CHAPTER 62
Another loss. Another loss to add to the seemingly endless record now for Hawk. 6 months. That's how long it had been since Hawk had beaten someone in a 1 on 1 fight. 6 whole months - his All-Valley final in June being the last time he had done so. Since then, he had taken loss after loss after loss. To Kenny, to Marcos and most recently, to Demetri. It had been the last one that had stung the most. Fighting against someone like Marcos was one thing, fighting a rigged fight against Kenny was another, but there were no excuses for his latest loss. He had exerted all of his energy in trying desperately to suppress the Hawk, and it had rendered him a weak, awful fighter, one not even capable of beating Demetri, let alone even sniffing the Taikai trophy.
It was humiliating. It was absolutely humiliating. Losing to Demetri so decisively, Hawk felt like he had lost all respect, not only from the other members of the dojo, but self-respect as well. He was supposed to be the All-Valley champion. He was supposed to be number 1 in the Valley right now. Well, Hawk was. Eli Moskowitz was a sniffling little bitch who couldn't even beat a second-tier fighter within the dojo. And he wasn't going to make the mistake in allowing Eli to fight his fights for him anymore. The Hawk was back, unchained from its shackles, pumping him with incessant waves of anger and aggression, and it was never going away again…
With this new internal paradigm shift within him, Hawk didn't know what he was doing here at Moon's house that night. He should've been at the dojo training. Should've been working his ass off to get back to the same level as Miguel and Robby at the very least, if not the same level as Marcos and the other extremely competent fighters he knew he'd be up against at the Taikai. Not sitting at his girlfriend's house, having a party with a bunch of teenagers. But when Hawk had arrived and he had seen who else was there, he was thoroughly glad he decided to show up at the end. Not only was every single member of Miyagi-Do at the party, but there was also another group of teenagers who were situated on the other side of the house, led by someone who Hawk was still harboring a lot of resentment towards for how he had beaten him in Coyote Creek… it was Cobra Kai!
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Similar to what Hawk was thinking earlier, Marcos had absolutely no idea what he was doing here. He was glad he was here, as it provided him temporary refuge from his father, but at the same time it wasn't like he was getting involved in the post-Christmas party at all. He was sitting in the corner of the room alone, very much out of it. He tuned out everything that was going on around him, not drinking a sip, and that allowed his mind to freely wander to the vivid memories of the night before…
Christmas Day. A day that for many children was the best day of the year, had already become the worst day of his entire life. Well, almost the worst. It had been the third day that his father had been hitting him, and this one had been by far the most painful. It was Christmas Day, so his father had been given a rare day off work. Although the man did spend much of the day out, that didn't mean that Marcos had managed to escape his father backhanding across the face for not making breakfast for them that morning.
He was gone for the vast majority of Christmas Day, so that provided Marcos with at least a couple of hours of relief. It was Christmas, so everyone Marcos knew was spending the day with their family, which meant that he had nothing to do and nowhere to go but to stay at home. He sat at the living room table of the empty apartment, staring at the laptop opposite him, deep in thought. He stared at the window open on his computer and read the small black words on the screen, over and over again…
If you suspect that a child has been, or is in danger of, abuse or neglect, contact 1 800-349-9386 for 24 hour support
Abuse. Abuse. Abuse. Marcos read that word over and over again, allowing it to rattle around every corner of his brain. He wasn't an idiot. He wasn't blind. He knew exactly what his father was doing to him, and he knew that without a shadow of a doubt, it fell under the category of that word. It was abuse. His father was abusing him, taking out his frustrations at the world on his innocent son. He knew that if whoever had written this website page was sitting opposite him right now, they'd be begging him, imploring him, to call the number.
But on the other hand… it was still his dad. It might have been abuse, but no matter how hard he would hit him, that would never change the fact that he was his dad. He was the first person that Marcos had ever known, the only person who had been there Marcos' entire life. For a long time, he had been Marcos' ideal, his hero. He had inspired Marcos to take up Martial Arts, instilled the values of hard work and determination within him. It wasn't so easy to turn his back on all of that. He couldn't help but sympathize with everything that his father was going through. The way that for nearly 2 decades, his father had been kicked around by the entire world. He had been forced to work painstakingly hard for seriously little money, in hopes that it would provide his family with a better future, only for his wife to commit suicide without warning. Marcos knew that although his father didn't say it, he blamed himself for his wife's death: his immense work hours had prevented him from being a husband and had prevented him from being a father, so it had basically left his wife completely alone for many years. After all the anguish his father felt about everything, and after the amount the world had thrown at him, Marcos couldn't bring himself to condemn his father after all of that.
So he sat there, rooted to the spot, continuing to have a staring contest with the computer screen as his mind was completely torn. What should he do next? Two sides of Marcos' mind screamed at him opposing thoughts, causing him to be even more uncertain, and causing him to be pulled further from his body and into his own mind. Time passed by without him even noticing, as Marcos was completely wrapped up in his own world, and he didn't even notice the door open a couple of hours later and his father walking into the house.
Marcos didn't hear a thing, but he did indeed smell him. That was his first indication that there was a change in the house. The overpowering smell of alcohol entered the room, so strong that it made Marcos' eyes water. It was what managed to snap Marcos out of his train of thoughts, and his head spun around, desperately trying to find the root of the smell and trying to close his computer at the same time. Too late. His father had been standing a step behind him, so he had seen exactly what was displayed on his computer screen. As Marcos slowly and timidly met his father's gaze, he saw a malicious scowl on his face and knew that whatever was about to happen next, it wasn't going to be good…
Marcos closed his eyes as he was forced to relive these memories inside his head. They were excruciating, the flowering bruises and scars from the encounter afterwards still throbbing under his long-sleeved sweatshirt. Marcos felt like his mind was trapped within these horrible flashbacks and whatever he did, he couldn't break out of them. That was until he felt a hand on his shoulder. For a horrible moment, Marcos irrationally thought it was his father and he flinched, nearly jumping out of his skin as he spun around. Thankfully, it wasn't his father. It was just Kyler, two red solo cups in his hands.
"Yo, easy dawg. You good?" Kyler asked him, shocked at the startled reaction Marcos had just shown. Taking a deep, calming breath, Marcos steadied himself and nodded.
"Yeah, fine." He grunted in reply. "What's up?"
"Want a beer?" Kyler asked him, holding out one of the red solo cups for him to take. Marcos, however, shook his head.
"Thanks, but… I don't drink." Marcos replied. This had been the case his entire life - he believed that it would hinder his athletic performance - and after everything that he was going through right now with his father, after all of the strikes that had come from the older man in an intoxicated state, he definitely wasn't going to be changing that rule now.
"Come on, man. Take a load off. Chill out, have a drink. It's good." Kyler remarked.
Marcos knew he shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. It was only a small voice deep in his mind that doubted that fact. It was the part of his mind that told him that if alcohol was enough to dull his father's emotions enough to beat his son, maybe it would be enough to numb him of all of the pain he was feeling right now. Just maybe, Marcos could be provided with a temporary relief from the agony that seemed to be unrelentingly wracking his entire body.
So before Marcos could stop himself, he took the drink. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. He took drink after drink after drink, until finally, he got the numbness that he finally craved. His brain switched off enough for him to be relieved of all pain inside him. Unfortunately though, that also meant that the part of his brain that showed restraint and made good decisions had also eroded away, leaving him volatile as a ticking bomb, ready to explode…