Way Down I'll Go

Could Kindle Raptures So Divine

"Go."

The door slammed behind them, leaving Jo alone with the snake.

He didn't have time to celebrate his small victory. His dad's fist collided with his face, knocking him to the floor.

"Get up," came the cold command.

Jo struggled to his hands and knees, but his father grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him the rest of the way to his feet. He didn't stay there long though. His dad threw him into the wall, then grabbed his shirt and threw him to the floor in the middle of the empty living room. Jo struggled to rise again when a steel-toed boot landed in his side.

"Stay down."

The boot connected again with his side, and then again. Jo coughed and sputtered as the boot kept coming in the exact same place. With the final kick, Jo felt something snap and his side exploded in pain. He laid on the floor, hoping it was over, but his dad grabbed his hair again, yanking him to his knees. He knelt there, wheezing and coughing, wanting to clutch his side, but knowing it would make things worse for him.

"Where'd you get the money, you little shit?"

Jo didn't know if he could physically answer at this point. There was a substance coming from his lungs that tasted suspiciously like blood and when he opened his mouth, it would bubble up and run down his chin. A fist landed across his face and he'd barely hit the floor when he was pulled back to his knees again.

"ANSWER ME YOU WORTHLESS WHORE!"

"I found it," he spit out, blood splattering on his dad's boots.

"Fucking. Liar."

He was yanked to feet again and hurled into the corner, only to be kicked yet again.

"Spreading your legs down on 6th, aren't you?"

The boot landed in a kidney.

"Got Vinnie locked up for pimping your ass-" *kick* "-but you liked it, didn't you?" 

His dad's hands slid around his throat, squeezing.

"If you're such a little slut, then you can start earning your keep around here."

There were other words that followed but Jo didn't hear them. All he could see the red of his own blood as a flurry of fists and boots rained down on him. Soon, he felt nothing at all and then everything faded to blue and then black. But somewhere in the black, he could hear the baby crying.

Jaime.

"Jaime!"

He jerked awake, scrambling up from the floor, surprised that his chest didn't hurt too much. He checked himself for injuries and then noticed that the room was smaller. The cries, however, continued.

Johnny.

He shook off the remnants of the dream and collected his brother from the crib. 6:52. So much for sleeping in.

He shuddered slightly at the memory of Christmas eight years ago. It had taken him months to fully recover from that beating. He honestly wondered how he even lived through it. He'd coughed up blood for a week and his left eye remained swollen shut for twice that long. Every time he lifted Jaime had been a small agony. 

He owed the boys a lot for that Christmas.

Since sleep escaped him, he decided to get an early start on breakfast. Every year, he tried to put something together for the boys to wake up to, no matter how broke they were. This year, with the help of Rachel's weekly cooking, he'd been able to save enough to get a tiny tree from the discount store. The eight dollars he'd spent on it seemed obscene, but he knew the boys would go nuts for it. They'd never had a tree before. It was fake, anyway, so they could reuse it next year.