I feel the weight of H on my lap as I stroke his soft curly hair while he softly snores. The stench of alcohol burns my nose, recently strong smells brought on an intense sense of nausea. I wasn't feeling like myself but I had pushed away the thought to tend to figure out H. I didn't have much time to care for myself much less think about myself.
I was consumed with piecing together H and Harry and how they correlate. How did H come to be? I had wrecked my brain coming up with theories and pushing H's boundaries to the point of him becoming violent.
I cried in H's arms for a long time yesterday, we didn't say anything to each other as I held onto him. I repeatedly told him that I was sorry, every bone in my body wanted to bandage him and his deep-rooted pain. I could understand why H turned to violence and brutality when things didn't go his way, it was the cycle of abuse. That was all he knew. He wasn't taught to cope any other way, he lead by example.
My stomach aches from smelling the beer laced on his skin as I slide and gently lay H's head on a pillow. I get up and tip toe to the bathroom where I slash water on my face and groan at my appearance. The whites of my eyes were red from sobbing and the lack of sleep I hadn't received. My hair was in desperate need of a brush as I pushed it away from my face touching my stomach when I felt a twist inside.
I put a hand over my mouth and run the short distance to my toilet where I hurl a few times. I was exhausting my body to the point of this. My body physically couldn't handle any more then what I was asking of it, I needed to take care of myself.
After cleaning myself up and opting for a shower I pace over to the closet where I shut the door behind me making sure H was still knocked out. I drop my towel to the ground and pull on one of Harry's tee shirts that fits me more like a dress. It smelt like him and it brought me comfort, it gave me something to hold onto. All I could smell now was the stiff stench of alcohol.
I sit in the same corner I had once resided and pulled the recorder out from under a shirt I had covered it with. My hand trembled feeling the weight of the device in my hand knowing what was on it. Recordings of a damaged little boy and an abusive mother.
I flick open the box and pull out a little tape labeled "session 16: August 17, 1995". A chill runs down my spine when I read the year in chicken scratch handwriting, Harry was born in 1992. He was at such a young and tender age at the time this was recorded and bringing that reality to light made my heart ache for the little boy trapped in these tapes.
"You've been a very bad boy!" Immediately I hear Anne scream on the tape. I lump in my throat forms and my hands feel completely numb when I hear Harry sobbing in the near distance.
"I sorry Mama! I sorry!" Harry cries in his little voice, he barely put correct sentences together yet his mother was unleashing hell on her baby.
"It's too late for that now," Anne tells her baby who is in distress from the rustling she is doing. I can't tell what's happening and because of that, I rely on the sounds my ears pick up. I make out shuffling and rustling with something I can't quiet make out.
"Now hold still," Anne grabs baby Harry with a slap of his wrist. I can tell he is resistant and scared by whatever Anne is holding in her hands.
"No Mama! Mama! No!" The screaming stirs the acids in my stomach and I feel nauseous. My pulse races whole sweat forms at my hairline and my hands tremble.
"Pull down your pants, don't make this harder then it has to be," Anne warns Harry who just screams and kicks from what I can pick up. I hear him pick whatever Anne has in her hand, the sound of water spills onto the floor.
