Page 8 of Game of Hell
She runs over to the door where we entered from. Her small fists hit the metal door in quick motions.
“Please, anyone! Let me out.” She yells.
“They’re not coming.” I state but she ignores me and continues beating the doors.
Her distress is obvious across her features. I let her panic, let her beat on the door for over an hour. Whatever she needs to do to calm down.
She finally sinks down to her knees. Her knuckles are raw and bleeding. Her eyes and cheeks are swollen from crying and small hiccups leave her raw throat. After a few minutes, I can hear soft snores coming from her. I walk over to her and carry her over to the bed.
The floor is too wet to sleep on, she would end up sick. I tuck her in and push her curly strands behind her ear.
I hate that I yelled at her but she can’t judge people based on things they did in the past. I understand what I did was wrong, scary to most but that was 17 years ago. It pisses me off because for some reason when she looks at me like that, it hurts. My chest aches when those fearful blue eyes meet mine, like I’m an absolute monster.
I don’t want her to be afraid of me, not in that way.
I look around the room, hoping to find the ‘item’ I had used to kill my mother. I remember it vaguely, it’s a very distant memory. One I had buried beneath the hate and accepted.
I begin digging through all the different cabinets on the desks and then through the pile of shit on the floors. It would be impossibly hard to remember such a fucking disaster.
I sit back in the chair when I come up empty handed. I need to go through the memories from the beginning. I close my eyes and force myself to remember.
Book made for [email protected]
CHAPTER SIX
Ronan - past
“Killing her didn’t leave her behind—she screams in the dark places of my mind.
I push the curtain, or blankets, on my window shut. The rain outside matches exactly how I feel, dull and utterly shattered.
I stare down at the dark purple bruises on my knees and thighs. I’m disgusted with myself, it’s not my fault but it is. I let it happen; I stare at her with lifeless eyes and an empty mind as she takes control. She takes everything away from me; my friends, my phone, my video games, and lastly my soul.
Dad is a walking corpse. The alcohol has eaten away all of him, leaving behind a shell of a man who drinks and curls up on the floor in the bathroom when he’s done. He probably can’t even remember my name, he calls me boy or son and I do whatever he asks for because I hope one day he remembers me, saves me from my mother.
“Ronan, mommy wants you.” I hide underneath my bed when I hear my mothers voice. My slim frame fits perfectly and the dark shadows underneath keep me hidden. I could always depend on the darkness to help me.
“Roni, now!” Her false sweetness turns into pure evil as she yells for me. I whimper, afraid and lost in the horror of what will happen next.
Her heavy steps echo around our small apartment until she reaches my room. The creak of the door signals her arrival and I shrink further into the shadows.
“Come out Roni, or I’ll punish you.” Her threat is clear and she slams the door behind her.
I silently cry, too afraid to come out. I watch her feet walk back and forth at the end of my bed. She throws the covers off the bed first and then the pillows.
“You little fucker, stop being an ungrateful little brat and come out.” Those are the curse words I should be used to but I’m not. They make me whimper, the sound loud in the silence that follows her yelling.
She laughs. She knew that would work on me. I’m pathetic, stupid, careless, ungrateful, selfish, everything but lovable. Why didn’t my mother love me like the other kids' mothers love them?
She grabs one of my legs and pulls me from underneath. I claw at the wooden floors—there are already a million other marks from me yanking on them.
“Found you, Roni.” Her voice is sweet again but it turns my stomach inside out as she pulls me to stand in front of her. A silky brown robe is around her body, the top is undone and her breasts are spilling out. The only thing covered is her nipples.
I stand stiffly before her, not knowing what she would want from me today.
“Oh my sweet boy, look how handsome you’ve gotten. You know mommy can’t help herself when you look this good. Your beautiful eyes, oh, they remind me of your father before he became a drunk.” I cringe as the words leave her mouth.
I don’t know how a normal mother is supposed to act but it definitely isn't like this. This—this is rape. This is incest.
