived in a pretty upscale neighborhood, and even if their house was the smallest one on the block, it was still the place to be for the preteen girls that Sonya surrounded herself with.
In middle-school, it all changed. Her mom had been acting kind of strange for a year already, so when she was diagnosed with early onset dementia, it didn't really come a surprise.
She had to quit her job, and for another two years, although Mrs Moretti was partially functioning, she needed constant supervision. For Sonya it was a downfall that she had never expected. That her mom was partially unable to take care of herself was one thing, but the friends she thought she had turned their backs on her, and didn't want to come to the house with the 'crazy' mother.
She wanted to switch schools. She wanted to be somewhere nobody knew her. Mr Moretti did understand, but because of the complicated travel arrangements, she had to wait until she got her own drivers license before she could transfer.
It was two years of ridicule, while her mom slowly withered away.
As soon as she – as a junior – set foot in the new school, things started to look better. She became popular again. She was the cute new girl that everybody wanted to befriend. And then she met Max. She didn't understand it back then, but he drew her into a world that would have killed her if she hadn't got pregnant.
Max was the older brother of one of her new friends, and the moment Sonya laid eyes on him, she fell head over heels in love.
Not only was he absolutely gorgeous, he was also experienced in a lot of things. That he already had spent a few weeks in jail for possession, made him even more attractive. It took a little while before he even noticed her, but when he did, Sonya was ecstatic.
A couple of months later the two of them became a couple.
While the rest of her new friends seemed to be struggling to scrape together a few bucks for cigarettes, Max always had money. It didn't take long before Sonya understood the reason why.
She should have walked away when she realized that her boyfriend was dealing drugs, but for some odd reason, she found it all too enticing. Before she knew it, she was knee deep in it. Max wanted to extend his business, and with Sonya's connections and her innocent appearance, she could deliver the goods to the classy part of town without arousing suspicion.
It all went well through high-school, but when her dad shipped her off to a culinary school things became a bit more difficult. At that time, her mom was in a nursing-home. Sonya visited her from time to time, but it was hard to constantly have to remind her own mother that she was her daughter.
Sonya had always wanted to follow in her father's footsteps. She'd worked at his restaurant every summer since she was old enough to work. During her teenage years, she'd even served as his sous-chef on occasion, and she'd been eager to attend the school her dad recommended.
When the time came, it wasn't so interesting anymore, but she did go regardless.
She and Max had been tasting the goods for a year already. In her own mind, she wasn't really an addict, but that changed rapidly.
Max came to visit her dorm ever so often, and the amount of different drugs they managed to ingest during those weekends increased significantly over time. When she was introduced to heroin, it didn't take long before they both started to shoot up.
When her boyfriend suddenly went AWOL, she had to get it herself, and she wasn't particularly proud of what she had to do to get the goods.
She didn't sell her body for money, so she pretended not to be a prostitute. In hindsight, she knew it was just technicalities that distinguished her from the girls on the strip. A quick fuck with a dealer to get some smack was easy to endure, so she put up with it to get her fix.
Two times she got arrested for possession, but the amount wasn't big enough to press charges. They tried to get her on prostitution, but those charges didn't stick either.
The last time she ever saw Max again was when he begged her to deliver a significant amount of heroin to an old acquaintance. He was on the police radar and had to stay out of sight. She still had a crush on him, and after a night of sweet sex, she decided to do it.
'Shit happens'; she got busted. This time, nothing could keep her out of prison. The two pounds of pure heroin earned her a six month sentence. She could have been stuck in there for years, but they did believe her when she told them what had happened. She had no qualms giving up Max, but he was never caught.
With only weeks to go before her exams, it could seem like her two years at the school were wasted, but again, things changed.
When it was discovered that she was pregnant, they offered to send her to a rehab facility. Her dad coughed up the money to send her to a good one, and she complied. During her months there, they also arranged for her to take the exams she needed to complete the Associate's degree in culinary arts.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Malcolm couldn't help feeling a moment of joy when Alex decided to vanish. The boy had been a constant worry, and it was actually somewhat refreshing not having the wanna-be-faggot in the house.
He strongly believed that the boy would come back soon, and Malcolm had struggled with himself contemplating what to do when he returned. He wanted to make good on the promise he gave Sonya – that he wouldn't lay a hand on him – but he wasn't sure if he could keep it.
Even if Sonya tried to downplay it, he knew that he was the main reason for Alex' disappearance. He knew he hadn't been treating the guy well, but it wasn't easy to stand on the sidelines and watch Alex walk straight towards hell. The boy needed a firm hand.
The saddest part was that Alex was genuinely a good kid. He did well in school, and the teachers praised him. He didn't have many close friends, if any, but the few times he'd been at someones house, the parents had raved about his manners and his wit.
That he was unable to behave like that at home was a puzzle. Not that Alex was misbehaving per se, but he kept digging into things that were none of his business, and his dramatic gestures could tick off anybody.
He had no regrets about the spanking he'd subjected the boy to. Alex needed it. Four years without a father had turned him into a sissy. The grandfather hadn't been much help, working long hours and diving into the bottle as soon as he got home, didn't make him a good role model.
Malcolm never met Sonya's parents. Her dad passed away only a few months before she came into his life, while her mom had been gone for a few years already. Sonya had still told him enough for him to draw his own conclusions.
He'd managed to put up with Sonya's ridiculous actions regarding her son for about two years. Buying him dolls and other girly toys was just not appropriate. The little incident with the neighbor girl eight years ago had infuriated him. She and Alex had obviously swapped clothes, and when he saw the boy on the couch in a dress, he knew he had to take action.
He wanted to love the boy. He wanted to raise him as his own, but Sonya and Alex hadn't made it easy for him. Malcolm had done his best to educate him, and the spanking became part of that education.
Punishment became a regular thing, and it seemed to work. At the age of eight, Alex had tucked away his dolls and had stopped raiding his mom's closet. He played baseball with the kids on the street, and even if he wasn't particularly good at it, he seemed to have fun.