A/N: This fic was written by me and my best friend, Anti-social-turtle (previously luvcarter). YES, it is a co-authored fic, so if you like it, don't just give me the credit! I really hope you enjoy this. It's a little different, but great! R&R!
Wounded* * * * *
"Maurice, you don't understand, he's still important to me," Ma spoke slowly, convincing her stubborn son that this was the right thing to do.
"Yeah, Ma, the truth is I can give two shits if he lives or dies, so I hope you have fun," I said snidely. But it was the truth. He messed up our family too many times. He was responsible for my fear of the dark, the fear of keeping my window open, my lack of confidence, fear of hospitals, but he was also responsible for me becoming a cop.
"He's your father, how can you say that?" Ma said blatantly, her voice filled with anger.
"How can you say your not mad at him for all the shit he put us through?"
"I didn't say I wasn't mad, he hurt us Mo, but now he's hurt, and two wrong don't make a right," she sighed and put her head back in my Mustang.
I shook my head with a sarcastic laugh, "since when you get into cliché's like that Ma?" She merely shrugged in response, "What so now your not gunna talk to me?"
She nodded. "Ok well, I'm gunna see if I can catch Mikey," I said, reaching in my pocket for my cell phone. I flipped it open and dialed information, then closed it, realizing Mikey didn't have a 'residence'. This was just great, my mother wouldn't talk to me, I couldn't reach my brother, and I was going into another county to visit my abusive father in the hospital. Just how I'd wanted to spend my Saturday off.
*~*
1979
"Rose, get your ass back in here right now!" He screamed. This night was no different than any other night. . . I thought. My parents were fighting, my dad was hitting my mom, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
I put my pillow over my ears, trying to stifle the sound of mom being pummeled against the wall every two minutes. "Just stop it!" I said to myself, knowing that I could never say that to my old man's face.
I kept that up for who knows how long before I just got plain sick of it. I got up out of my bed and started walking over to the door of my room.
"Hey Mo, where are you going?" Whispered my seven year old little brother. "Mikey, just stay put, okay? I'll be right back." I responded. He must not have been able to sleep either. "But Mo – "
I turned around and walked over to Mikey's bed. "Mikey, Don't worry." I said as I sat down next to him. "You know how Dad gets mad sometimes. It'll be better soon, I promise. I just need to go make sure that Ma's okay. So stay here. Please."
I got back up off his bed and walked out of our small room, making sure not to make any noise. I was scared. . . I was really scared. I didn't want Dad to get mad at me for being out of bed. I knew if he got mad at me, he would just end up taking it out on mom, and I couldn't live with that.
*~*
I was brought back from that less then lovely memory, my heart pounding. I reached to silence my ringing phone and brought it to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Bosco, It's me." A female voice broke the silence on the other end.
"Hey Faith," I said, briefly looking over at my Mother. She was in a light sleep, her silhouette swayed a little with every bump in the highway.
"Where are you? I've been calling your apartment all day," she sighed, she actually sounded a little worried.
"Uh, why? It's my day off," I started to explain. I really didn't want to air anymore of my family's dirty laundry out, especially to Faith. I mean don't get me wrong, I've always been able to tell her everything, but she shouldn't have to carry that burden.
"You uh, left the last report we took yesterday at Mercy, Swersky is ready to ring your neck," she warned.
"Awe, shit!" I exclaimed, switching the phone to the other ear. The loud pop from the front of my Mustang was NOT encouraging.
"Yeah Bosco, he really has it in for you lately. . ." I cut her off.
"No Faith, I gotta. . ." the car began to wobble and I finally lost control of the wheels direction. The cell phone slipped from my hand and onto the dashboard as I struggled to regain control of the steering wheel.
*~*
1979
The yelling continued as I started down the hall. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I heard Dad yell. "You can't run away from me!"
I came up to the end of the hallway and stopped, gazing into the living room at my dad, drunk as hell. Mom was on the floor crying, and trying to crawl away from him. I guess he didn't like that too much because he kicked her square in the ribs, sending her completely to the floor, writhing in pain.
"Ma?" I asked, now shaking at the sight of the bleeding figure on the floor that I call 'Mom'. "Ma, are you okay?" I asked, walking over to her. "Maurice don't. . . go back to bed – " She tried to warn me.
Dad kicked her again at the sound of her voice. "SHUT UP!" He yelled at her. I was trying not to cry, but I was just too scared. I was too scared and too young.
*~*
"Mo, Mo, wake up! Please Maurice!" the voice was slowly pulled from the distance. My Ma's blurred imagine came in front of my eyes, the deep red cut above her eyes was the first to catch my eye.
"You're bleeding," I whispered hoarsely, as I reached my hand up, wiping my brow of sweat and blood.
"Shhh, Mo, you're scaring me," she said, stifling a sob.
I took as deep a breath as possible and tried to open my eyes further. I took in our surroundings, the crushed door to the left side of me, the tree that it was forced into, the smoked streaming from the engine of the car, and my Ma, sitting in the passenger side but still leaned over looking incredulously at me.
"Shit," I mutter under my breath at the pain craning my neck has brought to my head, and the breath needed to mutter brought an even worse pain to the rest of my torso.
"What? What is it Mo?" she asked. Her voice pounded repeatedly in my ears, sending chills down my spine, and causing my vision to blur again.
I closed my eyes and spoke softly, "Nothing, Ma, you ok?" I managed to cough out.
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry," I just then became aware of how tightly she was holding my hand. Her touch was soft, and warm against the brisk winter evening air, but when I opened my eyes again, I realized it wasn't even light out anymore.
*~*
1979
The tears started flowing down my face, and I turned around to run back into my room where I felt safe. "Maurice, don't you even think about it!" Dad yelled at me. I was more terrified than I had ever been. Dad had never yelled at me like that before, he usually would just send me back to bed. . . but this time was different. This time I knew it wasn't going to be like any other night.
He gave Ma one last kick for good measure, then started walking towards me. "Anthony – " My mom tried to yell, seeing that Dad wasn't just going to be 'sending me back to bed'.
I backed up into a corner and hoped for the best. "Daddy, what are you doing? I'll go back to bed now, I'm sorry for getting up – " I told him, thinking that if I did what he normally told me to do, nothing bad would happen.
"The hell you are!" He said as he slapped me across the face. "dad-dy!" I whined, not knowing how to react. My dad was hitting me. He was hitting me and I couldn't get away! I swear to God, I thought I was going to die right there.
*~*
"Ma?" I finally opened my mouth to release the words pent up in my mind, "What time is it?" My voice was raw, strained and dry, but I was audible.
"Around ten, I think. Your clock," she sighed, and looked at it, "it's been blinkin' midnight since we crashed." I closed my eyes; I needed to think. We were on the road by five, I remember reading the clock on my cell phone when Faith called, it had said six. My cell phone. . . Faith. . .
"Ma, Ma, did you try my phone?" I spoke with a ray of hope. We had been laying there, sitting ducks, for the past four hours, but Faith had known. She knew something was wrong, she had to, I never hang up in the middle of a conversation.
"I tried; redialed Faith, but it was busy, your phone died before I could try again," her voice was emotionless and drained.
We were silent for a few minutes, and I was able to hear my ragged breathing, "Why didn't the air bag work?" I found myself saying out of pure curiosity.
Apparently this startled Ma, I don't know why, but she sat up abruptly and looked over at me. It was a luxury of free movement I did not have at the moment, "What?" I asked in a defensive manor.
Her eyes melted and I felt her arm fall on my shoulder.
"I never meant to leave you all those nights," I sighed, recalling them in full detail had been a common occurrence today, "you know that, right?"
I got another confused look from her, her brow furrowed, showing the age lines on her forehead.
"When dad, he'd get plastered, beat you," I gulped, forcing back unshed tears for all the days I lost with her then, "I never meant to leave you there with him."
*~*
1979
He yelled and punched and kicked for a good five minutes until I was on the ground, crying like a baby. "You leave me the hell alone next time, you hear me?!"
He left Ma and me lying on the floor; both of us crying and bleeding, and he went into his room and slammed the door.
When I felt that I could move, I pulled myself into my room. "Mo?" I heard a scared Mikey's voice. I didn't answer him, and I just dragged myself across my room and climbed in the only place that I thought Dad couldn't find me. My closet.
*~*
The next time I came to, my head was pounding again. But this time it was different. The sound, the pulsating sensation wasn't the blood coursing through my veins, but further noise outside. It was rain.
"Ma," I coughed out into the darkness," y-you still okay?"
"Yes Maurice." her voice sounded like she'd been crying. I hated to see her cry, or hear her cry, it's always so pained, why does she have to hurt so much, huh?
The sound outside got louder and louder, it didn't even sound like rain anymore. The sounds pounded in my head louder and louder, and there are voices now too. I wanted to pull my hands up to my ears, block it all out. Ma's crying, the rain, the voices, the pounding, all of it, I wanted it gone.
I blinked some raindrops out of my eyes as I began to become more lucid. With the lucidity, came understanding, the pounding was a hand against the window, beckoning my attention.
*~*
1981
I was eleven years old, finally in my own room, when I heard a knock at the window. It scared me at first, but when I looked over to see what it was, I saw my dad standing there. "Hey Maurice, you wanna let your dad inside, huh?" He said. I was so confused at why he didn't just knock on the front door and come in.
"Dad, why don't you just come through the front door?" I asked him through the partially opened window. "Your mom is a little mad at me right now, but I just want to go in and tell her I'm sorry. Please let me in, Mo, you're the only one who will listen to me."
I sighed and figured that maybe this time, Dad wanted to make it right. He wanted to tell Ma he was sorry. "Okay Dad, hold on." I said as I walked over to the window to pull it open.
"You know I love you, right?"
"I love you too, Dad."
As I opened the window for him to come in, he climbed through, pushed me to the
floor, and headed off in Ma's direction. He wasn't going to apologize, he would
never apologize.
*~*
"No Ma, I can't stop him," I said in another blind delirium. My eyes closed again and one voice became clearer then the rest. A voice I've heard almost every day for over ten years.
"Bosco, can you hear me, can you get your door open?" It's Faith. I'd know that voice anywhere.
"Faith," I hardly heard my own voice, but some medic to my right side silenced me. The hard plastic mask placed over my mouth was cold and rough, but its contents were warmed and welcomed. I saw Faith's face beyond the medic she looked upset and distant.
"Ma? W-where, she?" I stutter beneath the mask.
Faith jumped in beside the nameless medic, "She's fine, they got her out a few minutes ago," she offered.
"He has unstable fractures, we cant extract him from the passenger side, and the driver's side is mangled, we're gunna need the jaws!" This medic seemed to be screaming in my ear, but in reality he was leaving.
He left and I'm alone, I knew Ma's was all right though; Faith wouldn't lie to me. I heard her voice, she was talking to the medic. Don't you hate when random thoughts come into your head at the most inopportune times? Like why Faith would be there, I certainly wasn't anywhere near our precinct, I had driven us out of Manhattan by now.
The jaws roared to life and I feel Faith's presence next to me, her hand on mine, I couldn't move any more, couldn't voice my thanks to her, so I sat. . . and waited.
*~*
1981
Mikey was at a friend's house, Dad and Ma were at each other's throats in the living room, and I was in my closet. That's where I had decided that it was safest. My dark closet in my room. Whenever I was in there, Dad wouldn't come hit me.
I felt like a coward, just letting him do these things to Ma, but I also knew that I wouldn't be able to help her. I had tried that so many times, and the result was always the same. Dad would hit me so I would shut up, and he would go right back to screaming at and hitting Ma.
Who knows how long it was that I sat there in the dark. I did it every night; it's not like this night was any different.
My bedtime routine: Finish my homework, put my pajamas on, brush my teeth, hide in the closet.
*~*
In my opinion the whole medical field is going down the crapshoot. The ambulance ride to whatever hospital was nearest was horrendous.
Every bump we hit was like another accident all in itself, I mean at least in the car, if I kept still, it rarely hurt. In fact my body was virtually numb. But it this contraption, everything was a new and more painful experience.
I was never one for needles, and the site of every new one entering my body, sent my mind into a tailspin of mental and physical anguish.
Again I could hear Faith's voice, but I couldn't find her. And as my eyes opened again, it was no wonder; the way they had me strapped down, I wouldn't be able to move if they asked me to.
"F-Faith?" my voice was still weak, and compressed by the collar around my neck. I silently wondered how the plastic thing is supposed to help you when it's forced on, constricting my windpipe, and the flow of air through it. Then it occurred to me that it might not be the collars fault.
"I'm right here Bos," she yelled over the sirens above us. I saw the medic next to me look over at her. She was sitting in the passenger seat of the rig, turned around to face the back; to face me.
A new wave of pain washed through me, starting in my hand and moving all the way up and into my chest. An unbridled moan escaped my lips and I found it hard to keep myself from screaming.
"He's got an open fracture of the left radius and ulna," the guy next to my yelled to his partner. That sounded familiar to me.
*~*
1981
"MAURICE!" He yelled, making his way into my room. "Maurice Louis Boscorelli, get you ass here NOW!" He stomped around the room, and I just sat there in the dark, holding my knees.
Back and fourth I swayed, hoping he wouldn't find me. It was just so dark. Everything was so dark and so scary, and I didn't know what would happen if my dad found me in there.
I heard the footsteps and the yelling getting closer and closer until it finally stopped. The closet door was yanked open by my dad, and the second he saw me, I could see the anger building up in his eyes.
He reached into the closet and grabbed my arm. "I told you to come here! Who the hell do you think you are, not listening to your father like that?!" He was tightly gripping my right arm while jerking me around the room. "Dad, I – " I started to say, before he cut me off. "You what?!" He said, throwing me across the room.
I hit the floor and felt my arm snap. All I could do was lay there in agony. My right arm was turned at an angle that wasn't possible. I wanted to scream out in pain, but I knew I couldn't. I knew that was a sign of weakness, and I couldn't show that in front of my father.
*~*
The Doctor gazed over at a nurse, she came around the gurney from behind me and leaned over sympathetically, "She's doing just fine," she smiled back and nodded at a figure on the other side of what looked like the trauma room door.
Ma walked in and looked up at the doctor for answers. They exchanged an unspoken conversation before she took a seat next to me, and the doctor and nurse left briefly.
"What's going on Ma?"
"Nothing Mo," she took my hand, it scared me when she was this emotional, "how do you feel?"
"Better. . . Ma, really, what's wrong?" I pulled my hand from hers and tried to sit myself up.
"It's your father. . ." she blotted her eyes.
"Serves him right," I said, drawn of all emotion. I had told her I didn't care if he survived. It was his fault for getting shot. He's the one who got out of his stinkin' cab, he's the one that chased a "customer" for a measly ten bucks. I could'a told him the guy was a druggy.
If I had gone to see him, like if we hadn't gotten in this accident, he probably would have blamed me for the crime level in New York. If he even remembered I was a cop.
"No, it serves me right to lose him," she sniffed in, "I'm the one who kicked him out."
I couldn't believe she was doing this to herself again. She puts herself in these self-pity situations and digs herself into a depression, then denies anything is bothering her, until I find her zonked out in her bar.
It was a sick, cruel cycle that I had been intent on breaking since I was eleven years old.
*~*
January 18, 1981
I was watching TV in the living room. Nothing was going on, there was no fighting, and it was unusually quiet. I liked it.
"Maurice, do you want to go out for lunch?" Ma asked me from the kitchen. I wasn't sure why we would go out to eat, considering we never, ever did that. But hey, what the hell, I figured I'd take advantage of it.
"Sure Ma, let me go get my shoes."
We drove to the restaurant in utter silence. I knew something was up, but I tried not to let it get to me. I just wanted to enjoy being able to get out of the house for a change.
+ + +
The waitress came back with my grilled cheese sandwich, and sat it down in front of me. I picked it up to start eating when my mom suddenly seemed to burst with words not spoken earlier. "Maurice, your dad and I are separating."
I set my sandwich back down, too shocked to say anything. I had known that we were having a really rough time, but I had always thought we'd get through it. I didn't think our family would split apart. . .
I guess it ended up for the best.
*~*
A week went by and they finally let me out of that hellhole that they call a hospital. I swear, it was worse then Mercy, at least Mercy has some eye candy nurses.
Faith came to pick me up, old me my car was still in the shop. My beautiful 1956 Mustang was costin' me almost as much as the hospital bills.
I asked why my Ma hadn't come to get me, hoping she wasn't drunk out of her mind. Faith went on to tell me she'd gone to his funeral, asked me if I wanted to go.
I found myself agreeing. Agreeing to go to the funeral of a man I truly loathed.
By the time we pulled up to the cemetery, the knot in my stomach had grown larger, threatening to swallow me up.
I wiped the sweat clinging to my forehead and shook my head at Faith, "I can't, can you just drop me home?"
"Yeah Bos, no problem," she smiled warmly, but her worry seeped out from her eyes. We never needed words. It used to be that way with my Ma, we would look at each other and know the words in the other's head.
"S'it bad that I don't miss him?" I asked after a silent moment.
"What?" she turned her still worried eyes on mine.
I nodded again and smiled, looking at my left arm, still held in a cast, "Didn't think so."
She turned her eyes back on the road and drove me home.
* * *
The End