Page 10 of Ravage

Mom brushes her hand around the cut, flicking off bits of dirt and gravel. "Let's get you inside and cleaned up," she says, reaching under my arms to pick me up. My bicycle lays forgottenas she carries me back to the house, past the construction crew working on applying new paint to the weatherboards. Father has hired some people to renovate our new house—apparently, it's old and 'if he has to live here, it better be presentable'.

We only just moved in a month ago. I don't really understand why, just that Mom was given the house from some family member. It's bigger than our old one, set on a huge area of land on the outskirts of town. It might be old, but I like it. Apparently, Mom grew up here when she was my age, so that's pretty cool.

The glass doors on the back patio are wide open, the summer breeze swaying the chandelier above the central kitchen counter. Mom places me on top of it, heading out of the room for a few minutes before returning with a first aid box. I swing my legs happily off the side of the counter, watching as she cleans the cut and places a Band-aid over it.

Just as she finishes, I hear loud footsteps heading into the kitchen, followed byhisbooming voice as he barks orders down the cell phone.

"I don't care if James' wife is in labor. I need that report now. Tell him to get back to the office or else he can begin looking for new employment."

Mom flinches in front of me. It's subtle—almost unrecognizable, but I always see it. I know she tries to hide it, but I always see everything.

She smiles at me, straightening up as my father rounds the corner, hanging up the cell phone. He pauses, looking between the two of us.

"Why is the child on the counter? We just had the new marble placed last week."

"I was just fixing a cut on his knee," Mom answers, hastily reaching to grab me and gently lowering me to the floor.

I stand next to her, reaching for her hand. She squeezes mine back, taking a deep breath as she gathers control of her emotions. She's the best at it, and I think I know why.

My father narrows his eyes at me with disgust, finding the Band-aid on my knee. "He's aboy," he spits out. "Boys don't need to be fussed over." Trudging over, he rips the Band-aid off my knee, a small hiss escaping my lips involuntarily at the sudden sting.

"Alexander!" Mom gasps, but he cuts her off, backhanding me across the face.

"Enough of that," he scolds. "You're six years old, Damon. It's a tiny laceration—man up."

Immediately, I feel those walls in my mind climbing up, numbness creeping in. I straighten up, letting go of Mom's hand.

"It doesn't hurt," I tell him firmly. "It was just bleeding."

He shakes his head, muttering 'pathetic' under his breath before heading to the fridge to grab a drink. Mom and I stay silent, waiting until he leaves the room—ignoring us as he goes.

When we're in the clear, Mom drops to one knee, facing me. "Are you okay?" she whispers.

I nod, giving her a reassuring smile. It's forced though—my mind empty of feeling. "I'm fine, Mom. He can't hurt me."

For a split second, I notice the tears well in her eyes, but she drops her head, and when she lifts it again, they're gone. "Okay," she answers softly. "No more playing outside until the gardeners have tidied up the grounds."

I don't answer, studying her face as sadness crosses her eyes. She quickly smiles at me, standing up as she notices someone behind me on the back patio.

"Mrs. Dale, our apprentice needs access to the electrical supply. Can you or Mr. Dale take us there?"

"I'll take you," she replies quickly, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she brushes past me. "Damon, I'll come find you soon. Stay away from your father's office. He'sreallybusy."

I watch as she disappears outside, leading the tradesman to the side of the house. Turning around, I head through the house, climbing the stairs to go to my room. As I walk past the office, I can hear my father speaking on the cell phone again, anger filling me at his brutal replies to the receiver. Quickly, I shut those emotions down, knowing that if I act on them, it won't just be me that pays the price—it will be Mom.

He's going to pay one day.

I don't know when, but one day, I'll get my revenge.

** Present Day **

"Deadman, we're ready."

Grey lingers in the doorway of my room, looking worse for wear. It's only been a few short hours, but I know for him, it feels like a lifetime. I can see him ready to practically rip his skin off—or someone else's. His hair is messy, and on closer inspection, I spot little flecks of blood on his hands.

I raise an eyebrow. "What did you do?" I ask curiously.

He pauses, confused for a second, before he glances down and spots the sprayed blood on his knuckles. "Oh, this. I was just gathering information."

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