I decided to update with a different file to fix my spelling and grammar mistakes. Enjoy this upgrade!
"Can you tell me anything about life before all this happened?" The therapist asked gently, notebook in hand, a pencil in the other, watching intently as the little boy in orange seated at the other end of the table shifted uncomfortably. Reddened eyes had signified that the child had been crying for a significant amount of time, and his jittery, unpredictable movements of his arms marked paranoia.
"I-I...It was good," Chum Chum began. "It was fun. Lots of things happened, but we were happy; he was happy. It all went downhill when Fanboy's mommy moved in." His eyes averted to the table as a tear slipped from them. Remembering the terrible events that had transpired was bad enough, but now he had to cough it up, relive it. A sick feeling of dread filled the child's stomach as he spoke.
"Tell me about Fanboy's mother," the therapist said, jotting things down on the leaf pad notebook. It was more of a statement than a question. Chum Chum gulped, nervousness overcoming his being. One of his raven-gloved hands traced with patterns of the wood desk as he continued.
"S-She was't really nice," he muttered. "She would yell and scream at Fanboy a lot. Sometimes she acted weird and slapped him."
The therapist nodded. "What do you mean by, "acting weird"?"
"I'm not sure," Chum Chum admitted. "She would be in the kitchen a lot and she was always thirsty for this one drink. Now that I think about, I think it was alcohol."
"So she was drunk when she hit him?" The therapist asked.
"I-I guess so," Chum Chum said, looking down.
"Did she ever hit you?"
"No, she didn't," Chum Chum answered. "She only hit Fanboy. Usually it was when she was angry with someone else, and she took it all out him."
...
"Mom! Mom, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please just stop it!" Fanboy's pitiful cries echoed around the water tower as his mother ruthlessly beat him. Her powerful jointed fists flew, damaging his puny arms and legs, which were the only things protecting his stomach and face.
Chum Chum was distant, but crying and pleading for mercy just the same, actually more than Fanboy was himself! "It was an accident!" He cried, trying to explain the situation to the woman. "He didn't do it to be mean!" Said woman paid no attention. Her hair was matted and out of place, marking an inadequate person. Like the rest of the terrace, she reeked of alcohol. Her jeans were ripped and matted as well as he shirt, and her bloodshot emerald eyes bore into her son's matching ones. Only his were red from crying instead of the high she was experiencing.
"Shut UP! You stay out of this!" She yelled in answer at the nine-year old when he plead with her. "This is between Lance and I and it has absolutely nothing to do with you, so get out and go upstairs."
Against his mother's demands, Fanboy begged Chum Chum not to leave as he spat blood from his mouth, but out of fear, Chum Chum sprinted upstairs and watched the beating continue from the upstairs balcony.
Fanboy's mother grabbed the collar of his costume and yanked him towards her face. He winced as the aroma of beer hit him full force. "P-Please," he stuttered, cowering with a fear that even months of therapy could not lessen. "D-Don't hurt me anymore."
His mother paid no attention and growled, "Listen you little freak, if you ever spill my bottles ever again, then you can kiss your whole life goodbye, cause I ain't putin' up with this shit anymore, got it?"
The eleven-year old nodded rather shakily, violet-gloved hands fumbling around hers, which were still gripping his collar. His mother looked over the lines of multiple bruises aligning his body she had afflicted on him from his last multiple beatings and grinned a sick twisted grin. "That's better. Now just remember, I'm doing this because I love you. You need to know my rules and you need to follow them. And if anyone asks about your bruises, tell 'em you fell down the stairs again or something, understand?"
Again he nodded, closing his eyes as she let go of his shirt collar, letting him drop to the wooden floor. When she walked away to get another beer, it was then that Chum Chum hurried over to his best friend's side.
"Are you okay, Fanboy?" He asked frantically, gripping the older one's limp hand in his own. The beatings were becoming more and more violent, and now he feared for the life of his hero.
Fanboy opened his eyes and weakly smiled. "I'm fine. It just hurts to move," He whispered as his friend helped him sit up, wincing from the purposely-induced pain.
"Why does she hit you so much?" Chum Chum asked in wonder, staring at the exposed bruises. "I know my mommy never hit me like that."
The older one seemed to shrink at that question. "I guess I'm bad..." he whimpered. "Why else would she hit me all the time?" He shook his head. "And it's strange. I never thought I was bad, in fact, I thought I was...good enough, but I guess not."
"Don't say that," Chum Chum told him, wrapping his chubby arms around his friend's bruised waistline. "You're amazing and nice! Never think otherwise."
But even then, Fanboy doubted himself.
...
"I believe she brainwashed him," Chum Chum informed the therapist, "into thinking that it was his fault that she beat him, that he was a bad person. That might be the reason he never told anyone."
"Did you ever feel the need to tell someone?"
"I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't. I mean, I felt like I needed to, but Fanboy told all scared that he was freaked out he would get even in more trouble if I told anyone." Chum Chum explained. "It really got bad after that though. She beat him a lot for no reason at all sometimes. Some days he would get hurt so bad that he couldn't move with it hurting."
Did anyone grow suspicious of his bruises?" The therapist asked, tapping the eraser end of the pencil on the desktop.
Chum Chum shrugged and wiped his bloodshot eyes. "I don't think they ever saw the bruises. His mask and costume covered them all up. So nobody ever asked."
"How long had his mother moved in?"
"Oh, about maybe four months," he said, not quite sure. "It could have been five." The therapist nodded and quickly jotted that down.
"What month did she move in?"
"Um..." Chum Chum squeezed his eyes shut and thought hard. "I-I can't remember."
"So you and your best friend had been living without a guardian since when...?" The therapist trailed off, expecting the answer.
"Since we were in third grade," Chum Chum confessed, staring at the table. Everyone in town knew about the boys' parental absence, but they at least thought the parents were workaholics. No, Fanboy's mother was just the opposite, but she came back.
...
"Chum Chum! Chum Chum, get your ass in here!"
The nine-year old instantly obeyed and hurried over to the kitchen where the horrible screech cried out for him. He timidly opened the swinging makeshift door and peeked in, gasping at what he saw.
The mother stood over Fanboy at the kitchen sink that was filled to the brim. She had pushed his head into the water and was holding it there. His arms were gripping the sides as he struggled to push himself out, but her fingernails dug into him and she kept her grip on him firm.
Chum Chum stood frozen with shock as Fanboy's movements became weaker and weaker until he slumped. The mother then yanked his head out of the water and watched with a sadistic gleam in her emerald eyes as she watched her son retch, cough, and gulp in air into his lungs. When he fell to his knees to catch his breath, her foot caught the back of his head, the force landing him on the floor with a thud. Chum Chum winced as the mother beckoned him over.
"C'mon. Help me discipline him," she ordered, grinding her foot in the back of her son's head, causing him to cry out in pain and cough once more.
The orange-clad boy hesitantly walked over to the older one and shivered. He could feel his best friend's pain as Fanboy's shaking emerald eyes met his. "I-I can't!" He squeaked. His own eyes filled up with tears and he hugged his best friend.
The mother rolled her eyes. "Pfft. Screw you then. I can take care of it myself." She took a long swig of her alcohol and licked her lips, staring down at the two terrified boys. "Later though. I have a date tonight." And with that done and said, she sauntered out of the room, leaving her abused son to cry with his friend.
...
"After that incident, it got a lot worse," Chum Chum informed the therapist. "The beatings just lasted forever, and she would always think of new ways to hurt him, even if a few of the scars showed, she would keep beating him. Sometimes she would look up how to torture people on the Internet, and she would try them out on him. Burn him, stab him, cut him... Again, she said she was just disciplining him, but the way she disciplined him was just sick."
"What do you remember about the ways she beat him?" The therapist questioned.
"Yeah, I can remember a few. She beat him in so many ways, but I can remember a few of her favorites. It wasn't even physical beating sometimes. Sometimes she would call him horrible things, or show him horrible things. I think she showed him some weird magazines and videos. I don't know, he never really told me about them. I think the worst was when she refused to feed him. She would let me eat, but food was off-limits in his case."
"How long would she starve him?"
"Oh! For weeks!" Chum Chum declared. "I would try to sneak him food after dinner or while she asleep, but she caught on, and then she would hurt him even more." His fists clenched in anger. "He would beg her for just a little food, but she would just push him away or ignore him. It was no wonder he was always so skinny. Sometimes he would get so hungry he would eat out of the trash at school, or steal other people's lunches!"
"And you didn't tell anyone. Why not?"
"I didn't know what would happen. I kept thinking to myself, who could help us? Who could possibly save us? It was horrible at home. At least at school I could share my lunch with him, but that was it," Chum Chum answered.
"Tell me about those favorite punishments she had."
...
"M-Mom?" Fanboy whispered, quietly stepping into the makeshift kitchen. In the dim, flickering lights, he could just barely make out the image of his mother. The woman was seated at the table, body draped over a chair, several beer bottles strewn out across the wooden floor. "Mom?"
"What do you want?" The scratchy, raspy voice snapped. The woman pulled herself up, smoothing back her matted hair. She eyed her pitiful son with intense disgust as he rubbed his lanky arm nervously out of habit. When he didn't answer right away, she growled, "What. Is. It?"
"Can I have something to eat? I'm really really REALLY hungry." It was true. He had not eaten in six days. He lived on water and Frosty Freezy Freezes. His once tight-body fitting costume
was a bit loose around his stick-thin figure. When his mother only took another swig of alcohol instead if answering, he dared to step closer. "Please," he whispered, a violet-gloved hand clenching his stomach.
His mother gave him a tired look and then slammed the bottle onto the table, causing him to flinch. "You want something to eat?" She asked, with a sly tone in her voice.
"Y-Yes. Please!" Hope started to fill his mind. Maybe she would let him eat! This was the longest he had been without a beating after asking for nourishment.
The woman beckoned him with a finger. "C'mere, I'll give you something to eat."
The child failed to recognize the sinister edge to her voice and walked over to her with a huge grin on his face. Just think of it! Delicious nutrition after so many days of malnutrition! It was like a dream! But this dream soon turned in a nightmare. His grin was instantly wiped off when he felt her cold, sharp fingernails dig into his bruised-from-multiple-beatings, neck. He stiffened as she leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "Eat this you little brat!" Her grip tightened around his neck and she shoved him towards the edge of the table. "You know what I saw today? I saw you eating your friend's lunch at school, and you know how I feel about that."
Fanboy stopped struggling for a moment and froze at her words. "Y-You what?" Did she really see him do that? But that was impossible! He had not eaten today at all! But he dared not argue with her. The fact that he was in serious trouble made itself clear when she spoke her next sentence.
"Open your mouth."
"Wha-ULP!" She forced his mouth around the edge of the wooden table and to bite down hard. He was so confused and wondered what on Earth was she going to do. He couldn't eat mahogany! His question was answered soon after. His mother lifted her foot and roughly kicked him in the back of the head, forcing his teeth, which were clamped down in the wood to become disfigured and crooked. Several teeth actually came loose, and he screamed out in pain as she kicked him again. Tears ran down his bruised-from-multiple-beatings, face, as liquid crimson leaked from his mouth. His entire mouth ached and throbbed with searing pain, and he almost fainted.
"That'll teach you," the woman said angrily as she gripped his neck once more and yanked him away from the table, one tooth staying behind stuck in the wooden table. He cried uncontrollably and struggled to escape her grasp, but she held him tight, squeezing his neck beyond comfort.
"M-MOMMY! S-STOP HURTING ME! THAT REALLY HURTS!" He screamed while he spat blood, gaining the attention of his best friend, who was upstairs covering ears to try and block out his buddy's cries.
...
"How was he after that?"
Chum Chum sighed, "Not too good. His teeth were so messed up after what she did to him. He told me about it, and he showed me his teeth during school. It was pretty ugly. One thing for sure, he never opened his mouth much after the incident. There was no lie his mommy could cook up about his teeth."
"Can you remember anything else?"
"Yeah, the worst ones happened not long after that."
...
"Chum Chum?" Fanboy whispered nervously as they walked home from school. "Do you think my dad is like my mom?" The nine-year old shrugged.
"I don't know. I hope not!" He shuddered. "That would be very scary!" The boys didn't have much to say after that. Both were terrified of what would await them when they arrived at the water-tower terrace.
When they did eventually enter their house, they both stopped short. There she was, a bottle one hand, a sadistic grin on her oily face. Fanboy reluctantly waved at her. "Hi mom." Chum Chum just stared. What was she up to.
"Come here," she ordered her son. Fanboy and Chum Chum looked at each other with frightened gazes. The mother was smiling, which would be good for many, but for Fanboy, it meant that she had cooked up something sinister. He dragged his feet as he walked over to her, giving Chum Chum a pleading gaze every few seconds as he watched.
"Lean down and place your hands on the wall," she commanded. He did, trembling with fear as his gloved palms touched the cool wooden wall. She approached him from behind and with a stapler, pinned his hands to the wall. She did it in a way so that he couldn't tear his hands out of his gloves if he tried.
"W-What are you doing?" Chum Chum managed to choke out as she tossed the stapler aside. Fanboy breathed quite heavily as he struggled look over his shoulders to see what his mother was doing.
"M-Mommy?" He whimpered. He felt her hands slide down to his legs and spread them apart. Before he could protest, she swung her foot with extreme velocity and kicked him between the legs. Hard. She struck him so quickly, without a warning, so he couldn't have prepared himself for pain alone caused his breath to hitch, so his mouth fell open in a silent scream. Several tears leaked out of his wide, emerald eyes as she kicked him again, causing him to crumple to the ground, the only things keeping him upright were his gloved hands, which were pinned to the wall. Chum Chum watched in shocked silence.
"Get up!" His mother hissed, yanking the child up by the violet cape. He did nothing to defend himself except to protest, which she ignored. Another swing, another kick, another cry of pain. He began to hyperventilate from total fear and anxiety. "Hey, Chum Chum," The woman barked, "don't just stand there like a deer in headlights! Come over here and help me out!"
Chum Chum sucked in his breath at this sudden order. He glanced over to his best friend's tear-ridden face that clearly said, "Don't you DARE!" Then he looked over to the mother's face, glaring and threatening, which scared him beyond belief. He timidly walked over to the two and paused. Fanboy and Chum Chum stared at each other, one with of pity, the other, anger.
"Don't even think about-AAAH!" Fanboy screeched. Chum Chum winced when he heard the soft crunch when the mother's foot struck her son for the fourth time. White hot pain traveled throughout Fanboy's body. His lower half ached and he could feel himself going faint. Chum Chum refused to move, not brave enough to help his friend, but certainly not cruel enough to hurt him.
This continued for about ten minutes, and near the end, Fanboy was limp, on the ground but his upper half held in the air by his gloves. His mother finally delivered the final kick and grabbed her son by the ear. "Get up!" She commanded.
Fanboy struggled to comply, every movement sending waves of pain through this lower body. Tears dripped down his reddened face and he gave his friend a look of disgust. "You were going to hurt me," his eyes said. "You know you were. But instead you watched. Somehow that was worse."
Chum Chum began to bawl, wracked with guilt over not helping his best friend. He watched in tears as Fanboy was dragged towards the kitchen. This time, he did not follow. Several thunk noises filled the atmosphere, as well as a few whimpers, then silence.
The nine-year old watched in horror as the mother stumbled out, a bored look on her face, but her stiff movements indicated that she had done something that even drove her to guilt. She trudged upstairs and Chum Chum ran into the kitchen.
There lay Fanboy on the floor. A bit of blood coming out of his mouth. There was a gash in the wooden wall. Panicked, he knelt down next to the older boy and gently shook his shoulder. "Fanboy!" Chum Chum cried. "Are you okay? Fanboy!"
The super-fan opened his eyes at the sound of his little buddy's voice and made a small noise. Chum Chum let out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank goodness," he whispered, wrapping his arms around the other boy's torso. Fanboy did not answer, and instead sort of shrugged Chum Chum off his body.
"F-Fanboy?" Chum Chum said, confused. "What are you doing...?" The older boy mumbled something and flipped himself over onto his stomach, then he hoisted himself up and began wandering around the kitchen, touching random objects and mumbling gibberish. "Are you okay, buddy?" The nine-year old asked in concern and worry.
Fanboy paid no attention, and that's when Chum Chum noticed the large lump on the back of the boy's head.
...
"Do you think he was disabled after that?" The therapist asked in concern. "What exactly do you think happened?"
Chum Chum was now in tears. "I saw the gash in the wall, and then I saw his head. I think it messed up his brain. Made it rattle."
"So, brain damage," the therapist concluded.
"Yes," Chum Chum nodded shakily. "That was the last time I ever talked to him when he understood me."
"What did he act like?" The therapist questioned.
Chum Chum drummed his gloved fingers on the desk top and he bit his bottom lip before answering. "Um...well he would act really confused. He never spoke. He just mumbled gibberish most of the time like he didn't know how to talk. He wandered around like he didn't know where he was or where he was going. Whenever I tried to talk to him, he would stare right through me as if I wasn't even there. Sometimes he looked afraid of me."
"Did his mother continue to beat him after that?"
"Yes, a lot more," Chum Chum replied sadly. "Like if he bumped into anything and knocked it over, when he didn't listen to her- she beat him. It wasn't even his fault! He couldn't even walk right! So of course he knocked things over. After a few beatings, he would just go and hide. I-I tried to make him feel better, but he just..."
"He just what?" The therapist prodded.
"He just didn't know anything," Chum Chum concluded. "He was like a baby! He didn't know anything!"
"Did she keep him from school?"
"Yes. I could go, but he would stay at home with his mommy. I was really scared when I was at school. I was always afraid of what he would look like when I got home. Would there be more bruises? Scratches? Would he be unconscious? Would he e-even be alive? I hated that feeling of fear whenever I ran home. I was scared that if I didn't run home soon enough, he would die without me there to help him."
...
"I'm coming for you Fanboy! I'm coming for you!" Chum Chum panted as he sprinted down the street. He had to get there before things escalated, he had to. Sweat dripped down his perspiring face as the sun beat down on him. Add the heat to his paranoia made him a nervous wreck. He could hardly concentrate in school with horrifying thoughts of his disabled buddy being mercilessly beaten senseless.
As he slammed open the door to the water tower, he was met with quiet. Well...minus the sound of the mother cursing under her breath as she paced the room. Chum Chum gently set his back pack on the floor and looked around. "Um..." He cleared his throat, gaining her attention. "Where's Fanboy?"
The mother glared at him. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. I haven't seen the brat since this morning. He's hiding somewhere, the little freak."
"Mm." The nine-year old inched his way towards the stairs. "I'll help you look for him." He then ran up said stairs before she could answer. Now on the second floor, he constantly cried out in a hushed whisper, "Fanboy! Fanboy! Please come out! Where are you?" He wanted to find the boy before the mother did. Maybe then he could actually help.
A tiny whimper coming from under the bed was his response. Chum Chum sighed in relief and knelt down to peer under. There he was. Fanboy had scooted back, curled up in a way so nobody bigger than him could reach him. His glittery emerald eyes froze in fear and looked at his best friend with distrust. He made another small noise and curled up even tighter.
"Come on Fanboy," Chum Chum whispered, holding a gloved hand out to his friend. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm your best friend, remember?" He spoke in a coaxing tone as if he were trying to coax a kitten away from its mother, showing it that no harm would come. Fanboy just stared at him, not understanding a word the other male was saying.
Chum Chum noticed the multiple bruises aligning the hero's face and felt tears building up behind his eyes. "She hurt you again, didn't she? No wonder you don't trust me. You think I'm gonna hurt you too." He withdrew his hand and instead just crawled under the bed with the older boy.
He watched Fanboy let out what was supposed to be a cry of fear as he scrunched himself even tighter as Chum Chum approached. He looked terrified, Chum Chum thought miserably. His hand gently brushed against his hero's causing him to flinch and tense, obviously waiting for the knock-out punch. He was visibly shaking from terror now. Poor child. Too broken to understand. Tears dribbled down his bruised face as he let out animalistic cries of misery and pain, which gained the attention of his searching mother.
Chum Chum stayed silent.
...
"What happened on the day he passed?" The therapist asked, voice growing kinder and more gentle.
...
Nothing could have prepared him for Fanboy's death. The mother was always careful about the family secret, so if she ended up murdering her son, the secret would be exposed. So because of that, Chum Chum believed that she would never kill.
The boy slammed open the door and softly called out, "Fanboy? Fanboy's mommy? Are you home?"
There came a retched cough in reply, coming from the kitchen. "Fanboy?!" Chum Chum gasped. He threw down his backpack and quickly ran for the kitchen. The rest of the memory was a blur. He could only remember his best friend. A living, butchered piece of meat. Knives and other various tools lay strewn around the kitchen that were smeared with the child's blood. Many cuts and stab wounds littered Fanboy's body. His emerald eyes were swollen shut, tears squeezing out of them. His mouth was open, exposing the deeply crooked teeth and bloody gums. His legs was twisted at an unnatural angle. He was shaking uncontrollably, making animalistic sounds of pain and anger and fear all molded into one deafening cry.
"Oh no!" Chum Chum grabbed a paper towel and tried to wipe the blood out of his best friend's face. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay!" The child sobbed. He cuddled the older male, trying to ease the pain the best he could, but Fanboy was too destroyed to even understand what Chum Chum was doing. All he felt was pain pain pain. It was all his broken mind knew. There was no love or compassion, or a sense of belonging. His mother only abused him, showing him nothing but hatred. It was just fear and pain. "I'm not leaving you this time, Buddy," Chum Chum promised, though he knew the older male could not understand or even hear him over his own screams. After a moment, Fanboy's noises began to quiet, and not long after, he went completely silent. He slumped in the nine-year old's arms and went limp.
It was like a punch in the gut. "Fanboy!" Chum Chum screamed, kneeling over him. "F-Fanboooooy! Wake up Fanboy! Wake uuuuuup!"
But he couldn't. He was dead. Abused to the point of no return.
...
"He died. He died and I didn't even get to say goodbye," Chum Chum said softly in remembrance. "H-He didn't deserve anything that happened to him. He was just a big baby. He didn't know anything."
"Did he know you?" The therapist asked.
"No," Chum Chum replied, tears flowing down his cheeks. "He knew nothing about love, only abuse."
The two were silent for a moment, letting the story sink in.
"I-I didn't even get to say goodbye."