That school day was painful for Alexander. Too painful. He was forced to sit on his throbbing backside all day, trying not to squirm and attract attention, although the bruise on his cheek was like a neon sign, turning the heads of passerby's and classmates, probing questions out of their falsely concerned mouths. And of course he waved their questions off lightly, making up a convincing excuse for each person who spoke to him. Desperately he hoped for someone to seem genuinely interested, but this was not the first time he had come to school bruised. He silently sent pleading looks to those he formerly called his friends, his companions. None of them even spared him a glance, and he doubted that any of them had ever been through a fraction of what Alexander had experienced in the last few months of his life.
Never had Alexander felt so alone in his short lifetime. The poor boy had been treated so badly, had been through so much already and was hardly old enough to start growing facial hair.
But no matter how many judgmental glances he received that day, he would have begged even God to let him stay at that school for even an hour longer than return back to his home, where he doubted even the Lord had control over what happened there.
Alexander didn't believe in God, but as long as his soul could be saved, then he would believe in anything. Allen Crow was an atheist, and Alexander would never allow himself to share the same belief as that vile man.
Eventually the dreaded end of the day came, and all too quickly. Alexander desperately tried to find a reason to stay behind, but found none. And so Alexander was forced to walk home, to his own personal slice of hell. But there was no harm in walking slowly, so Alexander walked at a leisurely pace, stopping and staring at the building he had taken solace behind earlier that day. He walked behind it timidly, grimacing as he saw the pile of vomit. Flies had settled on it, and he put a disgusted hand over his mouth as he saw a small kitten approach the puddle. The animal was obviously starving and stray, and it padded up to Alexander's chunky former-breakfast, bowing its furry head and sticking out its tongue to lick it up.
"Stop!" Alexander cried hoarsely, obviously startling the little creature. It braced itself for some sort of blow, a kick to the side of the head, or even to be swatted away, and it hissed at Alexander, who had stopped paying attention. He dug through his schoolbag, searching for the uneaten food he had brought for the day. Bending down on one knee near the old pile of vomit, he held out a strip of meat. At first the cat was suspicious, and its fur spiked up on end, but eventually hunger took over and it walked to Alexander, taking a hungry bite.
Alexander continued feeding the kitten, smiling slightly at first, his smile growing as the kitten continued eating. He ran a finger along the tiny animal's spine and it purred, stepping closer to him. Alexander fed the animal every bit of food he had, and he felt guilty when he had no more. This cat seemed to have it worse than he did. At least Alexander had a home and had access to food, whereas this cat had none of that. No home, no food, nowhere to rest peacefully. But then again, Alexander also lacked peace.
The lonely boy suddenly felt attached to this cat and wanted to take it home, but he reminded himself that Crow would most likely kill it in front of his very eyes to teach him a lesson. He shuddered, thinking of the small kitten's body being stomped on or stabbed continuously by Crow, its small bones snapping like twigs. Alexander frowned, not wanting the kitten to have to go through that torture. He patted the creature once more on the fluffy head then stood up, turning to walk away. The cat let out a displeased meow, its small claws hooking onto Alexander's pants. Alexander turned, petting the kitten one last time before leaving. It broke his heart to leave the defenseless creature, but he knew that if he wanted to survive the evening he should get home soon.
The air started getting cold (colder), and Alexander felt guilt at leaving the cat. It would either starve or freeze in the next month, and he was just leaving the poor thing here. But eventually he tore himself away from his small new follower, walking home.
His mother greeted him enthusiastically, while Crow didn't spare him a glance, not finding the time to look at his victim over the paper he was reading, too busy to remove the pipe from between his lips.
Alexander retreated to his room to do his schoolwork, and was very lucky that day that Crow never touched him. Although the same couldn't be said for very long.
Over the next few weeks that brutal sodomy continued, beginning with horrid beatings and ending in rape.
Alexander had hoped that after a few times, it wouldn't hurt so much to be raped, but he had proved himself horribly wrong. Before he even had a chance to recover from one encounter, Crow would be violating him again and the pain would be even worse. He didn't feel himself anymore. There was truly not a place on him that Allen Crow had not breached.
Alexander stood bent over, leaning on his bed, teeth clenched together, tears rolling down his cheeks. The same knife was pressed against his cheek, threatening him with its mocking glint. Crow was acting more violent than usual, and tonight's midnight special was even more horribly painful.
Crow growled with each thrust, pulling Alexander's hips back with one hand as he pushed his own hips foreword, his thrusts becoming slams and crashes inside Alexander.
Small whines were sounding from Alexander's throat, although they were masked by Crow's animal-like noises.
Minutes went by feeling like hours, and Alexander hoped with all his heart that something, anything, would happen to make all this stop. And for once, Alexander got his wish. And a bit more.
Crow let out a surprised moan, and Alexander cried out simultaneously. A horrifyingly hot liquid filled up inside Alexander and this time he didn't hold back a disgusted sob.
The suddenness of Crow's orgasm sent his limbs jerking, and the knife sliced through the soft flesh of Alexander's cheek. Alexander cried out again in agony, and Crow pulled out of Alexander hurriedly, ordering the boy to get dressed.
Alexander nodded, sobbing and feeling his cheek. The knife had cut him from his cheekbone down to his jaw, and it had cut him deep. Blood spilled in a beautiful crimson sheet down Alexander's cheek, neck, and part of his torso, dripping crimson droplets onto the carpet and his bed sheets.
He got dressed in a daze, and his mother burst into the room as Alexander started buttoning up his shirt.
"Oh my god, what happened?" Martha asked, seemingly devastated. Crow tried to explain without much success, but Martha had either already forgiven him or was going to forgive him later.
"Alexander, I'll take you to the hospital!" she said, and Crow offered to tag along. Nobody vetoed the idea, so the three of them left Alexander's bedroom.
"Make sure to wear a coat," Martha advised. "It's getting much colder out."
Alexander slipped his old denim coat on in a painful daze, and Crow put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go, lad," he said, heading towards the door with Alexander under his arm.
A small sense of reality (and defiance) filled him, and he stopped walking, causing Crow to step foreword a few more paces before stopping.
"Come on," Crow ordered, growing impatient.
"No," Alexander said numbly, looking at his feet.
"What was that?"
"No." Alexander forced his gaze to meet Crow's, and to his delight he saw that Crow looked furiously confused.
"I'm not going to the hospital with you," Alexander continued, getting no reaction from either his mother or Crow. He broke out of his former daze slowly, his eyes wide with fear and adrenaline.
"I won't go anywhere with either of you!" His voice was rising, and now that he started speaking his mind he couldn't stop the flow of words.
"I-I've taken this long enough!" Alexander said with nervous excitement, a sob stopping his speech momentarily. "I won't d-do this any longer!"
Alexander looked from his mother to Crow, and the couple stood in shock at his outburst.
After a few moments of silence, Crow looked at him with a hateful glare. "Enough of this, Alexander," he said in a warning tone. "What are you going to do?" Crow raised a hand to hit Alexander. Alexander cried out before the hand even moved to hit him, and he cowered back.
"I'm not staying here!" he shouted, dodging Crow's latest attack. "I'm not staying here!"
Alexander, still sobbing, bolted out the door, his hand pressed against his cheek the whole time as though if he let go, his flesh would fall from his bones.
He ran as fast as he could, not looking behind him and unable to see ahead of him, his vision flawed by the tears stinging his eyes. The salty droplets ran down his cheeks, some flying off as he ran, others wetting his lips.
Alexander ran as far as he could as fast as he could for as long as he could, and when he ran out of breath, his gasps for air hurting his lungs, he stopped, panting and crying as he tried to regain his breath.
He looked around frantically, expecting to see Crow running after him, screaming obscenities and threatening him, but there was nothing.
He was sweating, and that sweat was doing nothing to help his cold skin. The air was worse than chilly, and Alexander was happy that he at least had a coat to keep him warm. But the coat was old and in dire need of replacement, so it didn't do much. He flipped up the collar, the fabric crusted with Alexander's blood. He felt his cheek, crying out as his fingers slid easily along his skin, slipping in the blood that was still pouring out of his face.
Alexander's breath had begun to regulate after a few more moments, and he could see it in faint misty puffs. He hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to stay warm. To someone passing by, poor Alexander would look like a teenaged delinquent.
He started feeling sick shortly after, a combination of the horror of his life and the adrenaline wearing off. Panic began to settle in like it did on that first night, but instead he was wondering: Where do I go now?
If Alexander decided to try and go home now, he was sure that he wouldn't get out with just a few scrapes and bruises. He might even die should he go back to that place. And now he was reminded of the kitten that he fed his lunch to that one painful day. He was that cat now, helpless but not yet as weak. His weakness would be sure to come, but for now his mind was elsewhere. Who is going to feed me? He asked himself. I am the cat now, who is going to feed me?
He realized with a sense of dread that his fingers were growing numb, and his ears were tingling. It had certainly gotten colder out. He picked the worst time of year to run away from home.
Alexander had nowhere to go for the night, so he started walking. He moved slowly, his head hanging miserably, hands jammed in his pockets. He sniffled and cried for a few hours, but always made sure that he moved in the opposite direction of his old home. He got tired, his feet getting unpleasantly achy, so he slept on a park bench for a while. Unfortunately his rest was disturbed by people occupying the park, and he woke from his cold sleep. His mind had been dark and dreamless while he slept, and that displeased him. He had always been a vivid dreamer. His cheek stung unpleasantly, and he touched it timidly. The slightest pressure of his fingers created a sharp sting of pain, and he winced. It felt wet, but it wasn't bleeding.
Throughout that day Alexander stayed on his bench, hoping to warm up. His bones seemed to develop an internal chill, and there was no warmth in his body. He sat, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed between his legs, hoping to get warm. But there was nothing.
(I wonder if that kitten is still alive.)
(Alexander, you are the kitten.)
By day two of being on the park bench, Alexander was blanketed with a thin layer of frost when he woke up. That day he decided to move on. His scar itched and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't satisfy it. He noticed that he might have a problem, and that he should get help. But poor Alexander didn't know if there was a hospital in the area. He had never been to this part of town before, and he found it amazing that he made it here on his own.
His stomach rumbled unpleasantly, always used to having enough food to eat to be satisfied. He walked around aimlessly, too afraid to ask people for money or food.
(You can't ask people, you're a kitten)
He understood that people wouldn't want to give him anything. He looked rugged, all bloody and beat up, and he smelled awful, the smell of blood following him around as a natural cologne. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the scent Allen Crow wore.
Who would choose to smell like this? he asked himself. Allen Crow would.
He was free of Allen Crow. He didn't have to listen to him, pretend to be happy around him, he didn't have to be violated by him, he didn't have to smell his disgusting scent anymore. It made Alexander smile for the first time in a long time. He wasn't exactly free, but he was away. Away from his tormentor. Forever.
His smile quickly disappeared and he doubled over with a groan, clutching his cramped stomach. He felt sick, like he was about to throw up, but he knew that there was nothing in his stomach to come up. Instead he spat out thick phlegm, brought up from the pits of his stomach. He thought of all the meals his mother would make for him and he wondered if she could still enjoy them. Would she still make his favorite foods? Or would she just make what Crow wanted? Alexander closed his eyes; the image of waking up many mornings to the thick scent of food, his tired feet dragging to the kitchen filled his mind. Tears leaked out, temporarily magnifying his dark eyelashes before spilling down his face. He didn't want to miss that woman, but he did. His missed the comfort of his home. Not the house he lived in with the vile man that married his mother but the loving home he had shared with his father.
Alexander's tears started coming down in a steady shower. His father said he would always be there for him. He always comforted the poor boy when he was upset or afraid of the monsters under his bed or hiding in the shadows. But when his beloved father left him forever and he was stuck with a crude replacement, Alexander realized that the real monsters don't have glowing red eyes (although some do have red hair) and their bodies don't meld into darkness (only their souls.). Alexander hadn't been afraid of monsters and demons for years, but now that fear was presenting itself to his mind again, new and improved in big and shiny wrapping.
Alexander, should you ever find yourself in a bad situation, I'll be there to help you solve all your problems. We'll fix things together.
Alexander straightened up hurriedly, looking around through tear-blurred eyes. He heard his father. Just now, he heard a voice that he had nearly forgotten. He swirled around on his heels, expecting to see the man he loved wholeheartedly standing there with a smile on his face, ready to welcome him to a new home.
There was nobody.
Alexander felt as though he had been cheated. He heard his father, he knew he did. It couldn't have been in his mind. This was reality…
His hand came up to smack himself in the face, and he cried out. His hand threaded into his hair as he shook his head, softly muttering: "No, no, no…"
"F-Father!" he cried with hoarse hopelessness. He looked around again, hoping to see the familiar face that he longed for. There was nothing but strangers.
Alexander let out a loud sob and started jerking his way through a crowd of people, sprinting away from this place that had tortured his mind so cruelly. He thought it was peaceful here with the people relaxing with families and lovers, strolling by as the warm weather slowly declined to a chill. This had been a happy place, but now it wasn't. For Alexander, he could never come back without thinking that he lost his father all over again.
He elbowed people, tripping over his own feet whilst trying to run away. He fell on his knees for a moment, skidding on the pavement before springing up again in his desperate attempt to get away from the claustrophobic crowd surrounding him.
His raw knees bled onto his worn jeans, now ripped in even more places, dyeing the faded material rich crimson, a color that Alexander would always hate.
He ran for the remainder of the day, stopping only so that he could catch his breath, his lungs and joints crying out for him to stop, although he persisted in getting far away from all those people, those happy people with no worries or monsters creeping around their thoughts.
When darkness surrounded him, sweat and tears were freezing on his face in droplets. His tears didn't sting in the cut on his cheek as much as the sweat did, and he just wanted to rip half of his face off. There was an irritable sensation deep within his flesh, feeling like there were bugs crawling around, the prickling feeling making it seem itchy. He raised a tentative hand to that cheek, his fingers bent into blunt talons, and he hesitated before itching his scar. Before now, he always gently rubbed the sensitive wound with the sleeve of his jacket, and that had caused enormous amounts of pain. But now, when his nails collided with the wet flesh, he howled in agony. He ripped open a small section that had healed, and it bled heavily down his neck, wetting the previously dried blood.
This intensified his itch, and he whined, scratching some more, in denial of his pain. His whines started getting louder into full screams and shrieks of pain, and people were starting to look out their windows to see what was going on, so Alexander fled.
He ran mindlessly until he nearly collapsed, the dark streets frightening him. Anybody could be hiding in the lightless alleyways; any amount of monsters could be waiting to take him.
These thoughts provoked more fear in Alexander, and he ran faster, wide-eyed. A distant light motivated Alexander to run a little farther, to go a bit faster before quitting for the night. Since everything else was dark, this far-away light was calling to Alexander, and he approached the tall building, panting like a madman, his eyes bulging as he looked around.
It was a church.
Alexander never believed in God, his father was an agnostic and Alexander had decided that was how he should be as well. He didn't favor religion, mostly believing in science, but a church was a building, and it would shield him from the weather for a little while.
Despite his religious standing, with the orange candlelight being casted from the holy building, Alexander was very interested in going inside. He would probably get caught and thrown out, but it was worth it.
It looked really warm.
He opened the heavy wooden doors, just enough to let himself in, being careful not to lose the heat that had accumulated in this building.
The interior was warm and inviting, two columns of pews being bathed in the candlelight. Alexander walked down the aisle, admiring the vibrant carpet that matched the pattern painted on the high walls. He stopped short of the altar, shuffling into the first row and sitting down in the middle of the long bench, allowing himself to thaw in the inviting candlelight. Now that he was getting warmer, his cheek didn't feel as sore.
His eyes stared ahead, intrigued, noticing the Bible that was propped up, looking regal and important. He noticed the stage that the small church choir would gather at; he saw the little dishes of holy water, their contents peacefully still. He looked up at the ceiling, so deep in thought that he didn't notice the figure that appeared and sat beside him. He didn't notice the elderly man sitting next to him until he lowered his gaze, and he was startled out of his trance with a shriek.
The old man was smiling at him pleasantly, regarding Alexander with kind eyes. Alexander gulped and met his eyes with an unsure stare.
"It's a cold night, isn't it?" the old man said, and Alexander nodded in slight fear.
"You were admiring the building," he said. It wasn't a question, it was his observation, and Alexander nodded because he was correct.
"It is very impressive here," he said. "I'm glad that I am allowed to be here every day. Sometimes I can't help but gawk at it myself. Why are you here, lad?"
The simple question made Alexander look away in shame. "C-c-cold…"
"Where is your home?" the old man asked, the delightful smile still present on his lips. Alexander couldn't answer, he only shook his head.
"Am I safe to assume that you ran away?" Alexander responded with just a curt nod, avoiding eye contact.
"Do you believe in the Lord?" Feeling that if he answered incorrectly the man would throw him out, Alexander only shrugged in response.
"You are one of God's children even if you don't accept his existence," the old man said, and Alexander realized that this man was the priest for this church.
"It looks like your cheek is quite infected, lad. How did that happen?"
Alexander could not answer.
The question had probably been on many people's minds, although not longer than a second before they stopped caring. Now that somebody asked, would Alexander have to tell his story? He didn't think he could. His throat closed up and all he managed to say was: "I got cut…"
"Who cut you?" The priest asked with gentle concern.
"My… my…" Alexander started to tear up, and he had to stop talking or else he would blurt everything out. With a cry of anguish, he started talking about all the things that happened to him since his father died. He spoke about his mother's new marriage and the abuse that came with, the threats and rape that were involved, all the vomiting he had done lately, all his painful days at school with no friends and nobody to go to, the one horrible climax that led to his departure from his house and all his time on the road, the park bench, and running, all his running to get away from the monsters. He ended his speech with a gasp of air, tears stinging in the cut again. He looked at the priest, shamefaced, but he was only met with kindness. The priest gently drew him near, dabbing at Alexander's cheek with a handkerchief. He avoided the other side of the boy's face, and waited until he stopped most of his crying before he said, "Come with me." The priest stood up, but Alexander just watched him.
"W-where are you taking me?" Alexander asked, even though the priest was taking him nowhere at the moment.
"If you'd like, I'll help your cheek. You may stay here with me tonight, if that's what you'd like." The priest noticed Alexander's hesitance and he sat back down. "I understand that what you've been through will make it difficult for you to trust me. But I promise that I mean you no harm. I will help your cheek to the best of my abilities, give you something to eat, and you may stay here."
The offer seemed more appealing this time, and he felt that this priest wasn't going to try anything with him (he could only hope). He nodded slowly, accepting the proposal, and they stood up together.
The father led him to the parsonage, where he sat Alexander down and came back with rags, bandages, water and some rubbing alcohol. He cleaned Alexander's wound and said, "In the morning I'll take you to get some proper medical help."
This comment made Alexander short for words. He wanted to tell this nice man not to waste his time, but he couldn't contradict his kindness.
"Thank you…" he muttered, winning him a smile. The priest told him to sit there and wait while he prepared food. The smell was so appealing that Alexander nearly floated out of the chair, but out of respect he stayed where he was. After a time that felt like hours, the father placed a bowl of soup down in front of him. Alexander ate it gratefully, and although it wasn't the most flavorful thing he had ever eaten, it was a meal he wouldn't forget. The priest had to urge Alexander to eat slowly a few times, and Alexander obeyed, but he finished all too quickly.
After, the priest guided Alexander to his bed. When Alexander asked where his new caregiver would sleep, the old man smiled and said, "I'll find someplace. That bed gives me an awfully sore neck anyways."
The priest also gave Alexander some clothing to wear in the morning, warning him that it would all be too big, but Alexander was thankful. When the priest left him for the night, Alexander snuggled into the covers. It seemed much more comfortable than his bed from home, and he fell asleep quickly. His rest was deep and dreamless. There was no background noise, not even the noise of the priest moving around. There was only silence, and his tranquil surroundings embraced Alexander in a long slumber.