He is standing in his father's office, trying his best to keep his tears from falling. His father does not like it when he cries.

He smells him before he hears him, the stench of alcohol momentarily over-powering as he staggers into the room. He can feel his heart begin to hammer painfully in his chest, there is no way this going to end well for him. It never does.

He watches as his father slumps into his chair, he looks defeated.

"Do you understand what happened today Anthony" His voice his so weary, he's never heard his father sound that way before.

"Yes sir" Oh he understands, he understands that his life has just drastically changed. He understands that he has been left alone, at the mercy of a monster.

"Well what happened boy" Angry now, vicious, that sounds like his father.

"My M...M..." The words are stuck in his throat as he wonders how to say aloud, the thing he's been denying all day.

"DO NOT STUTTER BOY, SPEAK LIKE A MAN" The shout echoes around the room, as his father pours yet more liquor into his glass.

He wants to say that he's not a man. That he's only eight years old, but he's long since learnt his father does not appreciate things like that.

He stands up straighter, he may not be a man, but he can pretend, just for now.

"My mother died sir" He is shocked at how steady his voice sounds.

He barley flinches as his father's glass shatters against the wall behind him, he's just thankful it didn't hit him this time.

"Do you know why she died Anthony" He is unnerved by the calmness of his father's tone, and he can't help but think of the saying, the calm before the storm.

"She was sick sir" It comes out as more of a question than a statement, because no one told him anything in this house, but she hadn't left her room in days, so she must have been, right?

"Yes she was" Weary again, he doesn't like this, as scared as he his of his father's anger, at least he knows what's coming, what to expect. This is new territory, dangerous and his body is filled with dread.

"She was sick of you" He is stunned at the words that are said in such a matter of fact tone, which leaves no room for argument.

"I...I don't understand" He really doesn't, he didn't make her sick did he? He is worried now, what if it's his fault, he feels tears stinging his eyes again and it takes everything in him to keep them at bay.

"She's dead because you exist boy, because you're annoying and worthless and she couldn't bear to look at you one more time, so do you know what she did today Anthony, she sliced her wrists open. You understand that don't you?"

His breath is coming in short gasps, his lungs burning, the world spins around him as he tries to comprehend what he just heard. He can't think anything other than the fact that his mother, did this to herself, she chose to die. She chose to leave him. He didn't think this could get any worse.

"But she loved me, she told me that" He remembers it clearly, sitting at her piano her arm wrapped around him as she breathed the words into his ear.

"Don't always believe what you are told boy" But he wants too, he wants to believe his mother loved him, he doesn't think he'll have anything left if he lets go of that.

"She never loved you, her life ended the day you were born, she did not love you Anthony, Nobody ever will" He can't stop the tears now, their falling fast, soaking his cheeks, his father growls when he hears his choked back sob. He knows what's coming now.

The first blow knocks him off his feet, but he doesn't feel the rest. He switches off, he can barely hear the slurred insults, he's heard them all before anyway. All he can think of is his mother, so beautiful and shy, the air of sadness that seemed to surround her, and he was always in awe of her.

Eventually the hits stop coming and his father retreats back to his bottle, and he takes his chance and leaves as quickly as his legs will carry him.

The pain makes itself known as he sits down on his bed, he hurts all over, but he is glad of this, it's a welcome distraction from everything else.

He's crying now, sobbing really, deep painful heart wrenching sobs tearing through him.

He didn't feel his arm break, or hear his ribs crack but when the sobs finally subside he swears he can feel his heart shatter.

...

He's been thinking about that day a lot lately, the day his mother committed suicide and in a way he was right all those years ago because she was sick. Just not physically. He wonders if these things run in the family. He inherited her green eyes, did he inherit her fractured mind aswell?

He realised many things that day.

He realised he was now completely alone.

He realised that physical pain helped distract from emotional torment.

He realised that nothing would ever be okay again.

He realised that if his own mother could not love him, then nobody ever will.