Happy Mother's Day! Although this chapter isn't happy in the least, it is about a mother. I wasn't sure I would ever put this part of Bruce's life to writing, but I thought it was an important moment to explore from his mother's perspective. Trigger warning: graphic depictions of violence/self harm/suicide attempt
Blood on the Rug:
When Rebecca got home from the store, the house was silent. She relaxed by several degrees. All too often, she entered the house to the sound of Brian yelling or Bruce crying. Silence meant no one was hurt. In fact, it looked like Brian wasn't even home. His wallet wasn't in its usual spot on the table.
Rebecca put away the groceries and tried to think of what to make for dinner. She wasn't craving anything in particular, so she called Bruce's name to ask what he wanted to eat. There was no answer. She walked halfway up the stairs and called again. Still nothing. Rebecca walked all the way upstairs and knocked on his door. "Bruce?"
Something warm soaked into the toe of her sock. Rebecca looked down. That was blood trickling from under the door frame. Panic seized both her mind and her body. She'd seen Brian do some terrible things, but he'd never gone this far. Her hand gripped the doorknob so forcefully it left marks on her palm. It was locked, so she resorted to slamming her shoulder into the door. Again. And again. And again. On the fifth impact it finally buckled. Rebecca stumbled into the room and found Bruce lying on the rug in a puddle of blood that reached all the way to the door.
Brian, what did you do?!
As she knelt down to find the source of the bleeding, she saw the kitchen knife mere inches from Bruce's outstretched hand. Rebecca came to a horrific realization. Brian didn't do this. Bruce did it to himself. Processing the ramifications of that could wait. Rebecca snatched her phone from her pocket, dialed nine-one-one, and left it on speaker on the floor. She wrenched open the nearest dresser drawer and pulled out the first two shirts she laid her hand on.
Despite the already massive amount of blood soaking the rug and spilling across the floor, it still poured furiously from the wounds. Rebecca tried not to look at them too closely as she frantically tied shirts around Bruce's wrists. Even then, she saw enough to know they were deep.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"
"My son is bleeding out. I need an ambulance." She rattled off their address and mindlessly answered the operator's questions. She checked the pulse at Bruce's neck and listened for breaths, grateful beyond belief to find both. His skin, however, was cold and clammy, and what pulse she could feel was rapid.
Rebecca tied yet another shirt around each wrist when the first began to soak through. The paramedics came through the door downstairs right about then. "Up here!" Rebecca shouted. They raced through the door and immediately started assessing Bruce. She scrambled out of the way to give them space and in the process, even more blood soaked into her clothes.
She couldn't follow any of their technical jargon, but she could follow them out and into the waiting ambulance. She couldn't hold Bruce's hand because they were working on them, so she stood at the foot of the gurney and held onto his foot as they drove off. The paramedics had stuck IVs into his legs, probably because the veins in his arms were no good. They also gave him oxygen and cut off his shirt to stick on heart monitor leads.
"Mom, do you know anything about these scars?" one of the paramedics asked. Rebecca looked where he was pointing and saw the lash marks that snaked around from his back.
"It wasn't me! I swear, I never hurt him!"
"Okay. I believe you. Do you know where they came from?"
Rebecca's blood-stained hands began to shake. Brian had threatened to hurt Bruce–even kill him–if Rebecca breathed a word of his abuse to the authorities. For so long, she'd been too terrified to say anything. But looking at her son, pale and barely alive after trying to take his own life, she knew she had to speak up. Living with Brian was already killing Bruce, and it was up to her to stop it.
She started sobbing. "It was my husband. He beats him all the time, but he said he'd do worse if I ever told anyone. Please keep my son safe, don't let him near him. Please, I don't know what he'll do."
"We won't let your husband near him," the paramedic assured. He draped an orange blanket around her shoulders. "You did the right thing, speaking up. We'll keep you and your son safe. I promise."
Rebecca had promised Bruce she'd keep him safe. She failed miserably.
