If I Could Have Just One Pure Thought...
Six of them crammed into their small country home.
He loved being outside when he was able.
Nature never asked him why he couldn't perceive color.
Nature never betrayed him like that.
He also didn't have much to do indoors as his siblings didn't like him and he didn't have many toys.
Just his imagination.
He knew they were poor without being told.
His step father was away a lot. His mum saying he worked multiple jobs to help "keep the house".
His mum didn't work, she stayed at home to take care of them.
She was a good mum, nurturing, loving, patient, protective, maybe a little too so. She coddled them, keeping them close to her skirts. She was also painfully naive to most things. But he loved her fiercely.
Her children were her life, making up for a first husband that ran out on her and a new husband that wasn't around a lot. She surrounded herself with children, filling her up.
He was about seven or eight when he caught wind of what his father was really out doing when he was away.
He thought he probably had a legitimate job (somewhere) but he picked up on that he liked to get money the fast and easy ways.
He would come home smelling like a chimney. The liquor smell coming off from him also was so strong that it smelled like he had bathed in it, hands impossibly dirty, clothes askew, hair mussed, eyes glassed over. Sometimes he would don fresh cuts or bruises or he would shake a little, stumble into their home, making too much noise.
He scared him a little when he was like this though he was never violent. He usually tried to escape everyone's attention, usually…
"Charlie," he would call out to him sometimes. Eames was the oldest child and the usual target for his step father's "moods".
Charlie wasn't even his name; just a nick name that his step father insisted on calling him because his deceased brother was named Charles and Eames "always reminded him of his little brother." Eames always hated it. He wasn't anyone's deceased brother. He was Eames.
"Charlie, I want to show you something," his dry, horse voice would crack out.
Eames knew to never disobey his wishes when he was like this, it would only cause more of a mess and would make his younger siblings confused and scared.
So he took the brunt of it.
Sometimes he could even be amusing or sweet, bringing him home something because he was the "disadvantaged child" and telling him funny stories. He loved to tell stories and he was always talking.
"I want to show you something," he slurred.
They had traveled downstairs to his little "workshop", basically a 4X4, little area with a crapshoot workbench with rusty tools hanging on the wall, his ashtray full to the brim of old cigarettes, little odds and bits of things he was going to "fix" but never got around to scattered all over.
Eames was leery. His step father always did the "things his mother didn't like" downstairs, out of sight.
Eames suppressed a groan rising in his throat.
"I want to show you how to play dice."
Thus began his step father showing him all the illegal things that he was doing to "provide" for the family.
But Eames had no idea why.
They played dice and cards, he showed him how to pickpocket.
It was "their secret".
Of course this led to his siblings holding even a deeper grudge against him, taking away the attention from their father whom they didn't get to see too often.
He hated it.
He was taking the attention because if he didn't then Lord knew what his step father would do yet his siblings hated him for it. He was stuck and he hated it.
He was a fast learner though and by the time he was nine and "ready enough" his step father took it to the next level and then Eames understood why he was teaching him.
He was a pawn in his schemes, his cons.
Pick pocketing, distracting people while his step father did things or sometimes they would change it up and his step father would do the distracting and Eames would pick pocket. They pulled cons, cheated lotteries, convinced old and feeble minded people to donate money to his "crippled son", sometimes all of these within the same day. When Eames had enough, total betrayal and fury crippling his young mind and he refused to continue his step father would give him these looks and would say: "If you want your mother and your brothers and sister to die then yes just stop."
He would say they couldn't buy food without it and he surely couldn't continue without him when really he was just too proud to get government assistance, to admit that he couldn't provide for his family on just his normal salary and what that was Eames never knew. His father never discussed that or what his "real" job was.
Certainly he could help his step father and mum out by doing just a few more jobs, pick pocketing a bit more?
Eames would stifle back tears and nod curtly.
He was stuck again.
He was tempted many times in confessing to his mum but deep down he thought she already knew but just ignored it, turned a blind eye, hid it in her naivety.
And what would happen if he did say something?
His step father would certainly go to jail or worse and his siblings and mum would really would hate him, they would be put out on the street, maybe they would really die?
So he endured it.
Spent more time in bars, back alleys, brothels and clubs than any ten year old had any right to.
His step father's "friends" took a shining to him though and took great amusement in the fact that he was getting almost as good as them at cards.
He learned to take on "that role". The one where he wasn't himself but he wasn't quite sure who he really was supposed to be.
Was he the street urchin? The traveling side show performer? The delinquent? The con artist? The thief? Liar? Babysitter? Thug? Grunt? Lowlife? Or was he was any or all of these at one time, constantly performing?
As expected he became excellent at lying. Lying to his mother, his siblings, teachers, friends, school mates and even himself.
"Why are you gone all the time?"
"Been staying late after school to study."
"Why are you always with Daddy?"
"I'm not with him all the time, you prat. I have a life too you know. I joined a club after school."
His step father never asked what he saw, never bothered to know what HE wanted or what he dreamed about. It was all about making the next deal, running to meet the next person, securing the next this or that, getting the next pound sterling, surviving week to week, day to day, hour to hour. He had no doubt that they were risking their lives every minute.
He knew where his father hid the money downstairs, spied on him once when he was particularly drunk and stupid. He hid it inconspicuously in some old coffee cans under some boxes. Eames knew he could easily steal it all and leave and sometimes he had half wild thoughts of doing just that.
But he couldn't. He couldn't leave his family with nothing but he was becoming nothing himself.
By thirteen he was surpassing his step father's skills, his step father knowing this and it made him angry.
His protégée was out growing him. The person he built up, molded and sculpted was now raking in more than him on a daily basis.
It hurt his step father's pride, his eyes said but his lips said differently.
"You're nothing without me you little twit! Never forget that! I made you who you are and you'll never be better than me!"
But Eames was.
His strength was cards and he was beating his step father and his friends weekly at poker during their illegal "games".
He wasn't sure how he had honed in on the skill but he still hated it but was somehow pleased he was better at something than most people.
He couldn't see correctly and his life was one big lie but he was good at taking people's money.
He got deep satisfaction from it and he did really love money especially when he could pocket a little himself to buy dirty magazines or fags.
He got pleasure out of knowing that other children his age weren't bringing in money, weren't providers, didn't work hard or even have jobs yet.
He was an adult. They definitely were not.
He did miss out on some precious things by bypassing his youth but he didn't know any other way. Like with being color blind how could he miss what he didn't have?
He was getting hardened, trained, had his role down pact.
Schmoozing became part of the act so he became naturally very good with people, people liking his calm but authoritative voice, his never breaking gaze, the way he positioned his body-his hands, the way he leaned in when they spoke, they way he smiled without showing a lot of teeth. People trusted him. These were things that his step father never showed him. Eames learned these things on his own and was why he was better than his step father at conning and cheating because he adapted to the situation, blending in when called for.
Again his step father knew all this and because he was an angry, surly, proud, bitter prick he was going to send Eames away to boarding school, not wanting him to monopolize, take over, surpass him even more. He wanted to be the sole bread winner of the household, wanted his wife's eyes to light up when she saw the money and he didn't "need Eames anymore now since the kids were all getting older". He would teach William, his youngest half brother, the trade if he needed but both of them knew that was a lie. William was too old, not impressionable and all around no good.
"Don't waste the money on the school I'll just stop."
And his step father would just glare at him.
"But you can never stop Charlie, you can never stop. You're into deep. It's a part of you now. You can't separate the two. Born a thief and you'll die and thief. You need to leave."
His step father paid for the military boarding school out of his own pocket, the hoarded money out of his coffers.
His mum was bewildered, besides herself, hysterical and his parents fought about it. His step father won of course.
"What will I do without you Sweets?"
She would cry into his shoulder and he would hold her tight, her frail form so light against him, sharp edges and bone and scratchy sweater. He would hold her close until her sobbing stopped. He never wanted to let go.
It was all for her. It was always for her.
Even his sister seemed displeased that he was shoving off, hiding her sadness under anger.
His half brothers could give a shit less, almost pleased that the "weird, spoiled child that got all the attention" was leaving.
He wasn't given a choice. He never has. Even with his mum's protests he still left at fourteen and he would only be back scarcely, his step father wanting him away, out of sight.
Darkness and Light.
"You can never stop. You're into deep. It's a part of you now."
"Born a thief. Die a thief."
He only allowed himself to cry over his mum when he opened his suitcase and found she had sneaked in something with a note attached.
"So you won't forget to keep dreaming."
It was her white feather necklace, the one she knew he always loved.
Maybe someday he could come back. To not be punished for something that wasn't his fault, for the person he became unwillingly.
Oh geez. Such a downer :( Just like with Black Moon this story starts out very dark but gets lighter. I promise!
Reviews are much appreciated!