The Devil's weakness

13. love?

Blake's POV:

'I can't fucking wait for you all my life'

Her words repeat constantly in my head. I hate her. I despise her with all my heart, if I even have one.

My eyes feel heavy and I welcome darkness, falling asleep.

I wake up, this isn't Violet's couch.

It's the bedroom I had when I was little, still living with my parents and my brother.

I get up from my bed covered with blue blankets and reach the door. I hear people shouting downstairs and soon realise it's my parents arguing.

I open the door and walk to the stairs, staying at the top of them, trying to overhear their conversation.

Apparently my father thinks my mother cheated on him.

Slap.

The room grows quiet. Father slapped mother.
He always does this, and mother tells me she's fine and that they love each other, but I know she lies.

I mean I'm a teenager, who would actually tell me that my father abuses my mother?

I hear a sob and a door shut close. Meaning father left.

I walk down the stairs and see my mother on her knees, on the floor. She's crying and her body is slightly shaking.

I walk to her and put my hand on her shoulder, making her stop for a second. A second before she realised it was me, her child.

"Go to your room." She says trying to get up, I can now see her face. A crying mess. Her cheek, the one I suppose he slapped, has a little cut that drips blood.

"I know it hurts. Let me help you, mom."
She looks at me and pauses for a second, before hugging me. My parents never hug me or show any sign of affection towards me in general. This feels nice.

I pull back and reach the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit I see and return to her.

I grab a chair for her to sit on while I'm stitching her cheek and she looks at me while I try to heal her little cut.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this" she says, more like whispers because she doesn't have any voice at the moment. Yeah everyone's sorry.

"I've been through worse" I say feeling her staring into my eyes even tho I don't make eye contact with her. "You're only 15" she says and hisses under my hands when I touch the cut.

"Correct. But I think father made me go through a living hell, or have you forgotten?" I speak and glance at her, seeing a look of sadness when she remembers what I was talking about.

Yes I'm 15.
When I turned 15, father said I was old enough to understand pain. To feel it.

So he took me to his compound and had his best man fight me. The man was huge and scary, I didn't want to fight him. I couldn't, I wasn't ready. I was just a kid and the man was probably in his late thirties.

He had this large arms, so muscular.
Well, he beat me up real bad.
Everybody was telling my father to give him the command to stop, but he didn't because he wanted to see me fight like a man.

He never said 'stop'.
It was the man that was beating me up that didn't want to end me.

And if he wouldn't have wanted that, I wouldn't have been alive, because father would've never said stop.