Never Going To Be Apart Again

15. Michael's Past Still Unfolds

"No. Please, please sir. I'm sorry."

Michael Reid, age 4, cried out as William"s fist collided with his face again, the force of the blow knocking him to the floor. Michael cried out again as his father's foot connected with his ribs and then his stomach. Michael crawled into a ball, trying to cover his head and other vital organs with his arms and legs. He lay still while the beating was going on, tightly curled up knowing any other movement would just provoke the man further. Michael hoped that his father would get bored soon so he could finish the rest of his chores and go to bed.

After a bit more kicking, William stopped all together and walked out the room.

Michael gasped in as much air as his battered lungs could handle and tried to sit up. Once he did, an immense pain shot through his stomach, and he regurgitated what very little food he had eaten that day all over the kitchen floor. Upon hearing Michael empty his stomach, William stormed back into the kitchen, laughing when he saw Michael leaning over his own vomit, clutching his stomach.

"What's the matter, boy?" He walked over, side stepping Michael"s mess, and grabbed him by his hair, pulling his head back to look into Michael"s eyes. Michael avoided his father"s gaze at all costs, choosing to look at a blank space on the wall instead of the terrifying figure looming over him.

Michael was truly in hell.

The thought of an escaped convict coming to the house if they touched Michael had slightly unnerved them. But now, every punch that was thrown and every foul word that was spoken in the house was always directed at Michael.

William had been denied a promotion at work and had taken up using Michael as a punching bag to vent his anger on. Not that William really needed an excuse to strike Michael.

Food had been more of an issue than ever this summer. Michael had gone from being slightly on the skinny side to looking more anorexic than anything. He was only fed when his father was in a fairly good mood, which wasn't often. Michael would frequently have to go at least two days before his father even considered feeding him.

~~~

"Think this is funny, do you, boy?" William snarled, throwing Michael forward and chuckling as he landed in his own vomit.

"Get that mess cleaned up, then get upstairs and get changed; I will deal with you after I have had my dinner." He added a few kicks to Michael's side just for the sake of it and went back into the living room where the rest of the family were watching some dumb television program about celebrities stuck in a jungle somewhere.

Michael winced as he stood, holding his side through the vomit-soaked shirt and dragged himself to the cupboard in which the cleaning products were stowed.

Once the kitchen floor was shining again, Michael crept up the stairs, trying to make sure he did not alert William to the fact that he was finished as he would almost certainly be made to finish his chores from that day. Michael almost fell into his room from the pain. Grabbing a new set of clothes and a towel, Michael headed for the shower.

Once Michael stepped into the flow of warm water, he sighed as it gently caressed his battered body and discolored skin, soothing his cuts and bruises both old and new. Michael grabbed the soap and began to wash himself carefully as every inch of his skin was covered in a bruise or cut of some kind. Michael reached out, picking up a bottle of shampoo and poured it into his hair, massaging it into his scalp to get rid of all the dirt and grease that had built up over the last few days. Michael almost shuddered when he remembered earlier that his hair had begun to look like his potions professor"s. Michael gasped as he heard his father downstairs. Apparently, he had taken a lot longer than he had thought in the shower as the others had already eaten their meals. Michael"s stomach growled at the thought of food. He had managed to earn a few scraps today, but they had all ended up on the kitchen floor.