Chapter Two
Audery Nichols nee Parker was worried. Extremely worried.
Her son Drake had promised to be home by midnight and had text her a quarter to twelve to let him know he was on his way home, yet here it was nearly six am and he wasn't home.
Drake, no matter how many times he broke curfew never stayed out passed one, and he always called her if he was late or staying with a friend for the night.
She bit her lip, brow furrowing as she moved throughout the kitchen to prepare breakfast, even though everyone else wouldn't awaken until it neared eight.
Where was her son?
The sound of a key eing turned in the lock reached her ears and relief flooded her veins followed quickly by anger and she stormed into the sitting room to prepared to yell at him. His appearance stopped her cold.
"Oh my- Drake!" She gasped, tears welling in her eyes as he hand came up to cover her mouth.
Her baby looked terrible.
Dirt clung to his normally pale skin and his clothes, dry blood caking the side of his head. Bruises mottled his face and every visible peice of his skin, his clothing torn as if he'd been jumped and mugged. His eyes, however, his eyes were the most devastating part of his appearance. The narmally lively honey brown orbs had a dull lifeless look in them that made them seem a lackluster murky gold color. Upon hearing those hollow eyes glanced up at her and their owner gave her an apologetic smile that didn't meet them.
"I'm sorry."
"W-What? What happened to you Drake? Are you okay?"
"I broke my promise." He replied sadly but his eyes, those cold broken hues didn't change.
Audrey's breath hitched and she waited for him to respond to her other question but he didn't. Instead he turned away from her and stumbled up the stais leaving her to stare worriedly after him.
Just what had happened to her baby boy?
Her eyes caught on a small patch of blood staining the back of her son's pants and dread pooled in her stomach.
And why did she have the feeling that whatever it was...would break her heart?
He had to get clean.
He had to get clean.
He had to get clean.
The mantra ran through his mind in a steady monotone as he staggered up the stairs, stoically ignoring the agonizing pain in his lower body and the throbbing of the various bruises marring his frame.
He couldn't think about that.
He wouldn't dare.
As silently as possible, he slipped into the bedroom he shared with Josh, grabbed some clean underwear and pajamas, then rushed into the adjoining bathroom and locked the door. Then he turned the shower on as high as it would go, she his clothes and stepped into the scalding spray.
For a moment he merely stood there gazing blankly at the wall, feeling the phantom touches weaken, then the cloying feeling of dirt clinging to his skin overwhelmed him and he began to scrub himself vigorously, his mask of stoicism shattering.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the hot water and silent sobs left his throat causing his sore throat to sting with a vengeance. He sobbed and screamed in silence until he barely had the energy to calm down. Once he was sure he was calm once more, he climbed out of the shower, shut off the water and got dressed, shoving his soiled clothing to the very bottom of the hamper.
Then he sluggishly dragged himself to his bed, curled under his blankets in a fetal position and cried himself to sleep for the first time in a very long time.
TBC...