"I know victims of domestic abuse. I know what it takes for people to get out, and I also know why people stay. It's heartbreaking." -Paddy Considine
Mary knew in her heart that her husband, Rudy meant well. He was just a bit rough around the edges that was all; a little dampened in spirit but certainly not violent, especially towards their son Wally. She never saw him once lay a hand across the boy, not even when her troublemaker tracked mud all over the kitchen floor from his silly Flash game. No, Rudy was a good man, a hard worker, the foundation of their family. He would never hurt her or their child, it just wasn't in his nature; he was a father.
Walking back to the stovetop Mary pulled on her oven mitts.
"Boys, the pie is ready!"
Kneading into the dough Wally cowered as he heard rustling from the living room. His father had passed out on the couch again surrounded by a staggering amount of empty beer cans and discarded cigarette butts. The TV was still running in the background playing some mundane newsfeed on repeat, the curtains were drawn shut, and lights had all burned out after years of neglect.
The awful stench of an unwashed man slowly wafted into the kitchen like a poisonous gas, but the boy continued his work. Wally ignored the tingling sensation in his nose, he was far to use to the odorous hell hole he lived in. After his mother died this was his new reality, and all dreams he used to have were gone.
His frail body was covered with hidden bumps and bruises left as trophies for his father, causing him to wince every time a twang of pain erupted from his wounds. His scarred shoulders ached as the child began to pour the mixture into the pie crust.
It was cherry, a cherry pie; his mom's favorite.
Sweetly bursting with a delightful, red, sugary filling, a crispy crust complimenting the delicacy of the cherries; a mouth watering masterpiece. And yet here it was created in the deepest pit of the Tartarus.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The oven was done preheating, signaled by its high-pitch ringing. Carefully Wally pushed the pie dish inside and set the timer, cautiously looking back only to see his father was still fast asleep, the remote slipping from his monstrous paw.
Sighing, the boy sat down on the floor staring into the open window, watching the fierce hotness bake his confection. Catching a glimpse of himself, his sad eyes roamed the marks littering his broken frame, tracing his fingers along the handprints from the last time he failed his father's expectations.
He shuddered as cold fear strangled his heart, his lungs on the verge of collapse as tremors raced through him.
Wally wrapped his arms around himself, hugging tightly as if not to fall apart.
Why did he have to make this stupid pie? Why did he have to be beaten every time it wasn't good enough? He was trying his best. He was just trying his best.
The kitchen timer dinged and Wally quickly shut it off, curling into himself as thunderous footsteps were heard behind him.
A heavy weight of a sweaty palm landed on top of his head and a gruff voice eerily whispered, "Better have made it right, boy."
Wally gulped nervously, not speaking a word as the oven door opened.