Under the Cement slates

Chapter 1

As I crouch in the dark I can feel my heart thud. It slams against my chest rhythmically, never ceasing or slowing. I flick my Zippo lighter on. Its luminescent glow casts a faint shadow on my surroundings. I snap it shut. I don’t need to see the reality that envelopes me. I need the fantasy that lies deep in my mind.

I close my eyes and slow my breath as best I can, its sound echoes around me, bouncing back at me. I can hear noises outside my mind - small, far off shouts. I know what is coming, but I don’t react. I know it will come and it will hurt; but I know I can do nothing about it.

The sounds are closer now and tense. A woman’s voice speaks up.

“I’m fed up Paul. Every night it’s the same thing, you slump on the sofa and do nothing, we can’t even be happy as a family. Can’t you help me out a bit? I’ve got to look after Amy, take her to college every day and then there are the twins. It’s so much work and . . .” My mother’s voice is stopped short; a man speaks in low harsh tones.

“Will you please shut up Sarah. I work my ass off to feed this family and you can bloody well do your bit and look after the rats, they’re not mine anyway. As for the money, I think I deserve to keep the cash I earn working all day.”

“You always throw that in my face." The woman is hysterical now, i can hear her voice shake, "If you cared at all, you would think of them as yours. But you don’t care do you? You treat us all like scum. I’ve had calls from school because they’re worried about Amy. What do I say to them? That her step father is abusing her and she is helpless, that he should be locked away because everyone hates him?” A small squeal rings out. “Let go of my arm Paul. Please let go of my arm, you’re hurting me!”

 “Fine. I’ll show you I can be a father to Amy. That includes disciplining her too though. Let’s find out how that goes.” Another noise, a scraping, a grunt. It is closer. 

Suddenly my hair is tugged, yanked. I open my eyes and gasp.  I am pulled from my place of safety under the cement slates piled up in the back yard. I can hear a pleading voice, then a whooshing sound and a thwack! The voice is silent, whimpering to itself.

“What do you think you’re doing Amy?” came a slow, demanding question. I stay silent; I close my eyes again, slowing my breath, clenching my fists. My hair is seized and my head pulled to face his. “I asked you a question. What were you doing in the garden? I thought I made myself clear Amy. I want you to help your mother around the house. I did not ask you to play hide and seek. I thought you knew you could not hide from me.” Spit propels from his mouth onto my face and his fingers press into my neck and face. I struggle to breathe.

For the first time, I’m scared of this man, this beast in clothes, with side burns and the smell of booze and cigarettes clinging to him. Something has changed his eyes burn into me. It’s not like other times, when he hit me for fun or because he was drunk. Now he means it, he wants to hurt me.

 And I’m afraid.