Chapter eleven
He was only ten. This boy was only ten and he had already witnessed the gruesome death of his mother. "I should have been here." He whispered to the lifeless room. "I should have stopped it."
Just a few feet in front of him, sprawled out of a stain ridden mattress, was his mother. She was clutching a bottle of alcohol in one hand and an empty bottle of pills in the other. She was naked and her bruises and deep cuts were on show for her son to see. Her matted hair covered her face which was lying in a pool of her own blood and vomit.
He wandered over to her slowly. Once next to her he brushed her hair away from her face, closed her eyes and kissed her forehead. "Night night mummy. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, I wasn't strong enough. You're safe now. The angles will look after you." He hugged her and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I love you." He whispered into her ear.
He felt a sharp tug on his hair and he was ripped away from his mother. "Get a good look did you, you little shit."
He turned to face the man who had pulled him off his mum. "Fuck you."
"What did you say?"
"I said … Fuck-" Before he had a chance to finish his sentence a blow was sent to his jaw, knocking him to the floor. He wiped his split lip with the back of his hand. The man picked him up by the scruff of the collar and took him over to the dead woman on the bed.
"You see her. This whore. She begged me to stop beating her and when I didn't she screamed 'Just don't hurt my Dylan.' Well that's a promise I just don't think I can keep." He chucked the child onto the floor and kicked him repeatedly.
"Night night Dylan."