"H en Ry!"
He looks up from his toy train, that he had been rolling across the carpet.
"It's time for bed," she says, kneeling down to pick her son off the floor.
"But Mumma, I'm not tired," the boy cries.
"Hush," she soothes.
"Daddy will be home soon," she smiles, weakly, almost forcing it towards her son.
She opens the bedroom door and tucks the little boy into bed.
She ruffles his hair, "I love you, you know that, right Hehudfyuy?"
He smiles, "Yes Mumma."
She kisses his forehead and smiles before closing the door.
He stares at his ceiling momentarily.
He can hear the front door slam shut and he grips onto his bedsheets tighter.
He swallows hard, hearing thuds.
He creeps slowly out of bed and presses his ear to his bedroom door. Eager to hear what the commotion is, though, he has a rough idea of what it is.
"Welcome home," a stuttering mother says.
"Fuck off," a slurring man yells.
"Honey, you need to eat some food, you've been drinking all day. Why not some dinner? I cooked-"
He hears a loud slapping noise.
"Whadd' I say?" The man slurs.
The boy swallows hard. Closing his eyes.
It's him.
"H-Honey, I'm sorry, I jus-"
He hears another slap and a thud.
"Not here, you'll wake Hughydstgydtu up," she pleads.
Their voices were already muffled, but now they're even less audible than before.
The boy is shaking.
"I'll fuck ya' when I wanna fuck ya' you stupid bitch," the man yells.
The boy hears screaming and scurries back into bed. Burying his face in his pillow.
This is all a nightmare.
This will go away by tomorrow.
His bedroom door creaks open and the sun shines through his curtains, mere hours later.
He must've fallen asleep.
"Good morning, He jdfgy," his mother smiles.
Her wrists are purple and she has a slash across her cheek. It looks disgusting, dried blood and red stains all down her throat.
"How are you doing today, sweetie?" She says, sitting on the side of his bed.
He touches the gash across his mother's cheek cautiously.
She has a pained expression as she closes her eyes. Letting his small fingers run across the gash.
"Baby, this is important, okay?" She says, breaking into a weak smile.
She places her hands on both of his shoulders.
The boy frowns.
"Mumma has to go out today to buy some groceries. So you'll be here with Daddy for an hour or two. I'll try and be very quick, okay? Please run to Ms Dickens house if you need help, okay?"
The boy silently nods, his mother breaks into a genuine smile.
"That's a good boy," she says ruffling his hair.
"I'll be back soon. I'll buy you some chocolate for being a good boy."
She meekly stands up and limps towards the bedroom door before exiting.
The boy lies back, staring at the lit ceiling.
He turns in his bed, hearing the front door close through the thin walls.
He cuddles his pillow, his nails digging into the fabric.
He can hear footsteps.
He closes his eyes.
The bedroom door creaks open.
"HdGyteh."
The boy turns, after having his name called.
"Yes, papa?"
The man forcefully drags the boy by the wrist out of bed.
"It's time for a bath."
The boy can feel tears welling in his eyes. But he blinks them back. He has to be strong. Strong for his mother.
The man fills the bathtub up with hot water, adding bubbles to it.
"You like bubbles, kid?"
The boy nods, surprised by the sweet-smelling soap bubbles, almost overflowing the bathtub.
The man throws a few bath toys into the mix. Like rubber ducks and plastic boats.
He stops the running water and looks down at the boy - as if he were a disgusting bug.
"Get in."
The boy shyly strips and steps into the bathtub.
He can feel the water pierce his skin. He feels hot. It hurts.
"It's a little hot, daddy."
The man cocks an eyebrow.
"Alright, one moment. I'll have you wash your face with cold water."
The man steps out of the room. Leaving the little boy in a bubble bath full of toys.
Eventually, the man walks back in, with a small bowl filled to the brim with a clear liquid, there's a small hand towel hanging off the man's forearm.
He places the bowl on his lap and wets the towel.
He's wearing gloves he didn't have on before.
"This is cold, so be careful, okay?" The man says, smiling snarkily at the boy.
For some reason, the boy can feel his heart fall into his stomach.
That isn't water.
It smells weird.
Nice, but weird.
He sighs, knowing there's no escape, not right now.
He can hear the front door close through the walls.
The man grits his teeth, throwing the wet towel onto the boy's face.
"Wash up," he smiles.
He screams.
It burns.
Somebody help him.
He cries, his face feels like it's melting.
It hurts so much.
Somebody help.
The door crashes open and his mother runs in, picking him up out of the tub.
She wets a towel with cold water and leaves it on his face while she drives him to the hospital.
"It hurts Mumma," he cries.
She grips the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white.
"I know baby, hang on a little longer."
His vision turns black.
White.
White ceiling.
He can't turn his head, but he eyes his mother, sitting in a chair next to him.
"Hsudgxygghsu!"
She cries, holding onto his hand.
"Mumma?" He asks, his voice is muffled.
"Baby, you have bandages all over, oh my god. I can still see your beautiful eyes though!"
She has tears streaming down her face.
"Where?"
She loosens her grip.
"You've been here for a day or two, now. Baby, it's okay. You're gonna be okay. You were just burned."
He winces.
"It smelt nice," he mumbles.
"The kerosene?" The mother exclaims.
"Yeah," he says.
"I didn't like it though."
"It smelt nice but it hurt me. Good things can hurt people too?"
His mother clenches her jaw and nods.
"Yeah, sweetie. Unfortunately, some nice things can hurt nice people. It's not a good world we live in."
He tears up, unintentionally.
"Will you hurt me too, Mumma?"
Her eyes widen and more tears stream down.
"No, baby. I never will. Never ever."
She has the slash on her face bandaged and the bruises on her wrists are going away.
He smiles.
"I love you, Mumma."
She smiles, nodding whilst wiping away her tears.
"I love you too, baby."
He can't remember much after that. His mother divorced his dad and they moved into a caravan.
"Okay, mum. I'm going to school," he smiles. They didn't have much, but they had each other.
She smiles back, "Alright. Have a good day, I'll cook your favourite meal for your birthday today, okay?"
He grins, nodding, walking out of the caravan.
But, that was the last happy day of his childhood.
He was sixteen.
Walking back home, he opened the door.
It smelt nice inside.
But, it was unsettling. He's smelt it somewhere before.
"Mum? Did you buy kerosene? I thought we didn't need any? Why are you us-"
He pries open the bathroom door.
His mother lays, throat slashed, her intestines hanging out and kerosene poured into her lap.
He falls to his knees and vomits.
His throat burns.
What the hell had happened?
Everything was fine!
It was all going good, for once in their lives!
"Mum," he chokes.
He cries.
He screams.
"Anyone!?"
"Someone! Help!"
Nobody came.
He cried.
He held his mother in his arms cradled her.
Blood smearing onto his clothes, kerosene splashing onto the floor.
"Mumma, who did this?" He sobs into her shoulder. Blood tickling his nose.
Eventually, the boy was put into an adoption centre. His father? Arrested for the murder of his mother.
He's broken.
He stares at his professor, then at his bloodied wrists.
How could his father kill someone without remorse?
What did it feel like?
The boy had grown into a man.
He smiles at his wrist, then back at his professor.
Best to try it out then, huh?