Page 86 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

A hollow laugh slips past Mom’s lips, and she places her hand on her hip, hissing at him. “You had no problem taking their money when they offered him to us, but now it’s my fault? You know damned well we had no choice!” She lowers her voice a little, as if remembering for the first time their little son is in the room with them, and I quickly close my eyes, feeling her stare on me before she continues. “We could have lived comfortably, but you gambled all our money away!”

“You willingly accepted their bastard so they could hide their shame. They should have paid more. We’re stuck with this bastard for life, while they enjoy theirs to the max. I heard she got engaged. She sure didn’t mourn him for long.”

“We signed the contract. You need to stop talking about it, unless you want someone overhearing and sending cops on us. Legally, he’s your son!”

What other way is there to be a son?

Father takes another large sip, the whiskey sloshing in his bottle, and then places it back in the cabinet with a loud thud. “Right. Little good it does me. He’s like a useless pet that cannot provide anything but needs to be fed daily. Useless piece of shit, a weight on my back.” He spits on the floor. “And that stupid photographic memory of his is nothing but trouble too.”

Tears form in my eyes at him once again sending jabs my way. According to some, my memory is a gift, but Father despises that I remember every small detail about everyone and learn everything quickly. I just have to read something, and it’s forever imprinted in my brain. I even memorized the dictionary, because interesting words and their meaning inspired curiosity in me.

I’ve read a lot, especially on the nights they leave me alone or they are really loud in their room. Sometimes, they order me to stay outside the motel room and not disturb them till morning, so I always have to search for a place to hide.

Once, a man almost took me, showing me chocolate and crooking his fingers at me to follow him to his room, and it scared me so much the shivers of disgust still travel through me as I try to wipe his hideous face from my brain.

I knocked on the door to get back to my parents quick, not wanting to give this man a chance to try something else, but Mom just laughed and told me “Learn to survive, boy. We won’t be saving your ass forever” before shutting the door in my face.

So on that particular rainy day, I hid in the big trash can with rats to accompany me, because anything was better than giving the man access to me.

I have a few scars on my body from their bites, which itched a lot since Mom didn’t buy any medicine for them.

“Roland, we need this job. Stop drinking!” The money must really make my mother happy if she is willing to go to such lengths and still push the issue.

“Unless you want to spread those long legs, Judith, and head to the road to catch someone willing to fuck you for money, you need to stop yapping.” He burps loudly, grabs the bottle again, and then pushes her to the side, heading toward the TV. He throws over his shoulder, “Now shut your mouth and let me enjoy this game.” He sways to the side a little, grips the table, and breathes heavily. It means he already drank more than he should, and he will be asleep soon.

Only, my mother has different plans, and sweat runs down my spine as fear penetrates my bones at the prospect of what will happen soon. And it will, I have no doubt. Because whenever my parents fight, I always become the collateral damage.

“I won’t let you destroy this opportunity for us. It’s our ticket to a better life. I want stability for Remi.” Affection laces her tone, warming me, and a smile tugs at my mouth, because my mother might have a lot of flaws, but she loves me in her own way. However, she still manages to shout at me or beat me with the belt till blood appears on my skin and bruises mar my body. Her embraces and words hold more emotion than my father’s though. He just snarls in my direction or flat out ignores me.

So I consider it love when most people wouldn’t, since I’ve never known anything else.

“And I want him off my back. Guess we’ll see who gets their wish first.”

As soon as he picks up the remote, Mom slaps his hand, and it drops several feet away.

Fury washes over my father, and his eyes narrow as my mother takes several steps back, not that it will help her now.

She’s awakened the monster who won’t rest until he punishes her for the crime.

Disturbing him is worse than her denying him sex, which happens a few times a month.

Sometimes, he even brings another woman to the motel room and takes her right in front of Mom. He tells me to sit in the bathroom with the water on so I won’t hear a thing.

My mother usually joins me in a few minutes, crying her eyes out and gripping the toilet as she barfs in it several times.

“I’ve had enough of this, bitch,” he hisses, fisting her hair, as her yelp echoes through the space. “Learn to stay fucking put.” He drags her to the nearest wall and hits her hard against it, her muffled scream sinking fear into every bone in my body. “You haven’t worked a day in your life and think you can dictate to me?” He slams her into the wall again. “Fucking bitch.”

“Stop, Roland!” she begs him, her nails scraping against the wall as she whimpers in pain. “Stop.” She struggles, trying to break free, but he only laughs, squeezing her neck hard, and by the familiar sounds of her gulps, I know she is fighting for every breath.

I jump off the bed and rush to them, yelling, “Let her go.” I slap at his hips several times. He swings his head to me, his black eyes flashing. “Let her go, Dad!”

He loosens his hold on her as she sobs uncontrollably, blood smearing the washed-out wall. He turns his focus to me, gripping my shirt and lifting me upward. “The bastard is here.” He shakes me so hard my teeth snap against each other. “I regret the day you were born.” He spits this in my face before throwing me away. I groan when my back connects with the floor, pain ricocheting through my entire body.

Although my father never, ever hurts me physically, at least with his fists, he doesn’t much care where I end up after he gets me out of his way.

And in such moments, weird flashes, like they are memories, pop in my brain one after another, in which a little boy is hurt by several men. And while I feel the hurt and even fear, I can’t ever see his face properly.

They even press cigarette butts to his back, leaving small, round scars similar to those on my skin.

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