Young Sebastian

Sebastian – Age 12

There are strange men coming out of mama’s room and she won’t stop crying and screaming. Papa wasn’t hitting her this time. Why is she crying again?

As usual, I sat in the far corner of the living room. Two men came out of mom’s room, both adjusting their belts as they smiled happily before handing papa some cash.

Today five men came.

I can count them now. Mama teaches me numbers when Papa isn’t home. We have to hide the little book in the bottom of the trash bin so he doesn’t find it and get angry. She promised she would teach me the alphabet next. She even smiled a little when she said it.

But Papa came home early and ruined her mood. Now she won’t talk to me for days. By the time she feels soft enough to play or teach again, he’ll be back. Then he’ll grab her by the hair and drag her into the bedroom while she tries not to make too much noise.

It really hurts, being dragged by the hair.

I know because I tried pulling my own once, just to see. My eyes watered right away. I don’t know how Mama stays quiet through it.

I used to ask her why she doesn’t run away. She would stroke my hair and say things like “It’s not that simple” or “We have nowhere to go.”

Sometimes her voice would go quiet and she would say she probably would have left a long time ago if she never had me.

Other times she would snap, eyes red and wet, and scream it right in my face—like the fact that I exist is the chain holding her here.

One of the men glances over at me on his way to the door. I look down at my knees until the locks click behind them.

My stomach feels strange. Twistedy. I don’t understand why the men were smiling when Mama was crying. I don’t understand why Papa took their money like it was normal. I don’t understand why she won’t stop making that sound.

I pull my sleeves over my hands and press them against my ears, even though I already know it won’t help.

It never does.

“At least, she’s still useful in some ways”. Papa grinned greedily as he counted the money again.

He turned to look at me and smiled, showing those broken and brown teeth. I hate seeing them, sometimes I wish he won’t come home. Mama was always at peace then and she plays with me.

“Come here”.

“No..”. I whispered, crawling backwards. I have to refuse him. I have to be strong, only if I’m strong can I protect her. But what power can a twelve year old have over a grown adult?

“Piece of shit, what have I told you about disobeying me?” He groaned, not moving from his seat. He said he would hit mama for every disobedience act I commit.

I got up to my feet immediately, pulled the oversized and almost torn t-shirt down, I only have three tops and one short. He had destroyed one when he was hitting me.

“Here, don’t you like ice cream? Go buy one for yourself”. He stretched forth a one dollar bill. I shrink back.

“I-I don’t want—” I barely got my words out when he smacked me across the face.

“When I give you something, you take it. I’m being nice today, don’t piss me off. Or else your mother will pay for it”.

I nodded with tears in my eyes as I let go of my shirt and took it. “Now thank me”. He ordered.

I fell to my knees and bowed my head. That's how he had taught me to thank him. He said he was our lord and we must serve him like one. “Thank you papa”.

“See, you’re learning. Once you’re of age, I will teach you better”. I flinch hard. The second his fingers touch me I shrink back, shoulders curling in. He only laughs at the reaction, low and pleased, like my fear is something he earned.

The front door opens without a knock. The sharp click of heels crosses the living room floor.

“Darling…”

I know that voice.

It’s the woman. The one who’s been coming around since I was nine. Papa likes her. Around her he softens his voice, smiles with all those broken brown teeth, and gives her whatever she asks for. I hate her. Whenever she shows up, Mama ends up with new bruises the next morning.

But why? She was just like mama. Why does papa treat her differently? She has pretty hair, pretty clothes, he even cooks good food for her. Sometimes I steal a little from the kitchen. All mama and I ever eat is bread, if he feels kind enough. He may offer us water.

Papa stands so fast his chair scrapes the floor.

“Sweetheart.” His whole face changes. The mean edge disappears like it was never there. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

He’s doing the good-person voice again. The one he only uses when she’s in the room.

“I see you’ve make a lot from that bitch”. She said, glaring at the cash on the table before sitting where papa had sat before. He knew in front of her, pressing her foot eagerly.

“All yours sweetheart, you can take everything”.

“Is this your son?” She asked, looking at me with the same expression papa had when he’s looking at my mama. I moved back.

“He is”.

“How old is he?” Her lips curled into a smirk.

“How old are you, piece of shit?”

I didn’t want to answer. My name wasn’t piece of shit, I don’t even think he knows my name. But he was gonna hit mama if I disobey him.

“Tw-twelve”.

“Hmm”. She hummed in excitement. “You know..”. Her hands trailed over my papa’s face and he leaned in like a puppy. “We have quite a few demands for young boys. How about you give him to me?”

Why won’t mama come out? I don’t want to stay here. Her eyes are scaring me.

“Come here”. He said, waving me over. I stood still and refused to move.

“You know what happens if you disobey, you little shit. Come here!”

With trembling hands, as I clutch my shirt tightly. I moved closer, stopping in front of them. “Let’s see”. She grabbed my face, controlling the way I move before nodding in satisfaction. “He’s okay”.

“Take off your clothes”.