Just going to warn you now. Abuse ahead. Read with discretion.
Steve's POV
Steve scrubs the shirt. Warm water pours over his shaking hands. His father is going to be home any second now, and he hasn't finished washing his clothes yet. It's hard to get the alcohol stains out. Even harder to get the smell out. He was busy all morning. Running errands for his ma, running halfway across Brooklyn to get to his job on time. Delivering newspapers on a bike for six hours. He came home thinking he was done, only to realize he hadn't washed his dad's clothes like he had asked. Now Steve scrubbed relentlessly, praying that his father, no. Adopted father. Wouldn't be home soon. His adopted mother Amy is working at the diner at night, so she's gone. She'll be back in an hour or two. Steve rinses out the soapy shirt, wrings it out, and drapes it over the bathtub. He picks up another, and begins scrubbing it with soap. Usually, they would wash their clothes in the laundry room in the basement of the apartment building. But one of the washing machines started to smoke, like it always did. But this time it was during a maintenance check up. The washing and drying equipment were taken away. Apparently it was a fire hazard.
Steve freezes as he hears a car pull up. He picks up another garment, and washes in a panic. Maybe he could finish without Sultan knowing that he was a little late. He closes the door softly, and continues washing rapidly. Footsteps tromp up the apartment steps, audible through the thin walls. Keys jingle, door unlocks, door closes, booted feet walk into the kitchen. He hears the fridge door open, and Sultan rummaging around. The fridge slams shut. Steve flinches hard.
"Boy, get out here." Says a gruff voice.
Steve swallows, drys his hands, and steps out of the cramped bathroom.
"Yes sir?" He asks gently, standing in front of Sultan.
Sultan huffs. "Did you pick up the groceries from the market downtown, like I asked of ya?"
Steve wrings his hands. "I didn't know I was supposta, sir."
"Well what am I meant to eat? I come home from a long hard day of work, and the least you lazy boy could do, is do the little things like I ask!" He shouts. Steve unconsciously takes a step back.
"Now I have no beer to drink!"
"Sorry Sir." Steve says quickly.
"What about my clothes? You take care of them?"
"I-I'm working on it, Sir."
"You mean your not done yet?" Sultan clenches his fists tightly. "I asked you to do one thing!"
"I'm sorry I-"
"I'm sorry. I-I- I'm sorry." Sultan stutters in a mock tone. "Remind me again why we adopted you?" He says heatedly.
Steve is quiet. He bites his cheek, and looks at the floor.
"Look at me."
Steve can't. He doesn't want to show the fear in his eyes.
"Look at me!" He yells.
Steve meets Sultan's angry eyes.
"Come here."
Steve obeys.
Sultan slams his palm into the left side of Steve's face. His ear takes the brunt of it, and it rings shrilly.
"You're a worthless little pathetic nothing." Sultan slaps his ear with every word. "No one cares about you. No one ever will. I hate you. You're lucky I don't kick your sorry butt outa here."
Steve takes it without uttering a cry, or a whimper. Although he can't stop a tear from rolling down his cheek. Sultan halts the blows, but raises his hand.
Steve closes his eyes, awaiting impact.
"Go get the belt."
Steve's eyes fly open. "Sir, please, I'll go pick up the groceries now, I'm almost done washing your clothes, just please! I won't let it happen again!"
"Belt. Now." His raised hand is pointing at the closet door.
Shaking, Steve opens the dark closet door, and retrieves the black leather belt from the hook. His breathing is halting.
Sultan pushes him into the small master bedroom, clicking on the light. He snatches the belt from Steve's hand.
"Shirt off." He orders.
Trembling hands pull his shirt over his head. He knows the routine, and he kneels in front of the bed, gripping the quilt. His back muscles clench in anticipation. He takes deep breaths.
"You deserve this." Sultan says.
"I deserve this." Agrees Steve quietly.
The first strike of the belt stings sharply. The second hits only moments after. Sultan whips the belt across Steve's bare back mercilessly. Steve silently cries. He feels skin break after about twenty five strikes. Warm slides down his back, and down the left side of his face from his ear. He knows it's blood. On the last strike, Sultan brings the belt down so hard, Steve sees white. A boot throws him onto the ground, blood smearing the floor. Sultan settles his boot into Steve's quivering chest, pressing hard.
"Ya little runt." Sultan spits. He grinds his heel into Steve's ribs, throwing blows at his face.
Steve can't stop the cry of pain, as he feels a few ribs give way. He wants it stop. Just wants it to stop.
There's a knock on the door. Sultan grumbles under his breath, and strides out. Steve gasps for air. Giving a strangled moan as he sits up. He hears a commotion outside the room. He looks up as Sultan walks back in followed by a tall, wiry man, sporting a scar along his right eye.
"Steve, this man is asking for you."
He tries to straighten up, and control his breathing. Not look like such a weakling lying on the floor. The man takes in Steve's stature, and glares at his father with a questioning look.
"You've really done a number on him." Mutters the man. "No matter." He flicks his hand, and three soldiers enter. One hauls Steve to his feet, and he cries out. Sultan steps forward. "Hey, wha-"
The man whips his gun out so fast, you might think he had it in his hand the whole time. It points dead center of Sultan's chest. Sultan's eyes widen, and he holds up his hands. "Hey, if you want the kid, take him! He's no use anyway."
The man squints, and walks out. The guards follow suit, hauling Steve with them. Pain flares everywhere. His ear throbs with a vengeance, his chest and ribs feel unnaturally achy. Not to mention his bleeding back, and bruised body. He futilely tries to fight. They shove him out onto the stairs, and start down. At the bottom, a black SUV is waiting with open doors. Steve feels very lightheaded all of a sudden, and fights the urge to pass out. "Help!" He cries weakly. He wishes there were people in the alley. "Help! Please someone help me!"
"Shut up!" Says a guard, jabbing him with the butt of his gun.
They start to push him into the car, but he kicks and screams, throwing weak punches. His world is spinning, and he thinks he hears tired screeching but they're not moving so he must've imagined it. And wow. Now he's seeing double. There are twice as many guards and cars as there were before, and one of the guards have an eye patch. A bullet whizzes past his face, and he's shoved to the ground. The man with the scar pushes him down when he tries to get up. He drags Steve behind the SUV, and tells him to stay down. Bullets ping off of the car, rain on the pavement and shatter the car windows. Steve covers his head with trembling hands.
The firing stops. Steve peeks under the car.
"Let him go. We will open fire on you." The eyepatch man says.
Suddenly Steve's yanked to his feet, held tightly around the neck, and the barrel of a gun is pressed firmly against his temple. He can't stop a whimper from escaping his lips.
The scarred man leads him out from behind the car, in front of the eyepatch man. Steve sees dead guards from both parties lying dead in the alley. It makes his stomach churn.
"Open fire on me, I open fire on him." The scarred man hisses.
"Put the kid down, or I will have no choice but to open fire." The eyepatch man grits out.
The scarred man sneers.
"Fine. Make my day." The eyepatch man replies.
One final gunshot rings out. Steve flinches, and shuts his eyes. Blood splatters on his head. The hold on his neck releases and the man falls to the ground. A bullet hole straight through the forehead. Steve gasps, and falls to his knees. He's having a hard time catching his breath, near hyperventilating. Everything is spinning. Some guards come up behind him, and carry the body away. A hand lays on his shoulder. He flinches hard, and looks away.
"Easy, kid. Breathe. Breathe."
Steve slowly looks up. The eyepatch man is kneeling in front of him.
"That's it. You're okay."
"I-I- can't. I can't." Steve stutters.
"Alright, kid. Cmon." The eyepatch man gently scoops him up, carrying him to a black van. He opens the door, and lays a very woozy Steve inside. Five other kids in the car look at him curiously. He blinks sluggishly, his breathing somewhat halting, and everything goes dark.