"How old is he?"

"13,"

"What's his name?"

"Gabriel," I decided not to tell him I changed the name.

"Can I..can I see him?"

"No," I hissed. "No fucking way, Mike! You made me hurt him! Do you know what I do to him? Everything you fucking did to me! I let other men hurt him! They hurt him and give me money for it! And then I use that money to supply myself with the drugs, that make me forget about the man that ruined my life. You,"

"John let me see him," he growled. "Let me see him right now,"

"No,"

"John let me see my freaking grandson!"

"No!" I screamed and pushed him away. "You gonna hit me? You gonna hit me, Mike?!"

"Please.." he whispered. "Let me see him,"

"No!"

"Let me see him and you'll never hear from me again! I promise I'll leave you alone! I'll never come back! I'll never try to get in contact! Please! For 5 minutes, John. 5 minutes!"

"Fine," I took in a deep breath and brushed the hair from my eyes. My green eyes. My Dad's fucking eyes.

Gesturing Dad to follow, I walked around out of the kitchen and towards the hallway. I'd put Gabe in the basement last night after i finished with him. He didn't even struggle last night or cry. He just took it, didn't breathe a word. I didn't blame him. He knew if he cried I'd hurt him harder.

Opening the basement door, I walked down the small flight of stairs. I felt hesitant with Mike behind me. I felt like he'd hurt me like I was a teenager again. I didn't want that. I didn't want that yet I fucking did it to my own teenage son.

I was a mess. A fucking, fucking mess. A fucking-

"Oh my God,"

 I watched Mike as his eyes traced over to Gabe. He was lying on the floor. Eyes closed, wrists bound, tape stuck over his mouth. His black hair was shaggy, but I never let it get too long. When I hurt him, I needed to feel like my Dad. And I needed to make him feel like I did. I made him look like me. I usually put my old shirts on him. But right now he was just in a pair of black boxers. They were a bit too big, but he was too skinny. He didn't eat. Even when Lydia gave him food. He just cried. He drunk though, I think he picked up what alcahol was. He knew it made him feel better. If he got away from me like I did with my Dad, he'd be a fucking alcaholic.

"John..John what have you done? What have you done to this..this poor fucking kid? Oh my God," he dropped down to his knees at Gabriel. Taking the boy into his arms, he tapped his face.

"Gabriel, Gabriel wake up."

"Get off him," I hissed. "Get off my fucking son,"

"You're abusing him! You're fucking abusing him!"

"I already told you Mike," I rolled my eyes. "Everything you did to me-"

"You're doing to him," he finished. "Oh my God, John. You're..you're raping him?"

"Like you raped me,"

"John you don't understand! I was-"

"Abused my your Dad, who was abused by his Dad, who was abused by his Dad, yeah I fucking know the story. Now get out of my house,"

"No," he whispered and hugged Gabriel to his chest. "I can't let you do this John. I can't. The abuse, it all has to stop. You'll abuse him, he'll abuse his kids, who'll abuse their kids, it'll go on forever John. You need to end it,"

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