Afraid to open my eyes

*PLEASE DONT READ THIS IF YOU ARENT EMOTONALLY ABLE TO* *contains rape and violence* *trigger warning* There is a one bedroom flat in the middle of an estate full of drug dealers. In that flat, there is a mother a father and a small boy. The father is hardly ever home and sleeps with whomever he pleases, never the mother though, unless he is raping her. He is an alcoholic and an abusive thug. Overall bad person. Terrible father and husband. About 45. The mother, well she is abusive to her son because she takes out her anger out on him. She has undiagnosed schizophrenia and abuses heroine. Also an alcoholic. Was beautiful once but now she is bruised and disfigured. She has very visible track marks down her arms. About 23-24 gave birth at 16. The son is a child of rape, 7-8 years old. Mute. Gets beaten by his parents and has no school. There is no record of him anywhere, never been to the doctors, has no medical treatment or record. No birth certificate, nothing.

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1. Mastigophobia

"Please... please, I said no... *screams* please stop torturing me..."

The little boy stood watching his mother writhe in agony on the floor from the doorway.

I don’t want it...*screams* please. Please...”

He sat down, leaning against the frame. His eyes trailing over her as she clawed her face with her broken nails. Trickles of blood fell down her cheeks and pooled in her collarbones, she was unnaturally thin. He watched her curl and flinch away from things that haunted her.

Away from... them.

 She screamed and ripped her hair out.

Rubbing his eyes, the little boy listened to her breath. She had stopped screaming and just lay, running her hands over the bruises that covered her arms... track marks that wouldn’t fade away.

please...’ she was whispering ’please... no more, no. No more...”

She was looking at him, and he blinked at her.

Why don’t you just hurt him? Look at him... look at him!” 

She held out her hand, calling to him,

 “Boy... come on little boy mommy’s here... come to mommy”

But he knew that taking it would be a mistake. Before, the first time this happened, she had dragged him so close to her so that he could feel her ribs sticking into him and she beat him as she crawled over him, violating his small fragile body.

He couldn’t understand what she was doing... She always told them to hurt him, just like she did. She’d bite his fingers, she’d lick his face. Hitting him again and again, telling... them to join in.

“mommy please... don't..."

He’d once whispered, and she had held a knife to his lips and told him if he spoke again she would ‘slice his fucking mouth open and then sew it up with a piece of glass.’

He never did.

She’d lick all over his body whilst he lay there wishing they would stop telling her to do this to him.

He mustn’t make any noise... ever.  Never tell daddy what they did to him... or mommy would hurt him again. She would make him put his hand there again. And she’d...

Tears filled his little eyes as his little hands tried to push her away. She crawled over to him and pulled his little shorts off. She invited them to join her. She said they did when his hands where pinned down.

They told her, she said.

They.

The voices in her head.

They weren’t there at all.
 

 

 

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