Okay, Part eleven. Rowen-fans, don;t hate me too much, he's my favorite too. Bad things may happen, but we all know that good things happen in the end, right? (And we all know I love reviews too!)
PART ELEVEN
origins-P11
Rowen shivered for the bazillionth time. It was cold in his room. Given that most of the money in the house went pretty well straight to the liquor store, the heat had to be kept low. With a lonely and frustrated sigh, Rowen threw down the pen from his homework to find a sweatshirt. Clean, dirty, at this point it didn't matter as long as it was warm.
The front door slammed shut. The sound reverberated through the apartment, through Rowen. Rowen closed his eyes against the noise - the noise of stomping feet, angry grunts, and smashing beer bottles. Rowen flinched. He drew in a long shakey breath and waited. Tonight's going to be particularly bad, he thought. I can feel it.
Get ouh here! Now!
Taking another deep breath, Rowen took a timid step into the hall. His father was at the other end, in the living room. I can smell that damned alchohol from here, Rowen thought bitterly. Yes? It was nearly a whisper.
Get ovuh her. The voice producing the drunken slurry words was barely human. Almost... feral, deep, growling.
Rowen left the relative comfort and security of his doorway and walked carefully to his father, knowing full well not only what would happen, but also that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
As soon as Rowen was within arms reach, his father's hand lashed out with uncharacteristic speed and latched onto Rowen's throat. Rowen only had a moment to register the attack before he was thrown into the wall. He gasped with the impact.
With no time to react, Rowen's father clutched Rowen's slender wrists with one hand, Rowen's throat with the other. He locked Rowen's legs against the wall, effectively trapping Rowen. Ya knowh whah? Yer thuh reasn my life is hell. He pulled Rowen forward by the neck and slammed him back into the wall.
Rowen nearly gagged from the smell of hot, breathy, alchohol. He tried to shrink away in disgust - their faces were so close - but the wall... He was slammed into the wall again.
Ya liddle shit-faced, snot-nosed brat. Lookat me. Rowen didn't look. He kept his face turned away, his eyes clamped shut. He wouldn't give his father the satisfaction.
Damn it, I said look at me! He slammed Rowen again. And again and again. Six, eight, ten times. Rowen lost count. And still, Rowen said, did, nothing.
Ya think yer soh shmug. The bigger man struck Rowen across the face. Three, four, five times. Didn't matter.
Pain all goes to the same place anyway, Rowen figured. And still Rowen was silent.
He screamed. Rowen had never heard his father scream before. It frightened him. It was an enraged scream. It was enraged at Rowen, at his very existance. Fueled by the rage, Rowen's father punched him full on in the gut.
Rowen doubled over slightly and let out a small, sobbing whimper. Somewhat satified with that addmission of pain, Rowen's father peeled him off the wall and and flung him across the room like a rag doll.
Rowen saw the coffee table. It was moving rather speedily towards him. Or he towards it; at this point, his thinking was hazy enough that he couldn't really tell anymore. The crack of his forehead connecting with the wood echoed through his ears; the ache echoed through his head. He slid off the table into a heap on the floor. Only half concious, he didn't notice the trail of blood had left on the table
.
But his father wasn't finished. He grabbed Rowen and hauled him up, his jagged fingernails biting into Rowen's soft, pale flesh. He stood Rowen up before him and gripped his jaw like a vice. He started talking again, but Rowen couldn't hear him. The blood and pain rushing through his ears was too great. Rowen moaned softly. Stop. Please stop...
Shuddup, ya fuhging zon of a bitch. The drunken man took another swig of liquor from the bottle in his hand. Heh. Zhe is a bitch, too. Fuhging whore. Zometahmes I wonder if you ain't my kid at all.
That was too much for Rowen. No, he pleaded silently. Don't. It'll only make things worse. But it couldn't be helped. A single tear slipped down Rowen's cheek.
His father slapped him again. The tear disappeared, but more were soon to follow. Ya thinhg yer gonna cry? Slap. Ya liddle whussy. Slap. Ya liddle girl! Slap, slap.
No, stop, please, Rowen sobbed.
Shuddup. I ain done with you. He drank from the bottle again, and paused a moment to look at it. Then looking back at Rowen, he tripped the boy up, sending him sprawling on his back. He pinned the boy to the floor, sitting on his chest, his knees digging into Rowen's upper arms.
Rowen's tears were free-falling now. What is he doing to me? his semi-concious brain wondered.
Drink.
Horrified, Rowen tried in vain to squirm away. No.
I said drink, dahmn you! Slap. He forced Rowen's mouth open and poured the liquor in.
It tasted awful to Rowen, all warm and bitter. He kept his tongue at the back of his mouth to keep it from going down.
The drunk was not happy. Swalloh, dahmn it! Rowen shook his head, so he back handed Rowen across the temple. Still unsatisfied, he covered Rowens mouth with one hand, clenched his nose shut with the other. He leaned in close. Zwalloh.
Rowens eyes grew wide with panic. He couldn't breath! How long can I hold my breath? he wondered. Twenty, maybe twenty-five seconds. And then what? I'll either have to swallow or choke to death.
Rowen waited. His father shook him, head only, making Rowen dizzy. Rowen couldn't take it anymore. His throat was tingling, his lungs were burning, and he was on the verge of passing out anyway. He swallowed. His father let go. Rowen gasped and coughed, letting the cold stale air of the apartment fill his lungs.
But the poor boy didn't get much of a respite. Heh, ya lihg tha ya li'l shit? Le's do i gain.
No. NO! Rowen screamed. He writhed and fought. He didn't want to taste that. Not again. Not ever.
But his father poured, spilling some on Rowen's face, and held him. Rowen cried and fought it, but he couldn't hold his breath nearly as long this time. He swallowed. His father let go.
Ztop. Plea... pleaze... The words sounded slurry to Rowen. Oh God, he thought. I'm drunk. I'M...
Heh, third tahmes a charm, eh?
Rowen had no strenghth left to fight. He swallowed his third mouthful even as his father was chugging the rest of the bottle. Rowen felt sick.
He vaugely heard the empty bottle crash in the kitchen as his limp, drunk body was hauled off the floor. Thash righ. Li'l shit's drunk. His father staggered nearly sending both of them back to the floor. How'z bouh that, eh?
Rowen hung limp, unreponsive. Disgusted, his father hurled him into the kitchen as well. Rowen felt the table, the chair, and finally landed with a thud on the floor. And that was the last he knew...
*****
Rowen slowly opened one eye, trying to remember just where the heck he was and what he was doing. He opened the other eye. Somewhat confused at his somewhat blurry vision, he could make out most of his living room. My living room never looked this big before... he thought in confusion. That's when he realized he was on the floor. Damn it, what happened to me?
Rowen closed his eyes again to think. He couldn't remenber much of what happened and that scared him. He coughed slightly and wrinkled his nose. What is that awful smell? he wondered. He sniffed again. That's alchohol... on me? On my breath? Rowen refused to believe it.
Then he remembered. Remembered the beating, the forced drinking, the pain. Wait... was there pain? Rowen couldn't remember any pain - not after the drinking anyway. Good God, how much of that shit did he pour into me? he wondered. He remembered now, swallowing two, maybe three times. Rowen shuddered. No wonder I feel like I should throw up, he thought. That's six shots worth! Probably more!
Rowen opened his eyes again, his vision thankfully, significantly less blurry this time. I wonder what time it is?
With great effort, Rowen positioned his hands such that he could push himself up off the floor. He pushed. Nothing happened. Hmm, he thought. This is going to be significantly harder than I originally thought. Squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, Rowen pushed with all his might - and steadied himself on all fours. When he opened his eyes again his vision swam a bit, but quickly focused itself. Small victory, he thought. Yea for me.
Now the next step was to get to his feet. Rowen crawled to a nearby table and managed to get his hands on top without falling over. On my knees. Good start. He slowly, painfully, brought his left leg up and planted his foot on the floor. He pushed up, gripping the table. When he was mostly staright and fairly balanced, he planted his right foot, shifted his weight - and hissed in pain as he collapsed all the way back to the floor.
The tears began to well up again as Rowen gently rubbed his right ankle. My ankle, he thought, was most definately not sprained before. Was it? A horrifying thought struck him. Did he continue to beat me even after I was unconcious? And where is he snyway?
Rowen pulled himself back to his knees and looked frantically around the room. There, still in the living room at the edge of the hallway, Rowen's father lay slumped against the wall, a newer, only half empty bottle still in his hand. His head hung down, his chin to his chest. Drool spilled from his open mouth to form a large wet spot on his shirt. Rowen closed his eyes at the sight.
Just great, Rowen thought. I can't even go back to my room. Now what? Rowen heard a noise. He looked back at the passed out drunkard who appeared not to be as passed out anymore.
Holy shit! Rowen panicked. He's waking up. What do I do? As quickly as he dared, Rowen dragged himself back to his feet, wincing as pan shot up his right leg. He felt sick again, and dizzy.
But his panic was in control. He limped out the door and down the steps of the apartment building, and then out into the street. Rowen's breath caught in his raw throat as the frigid December winds whipped across his bare skin.
Rowen could barely think, he hurt so much. The wooziness left over from the liquor didn't help either. Have to go... have to get away... he mumbled through the hazy pain. Have to... where?... Kento's... left?... Left. Rowen turned and limped and staggered off in what he hoped was the correct direction.
*****
It seemed like hours, but Rowen was pretty sure that it couldn't have been more than one. Then again, pain and alchohol don't do good things for your judgement.
And everything still hurt like hell. His muscles ached, his stomach churned, his ankle was swollen, and his head felt ready to implode. If I can just get to Kento's, he thought, though he wasn't even sure if he was still going in the right direction.
It just isn't fair! he thought, as the tears came to make a repeat performance. Rowen let the tears fall silently until another thought struck him. He leaned hard against the wall and sobbed outright. I can't go! his mind cried, as he remebered what he'd heard earlier in the school hallway. HE'S there, and I can't go! Damn it, it just isn't fair!
Rowen staggered forward a few more steps and tried to take a deep breath to calm himself. It didn't work. Doing his best not to panic for the eight hundredth time that night, Rowen kept trying. Fuck, I've never had one this bad before. I don't know what to do! his mind yelled. Maybe I should've just let him choke me to death...
Now desperate for air, Rowen choked and gagged. Nothing he did would let Rowen bring him back to himself. His vision and hearing were starting to go. A great searing pain tore across Rowen's burning chest. He couldn't even cry out. He clutched at his chest and finally collapsed to the ground.
Somebody help me, please, Rowen pleaded from the dark recesses of his mind. I don't wanna die. Somebody... anybody.... Some... any... And for the second time that night, that was all he knew.
*****
Sage ran just as fast as he could.
Somebody... anybody...
Sage heard it in his head, but didn't stop to think about it. Hang on, he thought, I'm coming.
Sage dropped next to the unconcious blue-haired form on the sidewalk. Bruised, bloody, numb - and not breathing. Sage looked at himself. He was trembling. Shit, I'm not a doctor, Sage thought. I don't know how to help him! Sage placed his hands on Rowen's chest, deperately willing it to start rising and falling again. He closed his eyes, his mind racing for a solution.
Suddenly, Sage's palms felt hot. He jerked his hands away. He looked - and thought he saw the last vestiges of a green glow, but that wasn't important - and Rowen was breathing again! Confused, relieved, and a million other things all at once, Sage sat back on his heels as he watched the steady rise and fall of Rowen's chest. How the hell did that happen? Sage wondered aloud, shaking his head.
But even that didn't really matter. All that mattered was getting Rowen home so Sage's mother could have a look at him. Sage peered at him a moment in thought. He smiled. Hi.
*****
Sage gently opened his front door. Mom? Are you here?
Sage! Dr. Date rushed into the living room and held her son in a tight hug. Where in the world have you been? I was worried!
I'm okay Mom, really. I - Sage pushed away from his mother and took a deep breath. I'm sorry about what I said about prying into my life I know you were only worried I need your help.
My help? For what?
Outside. Sage led her out to where he'd placed Rowen on the porch swing.
Dr. Date's eyes widened. Sage, go get my extra med kit from under the kitchen sink. Sage ran inside as she knelt down to inspect the boy. Multiple cuts and bruises, she sniffed, alchohol, and a swollen ankle, probably sprained. Sage came back and handed her the kit. She began to paw through it looking for cleaning materials. Sage, what happened to this boy?
Sage hesitated a moment over his answer. Um, he and his dad don't get along so well, he said finally.
Dr. Date stopped to give her son a horrified look. His father did this to him?
Sage nodded.
Are you absolutely sure about that? she asked with the utmost seriousness.
Sage hesitated again, but nodded slowly.
Dr. Date sighed and rubbed her face. Well, the child's an icecube. Let's move him into the spare bedroom that's next to yours.
Mother and son carefully lifted the sleeping boy, carried him into the house, and laid him on the spare bed. Dr. Date continued to clean the cuts. Sage, what else do you know about this boy?
Not all that much, Sage admitted. He's a sophmore like me, but he's not in any of my classes. He's really smart, and he only really has one friend, I guess.
That's other than you, I would hope, his mother interrupted.
Um, yeah. Oh, and, um, I think he's got asthma, Sage added.
Poor boy's lucky to be alive, Dr. Date murmmered as she gave Rowen a motherly stroke on the cheek. She looked up at Sage. How about his name?
Rowen. Rowen Hashiba.
She nodded and stood up to kiss Sage on the forehead. You'd better get to bed Sage. You still have to go to school tomorrow.
But -
Don't worry. I have some work to catch up on at home tomorrow anyway. I'll stay with him. She paused. Sage, about earlier, there's something I need to ask you.
Sage waited silently.
Is this what's been bothering you lately? She nodded back towards Rowen.
Sage took a long look at Rowen and nodded.
Sage's mother gave him a hug and another kiss. Then he's certainly lucky that you're here to worry about him. Now get to bed. It's late.
Thanks Mom, Sage said, and left the room, finally able to relax a little.
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A/N: For those of you that mentioned in your reviews (I love them, keep them coming) that certain elements of this sound like other origins stories, you're probably right. I'm truely awfully sorry about this, and I would be remiss in my duty as an author if I did not say that the few familiar things (i.e. Mama Fung) probably came from Kajite Gray's ÒSamurai Souls. The nine parts she posted were exceptional but she discontinued it. That's why I decided to write an origins story in the first place. I hope that clears everything up for everyone and don't be too mad at me. Thanks! --Jay'a