Usual disclaimers apply. One-shot. Season one.
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The Boy You Can Fear
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People in Newport frowned upon new things. Often, because they didn't want anything or anyone to disturb their sacred, small community. So, when the boy arrived into their midst, he was an unknown factor to be evaluated and eventually, to be eliminated.
Because what you don't know, you fear.
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Most of the time he was almost invisible, trying to stay on the periphery of one's perception. Seen only when wanted. Heard only when needed. He was used to doing things his way and that didn't involve a lot of words. They had never helped, only seemed to worsen escalating situations. No, better to just shut up and maybe make it through another day. Another night. When the screams from the living room went bleeding through the walls and all the while hoping that after the silence that followed, he wouldn't be next. But unfortunately for the boy, that usually wasn't the case. And sooner than later he would find himself on the receiving end of one too many beatings.
Those "incidents" that occured over the years had long ago blurred into an extended series of snapshot memories. Disjointed and run together, there weren't many that stood out very clearly. But those that he could remember would likely stay with him forever.
The first time he took a hit. There hadn't been a reason nor an excuse.
They were a family again. And, they were having dinner. Mom, boyfriend #1, his brother and himself. Just like old times, but not quite. The boy looked over to his right and fixed his stare on the unwelcome occupant that was seated in his dad's chair. It all happened so fast - one moment a scowl was firmly settled on his face, the next he was holding his hand to a bloody nose and a split lip. He didn't really feel anything at first, but then his eyes were filling with tears as with the pain came the sudden realization that nothing was ever going to be the same again. And that scared him more than anything.
In the beginning, his mom would sometimes step in when things got too heavy. She still cared then. Those were good and bad times rolled all into one, because, even if he did get a thrashing, his mom's voice would at least somewhat ease the pain. But, as his dad had used to say, "some things in life may change, and some things, they stay the same". And before long, the sound of his mother's voice began to send tremors down his spine. Even if she barked only at his brother, he would run to hide in their room, hoping she would soon return to the couch, her drink and her TV show.
The boy had gotten quite well at adapting to things he couldn't change. Too many times on the wrong end of someone's fist had taught him all too quickly that sometimes there wasn't anything he could do. Just go with the flow, duck and if you could, run and hide. So, when the yelling got louder, he befriended the quiet. And, when knuckles bruised soft skin, he fled through the open door his mind provided.
For a long time those things, they stayed the same.
But, every so often, he would catch himself in the midst of yearning for something he couldn't put a name to yet. Always within his grasp but still slightly out of reach.
And, he dreamed. Of hands and faces that wouldn't hurt him just because he existed.
Those things, they changed.
Because he learned something else. Where he came from having a dream didn't make him smart or even remotely happy. No, knowing that it wouldn't come true, that did.
But, in time, those things would change, too.
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It was quite ironic, really, because the boy they feared was scared to death himself.