CH1

I sat in my bedroom, loud crashing and yelling coming from the adjacent room.

"You dumb bitch!"

Anger welled inside of my head; years of pent up psychological torture were slowly coming to a boiling point. The back and forth arguing between my mother and the man who called himself my stepfather. It was all the same, all the time. She treads on eggshells with feather light steps, and yet he would still find something to antagonize her or me over and over.

Even today, my seventh birthday, there was no reprieve, for this very monster called Gabe Ugliano decided as such.

Gabe Ugliano was a disgusting man. He was five and a half feet tall, sporting a portly beer belly large enough to make Sumo wrestlers look healthy. His most potent weapon was his smell. Gabe Ugliano smelled like a man who'd lived in a sewer for five years; I don't think he'd ever once showered since he moved in with us, and I wouldn't be surprised if he had black mold living in his pits.

The apartment was little better a state. My mother did her due-diligence to try to keep things clean in the time she had not working, but Gabe did the opposite. It was like he went out of his way to leave as much of a mess for her to clean after as possible; food scraps and broken glass littered the floor. Wallpaper was torn all over, leaving the underlying mold issue in this crusty old apartment for all to see.

Gabe had gone the extra mile and bought a bullwhip: with my mother's money no less. When he did, he went on some tirade about asserting his dominance. Yet hilariously when he finally got it, he was too fat and lacking muscle to swing the whip to any effect – much less make it crack.

"Dumb Bitch!" I flinched as I heard his voice boom through the walls once again, "When will you learn to show some respect for-"

CRACK!

The sound resonated through the apartment. Distinctive and sharp. It wasn't the bullwhip, but it sounded very similar.

"You fucking whore! I'll make sure you pay for that!" His voice was a growl that rumbled through the walls. The sounds of the shuffling and struggle resumed, this time I could hear my mother grunt as she wrestled for control.

I stood, unsure of what to do.

I looked at my desk; there was only a blue Bic, some paper, and a sharp pair of scissors.

A loud cracking sound resounded through the air again, "Get off me you monster!"

No response came to that, but it only gave me more determination in my uncertainty. I wanted to help my mother – nothing would stop me.

I picked up the scissors, and the blue Bic and opened the door. Armed, scissors in one hand, biro in the other I stepped through the door quietly.

There.

I saw the man who had blighted our home for the past years. His belt was slack, and he was attempting to pin my mother against the moldy wall, met with copious resistance.

Creeping forward, neither of them could see, or hear me in their preoccupied states.

Suddenly I was filled with vindictiveness. I couldn't think rationally, nor did I want to. I felt like I had been taken by the spirit of vengeance in a mad rush. Something egged me forward in the back of my head.

With a deep breath I stepped forward, scissors raised, and screamed, "Get off my mom!"

Sharply, and precisely I plunged the scissors into the side of his neck. My mother's assailant cried out in pain, but I didn't stop there as I took the blue ballpoint pen and jammed the sharpish point into his clavicle on the other side of the neck and stepped back.

"What in the!" He screamed at the top of his voice. If the whole block hadn't heard what was going on before, they certainly did then.

Finally, my mother with a slightly stunned look shoved the man back off her, his blood already all over her clothes. He stumbled over a glass bottle that had been left on the floor, by himself no less, and lost his balance entirely. Then he careened into the coffee table, back first, with the unpleasant sound of both table legs, and his spine being snapped.

"FUCK!" He screamed and wailed at the top of his lungs, "FUCK! FUCK!"

In no more than five seconds he'd been sent from domineering over my mother to crying like a baby.

My mother looked at me, slightly shocked for a moment, and then looked at the man again. I couldn't believe what I'd done.

Yet, I didn't regret it.

I relished in it.

She visibly swallowed and said in a low tone, "Percy go back to your room and cover your ears."

Whatever she was going to do, I didn't need to be told twice.

I shut the door behind me and sat on my bed: hands on ears. Briefly, I could hear the sound of screaming once again, but it was muffled and quietened by my palms. This time, however, it wasn't the sound of a woman calling out in desperation. No, this time it was a man screaming a bloodcurdling, pain-wrought scream.

Before long the sound was over, and I uncovered my ears. I could hear talking in a hushed tone from the adjacent room.

"Mom?" I decided to call.

It took a moment, but she replied loud and clear, "Just a moment honey."

The longer I sat there, the more I had time to think about it.

Did I really do that?

I pinched myself. It stung. Like a cloud had lifted from my mind, the reality was finally coming unto me. A harsh one that I almost wasn't prepared to accept.

I had just killed a man.

A billion thoughts raced through my head

Is this murder? Or is this self-defence?

Would I face a court trial for this?

Would my mother get in trouble for this?

And most of all.

I had just killed a man.

I looked down at my hands. They were red, and slick, giving off the smell of iron. I reached out to the tissues box that rested on my desk, untouched and pulled a couple of sheets out, rubbing my hands into them and watching as the red cleared away like I was trying to wash my hands of some dirty crime I'd committed.

I had just killed a man.

Did I feel bad about it? Or did I revel in the feeling of overthrowing my oppressor?

I didn't know how much time had passed. I looked out the window, seeing the evening sky turning pink through the tall shadowy buildings of New York City.

Something told me I couldn't stick around. A lingering feeling that I wouldn't want to see what came next. Some small voice in the back of my head.

It was some minutes later when I could hear sirens. Nothing special for the Big Apple. Except I got the feeling then, more than ever, that I could not stick around.

Yet it became more and more apparent. The sirens weren't just the usual.

They grew louder, and louder, as if several cars were all converging on this location.

I opened the door and saw my mother sitting on a wooden chair, shifting the landline phone nervously between hands. If she saw me coming in, she didn't acknowledge me.

On the coffee table there was undoubtedly a pool of blood, but nobody.

She probably moved it to the kitchen.

"Mom, what's going on?"

She looked at me with worried eyes for a moment, before standing up and embracing me tightly, "The police are coming, don't worry, everything will be okay. Just do as they say."

Her tone was doubtful, but she didn't tell me that.

I asked, pressing for more, "What is going to happen?"

"Percy…" she trailed off and tilted her head to the side, "Percy things may not go well, but if you do as they say… it can't possibly go too badly. Worst comes to worst…"

For a moment she didn't say anything and just stared with wide worried eyes. She visibly gulped, "You're going to have to live with some other people for a while."

I knew where she was going. I'd met some kids who'd gone to them and they were always the worst ones.

The biggest bullies of the class.

"You don't mean..."

The emotional wrecks of the class.

"A foster home?" I exclaimed, my eyes widening with how relaxed she seemed despite all that was happening.

"It won't be for long Percy, and I can promise, it won't be as bad as it has been here the past couple years," she tried to convince me quickly, slight desperation clearly in her voice.

I didn't respond.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. I wasn't even sure there was anything else to be said. I just turned around slowly and went back in my room, a feeling of panic rising in my chest like bile was ready to spew forth.

I shut the door.

I couldn't go to a foster home. There was no way.

What was there I could do though?

Could I stay with my best friend Cindy?

No, I couldn't. I couldn't impose on her family like that. That wouldn't be right. Also, I didn't think I could bear to find out what they'd think of my situation.

There was only one certainty in my mind; I had to get away. I could not be taken to a foster home. There was no way. I had heard of the treatment of these homes: that they could be rough, and torturous on the mind. And to have to bear through education on my own without my mother or Cindy to help me through my dyslexia or ADHD would probably drive me over the edge.

No.

I looked out the window, flashing blue and red lights were approaching. With a heave I pulled the window open, scrunching my nose as the familiar dirty air of New York washed over me with that unpleasant smell of soured milk. Backing up for a moment, I glanced around me. There wasn't much time, I had to go.

So I picked my backpack off the floor from beside my bed and shoved a change of clothes into it. From under my bed, I took the small amount of money I had hidden away from Gabe's prying eyes and shoved it into my jeans. My mom had given it to me, and I just saved it up as much as possible without ever knowing what I wanted to use it for.

On my desk I saw a wristwatch surrounded with ripped out of season wrapping paper from last Christmas. It was my birthday gift from my mom, too big, but I loved it still. Regardless, it was useful, so I shoved it into my left pocket.

With one last thought, I picked up another Bic pen and scrawled a note on a piece of paper from my notepad in my usual illegible handwriting.

Sorry Mom,

I can't go into foster care.

I love you

Percy

It was simple, but with a moment's rash afterthought, I added to it.

Thank God he's gone.

With slight satisfaction, I backed up.

I was ready to go.

The sound of sirens got louder by the second.

I had to go.

Quickly, I jumped out the window onto the fire escape, not bothering to test its structural integrity after years of neglect. Hefting the bag on my back, I was thankful that the downward portion of the escape was away from the window of the adjacent room my mother was in.

I couldn't face right then.

Not like that.

I ran down the steps, all the way to the bottom with little care and didn't hesitate to lower the ladder and scrabble down. A couple of bystanders were looking at me oddly, but I paid no heed and walked off briskly: head down, hood up.

No one would notice a 7-year-old boy wandering down the streets of Manhattan alone, wearing a hoodie. Sure it wasn't too common to see, but people kept to their own business.

I was invisible. It was just another day in the City.

As I wandered down the road, I couldn't help but feel sick. The loud sirens of the police cars had just passed by me. In the pit of my stomach, I felt like I was going to throw up. Everything felt weary, like the pressure of my situation was all weighing down on me, suffocating. I could barely keep going.

I had to find somewhere safe to hang out. At least for one night.

It was a Saturday afternoon. I scratched the back of my head, thinking of who I knew, drawing a blank.

I didn't have many friends. School was not kind to me, being thrown out of pretty much every one I'd been to, along with my partner in crime: Cindy. And if she weren't complicit in my crime, she somehow always found a way to worm her way into going to the same school as me.

Everything always came back around to her. Cindy. She'd been the only real friend I had since before kindergarten.

I didn't really make any other friends along the way: most of the other kids would pick on me for being the odd one out. The dumb kid who couldn't read and always failed to focus on any one thing for more than a minute. The kid who always got in trouble with the teachers. The kid who dumped the class into a pool of sharks, and blew up the school bus by accident. And the ones who didn't despise me knew to keep their distance for fear of social suicide.

Not Cindy though.

Cindy stuck by, no matter what. She stood up for me, and I stood up for her. It was a coalition of sorts. And even if they'd say things behind our backs, no one would mess with us while we were together, or in range of one another. So we stuck together.

I pulled myself together, knowing where my train of thought was going.

There was only one option, and it was one I wanted to avoid for fear of awkward and uncomfortable questions. It was the sad reality of having no meaningful friends. I always had to rely on Cindy – too much so.

There was a payphone across the street. I fished in my pocket for a moment and pulled out a quarter. Standing straight, I crossed the road right as the light went green with perfect timing. Surprisingly it was empty. With a strong tug, I pulled the payphone door open and walked in the booth.

With shaking hands I inserted the coin and punched the number in like my mom had taught me to do. After a couple rings of the tone, the line was abruptly picked up.

"Hello?" the voice asked, young and female.

My voice caught for a moment. I didn't know what to say. My gut was twisting and my mind was clouded.

Her voice rang through the receiver again, "Hello?"

"Hey Cindy, it's Percy," I started, pausing to try to steady my voice but she seemed to audibly brighten up.

"Oh! Percy! How are you? What's up?" She asked.

I stumbled over my words for a moment before just saying as nonchalantly as possible, "Nothing much, doing alright. How are you?"

"That's good, I'm doing well too," she was enthusiastic and I could tell she was happy.

It only made it harder. I didn't want to wander into her house and trample all over her good mood with my problems. Even if I didn't say much, she would know something was up.

Cindy always knew when something was wrong with me. It was like some kind of psychic reaction she had. As if she could read my mind and tell what I was thinking.

"That's nice to hear Cindy," I said, trailing off slightly as I struggled for words as to what to say.

"So," she paused as I was busy forming my words, "What's going on Perce?"

I swallowed. There was nothing else I could do, I had no choice, "Do you think I can sleep over for the night?"

After a moment's pause, I scrunched up my face as I knew there was a question on the tip of her tongue, but thankfully she held herself back, "Sure let me ask my mom."

I had to fish another quarter out with my other hand as the line went silent and I slotted it into the machine, hearing the sound as it dropped in.

"Hey, Percy?" I heard an older voice through the receiver. It was her mom. She was always a kindly woman towards me and it was like she knew all about each issue I faced in life.

"Hi Mrs. Panagos," I said, trying to be respectful as always.

I could practically feel her smile through the phone, "You can sleepover anytime Percy, you should know that by know. You're always welcome. Our house is your house."

I couldn't help the slight excitement that I got despite the bleak situation, and it seeped into my voice, "Thank you so much, Mrs. Panagos."

Shuffling sounds were made as the phone was passed back to Cindy, "It was nice to hear from you Percy, I'll see you soon then, yeah?"

I didn't want to put the phone down, but the quarter was going to run out soon and it wouldn't be that long, "Yeah see ya, Cindy, thanks."

Letting out a heavy breath I didn't know I was holding in, I re-docked the plastic phone on the machine.

…

…

…

(A/N) This rewrite was a long time overdue. My writing has changed massively since I wrote this (and all my stories) originally years ago. Had lots of problems with lack of motivation, and I've rewritten the same stories and chapters so many times I just finally decided, screw it, this is it. Rewrites for all my stories are coming SoonTM.

Sorry if the language is kinda strong for anyone's liking in this chapter (I hope it isn't). I'm planning on keeping the rest of the story as clean as possible with only curse words where it fits.

Also, I do not respond to reviews in my author notes. If you would like to receive a reply to a comment, please do sign in.

Thanks for all the pushing over the years to bring this back. I hope this first rewritten chapter satisfies you guys.

-MT13