CAIDEN’S CONDITIONING
12 years old
This anger consumed me like an untamable fire, leaving a scar that would never heal. It swelled and pulsated every second of the day, infecting my veins and pushing me deeper into sin.
She was a vision of sweet softness, and I hated it. I wanted to ruin her until she was just as damaged as I was.
Deep down, I knew it wasn’t fair to her. I was a monster for unleashing my anger on her, for unleashing my father’s anger on her. Everything about her seemed to succumb to it.
I recognized that truth, yet I still pushed her every day. My innocence had long been extinguished, leaving me incapable of feeling empathy or sympathy. “Kill or be killed,” I repeated to myself throughout the day. Her fault. All her fault.
Smash.
The sound of glass fragments clinking against the ground pierced the air. I peeked into the room, only to shrink back immediately upon seeing my father in one of his rage-fueled moods.
As long as I kept my promise to remain an obedient son, I could stay clear of his violence, most of the time.
Bruises still came, but not as often.
“What are you looking at, boy?” My father’s face was a deep shade of red, clearly out of his mind.
Before I could escape, he grabbed me by the shirt and threw me to the ground.
“Why don’t you put yourself to some use and clean this shit up?”
I froze, gulping and shutting my eyes, bracing for the next hit. I may have been taller and older, but inside, I remained the same scared child. Paralyzed by fear and pain. My younger self lurked within me, silent and trembling.
My father kicked me with his foot. “Get on with it! Obey me!”
I sprang to my feet, grabbing a broom and hurriedly sweeping up the glass, slicing my hand in the process.
“Damn it! You’re getting blood all over the goddamn floor. Get the fuck out of here!”
He hurled a bottle at me, and my heart pounded in my chest. With weakened legs, I sprinted toward the front door and out into the open. I grabbed my bike, hopped onto it, and rode far away from the beast.
Blood gushed from my flesh, but I hardly noticed. Adrenaline and terror overwhelmed me. I rode until I could go no further, my bike collapsing alongside my body in the park onto the cool grass. I lay there, heaving breaths while staring up at the sky.
The clouds drifted slowly, and the cold wind froze my skin. I remained there until I heard footsteps approaching.
“Caiden?” A small voice broke through the silence. It reminded me of the way I would approach my father. Terrified, anticipating something terrible.
I turned my head and saw her standing a few feet away, her hair whipping around her face in the harsh wind.
Still, I didn’t speak. I merely stared, still slightly numb from the recent events.
“You’re bleeding,” Amelia stated, her voice soft yet steady. She stood firm, not backing away. Why wasn’t she running. Didn’t she fear me.
Slowly, I sat up, wincing as I caught sight of the trail of blood. The wound stung, yet I felt no urgency to return home and tend to it.
“Yeah. I cut myself.” I didn’t bother to elaborate. I just wanted to be alone.
I glanced at her again. She was nibbling on her bottom lip, as if contemplating whether to say more. She did.
“Do you need help?” she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper in the wind.
“No. I don’t need help. Especially not your help. Now fuck off.” I didn’t want her kindness. I didn’t deserve it. I wanted her to loathe me. At least that would make it easier to be cruel to her, to feel no guilt for my words and actions.
Her expression shifted, hurt flashing across her face before frustration took over.
