Hey!

This is sad...

but Enjoy!

If you can...

It would be of no surprise to you, if I told you that Jerome's father use to hit him. Beat him. Punish him. For doing absolutely nothing at all. It would be of no surprise to you, if I told you that Jerome would cower in fear, and rather than fight back, he became sneaky and clever. Hiding, and putting up walls so that whenever he was slapped right across the face he wouldn't shed a single tear, and would rather, become stronger for it. You wouldn't be surprised when I told you...that those walls, the big walls, came down the moment he laid down on Mara Jaffray. Even larger walls crumbled into the deep crevices of his mind when she kissed him. And the important walls, all but disappeared when she declared that she did indeed love him. Love him as much as he loved her.

Maybe...maybe you would be surprised when I told you, that Jerome hadn't changed completely. Deeply stemmed into his inside, into his core, how do you discipline a child? You would ask him. Hit them. He would reply. Punish them. Make them suffer. Make them become a man.

"Jerome! Please!" Mara carried, stepping in front of him as he raised his hand to hit Marcus again. The eleven year old was crying, his white blond hair and pale skin contrasting greatly with the numerous deep red marks covering his face and arms. "Stop it!" she was crying too, just watching him hit her "He didn't do anything!"

"Please Mara." He persisted, eyes flashing steel, but cooling momentarily when he saw her "This isn't your place, I'm disciplining my son!"

"For what?" She challenged, still shielding Marcus with her body. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and was crying into her elbow. "Tell me what he did!" She wrapped her arms around the little boy. Jerome's nostrils flared

"He challenged me Mara! How dare he? How dare he suggest that I spend more time with him! That child, that insolent, disgusting little mongrel! How dare he suggest for one minute that I'll give up my time on him?!" He gripped Marcus's arm, and dragged him away from Mara. "Apologise you snivelling, pathetic, weak and feeble excuse for a Clarke!"

"Daddy please!" Marcus cried, lifting his arms to protect his face.

The memory didn't even come back to him. That's how far deep it was buried. That he could only barely remember, and it didn't come to mind at the moment.

"Stupid, snivelling little boy! You don't go giving food to your sister!"

"Well you weren't going to feed her!" the young, pre-teen Jerome whispered, wiping his eyes. His father looked down at him in distain, and struck him. Whack. Nice and hard on the face Jerome fell to the ground.

"Get up! Get up you snivelling, pathetic, weak and feeble excuse for a Clarke!"

"I'm sorry Dad!" Another hit and Jerome was curled up in a ball, his mother and his baby sister crying for different reasons in the corner of the room, but they did nothing but watch, because what could they do?

A sharp kick to his sides and Jerome could feel the world spinning a little. He could feel himself being sick. "You're the worst son I could ever think of having. The biggest mistake of my life. You, Jerome 'Clarke', if you even deserve the title, are rotten. Rotten to the core."

"Stop it John," Cercila whispered. John glared at her

"Send him to a boarding school Cer, I don't want to see this failure anymore."

He hit Marcus hard, but the boy didn't fall. He raised his hand again, but Mara leapt in front of her son, and Jerome struck her instead.

She fell.

Both Clarke men stood frozen. She had hit her head, hit it hard on the mantle, and she was just lying there.

"Mummy?" Marcus whispered, hauling himself up onto his knees and crawling over to her side, he rolled her onto her back, and he burst out crying anew just at the sight of her. Blood poured from her forehead down onto her eyes.

"Mara," Jerome whispered, falling to his knees on her other side, he held her hand and wiped his tears "Wha...wh-why did you do that? Why did you have to come between us?" he was trying to blame her to feel the immense guilt he was feeling, but it couldn't be lifted from his shoulders, it was so heavy.

"I love you..." she whispered, "...Marcus."

Jerome's heart shattered in that instance, if it hadn't been broken by his loveless childhood, it broke for real now. Such pain, such a great and grave pain. And Mara shut her eyes.

Line Break

She was rushed to hospital, surrounded by people in white coats, and Jerome didn't know how he was meant to trust them with her life. He sat in the waiting room, and Marcus sat opposite him. He was a fool. Look a him. Look at him, he was his father. "Mark..." he whispered, staring at his hands, as if he couldn't believe what they'd done, the hurt they'd caused. Were these the same hands that hit his only child? His son? Were these the hands that had slipped the wedding ring onto Mara's finger, promising to love her, and never hurt her. These hands belonged to two people. Jerome Clarke, and John Clarke.

John Clarke was dead, and rightly so, the demon. But he lived on, lived on in little whispers through Jerome, his horrible whispers, his horrible demonic traits of lying, and deceit, and pain, and hurt, and cruelty.

"Yes dad?" Marcus whispered, not looking up, not meeting his eyes. Jerome almost wanted to smile. The boy was doing what he had done when he was younger. Never look the elder in the eyes, it's like a challenge.

"Look at me, son," he whispered. Hesitantly, Marcus looked up, and Jerome hissed at the dark purple circle on his cheek "I did that," he whispered, standing up and sitting beside his son. He placed a gentle hand on his cheek "I'm so sorry. I'm so...so so so so so so sorry,"

Marcus stared up at his dad, bewildered, and threw his arms around him. Jerome cried into his neck.

Line Break

"Mara," Jerome said softly, he watched Mara soothe the bruise on Marcus's cheek, with a cold flannel. He leaned against the door way, Marcus was half asleep, still murmuring thanks, and wishes of love to his mother. A few to his father, but mostly to Mara. She propped up the cold cloth, and headed to the door, walking right past Jerome. "Jaffray," he whispered

"Yes my dear?" she asked quietly, closing the freezer door and turning off the tap that had been left running.

"I...I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have hit Marcus, not ever, and I never will again, and I can't believe I hurt you," Mara gave him a small smile, and Jerome examined her face. A small, slim cut near her hairline, unnoticeable unless you were staring at her for hours on end, but Jerome could see it. He would always see it. "I never pegged myself for being arrested for domestic violence."

Mara stared at him, humourlessly "You would have been taken for child abuse." Jerome nodded, holding her wrists gently

"I suck, don't I?"

She laughed a little at that, and hugged him tightly "You scared me, Jerome." She admitted hugging him "Every time you hit him, you weren't Jerome. You were someone else." Jerome kissed her head "Every time you hit him, I wanted to file for a divorce, and take him away and run from you. I wanted to phone the police and get you arrested. And at the same time I wanted to murder your dad for instilling this into you."

"I've stopped." He promised, kissing her three time. "I love you, and I love him, and we're a family, and I've never hurt either of you again,"

Mara smiled, and spotted Marcus in the door way, she held her arms open, as did Jerome, and they hugged their son tightly.

But of all three of them,

Jerome was the one who had been hurt most.

No matter the bruises he was sporting.

And they were a family, because Marcus and Mara

understood that.

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