Disclaimer: I don't own them, don't sue me.
Author's Note: This is shown through the perspective of Dave's mother, however, it doesn't take place the day in the previous chapter. It's around the same time frame, though.
--
I do my best to be a good mother for Dave and Vince. Despite their father, he really loves us, but he has a bad temper. It's not his fault. We do things to irritate him. I try hard to protect my boys but I can only do so much. After finally washing all of the dishes, Roy comes home.
"Julia? You here?" He asks. I try to seem as happy as possible.
"Yes, Roy, I'm in the kitchen."
Footsteps grow louder, then he appears in the kitchen. He's still in his work coveralls, he works at the metal plant downtown. As always, I parade over and kiss him on the cheek.
"How was your day?"
"Same as always..."
"I hope you're hungry, I made steak with mashed potatoes and corn for dinner."
"What the hell? Do you have any idea how much steak costs?"
"It's been a while since we've had steak and I thought it'd be a nice treat-"
Wham! The breath is knocked out of me from a punch in the stomach. I instinctively double over in pain and let out a quiet yelp.
"Well, it's not like we can take it back, but you ask me the next time you wanna get all fancy." He orders.
"Mommy? What's wrong?" Dave asks.
"Honey, go play in your room." I plead as I stand upright, hoping for him to not get hurt.
"Mommy? Are you okay?"
"Do as your mother says, you little brat!" Roy yells. Before I can ask him to stop he slaps Dave. It's followed with a bellowing cry.
"I'm going to watch the game." Roy announces as he walks into the living room.
Dave is crying, he walks over to me and I bend down and hold him tight. It's my fault he hurts Dave. It's like this everyday. I lose track of time calming Dave down, but he stops crying. I do my best to look happy.
"Your father loves us very much, he just gets angry." I tell Dave, as always.
"You go to bed, you have school tomorrow." I tell him, leading him into his bedroom. Dave climbs into his bed and I tuck him in. I gently kiss him on the forehead goodnight.
--
Back in the living room, we're having another fight about nothing. I think it's about Dave getting hit or me being a bad example, I'm never sure anymore. We always fight after I put the kids to bed. Luckily, Vince is at a summer camp so we don't have to deal with two kids getting hurt. Too bad for Dave. We didn't have enough money to send them both to camp.
"You're always spoiling the boy!" He yells.
"You're always attacking him!"
"I teach him how to behave! If it were up to you, he'd be the most spoiled brat alive."
"There's a difference between teaching him a lesson and hurting him."
I should have watched myself. It's my fault he hit me. It's my fault he didn't stop hitting me until he got tired and went to bed.
"Come to bed when you're done getting cleaned up." Roy orders like I'm doing laundry.
I slowly get up, my entire body throbbing with pain. I gently wipe the blood off with a kitchen towel. The blood swirls down the drain, making a silent, washed out pattern in the sink. After all of my wounds are cleaned and dressed, I slowly walk into the bedroom, and go to sleep in out little house on Garden Street.
Author's Note: This is shown through the perspective of Dave's mother, however, it doesn't take place the day in the previous chapter. It's around the same time frame, though.
--
I do my best to be a good mother for Dave and Vince. Despite their father, he really loves us, but he has a bad temper. It's not his fault. We do things to irritate him. I try hard to protect my boys but I can only do so much. After finally washing all of the dishes, Roy comes home.
"Julia? You here?" He asks. I try to seem as happy as possible.
"Yes, Roy, I'm in the kitchen."
Footsteps grow louder, then he appears in the kitchen. He's still in his work coveralls, he works at the metal plant downtown. As always, I parade over and kiss him on the cheek.
"How was your day?"
"Same as always..."
"I hope you're hungry, I made steak with mashed potatoes and corn for dinner."
"What the hell? Do you have any idea how much steak costs?"
"It's been a while since we've had steak and I thought it'd be a nice treat-"
Wham! The breath is knocked out of me from a punch in the stomach. I instinctively double over in pain and let out a quiet yelp.
"Well, it's not like we can take it back, but you ask me the next time you wanna get all fancy." He orders.
"Mommy? What's wrong?" Dave asks.
"Honey, go play in your room." I plead as I stand upright, hoping for him to not get hurt.
"Mommy? Are you okay?"
"Do as your mother says, you little brat!" Roy yells. Before I can ask him to stop he slaps Dave. It's followed with a bellowing cry.
"I'm going to watch the game." Roy announces as he walks into the living room.
Dave is crying, he walks over to me and I bend down and hold him tight. It's my fault he hurts Dave. It's like this everyday. I lose track of time calming Dave down, but he stops crying. I do my best to look happy.
"Your father loves us very much, he just gets angry." I tell Dave, as always.
"You go to bed, you have school tomorrow." I tell him, leading him into his bedroom. Dave climbs into his bed and I tuck him in. I gently kiss him on the forehead goodnight.
--
Back in the living room, we're having another fight about nothing. I think it's about Dave getting hit or me being a bad example, I'm never sure anymore. We always fight after I put the kids to bed. Luckily, Vince is at a summer camp so we don't have to deal with two kids getting hurt. Too bad for Dave. We didn't have enough money to send them both to camp.
"You're always spoiling the boy!" He yells.
"You're always attacking him!"
"I teach him how to behave! If it were up to you, he'd be the most spoiled brat alive."
"There's a difference between teaching him a lesson and hurting him."
I should have watched myself. It's my fault he hit me. It's my fault he didn't stop hitting me until he got tired and went to bed.
"Come to bed when you're done getting cleaned up." Roy orders like I'm doing laundry.
I slowly get up, my entire body throbbing with pain. I gently wipe the blood off with a kitchen towel. The blood swirls down the drain, making a silent, washed out pattern in the sink. After all of my wounds are cleaned and dressed, I slowly walk into the bedroom, and go to sleep in out little house on Garden Street.