Eight years later.
Toby sat on his bed in his small room, playing with little plastic dinosaurs. The clock on the bedside table read 12:22. No one really ever told him to go to bed. He could hear raised voices coming from downstairs. His uncle sounded furious. What was it about? Quietly, he put down his book and crept out of his room and crouched at the top of the stairs, watching as his uncle yelled at his wife.
"You fucking bitch! What's wrong with you?!"
Toby's aunt was crying and a bruise seemed to be forming around her eye. She was his mother's sister, and he had been living with her ever since his mother died three years ago. He liked her, and his uncle too. But then, some nights he was awful. Toby never really understood why he got so mad.
"Don't you walk away from me, Anna!" He grabbed her by the wrist as she tried to walk away, jerking her back and forcing her to look at him.
"Don't do this Kevin!" she sobbed and tried to hit him, but he caught her arm with his free hand, then smacked her hard.
Toby gasped and both his guardians raised their eyes up to the top of the stairs where he crouched. He suddenly became very frightened and stood up and tried to run back into his room. "You get back here, boy!" Toby leaped back onto his bed and scrambled under his covers, squeezing his eyes shut, as if to pretend none of it had happened. But then he felt a shadow enter his room and fall over his closed eyes. And then the covers were flung off him, revealing his tiny form quivering in his pajamas. His uncle grabbed him roughly and threw him out of bed, against the wall.
Toby sat there, crumpled on the floor for a moment, dazed as his uncle hovered over him. And then his hand came down hard and the boy cried out in pain, again and again. He didn't know how long it went on but it felt like forever before his uncle slowed down, then stopped. He stood there for a moment, swaying drunkenly and seeing double as he stared at the blurry vision of a small boy cowering in front of him. Then he turned around and threw up on the boy's bed. He grumbled incoherently and stumbled out the door, leaving Toby lying on the floor, cold, and scared.
The tears ran down his face, mingling with the blood there, as he curled up on the carpet and closed his eyes. What had he done? He must have done something. He knew he must deserve this. Maybe he deserved it just for being alive. He wished he could be better. He wished he could make people happy. But he seemed to just make them mad all the time. Or else they ignored him. What was wrong with him? He wished his mother was there. He couldn't remember her all that well, he had been very young when she died. But she loved him. Toby was suddenly frustrated with himself for lying here feeling sorry for himself. He sniffled and drew his sleeve across his nose, wiping away the blood, and tried to fall asleep.
Toby sat on his bed in his small room, playing with little plastic dinosaurs. The clock on the bedside table read 12:22. No one really ever told him to go to bed. He could hear raised voices coming from downstairs. His uncle sounded furious. What was it about? Quietly, he put down his book and crept out of his room and crouched at the top of the stairs, watching as his uncle yelled at his wife.
"You fucking bitch! What's wrong with you?!"
Toby's aunt was crying and a bruise seemed to be forming around her eye. She was his mother's sister, and he had been living with her ever since his mother died three years ago. He liked her, and his uncle too. But then, some nights he was awful. Toby never really understood why he got so mad.
"Don't you walk away from me, Anna!" He grabbed her by the wrist as she tried to walk away, jerking her back and forcing her to look at him.
"Don't do this Kevin!" she sobbed and tried to hit him, but he caught her arm with his free hand, then smacked her hard.
Toby gasped and both his guardians raised their eyes up to the top of the stairs where he crouched. He suddenly became very frightened and stood up and tried to run back into his room. "You get back here, boy!" Toby leaped back onto his bed and scrambled under his covers, squeezing his eyes shut, as if to pretend none of it had happened. But then he felt a shadow enter his room and fall over his closed eyes. And then the covers were flung off him, revealing his tiny form quivering in his pajamas. His uncle grabbed him roughly and threw him out of bed, against the wall.
Toby sat there, crumpled on the floor for a moment, dazed as his uncle hovered over him. And then his hand came down hard and the boy cried out in pain, again and again. He didn't know how long it went on but it felt like forever before his uncle slowed down, then stopped. He stood there for a moment, swaying drunkenly and seeing double as he stared at the blurry vision of a small boy cowering in front of him. Then he turned around and threw up on the boy's bed. He grumbled incoherently and stumbled out the door, leaving Toby lying on the floor, cold, and scared.
The tears ran down his face, mingling with the blood there, as he curled up on the carpet and closed his eyes. What had he done? He must have done something. He knew he must deserve this. Maybe he deserved it just for being alive. He wished he could be better. He wished he could make people happy. But he seemed to just make them mad all the time. Or else they ignored him. What was wrong with him? He wished his mother was there. He couldn't remember her all that well, he had been very young when she died. But she loved him. Toby was suddenly frustrated with himself for lying here feeling sorry for himself. He sniffled and drew his sleeve across his nose, wiping away the blood, and tried to fall asleep.