Reece's Haven

39: Reece

"Be my forever..."
– Nautica

❀❀❀

~ R E E C E ~

June 1985

Age 5

I sit up, wincing, and look at the large, surly man standing in front of me. He is staring at the small puddles of his spilt whiskey on the floor as if he has lost a million pounds. A lit cigarette sits between his cracked lips. His dark eyes trail upwards until they rest on my face, sending a chill down my spine.

Instead of a look of concern, he wears a look of disdain.

Instead of helping me up to check if I am alright, he is cradling his glass of half-filled whiskey.

My hands and lips tremble as he clenches his jaw.

"You little shit," the man, who is my father, slurs. "Can't you watch where you're going?!"

His bellow compels me to crouch and cover my ears.

SHATTER!

Pain bursts through my very being, originating from my knees. I look down at my knees; shards of glass, thin cuts and oozing blood cover them. I then look ahead of me. More shards are scattered across the floor, surrounded by a growing puddle of whiskey.

"Clean this shit up," he growls, chucking his lit cigarette at me.

The butt of the cigarette hits my arm, shooting sizzling pain. Biting my lips to fight back a large sob, I start to pick up the glass shards, cutting my fingers in the process. I have to keep silent and resist the growing pain because mummy warned me not to make a sound in front of him.

He gets mad.

Very mad.

The man then turns around and stumbles into the kitchen, probably to get another glass.

When mummy returns to the house, she gets horrified at the sight of my state. After treating my knees and arm, she sends me to the garden. She always sends me outside when the man is in the house during daytime.

It has been nearly two hours now. I have been sitting on the ground in the scorching heat of June with my back pressed against the brick wall of my house. I sniff, waiting for mummy to allow me inside, crouched and patient.

I don't want to cry, but I can't help it. Tears well and the lump in my throat grows. I cave about half an hour later, bursting into tears with my body trembling. My stomach is growling; it has been about six hours since I last ate. My lips are chapped and taste salty.

"Oi," a squeaky voice says.

I freeze, before I slowly look up to find the source of that childish voice.

"Over here!"

I spot her. A little girl with two pigtails is looking at me from the fence separating our gardens with a beaming smile on her face. Her smile vanishes when she observes me closely.

"Why are you crying?" she asks, tilting her head to the right.

I stare at her, not knowing what to say or do.

Will she throw something at me like the other kids at school do? Will she make fun of me? Will she approach me just to push me down to the ground?