Title: Behind Closed Doors
Chapter 2
Word Count: 1,261
Rating: T, Possibly M later on
Pairings: Eventual James/Carlos, otherwise general.
Disclaimer: I have a nickel… Is that enough to buy the rights to the show and characters and all? NO? Oh dang… I guess I don't own BTR
Warnings: Abuse, implied rape, self-harm
Summary: AU His friends only saw the happy, peppy, playfully crazy him. They never saw the broken, pained, dying him. He wouldn't, couldn't let them. They couldn't know what happened behind closed doors.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who put the story on alert and reviewed! You guys have no idea how much that means to me. Like, seriously, it just touches my heart to know someone likes it. *tears up a little* thanks again! I think I am going to do three more, maybe four of the flashback-type-thing-a-ma-bobs at the beginning. It depends on if it I think I've told enough of Carlos' past or not. This one his six and it's really short! Anyway, here's the next chapter. Again, reviews are always fantastic!
Oh, and just so y'all know, this chapter, the beginning anyway, was terribly hard for me to write. I almost decided not to do it.
Read on!
DallieJLovesBTR
Six-year-old Carlos sits on the floor of his room while he watches Spongebob with his brother. He's not usually allowed to do this, so he doesn't question why his mother is letting him. His father never allows them to have any fun, part of his rules. No watching television. Carlos didn't ask his mother why she looked so sad, why she looked so guilty. If he had, she might not be sitting in the room across the hall, gun in hand, ready to pull the trigger.
The sound the gun made echoed through the quiet, Missouri home. Echoed through the two children's ears. Carlos ripped his attention from the TV and jumped up. He quickly told his brother to stay put and walked out of the room. "Mommy?" he whispered after closing the door. He walked down the hall and looked into the living room and the kitchen. She wasn't there. Carlos ran back down the hall, screaming for his mommy, checking the bathroom and the old nursery. He checked the laundry room and the garage. He lastly checked her room.
Carlos couldn't believe his young eyes. Blood was quickly pouring from his mother's head and a handgun, much like the toy ones he saw in the store, laid in her hand. Her body was limp and still on the bed. Carlos didn't know what to do, but he remember what his mommy always told him to do if something terrible happened. Call 911.
He ran to the living room and grabbed the phone, hurriedly dialing. When someone answered the phone, he went into panic mode, automatically stuttering and bawling. The person on the phone tried calming him down, at least enough to know what the situation was. When they failed, they immediately tracked the call.
Mateo heard his brother crying and came running out, against his brothers wishes. He found his big brother curled in a ball, holding the phone to his chest and sobbing. "Cawwos!" He screamed, running over and grabbing his brother's hand. Tears started to fall from the smaller boy's eyes, he didn't know what was wrong, but seeing his big, strong brother crying made him break down.
Carlos sat on the bus back to the high school, nervously tapping his foot. They had won the game and everyone else was celebrating making it into playoffs, but he couldn't keep his mind off of his brother. His brother, who was home alone with an evil person, their father. God only knew what was happening to Mateo and that made Carlos sick to his stomach. He was supposed to protect his brother, not leave him there at the will of a twisted, sick person. Carlos prayed his father knew it wasn't the younger's fault and he wouldn't hurt him.
Suddenly, James slid into the empty space beside him and wrapped an arm around the small Latino's shoulders. "C'mon, budday! Why aren't you celebrating? We're going to the big games. This is our shot at championship. You scored at least three shots tonight, party! The guys are all coming to my house tonight, you should come. A couple of drinks and lots a sugar. It'll be so much fun." The tall boy looked down at Carlos expectantly.
Carlos frowned. He really did want to go, but he knew his father couldn't wait a whole night to hit someone. His brother would be in even more danger if he did. Carlos shook his head. "Sorry, man, I can't. My dad wanted tonight to be family night. And because of the game, that couldn't really happen. He'll want to hang out with me." His voice shook slightly, and he silently scolded himself for being such a wimp. He had to be tough, or else they would figure something out.
James lips turned down, he really wanted Carlos to be able come. But he wasn't about to stop him. James knew the Latino cherished the time he had with his father, his father was always busy at the station. But James could also tell something was off. The quiver in the small boy's voice wasn't ever there. He shook it off. "Okay… Maybe, tomorrow?"
Carlos nodded and resumed silently tapping his foot. He felt James get up and move back to the party. He wished he had stayed. He always felt a little safer with the tall boy beside him. But at the moment he let the feeling pass, he had more important things to think about at the moment.
Carlos apprehensively approached his apartment door, hastily turning the knob and going in. The first thing he sees is Mateo sitting in the chair facing the door. The boy had a busted lip and an eye that was quickly going black. That was all he could see, anything else that may have happened was hidden under clothing. Carlos was infuriated. "We had a deal!" He shouted, stomping into the living room where he knew his father would be lounging on the couch, as if nothing was wrong.
His father looked up from the newspaper he held in hand and folded it in half, setting it to the side, before pushing himself off the couch. He said, in a voice that sent chills down Carlos' spine, "You weren't here, and I had a bad day. Where were you Carlos? You're his protecter. You're supposed to take the hits."
Carlos shook his head sharply, "I was at hockey! We had a game tonight."
His father frowned, he had no knowledge of this game, he believed Carlos was supposed to be home making dinner for him and being a punching bag for the sake of his poor, little brother. "Did it occur to you that I wanted dinner from you tonight? You always do make the best spaghetti, just like your mother does. Oh, excuse me, used too." The large cop took two steps towards Carlos, subconsciously stepped backwards to remain the same distance from his father.
"Don't say that." He said through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice low and steady. He turned his eyes to his brother who was sitting staring at the wall behind Carlos, not watching what was sure to unfold in seconds. Carlos turned his eyes back to his father. He was smirking in victory, knowing he had angered his son with his remark.
The large Latino shook his head in disappointment. "I wouldn't have had too, if you had been home on time. " Carlos barely had time to blink before his father charged at him, right fist flying at Carlos face. It hit his left cheek with force, pain shot across his whole face. His father laughed and threw another punch at his gut. The hit was harder than the last, causing the wind to leave Carlos' lungs and him to double over in pain. His father continued to laugh and beat Carlos. A punch to the upper back, a kick to the middle of the right shin, a fist to the ribs on his right. Bones cracked and blood trickled. It went on for a good hour, until the pain caused Carlos to pass out. After he had fallen to the floor, his father kicked him once more in the side and looked horror-stricken Mateo in the eyes. "Pick him up and be quiet about it, or your next," He said with an expressionless face. He left the room without another word.
Mateo ran to his brother's side, shaking him and whispering, "Carlos! Carlos, wake up! I need you to wake up! I need you."