He arrived home with his older 'sister', Eve, at his side. They had been walking home from school, and they hadn't said a word to each other. He didn't go to school because his 'parents' didn't "want to waste money on some street rat." So he had no formal education, even form when he was younger because his parents couldn't afford him going to school either, so he had no education at all. He was the first to walk in, his sister after him, leaving the door wide open. Before Ezra realized that the door was still open, their mother stepped out of the kitchen to greet them. Her smile faded to a frown, looking towards him.
"Ezra Bridger! Just because you're a street-rat does not mean you need to act like one! Close the door immediately!" His mother shrieked. He nearly sprinted the five feet to close the door before he could get yelled at more. When he turned back to his mother, she scowled at him, pointing up the stairs. "Now go to your room! I don't want to see you 'till morning."
"But mama-" he tried to plead, but he was interrupted.
"Address me properly." His mother bellowed. "I will not tolerate such language in my house!" She said with disgust. Ezra hung his head, clenching his hands to keep his anger in check. He looked back up at her.
"Mother, Eve was the one that left the door open." Ezra tried to explain, face pleading. He flinched when his mother stepped towards him.
"Stop blaming your sister, you brainless rat! She's the only child I will get that will do something great! You will amount to nothing" Their mother snapped. More like Eve's mother. She never treated him with any kindness. She saw him as disposable and useless. A waste of time. "Now, to your room, before your father arrives!" Ezra took a deep breath before turning away, heading for the stairs. As he was walking to them, his sister stuck her foot out, tripping him. An alarming pain erupted from his right leg as he fell to the unpolished, wooden floor, his hands now full of splinters. His sister howled with laughter as his mother left the room without another look. He quickly pushed himself from the ground and limped off to his room. You really couldn't call it a room. It was a meager bed with a single desk that looked a thousand years old in the corner.
It had been the same issues since he was adopted into the family at 7 years old. The family had wanted a young, perfect son, but they had gotten him. For the first four years of his life at the Bridger's, they had tried to change how he looked, how he acted, how he thought. They finally gave up when they found him on the streets running through the mud puddles.
When they realized he was never going to be perfect, they first started to neglect him, but it soon transformed into abuse. He had been hit so hard once, his arms and legs were left bruised, and his leg and arm were left fractured. They never cared for him if he was sick or hungry. If he was, though, they would turn a blind eye to him unless he started throwing up, telling him to either do it on the streets or hold it. His sister soon learned to hate him as much as his parents did, convincing everyone at school to call him names and beat him. She would tell them how much of a failure he was and how he thought he was better than everyone. Tears exploded from his eyes just as his door was thrown open by his father.
"Your mother told me that you were talking back. Did I not teach you manners, street boy!" His father snarled.
"Y...you did, sir" he whimpered. He was backed into a corner by his father. Tears were stained on his face and he readied his arms for the hits.
"What did you say?! I thought I told you not to talk back!"
"T..that wasn't t...talking-"
"It would be better for all of us if you didn't talk at all!" His father barked. Ezra flinched. "Got that? I don't want to hear a peep out of you! Ever!" Ezra nodded his head quickly, trying to get away before pain soared through his body. He instinctively put his arms up, sliding down the wall as several punched and kicks were thrown all over his body. Ezra started coughing up blood after his father had kicked him in the throat. His father sneered before casting his fist to the boy's throat. "I don't want to hear anything for you anymore!" His father stormed out of his room, leaving Ezra bloody and crying silent tears. In a ball in the corner of his room, Ezra began to choke on the blood-forming in his mouth and throat. Little did his father know that punch to the throat enabled Ezra to ever speak again.
