Chapter 4: Sing Me to Sleep

Well, I don't know where this chapter came from. Let's just say...well, actually, let's not say anything. I don't know, ok?

Also, I'm not very good at writing abuse. It's like, I see how it is in my head and I see what I want it to be like, but it doesn't ever come out right.

By the way, the little "..." in the middle of the page indicates a flashback. Alright? He's still fourteen in the story, but it flashes back to earlier that night and also to when he was ten.

My mother used to tell me stories. She'd brush the stray hairs off my forehead and rock me to sleep with one of her fairy tales or sing me to sleep with one of her lullabies.

I only remembered this as I sat in the living room, feeling tears threaten. I wanted to draw my knees up to my chest, but that would surely hurt too much…

I heard my dad's footsteps growing fainter and fainter as he retreated from the kitchen. His car hummed loudly as it roared to life. I heard the car door slamming and breathed a tiny sigh of relief. He was gone. For the night, my discipline was over.

…

Blood pouring into my eyes and temporarily blinding me as my head hit the wall behind me, hard. My dad's hands shoving me away from him, his face twisted with rage and hate as he screamed out his frustrations on me…

…

I tried to stop the thoughts, because I didn't want to think about them, but now that I'd begun, I wasn't sure if I could stop.

…

I closed my notebook, stretching a little and planning an early night when the driveway was suddenly alive with the sounds of a car pulling up, a metal door slamming, a key turning in the lock...

My heart thudded and I hastily zipped my backpack, trying to rush upstairs…maybe if I got up there fast enough and he didn't see me, I wouldn't be punished tonight. Maybe I wouldn't deserve to be tonight.

The door creaked open just as my sneaker reached the bottommost stair. I hesitated, teetering on the edge, my backpack swinging out.

I wondered if he'd seen me, if he even realized he was at home. His eyes stared madly around, unfocused, fixing on me for a second before flickering away again, back somewhere else.

I let out a breath. I didn't deserve punishment tonight.

But before I could make it one step farther, my backpack swung again – and this time, the fraying string it hung by snapped, and it fell to the floor with a heavy thump.

I glanced down at it for a second before glancing up and realizing my father had seen it, too, so I waited there like a deer in the headlights for him to notice me.

His eyes lifted slowly from the backpack to me, fixing on me this time.

I tried to think, but panic clouded my brain. I tried to speak, but fear strangled my vocal cords. I stood there dumbly, staring at him.

"Well?!" he snapped. "What are you waiting for?! Pick it up!" he gestured to the backpack lying at the foot of the stairs.

I turned to go retrieve it, but in my haste, I tripped over my own sneaker and fell to my knees beside the backpack.

"Stand up, you klutz!" my dad bellowed.

My hands shook as I obeyed.

"Pick up your bag," he ordered.

With fumbling fingers, I did so.

He was crossing the room now, near, nearer, nearer than ever…dangerously close. I could smell the bitter scent of alcohol on him as he towered scarily over me. "We'll be careful not to make clumsy little mistakes in the future, won't we?" he growled.

"Yes, sir," I whispered tremulously.

He looked, for a split second, like he was going to walk away then, but he didn't. He shoved me so hard that my backpack slipped from my shoulder again and I fell a few feet away, trying to get up.

The backpack was only a few feet from him now and he stared down at it for a second before picking it up and throwing it, literally throwing it, right at me.

I gasped, but I barely had time to try to catch it before it hit me, sixty pounds of books hitting me full-force and winding me severely.

I gave a little groan, although I tried my hardest not to. It slipped out from between tightly clenched teeth.

I was still on the ground, but I was trying to at least get up onto my knees, before he kicked me, hard in the ribs. This drew a little whimper from me. I knew it would make him angry and I tried not to – but my ribs ached and throbbed from his kick. I couldn't help it.

"Stop groaning," he commanded angrily, but this was easier said than done. Although no more sound left my lips, it appeared he still wasn't done. He picked up my backpack again and swung it over his head, letting it land with crushing force on mine.

My head throbbed like it was splitting open and I cried out, reaching up to massage it before he grabbed my arms and yanked them away from my head. He used them to pull me up, shoving me away from him until I hit the wall opposite, collapsing there as he stared down at me for another long second.

…

He was gone now, definitely. There were no sounds from the driveway. I let loose a little sigh of relief and tried to stand – my ribs and back both protested. The pain in my head had become background noise, but as I tried to stand, it flared again, suddenly and more painfully than ever.

I tried not to make any noises of pain as I slowly hobbled upstairs, mentally giving myself an 'X' for every whimper the trip took from me.

I made my way upstairs and was met with a pitch black bedroom. I leaned against the doorframe and felt around for the light switch. I couldn't sleep in the dark.

When I found it, I slowly stumbled over to my bed, hitting the mattress heavily.

…

"You're too old for a nightlight!" Dad snarled, grabbing the little blue lamp from off my bedside. I followed him outside, protesting the whole way there.

"I'm afraid of the dark, Dad, I'm afraid of the dark!" I protested – well, more like begged, really. "Please don't take the nightlight!"

He shook me off his arm, letting me hit the driveway heavily. He tossed the little lamp so heavily that it shattered where it fell. "You're ten years old, Hiccup. It's time for you to grow up!"

"I can't sleep," I begged him. "You know I can't, not when the lights are off like that."

"You'll get used to it."

"No, I won't!" I insisted. "You can't take my nightlight!"

Dad grabbed me by the sleeve and dragged me back inside the house, slamming the door and locking it. "Who makes the decisions around here, me or you?"

"I…" I stopped, staring at the ground. "You do."

There was a silence as he nodded slightly.

"But, Daddy, I can't help it, I don't like the dar—

"If you're so afraid of the dark, losing your nightlight will help you get over it. Get to bed and leave the lights off."

My heart thudded. "Dad—

"This isn't up for negotiation, Hiccup," he intoned sternly. "You are going to have to learn how to be a man and to be a man you must learn to get by without nightlights and such. You'll be fine. Just go up there and try."

I walked slowly up the stairs, like I was heading for the gallows. When I made it up there, I closed my eyes for about two seconds before I broke down. I grabbed the blanket and used it to cover my head, whimpering as I tried to get away from the dark I feared so much.

…

I closed my eyes, the light burning orange in front of my lids. Maybe it sounds stupid, or childish or silly, but I have never outgrown nightlights. I still sleep with my overhead light on, because I don't think he notices anymore. And I sleep with the light burning all night and I rock gently back and forth in my bed and I slowly, slowly sing a lullaby my mother taught me and I sing myself to sleep.