Page 13 of Crybaby

June was deemed an unfit mother, and because of that, I was thrown into a Catholic boys’ home—Saint Paul’s.

I hated every single fake smile, every single fake promise. They were going to provide what my mom couldn’t, but I could smell their bullshit a mile away. All I was to them was another innocent boy they could harm for their own sick perversions.

Behind closed doors, it was clear that I was to eat, sleep, and breathe when the brothers told me to, and if I disobeyed, I would be punished, and by punished, I mean starved, beaten, and locked in the dark.

But being locked in the dark, away from society, wasn’t such a bad thing—it was here I taught myself how to survive. I was forgotten, and because of this, I could slip undetected in and out of the shadows.

It was here I began to steal to better my life, as well as the lives of the other boys who were terrified of the dark. Not so much of the dark itself, but rather what lurks in the shadowy depths.

Reverend Franchot was the savior of Saint Paul’s Boys’ Home. He could do no wrong. He was seen as the town hero because he “saved” us boys who were discarded by most. But looks are deceiving because whenThe Reverendcame down those dark basement stairs, belt in hand, I knew it was the last time I’d allow anyone to hurt me again.

The Reverendwas a pedophile. He liked the younger boys to call him daddy.

But there was no way I was calling him a name that was supposed to encompass protection and care, so that rainy November night, when he came down those stairs, I ripped that belt from his hand and showed him who was his daddy.

“On your knees,Franchot,” I said, stretching that thick belt between my hands.

“I’ll have you locked away for good. You’re nothing but a—”

Thwack!

A pained oof left The Reverend as I brought the belt down on his back.

“Are you a little hard of hearing, old man? I said…on…your…motherfucking knees.”

He had no other choice but to surrender.

“Please don’t hurt me.” His pleas were sickening. He had no right to beg for clemency because he never delivered the same fate to those he defiled.

“I will bring down this house of lies if you ever touch any of the boys again. We clear?”

He interlaced his liver-spotted hands. “Please—”

Crack!

His head snapped back as I smacked him across the forehead with the edge of the belt. A trickle of blood dripped down his face. “What will the clergy say?”

I shrugged, not at all bothered by his pleas. “Tell them it’s stigmata, seeing as you think you’re a fucking god. But you know what you are?”

Smack!

The question was rhetorical because his time to talk was over.

“You are a predator.”

Smack!

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Crack!

The Reverend was crawling on his hands and knees, desperate to flee, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Each time he scampered away, I hit him—over and over again.

“You’re going to leave. Tonight. If you don’t, Sunday Mass just got a whole lot more interesting because I will broadcast the video of you and little Tommy playing leapfrog together—naked.”

He knew I wasn’t lying because that, in fact, had happened.

I would have stopped it if I had known. I set up the video camera I stole from the visual arts department because I thought The Reverend was fucking Sister Polly after hours, but I was wrong.