Title: Race Among the Ruins
Author: Cropper
Pairing: GSR
Rating: Mature for Profanity
Disclaimer: Sadly, the characters herein are not mine. I promise to play nice and return them when I am done.
A/N: Sincere thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review thus far. Your time and efforts are greatly appreciated. csipal, ligaras and Darth Beta are the best.
Summary: Too little sleep and too much sleet.
Chapter Five
The phrase kept reverberating through Grissom's throbbing brain. "I'm not a baby, I'm a big boy now." Why had he let it slip, why had he told Sara one of his oldest secrets? He started drifting back to the beginning, back to when his heart had first been broken and morose darkness had begun to filter through the irreparable cracks to choke out the light. He faded back to when the first blow fell and the little boy died.
He was five now. It was his fifth birthday and it was huge. He would be starting school for the first time in a few days. Turning five meant that he was officially a "big boy" and not a baby any longer. He was so proud of himself. His little chest was all puffed out and he was strutting about like the proverbial peacock. Mama had gone all out to make his big day and his party special. There was cake, ice cream and lemonade, balloons, hats and streamers, relay races, bean bag toss and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. All of his playmates from the neighborhood had been invited. It was everything an energetic little boy could hope for.
He had asked for a bicycle. It was the only thing he wanted. All of his friends had shiny two-wheelers with cardboard trading cards affixed to the gleaming spokes of the rear wheels with purloined wooden clothespins. He was always left sitting alone on the curb when they rode off to their far-away adventures. Granted, they only went a block or two away, but to him it seemed like a whole new world. He could not run fast enough to keep up and they refused to wait for him. So he sat and waited and amused himself by watching the insects go about their business. He waited, for hours it seemed like, until they returned and he would be allowed to play again. He really, really wanted a bicycle.
Daddy did not get him a bicycle. Daddy gave him a big heavy book all about plants and trees. He did not want a stupid ugly book. He wanted a bicycle! He was so disappointed and tried valiantly not to let it show. He knew that Daddy loved teaching about plants and knew that Daddy wanted to teach him all about plants, too. But, dang it, he wanted a bicycle, and just for a moment, let his smile slip. It was just for a second or two, but long enough for Daddy to see. Nothing was said and the party continued.
Later, when he was wriggling into his Roy Rogers jammies, Daddy called him back out into the living room. That was strange. Daddy usually sat on his bed to listen to his prayers. Mama wasn't in the living room with Daddy. That was strange, too. He didn't see Mama anywhere. Daddy was standing next to his easy chair snapping his thick, black leather dress belt between his large hands. Daddy told him to drop his pajama pants and underpants and lay across the arm of the chair. He was an obedient boy. He did as he was told.
The first blow was unexpected, a great stinging slap that made the five-year-old yelp with pain and outrage.
"Shut up! Shut up and take it like a man! You're not a baby anymore!"
He buried his face in the cushion of the chair so Daddy would not hear him cry. He did not want to make Daddy mad. He was a good boy. He tried so hard to be good. He wanted Daddy and Mama to be proud of him.
He did not remember how many times Daddy hit him. It could have been one slash or it could have been twenty. The number was largely unimportant. What mattered, what really hurt was the fact that Daddy had never, ever spanked him before. He was a good boy! He didn't even know why Daddy was hitting him. It was his birthday! You are not supposed to get in trouble on your birthday! It is supposed to be special and fun and exciting. It is not supposed to be painful and humiliating.
Finally, it ended. He did not know if Daddy's arm had gotten tired or if Daddy felt like he had been properly punished. To this day he did not know. Daddy merely told him to go to bed. He surreptitiously wiped his tears and runny nose on the chair cushion and pulled up his underpants and cowboy pajama bottoms. He timidly thanked Daddy, bade him goodnight and slunk off to his room.
OH! It hurt! The underpants, pajama bottoms and sheets just made it worse. He wanted so badly to shuck his drawers and let his fiery cheeks cool down in the soft summer breeze trickling through his open bedroom window. That would only get him into more trouble. Mama would not be happy if she came in and found his naked hiney glowing red in the night. Mama always said that polite people don't sleep naked. Mama told him over and over again that proper people always wore their pajamas. He was a polite and proper person. He was a good boy. He could not sleep in the raw no matter how hot it was or how much his ass might hurt. Sleeping in the buff was unseemly and common. Mama always harped on him about his manners and about how important it was to be courteous. As far as Mama was concerned, being well-mannered and polite was just as important as learning to read and write, maybe more so.
Where was Mama? Where had Mama been hiding while Daddy hurt him? Mama had always comforted him when the monsters snuck into his dreams or he fell and skinned his knee. Mama was always there to kiss away his tears and tell him that everything was fine. He was a good boy. Why wasn't Mama there now? Why wasn't Mama in his room holding him, kissing him, rocking him to sleep? Did turning five mean that Mama no longer cared if he was hurt? Did turning five mean that Mama did not love him anymore? Being five meant that he was a big boy. Being five meant that Daddy could hurt him and Mama didn't care anymore. Being five meant that he wasn't a good boy anymore. Being five meant that Daddy and Mama didn't love him anymore. Being five really, really sucked.
He cried himself to sleep. He buried his face in his pillow so Daddy wouldn't hear him. He told himself that he would never ask Daddy and Mama for anything ever again. And he didn't. He told himself that no one would ever see him cry again. And they didn't. He was a big boy now.
To Be Continued...