3.) Painful Memories
As much as he wanted them to the tears couldn't stop flowing down Ricky's face. This was ridiculous, not that he believed in the whole macho thing where men shouldn't cry but the whole day had been like this, it had been this way since Bob showed up. This only made Ricky cry even harder given the memories that flooded his mind when he felt his own tears.
"Damn it boy," Bob said to a five year old Ricky Underwood. "Suck it up. Boys don't cry you hear me?" Smack! Little Ricky cried more. Bam, went Bob's boot as he kicked Ricky. "Stop it or I swear my boot will be up your ass next time."
Ricky took a deep breath trying to hold in his tears. Even at this age he knew that his father was high. For as long as his five year old could remember, probably since before he was born drugs had been a constant item in the house. At five he knew to flush them and that only made Bob angrier. Bob was high now which only made things worse.
Bob picked up Ricky from the floor. "You want something to cry about, I'll give you something to cry about. I'll teach you a little lesson in how hard it is to be a man in this world, and then maybe you'll learn something."
Ricky cried out to his mother who was sitting lopsided on the couch, calling her, wanting her to make him stop but she couldn't. She had gotten too drunk to even feel anything that Bob dished out at her or her son.
The bedroom slammed with Bob locking the door.
Ricky screamed out in his car. He looked over to the bloody blade that he had just used on his left arm. More cuts than usual but that didn't matter to him, the count never mattered. What did matter was just at how far he could go to escape the terrible things trapped in his mind. If he could he would rip himself out of his body but that wasn't possible unless you were dead and Ricky wasn't one for suicide no matter how much the pain tore at him. He had a child on the way now and he had to be strong.
'How can I be,' he asked knowing that being strong meant putting the child's needs before his own. He knew he was being selfish, putting his pain above all else but there was no other escape. He had seen how drugs and alcohol had affected his parents and he didn't want that kind of life for his own child nor did he want that kind of self destructive behavior for himself.
Was his cutting genetic? Though his parents did alcohol and drugs, he had on occasion seen the scars on his mothers' wrists and for men drugs and alcohol were the "preferred" method of self destructive behavior. As for it actually being genetic, this Ricky did not know. Much of the research could neither prove one side or another. Not that his own parents problems mattered to him, he stopped caring for them the moment he stopped feeling like a human being.
A six year old Ricky Underwood lay in his bedroom. He had been asleep for only a few hours when his father slammed the door of their house. Ricky hid under his blankets. There was a note on the table that Bob clearly found which made him pound his fist. Nora was busy in her room. She wasn't fast enough though. Bob slammed the door to their master bedroom but that didn't block out the noise.
"You leaving me woman, that what you're doing?"
"No of course not Bob,"
Smack! "Don't lie to me woman, no one leaves you got that? I own you just like I own the boy."
"Bob leave our son out of this, please." Smack!
"Do you even give a damn how much I do for this family?"
"Oh please, all you do is sit on your ass and hang out. You're not a teenager anymore Bob, get over yourself." Smack!
"Like you're any better. Look at you, you're high."
"And you're drunk." Bam!
"You want out so bad, then get the hell out but leave the kid."
"No, I won't."
"Leave now, I swear to God woman if you don't you won't wake up tomorrow."
Nora quickly grabbed her bag, "I love you, Ricky," she whispered.
"God," Ricky said silently, "If you're listening please make him stop. I'll do anything you want, just don't let him come into my room tonight. Please God, tell me you're really there. Make this stop!"
It didn't take long for Bob to come into Ricky's room. Ricky held tightly onto his covers hoping he was at least that strong but to no avail. He knew what was coming and the tears couldn't help but form.
"God help me," Ricky said.
Bob laughed, "It's just you and me boy, God can't help you."
More tears streamed down Ricky's face making Bob laugh again before getting serious.
"It's time for another little lesson," he said, "Women are dispensable, never forget that."
Bob closed the door and held his son's mouth as he always did so he wouldn't scream.