Mafia's Mate

The scars of his past

She started abusing me more. What started as slaps on hands, turned to sharp sticks whipping on my calves.

She assigned the maids to have me punished and each time I was receiving one, she made it clear that the whipping would proceed while she was there. I was made to stand in front of her while she sat on the couch, slumped into the headrest, her eyes on me while someone massaged her arms and legs.

She watched as my ability to move for days was whipped out of me.

She found some addicting sort of happiness from the groans that escaped my lips. Groans of pain that I tried to suppress but the lashing wouldn't let my mouth stay shut.

I didn't hate my own mother even though she didn't care about me. Above all else, at the very least, she gave me food and water and a roof to live under.

I discovered how strong hate can manifest while I watched with tears in my eyes, the face of the woman who sat in front of me, enjoying her tea, while I felt the crucifying pain of my skin getting ripped.

I would glared at her more with each next punishment while she would smile back at me with the nastiest smirk I had ever known.

***

One of the best parts about being a wolf was that my injuries healed fast. There was this feeling inside of me that told me that my father was right. His genes were strong in me. Of course there was still time before my wolf manifested but I could feel that it would.

At age seven, I had sort of grown used to being punished and my injuries would heal faster too. I didn't want to give Ruila the satisfaction of groveling so I never made a fuss when I was locked inside the messed up room.

But where did the permanent marks on my body come from?

I guess Ruila finally lost it one day. Must have been postpartum depression that she chose to go that far or it could also be that she was simply evil.

After she gave birth, she and the baby came back home after a few weeks. Her absence had allowed me complete recovery for once. But even after she came back she didn't bother me.

I found it odd but also peaceful.

The only thing that would disturb any peace of the house was the sound of the baby crying. For days I made no attempt to even go near the baby room.

But then again, I was a child myself and was curious. That baby was my half-brother and inside my heart I wanted to peek at him. Take a look at him. Just a glance, just to see what he looked like.

Just once,

It was a baby and I knew babies can't be evil, no matter how evil their mothers are.

So, this one time, back when everyone was asleep past midnight. I sneaked into his room in the silence of the night, curious as heck, to get a look at the tiny human everyone was making a fuss about.

Everyone had forgotten about me as soon as the baby arrived at the mansion. Not that I had any objection to that. On the contrary I was quite happy. Being neglected was far better than being in pain.

I tiptoed in the room, quietly opening and closing the door. As silently as I could, I walked to the crib that had a lamp on by its side.

In the illuminating light I saw the new being.

There he was, this little thing in a crib, all scrunched up like a cute little burrito.

Woah!

My first thought after gasping was, 'He's so tiny...' Seeing him like that, all tiny and fragile, hit me in a way I didn't expect. I felt this mix of awe and responsibility, like, in a way that I would never want any harm coming to this feeble little pup.

He was breathing softly. So softly, I couldn't even hear him but I could see his chest rising and depressing gently.

I couldn't resist reaching in, and he must've sensed me or something because his teeny hand latched onto my finger.

!!!

Woah!

My chest tightened, my eyes glistened and my heart rate spiked a little. It was this tiny grip, like he was saying, "Hey, I'm here, and I trust you." I swear, in that moment, all the weird family dynamics and everything else just faded away. It was just me and this little guy, forming a connection. It was a weird moment of realization.

I realized I had always cared, because in that moment, I craved what I had just received. But all this time, I had been lying to myself.

"Hi," I whispered and the baby's eyes twitched but he didn't open his eyes.

But, he made a sound. A soft, cute sound.

"Uh" And his grip around my finger intensified.

I felt this warmth, this protective vibe, like this baby and I were really family. It's funny how a baby's grip can make a kid feel like they're holding up the whole world, but that's how it felt in that room, with a new life beginning.

A swell of emotions hit me. It wasn't just warmth; it was this deep desire for things to be different, better. I wished for a home where I didn't feel like I was tiptoeing around my own life, where I didn't have to brace for the next punishment.

Seeing that vulnerable little life made me wish for a childhood that was more than just survival, where I could be a big brother without the constant fear of doing something wrong.

I wished, hard, that my stepmother would see beyond whatever grudge she held and maybe, just maybe, treat me like a kid who deserved a chance at a normal childhood.

But my wishes weren't answered, my prayers rejected.

"What are you doing?!" Ruila's voice made me jump and I shot my head back at her.

When did she open the door? Why didn't I realize it??

She stared at me and saw the baby's hand around my finger. It seemed to hit a nerve. Standing there, I saw her face get red and I don't know what went through her head when she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Help!!!! He's trying to kill my baby!!!!"

What??