Title: Legacy
Author: Sita Z.
Genre: Angst/ Drama
Rating: PG-13
Summary: During an away mission, Reed was kidnapped and tortured. Back on Enterprise he has to deal with certain memories of his past brought back by the traumatic experience. Please read and review!!
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise, I'm not making any money from this.
Chapter 2
The days went by in a haze. Before he'd been released from sickbay, Reed had promised to rest and stay in bed most of the time, but he found it unbearable to lie on his bunk, staring at the bare walls of his quarters with nothing to distract him but his thoughts. So he walked, ignoring the pain in his bandaged ribs, wandering aimlessly through Enterprise's deserted hallways while the others were on duty, carefully avoiding everyone who could try to send him back to his quarters. Every day after their shift, the Captain, Trip, Hoshi, Travis and sometimes even T'Pol came by to look after him. They tried to act cheerful, telling him about the day's events, sharing the latest gossip and Hoshi made a point of bringing him something to eat every time she stopped by his quarters. Reed listened politely when they talked, nodding, saying "yes" and "no", answering "fine" when they asked how he felt, but it was an act and he knew that they saw it, too. In truth he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing, like someone had just wiped away every feeling he'd ever had, leaving nothing but a numb emptiness in his mind. He didn't even remember how it felt to be happy, or sad, or afraid. He just did the things he'd always done, without thinking about it, just waiting for another day to pass. The only thing he couldn't bring himself to do was eat. Everytime he put something in his mouth he felt like he was going to be sick. Of course it didn't go unnoticed that he'd lost some weight, and Archer threatened to send him back to sickbay if he didn't eat enough. But Reed didn't really care about it, the way he'd used too, in the past. He faintly remembered that there had been a time when he had hated being sent to sickbay, but that was over. He didn't really care about anything anymore.
One evening, five days after Phlox had released him, the door to his quarters opened. Reed looked up and saw Trip standing in the doorway.
"Commander," he said, motioning him to a chair, preparing for another hour of listening to the latest gossip in Engineering. But Trip didn't follow his invitation to take place. He just stayed where he was, looking at him with an unusually serious expression on his face. Reed wondered what he was up to now.
"Stop it."
Reed stared at him, not knowing what the man was talking about. This was very unusual behaviour for Trip.
"Stop what, Commander?" he asked carefully. Trip took a few steps towards him, coming to stand right in front of him, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
"Stop doing this to yourself. You're not eatin', you're not restin', you're not talkin' to anyone. All we ever hear from you is that you're fine. But even T'Pol can tell you're not. You've lost at least six pounds the last few days, and you look like death warmed over. Won't you tell me what's wrong, Malcolm?"
Reed froze. He'd seen this coming and had dreaded the moment when they would try to make him talk. He had nothing to say. Shaking his head, he tried to keep his voice as level as possible when he answered.
"I don't know what you mean, Sir."
Without warning Trip let himself plop down on the bed beside Reed. "Don't give me that, Malcolm! And don't call me ‚Sir', or I'll have you thrown in the brig. You know exactly what I mean. You need to talk about it, and the sooner, the better."
For the first time in days something like anger rose in Reed. He had enough of people telling him what was good for him, acting as if they knew exactly what he needed, as if he was just being stubborn refusing their well-meant offers.
"There's nothing I want to talk about." He got up.
"Malcolm." Trip's voice sounded kind and patient, just the thing to make Reed furious.
"What?!"
He all but shouted at Trip. It was a relief being able to feel again, and his anger grew as he turned to face Tucker, who was just sitting there looking at him with no particular expression on his face. Why were they all being so damn patronizing, why couldn't they just leave him alone?
"What do you want? I told you there's nothing I want to talk about! Stop sitting there being so bloody understanding, I don't care a shit what you think! Just leave me alone!"
He noticed he was shaking, which made him even more angry.
"Don't you hear me? Get out!"
"No." Trip sat there on his bed, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a stubborn look in his eyes Reed knew only too well. Trip wasn't going to leave until he got what he wanted.
"You talk to me, then you can kick me out. But not before you told me about it."
Reed sat down at his desk, gripping the arms of the chair to stop his hands from trembling. He considered leaving himself, but he knew just as well Tucker would follow him, maybe dragging him back into his quarters, maybe cornering him somewhere else. In any case he was trapped.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" he asked, knowing only too well it was no use arguing. Trip refused to acknowledge his anger, and Reed suspected the engineer would actually sit there all night, no matter what insults he threw at him. That was Tucker's idea of being a friend, after all.
"Look, Trip," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but did it ever occur to you that there might not be any use in talking about it? You all know what happened. And yes, it was bad. But I just don't want to talk about it, ok?"
It was no use. And somehow, although he was still angry at Trip for being so obtrusive, Reed resigned to the fact that he would have to talk about what had happened, after all. He had known all along that the time would come when simply trying to forget it wouldn't work anymore. He had pushed that thought out of his mind, though, gladly succumbing to the numbness which allowed him to simply survive another day without having to deal with any of it. Sighing, he buried his face in is hands. He was so tired of this. Trip seemed to know what he was thinking.
"That's right, you won't get rid of me. My shift's over, I have all the time in the world. I'll stay here until you talk to me."
Reed shook his head. His ribs ached from shouting. More than anything else he wanted to lie down and close his eyes, go to sleep and forget about all of this, but of course there was Trip sitting on his bed.Wearily he raised his eyes and looked at Tucker, who met his eyes evenly.
"It's not a very interesting story, you know."
Trip didn't answer, just looked at him and waited for him to continue. Reed swallowed. Maybe it was best to get over with it, so Trip would leave and he would finally be able to go to bed. He was so very tired. The anger he'd felt had loosened something in him and it was difficult to keep his voice steady as he spoke.
"They... they found out who I was. After doing some scans they knew about the ship, too. Of course they were interested in the weapon technology..."
He remembered the first time they'd brought him into that brightly lit room he kept seeing in his nightmares. His interviewer, a tall man with gray hair and eyes, had never once raised his voice as he kept asking questions, and his face had never changed, no matter how loud Malcolm had been screaming. To him and his men, it had only been a part of their job, and they'd done what they had to do, without deriving any particular pervert satisfaction from their actions. He had been nothing to them. The only time one of them had ever shown some kind of interest in him as a person with thoughts and feelings had been during that last session, and Malcolm knew now that it had only been another trick to make him talk. The trick had worked. He had been able to withstand everything they did to him so far, screaming until he thought his lungs would burst, blacking out only to be awakened by hard slaps and cold water splashed into his face, but he hadn't given in, then. It didn't matter, though. All his pain and agony had been for nothing, since in the end he had fallen for a simple trick, actually believing there was somebody who cared whether he lived or died.
"I told them," he whispered, staring down at his hands. "Everything they wanted to know. Six days... it was six days. And in the end I just told them, only because this guy... he said..."
Trip's voice sounded very quiet. "What did he say?"
"He... he said it was up to me. I had the choice. But it wasn't..."
He broke off, ashamed to tell anyone what it really had been about. It wasn't what the man had said. It was the fact that there had been actually somebody asking him what he *wanted*, acknowledging him as another being, a person, which had finally broken him. The thought was unbearable and he felt disgusted with himself. All his life Malcolm had tried to see things from a rational, distanced point of view, not allowing his feelings to cloud his judgement. It was dangerous to get emotionally involved, in profession as well as in relationships. If you started relying on other people too much, you became dependent, vulnerable. Malcolm had never doubted this was true, at least for him. That was how he lived his life. When others laughed, he only smiled. When others had fun, letting themselves go, he contented himself with watching, refusing to draw attention to himself. He had never really had a friend he could share his thoughts with, and hadn't thought he would ever need one. Only when he came aboard Enterprise he found, to his surprise, that people here just ignored his reluctance to get close to anyone, and decided to be his friends whether he wanted it or not. Still, Malcolm had tried to keep his distance, making sure he didn't open up too much. It was his job to protect these people, and he could only do so if he was strong, not depending on feelings which might prove fatal when it came to making a difficult decision in the line of duty.
Now, however, his feelings had betrayed him, in a way he had never even thought possible. He had failed, absolutely, totally failed. Again.
"I was such a fool," he said, more to himself than to anybody else. There was a moment's silence, then he heard Trip's voice, still sounding unusually subdued.
"Why do you think you were a fool?"
Reed looked up at him, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he answered.
"Ever noticed how people keep making the same mistakes all their lives? You make a mistake as a kid, and years later, as an adult, when you've long forgotten about it, you do the same stupid thing again, not matter how much you think you've changed in the meantime."
Trip frowned. "What kind of mistake are you talkin' about, Malcolm?"
Reed looked away, staring down at his hands, remembering a rainy November afternoon more than twenty years ago.
###
The class filed out of the gym, laughing, shouting, jostling each other. As always, ten year old Malcolm was the last one in line, slowly shuffling towards the door, staying a few steps behind the others. If he took long enough, maybe the changing room would already be empty when he got there. Dragging his gym bag along behind him, he watched the last of the boys disappear through the big double door of the gym. Ten minutes, maybe, then only one or two would still be in the changing room, and they would be too busy packing away their gym clothes to take notice of him.
Malcolm dropped his bag not entirely by accident and bent down, acting as if he were tying his shoelaces. If he waited outside in the hallway for another five minutes or so, maybe they'd all be gone when he entered the changing room. He knew someday someone would notice him taking deliberately long after gym class, and they would tease him about it, but that was better than the stares and whispered comments behind his back when he changed together with the other boys.
"Just look at that!"
"Awful, isn't it?"
"Do you believe he actually..."
"I told my mom about it and she said better not ask him, it would only make it worse for him."
"Well, I asked him once and he said he just fell down the stairs. He's lying, of course."
"Remember the day he had a black eye and Mrs.Phillips asked him about it, and he said he run into a door? I think she didn't believe him either."
"Last week his back was all black and blue again..."
"I think I'd run away if I was him."
The remarks stung and Malcolm felt ashamed, although he always acted as if he hadn't heard them. It was nothing new to him. The other kids had always talked about him behind his back, and some didn't even bother to keep their voices down when he passed. It wasn't only the fact that he often had strange bruises and never explained how he got them. Everyone knew, of course. Malcolm Reed was just different.He was never allowed to go on class trips (a waste of time and money, his father said) and nobody ever invited him to birthday parties or even asked him to come over and play. Even if they had, he wouldn't have been allowed to go. Nobody wanted to be seen with that strange kid (and maybe get teased as well), so Malcolm had no friends at all. There was nothing he could do about it, though, and so most of the time he tried not to think about it. He kept to himself, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, hoping the others would just leave him alone.
Malcolm finished tying his shoelaces for the third time and got up. The changing room should be empty by now, he thought. He'd just reached the door when he heard a voice behind him.
"Malcolm!"
He turned around and saw Mr.Jordan, the PE teacher, striding towards him. Jordan was of athletic build and quite tall, and most of the boys were a little afraid of him. Malcolm liked him, though. Jordan was very strict, but fair, and he treated all students equally, whether they did well in his class or not. When he came to stand in front of him, Malcolm felt a little uncomfortable, though. Mr.Jordan had never spoken to him out of class before, and he only asked students to stay after the lesson if he needed to "have a little talk with them", as he put it. Malcolm couldn't imagine what Jordan would want from him, since as far as he remembered he hadn't done anything wrong.
"Yes, Sir?"
Jordan, noting his nervousness, smiled down at him. "Everything's all right, Malcolm. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."
Malcolm frowned, still feeling quite apprehensive. What did Jordan want to talk to him about? Still smiling, Jordan motioned towards the door of his office on the other end of the gym.
"Maybe we can sit down while we talk, that'll be more comfortable than standing out here."
Puzzled, Malcolm followed him through the room. It was very unusual for Jordan to be that friendly, and he'd never seen him ask anyone into his office before. Jordan opened the door and Malcolm stepped inside, taking a quick look around. Crammed into one corner stood a desk and a chair, occupying almost half of the room. Right in front of the window there was another chair with clothes piled on it, and in another corner stood a small locker. Jordan picked up the clothes from the chair.
"Please, sit down."
Malcolm obeyed, watching Jordan as he opened the door of the locker and put away the clothes. He couldn't imagine what all this was about. Jordan closed the door again, then walked over to his desk. Sitting down in his chair he smiled at Malcolm.
"Would you like something to drink? Lemonade, maybe? I'll have some too. I'm always parched after class."
Bewildered, Malcolm only nodded and watched Jordan take a bottle with lemonade and two glasses down from a shelf above his head. He filled both glasses and pushed one of it towards Malcolm.
"Go ahead."
"Er... thank you." Carefully, Malcolm took a sip from his drink and saw Jordan doing the same.
"That feels good. By the way..." Jordan put his glass down on the table. "I think you're getting to be quite good at handball. You're really fast. You like the game?"
Malcolm nodded. "Yes, Sir." Did Jordan ask him to stay only to talk about handball?
"Good for you. Maybe you can play in the school team one day, if you keep practising."
Malcolm knew his father would never allow him to join any kind of team, but he just said: "I would like that, Sir."
Jordan smiled at him. A moment's silence followed, and Jordan looked down at his glass, seemingly lost in thought. After a while he raised his eyes again.
"Malcolm, is there something you'd like to talk about?"
Malcolm stared at him. "What... what do you mean, Sir?"
Jordan's voice sounded very quiet as he spoke. "You know, sometimes people think there's no way out and there's nobody who'd listen to them, but... even if it's hard, it's always better to tell somebody." There was a short pause. "It's never too late to seek help, you know."
Gripping the arms of his chair, Malcolm fought the urge to get up and run out of the office then and there. He knew what Jordan was talking about, of course, and his stomach twisted in terror at the idea of anyone trying to "help" him. Clearing his throat, he tried to sound as if he didn't really understand what Jordan meant.
"There's nothing I want to talk about, Sir."
Jordan looked at him and Malcolm forced himself to meet his eyes.
"You can trust me, you know. I don't want to... get you in trouble. But I think you need help, after all."
Fervently, Malcolm shook his head. "No! I mean, no, Sir, I really don't need help. There's... there's nothing wrong."
"I don't think so, Malcolm." Jordan looked him straight in the eyes. "It's not ok for parents to beat their children; in fact it's against the law. You can get arrested for that kind of thing."
He paused. "Did you ever talk to anyone about it?"
Malcolm's mind raced. He had to get out of here. "Sir, I told you there's nothing wrong. Can I go now, please?"
Jordan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Malcolm, but I feel something needs to be done, and soon. I'm going to contact your parents."
"No!" Malcolm all but shouted. Jordan couldn't do this, he just couldn't. "Please, Sir, don't do that! It would be no use, and he would... Please, you don't have to call them!"
Jordan looked up sharply at that, and Malcolm immediately knew he'd made a mistake.
"What would he do?"
Malcolm stared down at his hands, desperately wishing he had kept his mouth shut.
"Would he beat you again?"
Closing his eyes, Malcolm nodded. It was no use denying the obvious anymore, but maybe if he told Jordan the truth, he could make him see how useless it was to try to talk to his father.
There was a moments silence before Jordan spoke again.
"I understand that you are afraid, Malcolm. But we can't just leave it at that. Maybe you'd like to talk to somebody else, as well? Do you have any relatives, an aunt or uncle I could call?"
Malcolm shook his head. He didn't really know any of his aunts or uncles, had met them maybe once or twice at some rare family gathering and the idea of his PE teacher calling them to talk about the way Stuart Reed raised his children was absurd.
"Malcolm." He looked up, afraid too see the pity on Jordan's face as he met his eyes. He didn't want people to feel sorry for him; he just wanted them to leave him alone. Jordan, however, had no intention of doing so, and his voice betrayed no pity, sounding firm and determined as he spoke. "I realize this must be a hard decision for you to make.But I think you know things can't go on like this.I've been thinking about talking to your parents for weeks now, I just wanted to talk to you first. I want to help you put a stop to this. Will you trust me?"
Malcolm was stunned. It was the first time an adult - or anyone, for that matter - talked to him like that. Jordan actually wanted his approval; he asked him to trust him instead of giving orders or threatening him. Malcolm didn't know what to say.
"I... I don't think he will listen to you, Sir..."
"Will you let me try?"
It was his decision. Malcolm looked up at Jordan and realized that he wanted to trust this man. He had long ago given up to trust anyone, but this was different. Somebody was actually going to all this trouble just because of him, and he sensed that Jordan really wanted to help him. Somebody cared about how he felt. It was a new experience to him, and without even realizing it he nodded slowly, giving his consent to whatever Jordan was going to do. The teacher smiled at him.
"Good. It takes a lot of courage to make that decision, Malcolm. I promise I'll find a way to do something about this, and soon."
###
Malcolm sat on his bed in the room he shared with his little sister Madeline, watching her concentrated face as she bent down over her books. He had tried to do his homework too but had given up half an hour ago, realizing that he wasn't able to concentrate right now.
He still couldn't believe what had happened a few hours ago. When he had left Jordan's office, he had felt kind of numb, his mind empty of all thoughts, and the feeling still hadn't worn off.
He had done something incredibly stupid and knew the consequences would be terrible, but still there was the feeling that he had done the right thing. It gave him strength to know that he had somewhere to turn to and wasn't completely alone, after all. That was a new experience, as well. His father always said the family was nobody else's business and he didn't want any strangers interfering with what he did in his own house. That was one of the reasons why he never allowed Malcolm and Madeline to have friends coming over or go to a friend's house after school. He said it would only give them silly ideas and they should rather spent their time studying. Malcolm rarely ever talked to anyone outside the family and since the Reeds didn't have much to say to each other, he rarely ever talked to anyone at all. There was Madeline, of course, but she was a very quiet person. She seemed to think that if she didn't say anything, people would eventually forget that she was there and leave her alone. It worked, too. Sometimes Malcolm had the impression that he was the only person living in this room, because Madeline hardly ever spoke at all. Even in her sleep she never made a sound. Malcolm had gotten used to the silence long ago, but right now he wished she would look up from her homework just once. He wanted to tell her what had happened, but he couldn't think of how to start the conversation. It wasn't something they usually did. Madeline turned over the page she had been reading, sucking at her pen as she always did when she concentrated on something. Malcolm had already opened his mouth to say something when suddenly Madeline raised her eyes, looked at him and frowned. A moment later he realized why; somebody had rung the doorbell downstairs. He couldn't imagine who would come to see them that late. His father didn't allow any visitors in the house, and Mrs.Harris next door who sometimes came over to have a little chat with his mother knew it was better not to show up when Stuart Reed was at home.
Noticing Madeline raising her eyebrows at him, Malcolm shrugged. He heard the door being opened downstairs and his mother's muffled voice, sounding faintly surprised as she spoke.
"Can I do something for you, Sir?"
"Good evening, ma'am." The voice who had spoken was deep and firm and Malcolm recognized it immediately. He sat frozen with shock as the man continued.
"My name is Ben Jordan, I'm Malcolm's PE teacher. Can I come in for a moment?"
There were steps in the hallway and in the next moment Malcolm heard his father's voice.
"Is there a problem, Linda?"
Before his mother could answer, Jordan spoke again. "Good evening, Sir. I'm Ben Jordan, one of Malcolm's teachers at school."
"Is there something wrong?"
Go away, Malcolm pleaded silently, just go, don't say anything, just turn around and go away...
"May I come in for a moment?"
A short silence followed and in his mind's eye Malcolm could see his father looking Jordan up and down suspiciously. Stuart Reed hated having strangers in the house. As he spoke again, his voice sounded gruff.
"By all means." The sound of the door being closed followed and Malcolm heard his father's voice in the hallway. "Did the boy get into trouble at school?"
"No, Malcolm didn't make any trouble. Still, there's something I need to talk to you about."
Malcolm heard them move into the living room, closing the door behind them. The voices were too muffled for him too understand what they were saying, but in fact he didn't really want to know. He sat paralyzed, his mind racing. He had never thought Jordan would do this, actually coming to his house to talk to his father face to face. Turning his head, he saw Madeline staring at him, her eyes wide and frightened.
"What's this about, Malcolm?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. He shook his head, unable to explain. The knot of terror in his stomach tightened and suddenly he knew he had to find out what was going on down there. As he had reached the door, he heard Madeline's terrified voice behind him. "Where are you going?"
He didn't answer, quietly making his way down the stairs. His legs felt shaky, but he kept going, his heart pounding in his ears. The voices from the living room grew louder and as he had reached the door he could hear his father speaking in an irritated tone.
"... anyway, I don't think this is any of your business, Sir."
"Yes it is." Jordan's voice was calm, but there was a dangerous undertone to it as he continued. "One of my students is being mistreated, and I won't close my eyes and act like everything's all right."
"Mistreated!" Stuart Reed gave a harsh laugh. "That's ridiculous. I admit I don't raise my children the way it is fashionable nowadays, pampering them, allowing them to get away with every nonsense they come up with. Mistreated! My father was a strict man, too, but no one would have ever accused him of mistreating me. It did me a world of good, learning the importance of discipline. That's what children need."
"You can't teach children discipline by beating them. The only thing they'll learn is that violence is a good way to threaten other people into doing what you want them to do." Jordan sounded heated now. "My God, man, your son never changes together with the other boys because he doesn't want them to see his bruises! He had two black eyes in the last four weeks, and when we asked him about it he said he run into a door. Don't you see what you're doing to him?"
"He is my son, and I have the right to raise him the way I think best!" Stuart Reed was shouting now. "I won't raise one of those spoiled brats you see on the streets every day! And I don't need anybody telling me what to do in my own house! You have no right to - "
"*You* have no right to abuse a child! I would have reported you to the police straight away, but for Malcolm's sake I thought it might be better to try and talk to you first, so - "
"Enough." Reed's voice was quiet and dangerous. "How dare you speak to me like that! Who do you think you are, threatening me with the police. Now get out of my house."
"You won't get rid of me that easily, Mr.Reed. I see it's no use talking to you, but I'll - "
"I said get out." His voice was still very quiet but shaking with barely controlled fury. Malcolm's stomach clenched. He knew that voice.
The door of the living room was pushed open, almost hitting him in the face. Startled he took a step backwards and saw Jordan coming out, his face red, the muscles in his jaw working. He never noticed Malcolm who stood half-concealed behind the door, and headed straight for the front door. Without looking back he left, slamming the door shut behind him.
Silence fell, pounding in Malcolm's ears as he stood paralyzed, staring at the closed door. His brain told him to run after Jordan, to get away from here as quickly as possible, but somehow his feet wouldn't move.
"What did you tell him?"
He turned and saw his father standing in the living room door. His face was expressionless, but there was an insane glitter in his eyes as he came closer. Malcolm instinctively backed away, trying to get out of his father's reach, but Stuart Reed was already there, grabbing his son's hair and yanking his head back as he repeated the question.
"You bloody little bastard, what did you tell him?"
Malcolm struggled, trying to pull away. "Nothing, Sir. I didn't tell anyone - "
"Don't you lie to me, boy!"
His father shook him hard and Malcolm felt as if his scalp was being ripped off his head. Tears of pain welled up in his eyes, but he held them back, knowing it would only fuel his father's rage to see him cry like a coward.
"Please, Sir, I didn't say anything!"
Stuart Reed raised his hand and Malcolm flung up his arms, trying to protect himself, but suddenly there was his mother, trying to step between them, tears shimmering in her eyes as she pleaded with his father.
"Stuart don't do this, it's not his fault! Please, don't - "
"This is no business of yours, Linda! Get out of the way!"
She wouldn't budge and his father's eyes narrowed to slits.
"I said get out of the way!"
"Stuart, please - "
He pushed her hard and she almost fell, stumbling against a chair. Without looking at her, Reed grabbed Malcolm's arm and dragged him into the living room, slamming the door shut behind them.
"You dirty little coward!" His father hit him hard across the face, the force of the blow sending him sprawling on the floor. Malcolm tasted blood, and pain exploded in his side as a boot connected with his ribs. He tried to get up, but then he felt a hand grabbing his hair again, and in the next moment he was yanked to his feet. His father's face was now only inches from his and Malcolm stared into grey eyes just like his own, only that those eyes were cold and full of hate.
"Now listen to me boy." Again that quiet, dangerous voice. "And don't forget what I tell you now, because I won't repeat myself. If you ever do this again, I'll make you wish you'd never been born, and I mean it. You understand what I'm saying?"
Malcolm nodded, his throat so dry he couldn't make a sound, let alone speak. His ribs hurt terribly and the pain doubled when his father grabbed him by the arms, shaking him again.
"I said do you understand what I'm saying?"
Swallowing convulsively, Malcolm tried to clear his throat. "Yes, Sir," he managed, his voice sounding hoarse. Don't cry, he thought desperately, don't cry, you'll only make it worse...
"Running to your teacher to complain... I always knew you were a damn coward. Since the day you were born I tried to make a Reed out of you, but it was a waste of time. What you did today is just another proof that you're weak. A damn loser. My own son, for God's sake!"
He pushed him away, backhanding him across the face again. Malcolm felt his lip split, and saw blood dripping onto the carpet.
"I told you before but apparently I didn't get through to you: A Reed does not ask for help. Don't talk to anyone, and don't answer any questions. It's none of their business and no one cares about what you've got to say anyway. You're nothing, do you understand? Nothing. And you won't bring shame over this family again, or I'll make you regret it, I swear. Remember: The worst thing you can do is being weak."
As if to emphasize his words, his father hit him in the face again, and Malcolm stumbled, his vision momentarily blurred. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked up again and saw his father holding something in his hand.
"I swear, this time you won't forget what I said..."
He kicked him again and this time Malcolm didn't try to get up. He closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself against the first blow. One day, he swore to himself as he felt a sharp stab of pain on his back, one day I am going to kill this man.
Author: Sita Z.
Genre: Angst/ Drama
Rating: PG-13
Summary: During an away mission, Reed was kidnapped and tortured. Back on Enterprise he has to deal with certain memories of his past brought back by the traumatic experience. Please read and review!!
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise, I'm not making any money from this.
Chapter 2
The days went by in a haze. Before he'd been released from sickbay, Reed had promised to rest and stay in bed most of the time, but he found it unbearable to lie on his bunk, staring at the bare walls of his quarters with nothing to distract him but his thoughts. So he walked, ignoring the pain in his bandaged ribs, wandering aimlessly through Enterprise's deserted hallways while the others were on duty, carefully avoiding everyone who could try to send him back to his quarters. Every day after their shift, the Captain, Trip, Hoshi, Travis and sometimes even T'Pol came by to look after him. They tried to act cheerful, telling him about the day's events, sharing the latest gossip and Hoshi made a point of bringing him something to eat every time she stopped by his quarters. Reed listened politely when they talked, nodding, saying "yes" and "no", answering "fine" when they asked how he felt, but it was an act and he knew that they saw it, too. In truth he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing, like someone had just wiped away every feeling he'd ever had, leaving nothing but a numb emptiness in his mind. He didn't even remember how it felt to be happy, or sad, or afraid. He just did the things he'd always done, without thinking about it, just waiting for another day to pass. The only thing he couldn't bring himself to do was eat. Everytime he put something in his mouth he felt like he was going to be sick. Of course it didn't go unnoticed that he'd lost some weight, and Archer threatened to send him back to sickbay if he didn't eat enough. But Reed didn't really care about it, the way he'd used too, in the past. He faintly remembered that there had been a time when he had hated being sent to sickbay, but that was over. He didn't really care about anything anymore.
One evening, five days after Phlox had released him, the door to his quarters opened. Reed looked up and saw Trip standing in the doorway.
"Commander," he said, motioning him to a chair, preparing for another hour of listening to the latest gossip in Engineering. But Trip didn't follow his invitation to take place. He just stayed where he was, looking at him with an unusually serious expression on his face. Reed wondered what he was up to now.
"Stop it."
Reed stared at him, not knowing what the man was talking about. This was very unusual behaviour for Trip.
"Stop what, Commander?" he asked carefully. Trip took a few steps towards him, coming to stand right in front of him, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
"Stop doing this to yourself. You're not eatin', you're not restin', you're not talkin' to anyone. All we ever hear from you is that you're fine. But even T'Pol can tell you're not. You've lost at least six pounds the last few days, and you look like death warmed over. Won't you tell me what's wrong, Malcolm?"
Reed froze. He'd seen this coming and had dreaded the moment when they would try to make him talk. He had nothing to say. Shaking his head, he tried to keep his voice as level as possible when he answered.
"I don't know what you mean, Sir."
Without warning Trip let himself plop down on the bed beside Reed. "Don't give me that, Malcolm! And don't call me ‚Sir', or I'll have you thrown in the brig. You know exactly what I mean. You need to talk about it, and the sooner, the better."
For the first time in days something like anger rose in Reed. He had enough of people telling him what was good for him, acting as if they knew exactly what he needed, as if he was just being stubborn refusing their well-meant offers.
"There's nothing I want to talk about." He got up.
"Malcolm." Trip's voice sounded kind and patient, just the thing to make Reed furious.
"What?!"
He all but shouted at Trip. It was a relief being able to feel again, and his anger grew as he turned to face Tucker, who was just sitting there looking at him with no particular expression on his face. Why were they all being so damn patronizing, why couldn't they just leave him alone?
"What do you want? I told you there's nothing I want to talk about! Stop sitting there being so bloody understanding, I don't care a shit what you think! Just leave me alone!"
He noticed he was shaking, which made him even more angry.
"Don't you hear me? Get out!"
"No." Trip sat there on his bed, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a stubborn look in his eyes Reed knew only too well. Trip wasn't going to leave until he got what he wanted.
"You talk to me, then you can kick me out. But not before you told me about it."
Reed sat down at his desk, gripping the arms of the chair to stop his hands from trembling. He considered leaving himself, but he knew just as well Tucker would follow him, maybe dragging him back into his quarters, maybe cornering him somewhere else. In any case he was trapped.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" he asked, knowing only too well it was no use arguing. Trip refused to acknowledge his anger, and Reed suspected the engineer would actually sit there all night, no matter what insults he threw at him. That was Tucker's idea of being a friend, after all.
"Look, Trip," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but did it ever occur to you that there might not be any use in talking about it? You all know what happened. And yes, it was bad. But I just don't want to talk about it, ok?"
It was no use. And somehow, although he was still angry at Trip for being so obtrusive, Reed resigned to the fact that he would have to talk about what had happened, after all. He had known all along that the time would come when simply trying to forget it wouldn't work anymore. He had pushed that thought out of his mind, though, gladly succumbing to the numbness which allowed him to simply survive another day without having to deal with any of it. Sighing, he buried his face in is hands. He was so tired of this. Trip seemed to know what he was thinking.
"That's right, you won't get rid of me. My shift's over, I have all the time in the world. I'll stay here until you talk to me."
Reed shook his head. His ribs ached from shouting. More than anything else he wanted to lie down and close his eyes, go to sleep and forget about all of this, but of course there was Trip sitting on his bed.Wearily he raised his eyes and looked at Tucker, who met his eyes evenly.
"It's not a very interesting story, you know."
Trip didn't answer, just looked at him and waited for him to continue. Reed swallowed. Maybe it was best to get over with it, so Trip would leave and he would finally be able to go to bed. He was so very tired. The anger he'd felt had loosened something in him and it was difficult to keep his voice steady as he spoke.
"They... they found out who I was. After doing some scans they knew about the ship, too. Of course they were interested in the weapon technology..."
He remembered the first time they'd brought him into that brightly lit room he kept seeing in his nightmares. His interviewer, a tall man with gray hair and eyes, had never once raised his voice as he kept asking questions, and his face had never changed, no matter how loud Malcolm had been screaming. To him and his men, it had only been a part of their job, and they'd done what they had to do, without deriving any particular pervert satisfaction from their actions. He had been nothing to them. The only time one of them had ever shown some kind of interest in him as a person with thoughts and feelings had been during that last session, and Malcolm knew now that it had only been another trick to make him talk. The trick had worked. He had been able to withstand everything they did to him so far, screaming until he thought his lungs would burst, blacking out only to be awakened by hard slaps and cold water splashed into his face, but he hadn't given in, then. It didn't matter, though. All his pain and agony had been for nothing, since in the end he had fallen for a simple trick, actually believing there was somebody who cared whether he lived or died.
"I told them," he whispered, staring down at his hands. "Everything they wanted to know. Six days... it was six days. And in the end I just told them, only because this guy... he said..."
Trip's voice sounded very quiet. "What did he say?"
"He... he said it was up to me. I had the choice. But it wasn't..."
He broke off, ashamed to tell anyone what it really had been about. It wasn't what the man had said. It was the fact that there had been actually somebody asking him what he *wanted*, acknowledging him as another being, a person, which had finally broken him. The thought was unbearable and he felt disgusted with himself. All his life Malcolm had tried to see things from a rational, distanced point of view, not allowing his feelings to cloud his judgement. It was dangerous to get emotionally involved, in profession as well as in relationships. If you started relying on other people too much, you became dependent, vulnerable. Malcolm had never doubted this was true, at least for him. That was how he lived his life. When others laughed, he only smiled. When others had fun, letting themselves go, he contented himself with watching, refusing to draw attention to himself. He had never really had a friend he could share his thoughts with, and hadn't thought he would ever need one. Only when he came aboard Enterprise he found, to his surprise, that people here just ignored his reluctance to get close to anyone, and decided to be his friends whether he wanted it or not. Still, Malcolm had tried to keep his distance, making sure he didn't open up too much. It was his job to protect these people, and he could only do so if he was strong, not depending on feelings which might prove fatal when it came to making a difficult decision in the line of duty.
Now, however, his feelings had betrayed him, in a way he had never even thought possible. He had failed, absolutely, totally failed. Again.
"I was such a fool," he said, more to himself than to anybody else. There was a moment's silence, then he heard Trip's voice, still sounding unusually subdued.
"Why do you think you were a fool?"
Reed looked up at him, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he answered.
"Ever noticed how people keep making the same mistakes all their lives? You make a mistake as a kid, and years later, as an adult, when you've long forgotten about it, you do the same stupid thing again, not matter how much you think you've changed in the meantime."
Trip frowned. "What kind of mistake are you talkin' about, Malcolm?"
Reed looked away, staring down at his hands, remembering a rainy November afternoon more than twenty years ago.
###
The class filed out of the gym, laughing, shouting, jostling each other. As always, ten year old Malcolm was the last one in line, slowly shuffling towards the door, staying a few steps behind the others. If he took long enough, maybe the changing room would already be empty when he got there. Dragging his gym bag along behind him, he watched the last of the boys disappear through the big double door of the gym. Ten minutes, maybe, then only one or two would still be in the changing room, and they would be too busy packing away their gym clothes to take notice of him.
Malcolm dropped his bag not entirely by accident and bent down, acting as if he were tying his shoelaces. If he waited outside in the hallway for another five minutes or so, maybe they'd all be gone when he entered the changing room. He knew someday someone would notice him taking deliberately long after gym class, and they would tease him about it, but that was better than the stares and whispered comments behind his back when he changed together with the other boys.
"Just look at that!"
"Awful, isn't it?"
"Do you believe he actually..."
"I told my mom about it and she said better not ask him, it would only make it worse for him."
"Well, I asked him once and he said he just fell down the stairs. He's lying, of course."
"Remember the day he had a black eye and Mrs.Phillips asked him about it, and he said he run into a door? I think she didn't believe him either."
"Last week his back was all black and blue again..."
"I think I'd run away if I was him."
The remarks stung and Malcolm felt ashamed, although he always acted as if he hadn't heard them. It was nothing new to him. The other kids had always talked about him behind his back, and some didn't even bother to keep their voices down when he passed. It wasn't only the fact that he often had strange bruises and never explained how he got them. Everyone knew, of course. Malcolm Reed was just different.He was never allowed to go on class trips (a waste of time and money, his father said) and nobody ever invited him to birthday parties or even asked him to come over and play. Even if they had, he wouldn't have been allowed to go. Nobody wanted to be seen with that strange kid (and maybe get teased as well), so Malcolm had no friends at all. There was nothing he could do about it, though, and so most of the time he tried not to think about it. He kept to himself, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, hoping the others would just leave him alone.
Malcolm finished tying his shoelaces for the third time and got up. The changing room should be empty by now, he thought. He'd just reached the door when he heard a voice behind him.
"Malcolm!"
He turned around and saw Mr.Jordan, the PE teacher, striding towards him. Jordan was of athletic build and quite tall, and most of the boys were a little afraid of him. Malcolm liked him, though. Jordan was very strict, but fair, and he treated all students equally, whether they did well in his class or not. When he came to stand in front of him, Malcolm felt a little uncomfortable, though. Mr.Jordan had never spoken to him out of class before, and he only asked students to stay after the lesson if he needed to "have a little talk with them", as he put it. Malcolm couldn't imagine what Jordan would want from him, since as far as he remembered he hadn't done anything wrong.
"Yes, Sir?"
Jordan, noting his nervousness, smiled down at him. "Everything's all right, Malcolm. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."
Malcolm frowned, still feeling quite apprehensive. What did Jordan want to talk to him about? Still smiling, Jordan motioned towards the door of his office on the other end of the gym.
"Maybe we can sit down while we talk, that'll be more comfortable than standing out here."
Puzzled, Malcolm followed him through the room. It was very unusual for Jordan to be that friendly, and he'd never seen him ask anyone into his office before. Jordan opened the door and Malcolm stepped inside, taking a quick look around. Crammed into one corner stood a desk and a chair, occupying almost half of the room. Right in front of the window there was another chair with clothes piled on it, and in another corner stood a small locker. Jordan picked up the clothes from the chair.
"Please, sit down."
Malcolm obeyed, watching Jordan as he opened the door of the locker and put away the clothes. He couldn't imagine what all this was about. Jordan closed the door again, then walked over to his desk. Sitting down in his chair he smiled at Malcolm.
"Would you like something to drink? Lemonade, maybe? I'll have some too. I'm always parched after class."
Bewildered, Malcolm only nodded and watched Jordan take a bottle with lemonade and two glasses down from a shelf above his head. He filled both glasses and pushed one of it towards Malcolm.
"Go ahead."
"Er... thank you." Carefully, Malcolm took a sip from his drink and saw Jordan doing the same.
"That feels good. By the way..." Jordan put his glass down on the table. "I think you're getting to be quite good at handball. You're really fast. You like the game?"
Malcolm nodded. "Yes, Sir." Did Jordan ask him to stay only to talk about handball?
"Good for you. Maybe you can play in the school team one day, if you keep practising."
Malcolm knew his father would never allow him to join any kind of team, but he just said: "I would like that, Sir."
Jordan smiled at him. A moment's silence followed, and Jordan looked down at his glass, seemingly lost in thought. After a while he raised his eyes again.
"Malcolm, is there something you'd like to talk about?"
Malcolm stared at him. "What... what do you mean, Sir?"
Jordan's voice sounded very quiet as he spoke. "You know, sometimes people think there's no way out and there's nobody who'd listen to them, but... even if it's hard, it's always better to tell somebody." There was a short pause. "It's never too late to seek help, you know."
Gripping the arms of his chair, Malcolm fought the urge to get up and run out of the office then and there. He knew what Jordan was talking about, of course, and his stomach twisted in terror at the idea of anyone trying to "help" him. Clearing his throat, he tried to sound as if he didn't really understand what Jordan meant.
"There's nothing I want to talk about, Sir."
Jordan looked at him and Malcolm forced himself to meet his eyes.
"You can trust me, you know. I don't want to... get you in trouble. But I think you need help, after all."
Fervently, Malcolm shook his head. "No! I mean, no, Sir, I really don't need help. There's... there's nothing wrong."
"I don't think so, Malcolm." Jordan looked him straight in the eyes. "It's not ok for parents to beat their children; in fact it's against the law. You can get arrested for that kind of thing."
He paused. "Did you ever talk to anyone about it?"
Malcolm's mind raced. He had to get out of here. "Sir, I told you there's nothing wrong. Can I go now, please?"
Jordan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Malcolm, but I feel something needs to be done, and soon. I'm going to contact your parents."
"No!" Malcolm all but shouted. Jordan couldn't do this, he just couldn't. "Please, Sir, don't do that! It would be no use, and he would... Please, you don't have to call them!"
Jordan looked up sharply at that, and Malcolm immediately knew he'd made a mistake.
"What would he do?"
Malcolm stared down at his hands, desperately wishing he had kept his mouth shut.
"Would he beat you again?"
Closing his eyes, Malcolm nodded. It was no use denying the obvious anymore, but maybe if he told Jordan the truth, he could make him see how useless it was to try to talk to his father.
There was a moments silence before Jordan spoke again.
"I understand that you are afraid, Malcolm. But we can't just leave it at that. Maybe you'd like to talk to somebody else, as well? Do you have any relatives, an aunt or uncle I could call?"
Malcolm shook his head. He didn't really know any of his aunts or uncles, had met them maybe once or twice at some rare family gathering and the idea of his PE teacher calling them to talk about the way Stuart Reed raised his children was absurd.
"Malcolm." He looked up, afraid too see the pity on Jordan's face as he met his eyes. He didn't want people to feel sorry for him; he just wanted them to leave him alone. Jordan, however, had no intention of doing so, and his voice betrayed no pity, sounding firm and determined as he spoke. "I realize this must be a hard decision for you to make.But I think you know things can't go on like this.I've been thinking about talking to your parents for weeks now, I just wanted to talk to you first. I want to help you put a stop to this. Will you trust me?"
Malcolm was stunned. It was the first time an adult - or anyone, for that matter - talked to him like that. Jordan actually wanted his approval; he asked him to trust him instead of giving orders or threatening him. Malcolm didn't know what to say.
"I... I don't think he will listen to you, Sir..."
"Will you let me try?"
It was his decision. Malcolm looked up at Jordan and realized that he wanted to trust this man. He had long ago given up to trust anyone, but this was different. Somebody was actually going to all this trouble just because of him, and he sensed that Jordan really wanted to help him. Somebody cared about how he felt. It was a new experience to him, and without even realizing it he nodded slowly, giving his consent to whatever Jordan was going to do. The teacher smiled at him.
"Good. It takes a lot of courage to make that decision, Malcolm. I promise I'll find a way to do something about this, and soon."
###
Malcolm sat on his bed in the room he shared with his little sister Madeline, watching her concentrated face as she bent down over her books. He had tried to do his homework too but had given up half an hour ago, realizing that he wasn't able to concentrate right now.
He still couldn't believe what had happened a few hours ago. When he had left Jordan's office, he had felt kind of numb, his mind empty of all thoughts, and the feeling still hadn't worn off.
He had done something incredibly stupid and knew the consequences would be terrible, but still there was the feeling that he had done the right thing. It gave him strength to know that he had somewhere to turn to and wasn't completely alone, after all. That was a new experience, as well. His father always said the family was nobody else's business and he didn't want any strangers interfering with what he did in his own house. That was one of the reasons why he never allowed Malcolm and Madeline to have friends coming over or go to a friend's house after school. He said it would only give them silly ideas and they should rather spent their time studying. Malcolm rarely ever talked to anyone outside the family and since the Reeds didn't have much to say to each other, he rarely ever talked to anyone at all. There was Madeline, of course, but she was a very quiet person. She seemed to think that if she didn't say anything, people would eventually forget that she was there and leave her alone. It worked, too. Sometimes Malcolm had the impression that he was the only person living in this room, because Madeline hardly ever spoke at all. Even in her sleep she never made a sound. Malcolm had gotten used to the silence long ago, but right now he wished she would look up from her homework just once. He wanted to tell her what had happened, but he couldn't think of how to start the conversation. It wasn't something they usually did. Madeline turned over the page she had been reading, sucking at her pen as she always did when she concentrated on something. Malcolm had already opened his mouth to say something when suddenly Madeline raised her eyes, looked at him and frowned. A moment later he realized why; somebody had rung the doorbell downstairs. He couldn't imagine who would come to see them that late. His father didn't allow any visitors in the house, and Mrs.Harris next door who sometimes came over to have a little chat with his mother knew it was better not to show up when Stuart Reed was at home.
Noticing Madeline raising her eyebrows at him, Malcolm shrugged. He heard the door being opened downstairs and his mother's muffled voice, sounding faintly surprised as she spoke.
"Can I do something for you, Sir?"
"Good evening, ma'am." The voice who had spoken was deep and firm and Malcolm recognized it immediately. He sat frozen with shock as the man continued.
"My name is Ben Jordan, I'm Malcolm's PE teacher. Can I come in for a moment?"
There were steps in the hallway and in the next moment Malcolm heard his father's voice.
"Is there a problem, Linda?"
Before his mother could answer, Jordan spoke again. "Good evening, Sir. I'm Ben Jordan, one of Malcolm's teachers at school."
"Is there something wrong?"
Go away, Malcolm pleaded silently, just go, don't say anything, just turn around and go away...
"May I come in for a moment?"
A short silence followed and in his mind's eye Malcolm could see his father looking Jordan up and down suspiciously. Stuart Reed hated having strangers in the house. As he spoke again, his voice sounded gruff.
"By all means." The sound of the door being closed followed and Malcolm heard his father's voice in the hallway. "Did the boy get into trouble at school?"
"No, Malcolm didn't make any trouble. Still, there's something I need to talk to you about."
Malcolm heard them move into the living room, closing the door behind them. The voices were too muffled for him too understand what they were saying, but in fact he didn't really want to know. He sat paralyzed, his mind racing. He had never thought Jordan would do this, actually coming to his house to talk to his father face to face. Turning his head, he saw Madeline staring at him, her eyes wide and frightened.
"What's this about, Malcolm?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. He shook his head, unable to explain. The knot of terror in his stomach tightened and suddenly he knew he had to find out what was going on down there. As he had reached the door, he heard Madeline's terrified voice behind him. "Where are you going?"
He didn't answer, quietly making his way down the stairs. His legs felt shaky, but he kept going, his heart pounding in his ears. The voices from the living room grew louder and as he had reached the door he could hear his father speaking in an irritated tone.
"... anyway, I don't think this is any of your business, Sir."
"Yes it is." Jordan's voice was calm, but there was a dangerous undertone to it as he continued. "One of my students is being mistreated, and I won't close my eyes and act like everything's all right."
"Mistreated!" Stuart Reed gave a harsh laugh. "That's ridiculous. I admit I don't raise my children the way it is fashionable nowadays, pampering them, allowing them to get away with every nonsense they come up with. Mistreated! My father was a strict man, too, but no one would have ever accused him of mistreating me. It did me a world of good, learning the importance of discipline. That's what children need."
"You can't teach children discipline by beating them. The only thing they'll learn is that violence is a good way to threaten other people into doing what you want them to do." Jordan sounded heated now. "My God, man, your son never changes together with the other boys because he doesn't want them to see his bruises! He had two black eyes in the last four weeks, and when we asked him about it he said he run into a door. Don't you see what you're doing to him?"
"He is my son, and I have the right to raise him the way I think best!" Stuart Reed was shouting now. "I won't raise one of those spoiled brats you see on the streets every day! And I don't need anybody telling me what to do in my own house! You have no right to - "
"*You* have no right to abuse a child! I would have reported you to the police straight away, but for Malcolm's sake I thought it might be better to try and talk to you first, so - "
"Enough." Reed's voice was quiet and dangerous. "How dare you speak to me like that! Who do you think you are, threatening me with the police. Now get out of my house."
"You won't get rid of me that easily, Mr.Reed. I see it's no use talking to you, but I'll - "
"I said get out." His voice was still very quiet but shaking with barely controlled fury. Malcolm's stomach clenched. He knew that voice.
The door of the living room was pushed open, almost hitting him in the face. Startled he took a step backwards and saw Jordan coming out, his face red, the muscles in his jaw working. He never noticed Malcolm who stood half-concealed behind the door, and headed straight for the front door. Without looking back he left, slamming the door shut behind him.
Silence fell, pounding in Malcolm's ears as he stood paralyzed, staring at the closed door. His brain told him to run after Jordan, to get away from here as quickly as possible, but somehow his feet wouldn't move.
"What did you tell him?"
He turned and saw his father standing in the living room door. His face was expressionless, but there was an insane glitter in his eyes as he came closer. Malcolm instinctively backed away, trying to get out of his father's reach, but Stuart Reed was already there, grabbing his son's hair and yanking his head back as he repeated the question.
"You bloody little bastard, what did you tell him?"
Malcolm struggled, trying to pull away. "Nothing, Sir. I didn't tell anyone - "
"Don't you lie to me, boy!"
His father shook him hard and Malcolm felt as if his scalp was being ripped off his head. Tears of pain welled up in his eyes, but he held them back, knowing it would only fuel his father's rage to see him cry like a coward.
"Please, Sir, I didn't say anything!"
Stuart Reed raised his hand and Malcolm flung up his arms, trying to protect himself, but suddenly there was his mother, trying to step between them, tears shimmering in her eyes as she pleaded with his father.
"Stuart don't do this, it's not his fault! Please, don't - "
"This is no business of yours, Linda! Get out of the way!"
She wouldn't budge and his father's eyes narrowed to slits.
"I said get out of the way!"
"Stuart, please - "
He pushed her hard and she almost fell, stumbling against a chair. Without looking at her, Reed grabbed Malcolm's arm and dragged him into the living room, slamming the door shut behind them.
"You dirty little coward!" His father hit him hard across the face, the force of the blow sending him sprawling on the floor. Malcolm tasted blood, and pain exploded in his side as a boot connected with his ribs. He tried to get up, but then he felt a hand grabbing his hair again, and in the next moment he was yanked to his feet. His father's face was now only inches from his and Malcolm stared into grey eyes just like his own, only that those eyes were cold and full of hate.
"Now listen to me boy." Again that quiet, dangerous voice. "And don't forget what I tell you now, because I won't repeat myself. If you ever do this again, I'll make you wish you'd never been born, and I mean it. You understand what I'm saying?"
Malcolm nodded, his throat so dry he couldn't make a sound, let alone speak. His ribs hurt terribly and the pain doubled when his father grabbed him by the arms, shaking him again.
"I said do you understand what I'm saying?"
Swallowing convulsively, Malcolm tried to clear his throat. "Yes, Sir," he managed, his voice sounding hoarse. Don't cry, he thought desperately, don't cry, you'll only make it worse...
"Running to your teacher to complain... I always knew you were a damn coward. Since the day you were born I tried to make a Reed out of you, but it was a waste of time. What you did today is just another proof that you're weak. A damn loser. My own son, for God's sake!"
He pushed him away, backhanding him across the face again. Malcolm felt his lip split, and saw blood dripping onto the carpet.
"I told you before but apparently I didn't get through to you: A Reed does not ask for help. Don't talk to anyone, and don't answer any questions. It's none of their business and no one cares about what you've got to say anyway. You're nothing, do you understand? Nothing. And you won't bring shame over this family again, or I'll make you regret it, I swear. Remember: The worst thing you can do is being weak."
As if to emphasize his words, his father hit him in the face again, and Malcolm stumbled, his vision momentarily blurred. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked up again and saw his father holding something in his hand.
"I swear, this time you won't forget what I said..."
He kicked him again and this time Malcolm didn't try to get up. He closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself against the first blow. One day, he swore to himself as he felt a sharp stab of pain on his back, one day I am going to kill this man.