“John, please,” my mother cried.
I stood in the middle of the large room, afraid of everything I saw around me.
John smacked her so hard that the sound of her body hitting the floor reverberated through the room.
“Mommy,” I cried as I ran to her, kneeling beside her.
Blood was pouring from her mouth.
I felt a searing pain as my father dug his hand into my shoulder and flung me back like a rag doll. I hit the wall, leaving a crack. I started to cry when I fell to the floor. John was by my side in several long strides. He lifted me by my neck, my legs suspended in the air.
“Shut the fuck up. Crying is not an option. Disobedience is not an option.”
He released his hold on my neck, and I crumpled to the floor.
“Crawl to the bed,” he told my mother.
My mom rose to her hands and knees. Loud body-wracking sobs escaped her mouth.
“Stand up, take down your pants and panties, then bend over the bed,” John instructed my mother as he walked over to her.
He took off his black belt and started hitting my mother on her rear with hard, violent lashes. My mother screamed out in pain. He took down his pants and started fucking my mom right in front of me.
At the time, I had no idea what was happening. I pissed on myself. He beat the shit out of me that night and made me scrub the floor afterwards.
I was a scared little boy, afraid for my mother and myself. My small body was shaking so violently that my teeth clanked together. The room was big and filled with strange looking things. It wasn’t until later that I found out what those things were. The instruments he used to torture his victims. I remember the look on his face when he inflicted the pain—he loved it. I still have nightmares about that night.
When John left bruises on my mother after a severe beating, he would lock her in the room until she healed. My mother was a housewife, so her absence wasn’t noticeable most of the time. When someone did inquire about her, my father would say she was sick, visiting family, or some other lie.
The older I became the more John’s control over me slipped. Now, I’m completely out of control. John knows not to fuck with me. I’m now the monster he always wanted me to be.
I make my way to my room. I’m restless. It’s going to take me a while to fall asleep tonight. I need to release some of my pent-up energy and anger. I want to hurt somebody tonight.
Cocoa’s image materializes in my mind.
I’m already wearing a t-shirt and theblack basketball shorts I changed into after my shower at school. I call Dee.
“Can you spot me tonight?” I ask.
“Come on, you can’t be serious.”
“Are you coming or not?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Call Nix and tell him to be ready.”
I grab the bag I need for my night-time excursion and then leave the house.
I pull up outside the abandoned warehouse two towns over about an hour later. There are plenty of cars out here, tonight. Dee, Nix, and I exit my jeep to make our way to the entrance.
Travis stands from his stool when he sees us approaching.
“Hey Mav, haven’t seen you here in a while. Go on in, Hugh will be glad to see you.”
We walk inside to the stench of sweat and blood in the air. The shouts from spectators, who form a circle around two men beating the shit out of each other, is deafening. I make my way through the crowd to Hugh who stands at the front of the crowd. A big smile forms across his lips when he sees me.
“Follow me.”
