A Sense of Belonging
By Bec
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Three and half years before the Newsboy strike
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Part 1: Home of fear
In a tiny, dingy, run-down one bedroom apartment in the seedier part of lower Manhattan, a young boy sat in one corner of the ratty old sofa quietly reading the book he had gotten from the nice old bookstore lady down the street from where he lived.
The purplish-black bruise that marred the boy's right cheekbone was a stark contrast to the boys skin tone. It was also a testament to the abuse that the child had recently suffered.
After brushing his dark, slightly curly hair back up off his forehead and readjusting his glasses so that they didn't rest on the end of his nose, the boy then turned a page from the book he was reading, which just happened to be Treasure Island. [1]
The boy had been so engrossed in the book he was reading that he had lost all track of time. It wasn't until he heard the sound of heavy booted feet stomping up the stairs and the drunken meandering of his father that the boy realized what time it was.
Fear crossed over the young boy's features as he scrambled off of the sofa and hurried into the small kitchen area to get his fathers dinner ready for him before he came through the door.
Biting his lip, he looked into the icebox and pulled out a plate of cheese. He then grabbed the bread off of the cluttered countertop and set both of them on the table along with a plate of melon that he had sliced up earlier. He knew his father wouldn't be happy with the meal, but it was all that they had to eat. Most of the money his father made went for paying the rent and what ever was left over went for the man's booze.
Thinking back, the boy could remember a time when things hadn't been so tense and his father cared enough about him to make sure that he had food to eat and clothes to wear. But, that had been when his mother was still alive. His father loved his mother with everything that he had, but a sudden illness had taken the woman away from them when the boy was only six years old. Her death had destroyed his father and the good man that he use to be was now gone, replaced with a bitter, angry, drunk who cared nothing for the child that he and his wife had created out of love.
Now, the boy was just lucky if his father came home and was to drunk to yell at him and knock him around, a rare occurrence that only took place if the man were to pass out before he had a chance to lash out at his son.
It didn't help that the boy looked more like his mother than his father. From the dark, curly hair, to the large, expressive, chocolate colored eyes and full lips, the nearly twelve-year old was the spitting image of his mother, Beth. The only exception was the fact that he had been born a boy and not a girl. Something that he was surprisingly grateful for since he didn't think he would have survived his fathers hate had he been born a girl.
The boy had just set a plate down in his fathers place when the man in question came stumbling through the door, a bottle of booze-whiskey more than likely-in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
Slamming the door shut, the man staggered across the room towards the kitchen where he set down the bottle gently before slamming the newspaper down onto the table, startling the boy in the process who was now looking at his father with fear in his eyes. The man was angry about something and the boy knew that whatever it was, was not good for him.
"Stupid politicians. Don' know a damn thing about runnin' dis country. All they's know how's t' do is stick deir noses int' folk's lives and tell dem what t' do and how t' raise deir freakin' kids. Like dey're so much freakin' bettah den us. Jus' 'cause dey's got enough money t' raise a whole army of brats." The man ranted as he stared at the headline of the newspaper. It was then that he finally noticed his son quietly standing several feet away from him with a look of terror in his eyes.
The boy had seen that look on his fathers face before and he knew that when his old man was angry about something he tended to take his frustrations out on him. So, he had started to move away from his father in hopes of being able to reach the door before the big man could get a hold of him. Unfortunately he wasn't fast enough.
"You's see dis shit boy?" The man said as he grabbed his son by the arm and dragged him closer to the table where once there he gripped the back of the boys neck tightly and forced the child to look down at the paper. "You's see what da damn government is trying t' do t' dis country now?" The man asked the boy, tightening his hold on the boy's neck before shaking the child roughly. His drunken breath wafted down to the boy's senses causing a nauseated feeling to churn the kid's stomach.
"Y-yes papa, I s-see." The boy replied shakily, his voice quaking a little with fear.
"Do you? Do you'se really see it boy?" The big man questioned, shaking the boy some more and ignoring the gasp that escaped the boy's mouth.
"Yes. yes I s-see it." The boy answered, silently praying that his father was to drunk to keep manhandling him.
"Don' it jus' make you'se sick boy?" The man asked, disgust clearly in his voice as he unconsciously shoved his son away from him, much to the child's relief. "Jus' 'cause dey have all da money and da power dey's think dey can jus' come in here and run our life." The man ranted again, this time taking a long swig from the bottle of booze that he now held in his hands.
The boy had no idea what his father was going on about, but he found that it was always better to agree with whatever the man said than to argue with him. It kept him healthier that way. Taking his fathers distraction as a sign, the boy moved as far away from his father as he could get with out the man noticing.
Unfortunately for the boy, this just wasn't going to be his day because just when he thought that he might be safe, that's when his father noticed his dinner on the table. Just as the boy had predicted, his father was not happy with the meal that had been prepared for him.
"What da hell is dis shit 'pose t' be?" Bellowed the boys' father before the man turned to look at his son, noting that the boy was much farther away than he should be. "Dis 'pose to be my din'nah? Where's da meat and all da udder stuff dat makes a meal?" The man asked angrily before starting towards his son.
"Dat.dat's all we's got papa. D-dere ain't nut'in else in da place t' eat." Explained the boy, his thin body trembling in fear and anticipation. He knew that when his father was this drunk, there was no reasoning with the man.
"Den what happened t' it all?" The boy's father asked as he moved closer to his son.
"N-nut'in papa. We.we's jus' nev'ah had none of dat kinda stuff in da place." The boy stated as his voice quivered slightly in fear, he knew that his father wouldn't be placated. They have had this conversation before and the results always came out the same.
"You'se lyin' t' me now boy?" Came the enraged, slightly slurred reply.
"N-no papa. I ain't lyin' it's da trut'th. We's ain't nevah..huuhhhhh! " The boy started, but was abruptly cut off as his father struck him hard across his left cheek, knocking the boy off his feet and onto his rear end.
The boy, holding a hand to his now stinging, red cheek, looked up at his father in fear. The look he saw in the man's eyes told the boy that he was in for another beating except this time, he wasn't so sure he would be walking again when it was over.
"No boy of mine is gon'nah stand dere an' lie t'me. I ain' gon'nah stand fer it." The drunk explained to his son as he towered over the shaking child.
"P-papa.p-please. I'm sorry. I." The boy pleaded, but was once again cut off as his father bent down, grabbed the boy by his arm and then jerked the child to his feet.
"You bet yer sorry, you ungrateful little brat." The drunk stated. "I'm gon'nah teach you'se t' not lie t' me ev'ah again. You he'ah me boy?" He questioned, shaking the boy roughly to get his point across.
"Papa." The boy whimpered right before his father lashed out and struck the boy hard across the face again. "Uuunnnh!" He gasped as the force of the blow hit him. This time however, he wasn't knocked off his feet since his father still had a tight grip on him.
"You'se gon'nah learn whose in charge around he'ah, boy." The bastard growled just before slamming the boy against the nearest wall, knocking the wind from the child's lungs in the process. "I'm gon'nah teach you'se t' respect me boy." He told his breathless son as he began to unbuckle his belt so that he could remove it.
The boy knew it was coming, he knew that his father was going to beat him with the belt and if it was anything like the last strapping he had received (which had only been the week before) then he knew he would be hurting for awhile afterwards. But, he had to try and at least plead with his father in hopes that it might lessen the severity of the beating.
"I'm sorry papa. P-please papa, I.I won't do it again. I swear I won't." Looking into his father's eyes the boy knew that his father didn't care about his plea and he braced himself for the first blow, he wasn't disappointed as the worn, leather belt strap struck him across his cloth- covered chest, forcing a pain-filled whimper to escape his lips.
After striking the boy across the chest, the man then proceeded to use the belt on any part of his son's body that he could. The arms, legs, hips and thighs were all targets along with the boy's chest. And during all this, he ignored his son's pleas and whimpers of pain in order to teach his son a "lesson".
"You will learn boy, even if I have t' beat you senseless, you will learn." The boy's father slurred as he struck the boy again with the belt. "I will not." the man stated, his voice trailing off as the alcohol in his system began to play tricks with his eyes and he stopped the belt in midair from striking the boy again.
When he didn't feel the sting of the belt strike against his cloth covered skin, the dark haired boy opened his tightly shut eyes and timidly peered up at the man that he called papa.
The boy's father was just standing there staring down at his son with a strange, unnerving look in his eyes. It was almost as if he was now seeing the boy in a different light.
The look that the man now had in his eyes scared the boy and he suddenly felt as if everything was about to change. It wasn't until his father dropped the belt and started to move closer to him that boy realized how right his feeling was.
"Papa?" Came the tremulous reply.
"Do you'se know how much you'se look like yer mother?" The boy's old man stated, his voice slurring even more as he reached out with one hand towards the boy's rapidly darkening cheek. "So pretty. just like yer mamma." He whispered, his hand gently making contact with the boy's soft skin before he began caressing the bruised cheek.
The fact that his father was being gentle with him was enough to send terror coursing through the boy's body. It's been years since his father had showed him any kindness, so when the man began to compare him to his mother and then gently caress his cheek, alarms started going off in his head. All of them telling him the same thing. this wasn't right.
"Papa.y-ya look tired. Maybe you'se s-should go lie." The boy stuttered as he tried to veer his father away from what was making him so uncomfortable.
"Ain't tired." The man replied, his body shifting closer to his son's quivering body. "Don't know why Ise din' see it b'fore." He stated unconsciously as he moved his hand up and down the boy's cheek. "Yer skin even feels jus' like yer mamma's." He commented.
The boy's nervousness over his father's queerness was beginning to grow more and more each time the man moved closer to him or shifted his touch. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on inside the mans drunken mind, but he knew that it wasn't good. The fact that his father kept comparing him to his mother was enough to cause worry within him.
The boy's fear reached its peak when his father moved his hand from his cheek to the back of his neck where the man then began to pull the boys head forward while at the same time he began to lean down until his lips hovered over his sons.
The smell of strong whiskey on his father's breath was enough to make the boy gag and his stomach clench with nausea. But, it was the lustful look in the man's eyes that told the boy exactly what his father had in mind.
As the man drew him closer, the boy's eyes grew wider and realization of what his father was going to do made the boy finally snap back into reality. Before the boy knew what he was doing he had brought his arms up and pressed his hands against his fathers chest in hopes of stopping hid fathers advancement. But the big man was to strong for the boy to hold off and the child suddenly found both his wrists captured and held in one firm grip.
"Papa stop!" The boy commanded fearfully as his father pulled him closer to him. "Papa no.mmmphp!" he shouted, but was cut off as his fathers lips clamped themselves tightly over his mouth in a brutal, forceful kiss. "Mmmmmnnoo!" The boy screamed, his body trembling with fear as he struggled to free himself from his fathers grip.
The boy's father barely registered his son's distress, not that he really cared. He just continued to assault his son's mouth with his own. He was overjoyed when he was able to force the boy's mouth open and take further advantage of the sweet inner recesses, ignoring the child's screams and pleas. He then ran his free hand down from the boy's neck to his chest where he deftly began to undo the buttons on the boy's shirt.
The fact that he was kissing and molesting his own son didn't even register to him. All his drunken, crazed mind knew was that he had a nice, soft, warm body in his arms who smelled like honey and lilac soap, the same fragrance that his dead wife use to smell like.
The man was only vaguely aware that his captive was putting up a fight when he began to move his hand freely over the boy's bruised, welted chest, his mind only concentrating on the softness of the skin beneath his fingertips. He couldn't get over how soft the skin was, how wonderful it smelled.
The need to breath finally won out and the he finally released the boy's mouth so that he could catch his breath. As he breathed in, he inhaled even more of his son sweet sent; obviously the boy had taken a bath earlier that day, and was oblivious to the harsh panting coming from the boy's bruised lips.
The stronger the sent got, the stronger the need was for the man to want more of his son.
Before the boy barely had time to catch his breath, his father was pawing at him again, this time trying to rip the clothes right off the his skin. This sent waves of extreme panic coursing through the boy's body and before he understood what was happening, he had kneed his father right in the groin, hard.
Shock registered on the child's face when the big man suddenly cupped himself before falling to the ground, howling in pain and cursing up a storm. It wasn't until the howling had died down and the man was trying to get back on his feet that the boy realized that he was no longer being held.
Relying on his father's inebriated state, the boy shakily began moving around the apartment, quickly gathering up the few possessions he had along with the book he was reading, before his father was able to regain his footing and come after him.
Once he had everything he needed, the boy headed straight for the door. As he reached for the doorknob, his hand shaking as the shock of the beating and the shock of what his own father was just about to do to him set in, he heard his father's rage filled voice and knew he was coming for him.
With jerky movements, the boy twisted the doorknob and then pulled the door open. However, just as he was about to run out the door, that's when he felt the tight, unforgiving grip on his shoulder.
"An' jus' where in da HELL do you'se think yer goin' boy?!" His father roared, anger seething from every part of the man's body.
The boy couldn't speak, the grip on his shoulder was extremely painful and the fear he had was now consuming him. He had to get out and he had to get out now or else he would never survive his father's wrath.
"Damnit boy, answer me!" The man cursed as he tried to pull his boy away from the door and back into the apartment where he planned on dragging the boy into the bedroom, strip him naked and then reclaiming everything he lost when his wife had died five years earlier.
Flinching from the anger that he heard in his father's voice, the boy shrank away. It wasn't until he felt his old man begin to pull him back into the apartment that he began to fight back, knowing that this would be his one and only chance to escape.
The kid knew now that his father had gotten the tiniest taste of him, he would want more and more of him and then he would never be free of the pain and fear that he had come to know. He had to get away.
"Let go of me!" The boy screamed as he tried tugging his arm free from his fathers grip. "Let go! I ain' ev'ah gon'nah let you'se hurt me again!" The boy shrieked, pulling hard on his arm and knocking his father off balance. (Which wasn't to hard since the man was still totally drunk.)
"You little son of." The man started as he climbed back onto his unsteady feet. Only to be knocked back over again by his eleven and half year old son.
"You'se jus' stay da hell away from me. Yer nev'ah gon'nah touch me again." The boy stated vehemently before grabbing the pillowcase-that held his belonging-from off of the floor where it had fallen when his father grabbed him.
"Yer mine boy! Yer mine and I'll do what'evah I damn well please!" The man shouted as he finally got his balance back and then started towards his son.
"NO! Nev'ah again!" The boy yelled bravely. "I ain' yer son no more, fathers ain' 'pose to hurt dere kids. You'se jus' stay away from me!" and with that, the boy was gone, leaving his very irate and still drunk father bellowing out after him.
"You'se bettah come back heah boy! Do you'se heah me! You'se bettah come back! I'll find you. I swear I will! "
The man's shouts fell on deaf ears as his son ran away, never planning on coming back to the life of pain and torment that staying with his father promised him.
To Be Continued..
Next up: A New Home, New Family.
Authors Notes: This is pretty much the heaviest chapter in the story. There will probably be a few more "sticky" parts, but they'll be nothing like this first part.
By Bec
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Three and half years before the Newsboy strike
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Part 1: Home of fear
In a tiny, dingy, run-down one bedroom apartment in the seedier part of lower Manhattan, a young boy sat in one corner of the ratty old sofa quietly reading the book he had gotten from the nice old bookstore lady down the street from where he lived.
The purplish-black bruise that marred the boy's right cheekbone was a stark contrast to the boys skin tone. It was also a testament to the abuse that the child had recently suffered.
After brushing his dark, slightly curly hair back up off his forehead and readjusting his glasses so that they didn't rest on the end of his nose, the boy then turned a page from the book he was reading, which just happened to be Treasure Island. [1]
The boy had been so engrossed in the book he was reading that he had lost all track of time. It wasn't until he heard the sound of heavy booted feet stomping up the stairs and the drunken meandering of his father that the boy realized what time it was.
Fear crossed over the young boy's features as he scrambled off of the sofa and hurried into the small kitchen area to get his fathers dinner ready for him before he came through the door.
Biting his lip, he looked into the icebox and pulled out a plate of cheese. He then grabbed the bread off of the cluttered countertop and set both of them on the table along with a plate of melon that he had sliced up earlier. He knew his father wouldn't be happy with the meal, but it was all that they had to eat. Most of the money his father made went for paying the rent and what ever was left over went for the man's booze.
Thinking back, the boy could remember a time when things hadn't been so tense and his father cared enough about him to make sure that he had food to eat and clothes to wear. But, that had been when his mother was still alive. His father loved his mother with everything that he had, but a sudden illness had taken the woman away from them when the boy was only six years old. Her death had destroyed his father and the good man that he use to be was now gone, replaced with a bitter, angry, drunk who cared nothing for the child that he and his wife had created out of love.
Now, the boy was just lucky if his father came home and was to drunk to yell at him and knock him around, a rare occurrence that only took place if the man were to pass out before he had a chance to lash out at his son.
It didn't help that the boy looked more like his mother than his father. From the dark, curly hair, to the large, expressive, chocolate colored eyes and full lips, the nearly twelve-year old was the spitting image of his mother, Beth. The only exception was the fact that he had been born a boy and not a girl. Something that he was surprisingly grateful for since he didn't think he would have survived his fathers hate had he been born a girl.
The boy had just set a plate down in his fathers place when the man in question came stumbling through the door, a bottle of booze-whiskey more than likely-in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
Slamming the door shut, the man staggered across the room towards the kitchen where he set down the bottle gently before slamming the newspaper down onto the table, startling the boy in the process who was now looking at his father with fear in his eyes. The man was angry about something and the boy knew that whatever it was, was not good for him.
"Stupid politicians. Don' know a damn thing about runnin' dis country. All they's know how's t' do is stick deir noses int' folk's lives and tell dem what t' do and how t' raise deir freakin' kids. Like dey're so much freakin' bettah den us. Jus' 'cause dey's got enough money t' raise a whole army of brats." The man ranted as he stared at the headline of the newspaper. It was then that he finally noticed his son quietly standing several feet away from him with a look of terror in his eyes.
The boy had seen that look on his fathers face before and he knew that when his old man was angry about something he tended to take his frustrations out on him. So, he had started to move away from his father in hopes of being able to reach the door before the big man could get a hold of him. Unfortunately he wasn't fast enough.
"You's see dis shit boy?" The man said as he grabbed his son by the arm and dragged him closer to the table where once there he gripped the back of the boys neck tightly and forced the child to look down at the paper. "You's see what da damn government is trying t' do t' dis country now?" The man asked the boy, tightening his hold on the boy's neck before shaking the child roughly. His drunken breath wafted down to the boy's senses causing a nauseated feeling to churn the kid's stomach.
"Y-yes papa, I s-see." The boy replied shakily, his voice quaking a little with fear.
"Do you? Do you'se really see it boy?" The big man questioned, shaking the boy some more and ignoring the gasp that escaped the boy's mouth.
"Yes. yes I s-see it." The boy answered, silently praying that his father was to drunk to keep manhandling him.
"Don' it jus' make you'se sick boy?" The man asked, disgust clearly in his voice as he unconsciously shoved his son away from him, much to the child's relief. "Jus' 'cause dey have all da money and da power dey's think dey can jus' come in here and run our life." The man ranted again, this time taking a long swig from the bottle of booze that he now held in his hands.
The boy had no idea what his father was going on about, but he found that it was always better to agree with whatever the man said than to argue with him. It kept him healthier that way. Taking his fathers distraction as a sign, the boy moved as far away from his father as he could get with out the man noticing.
Unfortunately for the boy, this just wasn't going to be his day because just when he thought that he might be safe, that's when his father noticed his dinner on the table. Just as the boy had predicted, his father was not happy with the meal that had been prepared for him.
"What da hell is dis shit 'pose t' be?" Bellowed the boys' father before the man turned to look at his son, noting that the boy was much farther away than he should be. "Dis 'pose to be my din'nah? Where's da meat and all da udder stuff dat makes a meal?" The man asked angrily before starting towards his son.
"Dat.dat's all we's got papa. D-dere ain't nut'in else in da place t' eat." Explained the boy, his thin body trembling in fear and anticipation. He knew that when his father was this drunk, there was no reasoning with the man.
"Den what happened t' it all?" The boy's father asked as he moved closer to his son.
"N-nut'in papa. We.we's jus' nev'ah had none of dat kinda stuff in da place." The boy stated as his voice quivered slightly in fear, he knew that his father wouldn't be placated. They have had this conversation before and the results always came out the same.
"You'se lyin' t' me now boy?" Came the enraged, slightly slurred reply.
"N-no papa. I ain't lyin' it's da trut'th. We's ain't nevah..huuhhhhh! " The boy started, but was abruptly cut off as his father struck him hard across his left cheek, knocking the boy off his feet and onto his rear end.
The boy, holding a hand to his now stinging, red cheek, looked up at his father in fear. The look he saw in the man's eyes told the boy that he was in for another beating except this time, he wasn't so sure he would be walking again when it was over.
"No boy of mine is gon'nah stand dere an' lie t'me. I ain' gon'nah stand fer it." The drunk explained to his son as he towered over the shaking child.
"P-papa.p-please. I'm sorry. I." The boy pleaded, but was once again cut off as his father bent down, grabbed the boy by his arm and then jerked the child to his feet.
"You bet yer sorry, you ungrateful little brat." The drunk stated. "I'm gon'nah teach you'se t' not lie t' me ev'ah again. You he'ah me boy?" He questioned, shaking the boy roughly to get his point across.
"Papa." The boy whimpered right before his father lashed out and struck the boy hard across the face again. "Uuunnnh!" He gasped as the force of the blow hit him. This time however, he wasn't knocked off his feet since his father still had a tight grip on him.
"You'se gon'nah learn whose in charge around he'ah, boy." The bastard growled just before slamming the boy against the nearest wall, knocking the wind from the child's lungs in the process. "I'm gon'nah teach you'se t' respect me boy." He told his breathless son as he began to unbuckle his belt so that he could remove it.
The boy knew it was coming, he knew that his father was going to beat him with the belt and if it was anything like the last strapping he had received (which had only been the week before) then he knew he would be hurting for awhile afterwards. But, he had to try and at least plead with his father in hopes that it might lessen the severity of the beating.
"I'm sorry papa. P-please papa, I.I won't do it again. I swear I won't." Looking into his father's eyes the boy knew that his father didn't care about his plea and he braced himself for the first blow, he wasn't disappointed as the worn, leather belt strap struck him across his cloth- covered chest, forcing a pain-filled whimper to escape his lips.
After striking the boy across the chest, the man then proceeded to use the belt on any part of his son's body that he could. The arms, legs, hips and thighs were all targets along with the boy's chest. And during all this, he ignored his son's pleas and whimpers of pain in order to teach his son a "lesson".
"You will learn boy, even if I have t' beat you senseless, you will learn." The boy's father slurred as he struck the boy again with the belt. "I will not." the man stated, his voice trailing off as the alcohol in his system began to play tricks with his eyes and he stopped the belt in midair from striking the boy again.
When he didn't feel the sting of the belt strike against his cloth covered skin, the dark haired boy opened his tightly shut eyes and timidly peered up at the man that he called papa.
The boy's father was just standing there staring down at his son with a strange, unnerving look in his eyes. It was almost as if he was now seeing the boy in a different light.
The look that the man now had in his eyes scared the boy and he suddenly felt as if everything was about to change. It wasn't until his father dropped the belt and started to move closer to him that boy realized how right his feeling was.
"Papa?" Came the tremulous reply.
"Do you'se know how much you'se look like yer mother?" The boy's old man stated, his voice slurring even more as he reached out with one hand towards the boy's rapidly darkening cheek. "So pretty. just like yer mamma." He whispered, his hand gently making contact with the boy's soft skin before he began caressing the bruised cheek.
The fact that his father was being gentle with him was enough to send terror coursing through the boy's body. It's been years since his father had showed him any kindness, so when the man began to compare him to his mother and then gently caress his cheek, alarms started going off in his head. All of them telling him the same thing. this wasn't right.
"Papa.y-ya look tired. Maybe you'se s-should go lie." The boy stuttered as he tried to veer his father away from what was making him so uncomfortable.
"Ain't tired." The man replied, his body shifting closer to his son's quivering body. "Don't know why Ise din' see it b'fore." He stated unconsciously as he moved his hand up and down the boy's cheek. "Yer skin even feels jus' like yer mamma's." He commented.
The boy's nervousness over his father's queerness was beginning to grow more and more each time the man moved closer to him or shifted his touch. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on inside the mans drunken mind, but he knew that it wasn't good. The fact that his father kept comparing him to his mother was enough to cause worry within him.
The boy's fear reached its peak when his father moved his hand from his cheek to the back of his neck where the man then began to pull the boys head forward while at the same time he began to lean down until his lips hovered over his sons.
The smell of strong whiskey on his father's breath was enough to make the boy gag and his stomach clench with nausea. But, it was the lustful look in the man's eyes that told the boy exactly what his father had in mind.
As the man drew him closer, the boy's eyes grew wider and realization of what his father was going to do made the boy finally snap back into reality. Before the boy knew what he was doing he had brought his arms up and pressed his hands against his fathers chest in hopes of stopping hid fathers advancement. But the big man was to strong for the boy to hold off and the child suddenly found both his wrists captured and held in one firm grip.
"Papa stop!" The boy commanded fearfully as his father pulled him closer to him. "Papa no.mmmphp!" he shouted, but was cut off as his fathers lips clamped themselves tightly over his mouth in a brutal, forceful kiss. "Mmmmmnnoo!" The boy screamed, his body trembling with fear as he struggled to free himself from his fathers grip.
The boy's father barely registered his son's distress, not that he really cared. He just continued to assault his son's mouth with his own. He was overjoyed when he was able to force the boy's mouth open and take further advantage of the sweet inner recesses, ignoring the child's screams and pleas. He then ran his free hand down from the boy's neck to his chest where he deftly began to undo the buttons on the boy's shirt.
The fact that he was kissing and molesting his own son didn't even register to him. All his drunken, crazed mind knew was that he had a nice, soft, warm body in his arms who smelled like honey and lilac soap, the same fragrance that his dead wife use to smell like.
The man was only vaguely aware that his captive was putting up a fight when he began to move his hand freely over the boy's bruised, welted chest, his mind only concentrating on the softness of the skin beneath his fingertips. He couldn't get over how soft the skin was, how wonderful it smelled.
The need to breath finally won out and the he finally released the boy's mouth so that he could catch his breath. As he breathed in, he inhaled even more of his son sweet sent; obviously the boy had taken a bath earlier that day, and was oblivious to the harsh panting coming from the boy's bruised lips.
The stronger the sent got, the stronger the need was for the man to want more of his son.
Before the boy barely had time to catch his breath, his father was pawing at him again, this time trying to rip the clothes right off the his skin. This sent waves of extreme panic coursing through the boy's body and before he understood what was happening, he had kneed his father right in the groin, hard.
Shock registered on the child's face when the big man suddenly cupped himself before falling to the ground, howling in pain and cursing up a storm. It wasn't until the howling had died down and the man was trying to get back on his feet that the boy realized that he was no longer being held.
Relying on his father's inebriated state, the boy shakily began moving around the apartment, quickly gathering up the few possessions he had along with the book he was reading, before his father was able to regain his footing and come after him.
Once he had everything he needed, the boy headed straight for the door. As he reached for the doorknob, his hand shaking as the shock of the beating and the shock of what his own father was just about to do to him set in, he heard his father's rage filled voice and knew he was coming for him.
With jerky movements, the boy twisted the doorknob and then pulled the door open. However, just as he was about to run out the door, that's when he felt the tight, unforgiving grip on his shoulder.
"An' jus' where in da HELL do you'se think yer goin' boy?!" His father roared, anger seething from every part of the man's body.
The boy couldn't speak, the grip on his shoulder was extremely painful and the fear he had was now consuming him. He had to get out and he had to get out now or else he would never survive his father's wrath.
"Damnit boy, answer me!" The man cursed as he tried to pull his boy away from the door and back into the apartment where he planned on dragging the boy into the bedroom, strip him naked and then reclaiming everything he lost when his wife had died five years earlier.
Flinching from the anger that he heard in his father's voice, the boy shrank away. It wasn't until he felt his old man begin to pull him back into the apartment that he began to fight back, knowing that this would be his one and only chance to escape.
The kid knew now that his father had gotten the tiniest taste of him, he would want more and more of him and then he would never be free of the pain and fear that he had come to know. He had to get away.
"Let go of me!" The boy screamed as he tried tugging his arm free from his fathers grip. "Let go! I ain' ev'ah gon'nah let you'se hurt me again!" The boy shrieked, pulling hard on his arm and knocking his father off balance. (Which wasn't to hard since the man was still totally drunk.)
"You little son of." The man started as he climbed back onto his unsteady feet. Only to be knocked back over again by his eleven and half year old son.
"You'se jus' stay da hell away from me. Yer nev'ah gon'nah touch me again." The boy stated vehemently before grabbing the pillowcase-that held his belonging-from off of the floor where it had fallen when his father grabbed him.
"Yer mine boy! Yer mine and I'll do what'evah I damn well please!" The man shouted as he finally got his balance back and then started towards his son.
"NO! Nev'ah again!" The boy yelled bravely. "I ain' yer son no more, fathers ain' 'pose to hurt dere kids. You'se jus' stay away from me!" and with that, the boy was gone, leaving his very irate and still drunk father bellowing out after him.
"You'se bettah come back heah boy! Do you'se heah me! You'se bettah come back! I'll find you. I swear I will! "
The man's shouts fell on deaf ears as his son ran away, never planning on coming back to the life of pain and torment that staying with his father promised him.
To Be Continued..
Next up: A New Home, New Family.
Authors Notes: This is pretty much the heaviest chapter in the story. There will probably be a few more "sticky" parts, but they'll be nothing like this first part.