Camp Red Lake

Chapter 17. Past (Part. 1)

*Trigger warning for abuse, blood, death and violence*

"It happened nearly ten years ago. It was December twenty-seventh, the day after my eighth birthday." He paused as he took in another deep breath. "My mother and I were really close; she was incredibly kind and gentle. I remember her being an amazing cook. Whenever I felt sad or had a bad day, she'd bake delicious pastries just to make me smile. Every night she would tuck me in and read me a bed-time story before she went to bed.

She was a beautiful woman, with long and curly auburn hair that grew all the way down to her waist. She had a small frame and porcelain skin. Freckles dotted the sides of her nose and she had a smile that could light up a room..." He trailed off as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Are you okay?" I asked cautiously. He nodded as he glanced back towards the horizon.

"Her ocean eyes are the feature I remember the most. The way they changed color when she was mad. The way they softened when she hugged me; her eyes seemed to express what she wasn't allowed to." He kept his gaze on the grass, a sad smile framing his lips.

"She sounds like a beautiful person." I said softly. He nodded, his eyes darker. 'Now I know where he got those eyes from.' I thought to myself as he cleared his throat and continued.

"We weren't rich or anything. We lived in an old, two-story house that leaked and creaked, and sometimes let in a draft. Mom had inherited the house from my grandfather when he passed away, it was the house she grew up in. It was blue with white shutters and a white door. It had a small front lawn with no fence around it. I thought we were all happy..." He trailed off again as he played with some torn blades of grass. "...but I was wrong." He muttered grimly.

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.

"My father had a drinking problem. He was an accountant for a real-estate firm, but because of the economy, things weren't going so well. There were budget cuts, lay-offs. They began taking away his hours. I remember that year taxes went up as well. All these things really affected his company, so every night after work, he would go out and come home drunk. I guess he couldn't deal with it properly.

At first my mother thought it would pass, she thought he was just stressed. However, as time went on without progress, my mother began getting concerned with the type of example he was setting for me. This caused her to argue with him often. As more time passed, the situation only escalated, and my father began staying out later than usual. Some nights he wouldn't even come home. Eventually, the day came when they fired him, so my mother had to get herself a second job just to pay off the mortgage. After all of that, instead of looking for work, he began drinking at home too.

At first it wasn't bothersome. But as time went on, he began venting his frustrations on me..." he trailed off, anger framing his cobalt eyes. I placed my hand gently over his.

"You don't have to finish if you don't want to " I told him. He shook his head.

"I'll be fine." He affirmed as he cleared his throat and continued.
"My father began beating me more and more as time progressed. It got to the point where I couldn't go to school anymore because of the bruises he would give me. That night, my mother baked a cake for my birthday. I had always wanted a baseball bat and mitt, so with her spare money, she bought me one and wrapped it up in some old newspaper. When I received my present, I was ecstatic, happier than I'd been in months.

My dad came home drunk like always. He stumbled into the kitchen and sat at our wooden table. 'Where's my dinner Marjorie!?' He asked my mother in slurred words. She glanced at me fretfully.

'Harold, it was your son's birthday yesterday, so I made him a cake instead.' She said as she placed the cake on the table. It had a number eight candle on it.

'You neglected your husband for that little brat?!' Father screamed angrily.

'He's your son!' My mother shot back as she pulled out a chair for me to sit on. 'Make a wish.' She whispered as she placed her hands on my shoulders. I closed my eyes and wished as hard as I could, but just as I was about to blow out the candle, a dark stream of liquid fell directly onto my cake. Dad poured the remainder of his beer on the pastry, causing my candle to fizzle out.

'How's that for a cake topping?!' He laughed cynically. Tears welled in my eyes and anger radiated through me.

'Harold, how could you!?' My mother asked sadly, her eyes watering. I was so angry that my entire body was shaking. Mother tried to calm me, but I was beyond help.

'I wish you would go away; you're ruining my birthday!' I screamed furiously at my father.

'How dare you speak to me like that you little shit?!' Dad shouted as he got up angrily and tossed the beer bottle on the floor in front of me, shattering it.

'Harold!' My mother screamed as she stepped between us; She was trying to protect me. At first, they just argued, but things took a turn for the worst when Father rose his hand and struck her hard across the face. My mother held on to her cheek, tears streaming down her enflamed face. 'Croy honey, Mom and Dad need to talk privately for a while. Why don't you take your present and go play upstairs for a bit?' She suggested calmly. I hesitated and glanced at my father, his platinum hair was greasy and uncombed. His face was unshaven, and his tie undone. His emerald eyes were blood-shot and intoxicated.

A crooked smile spread across his face as I walked over to the table and picked up the bat and glove. I pressed them to my chest as I obeyed my Mother and retreated upstairs. When I was in my room, I shut the door and tossed myself on the bed angrily. I remember thinking about how much I hated that man. To the point where I took the bat in my hands and began beating my pillows as hard as I could.

As I beat those pillows, I closed my eyes and wished with every fiber in my body that he would go away forever. Eventually, my strength gave out and I collapsed on my blue comforter. I fell asleep..." He paused again and opened his hand to reveal some crushed twigs. He tossed them back on the ground.

"I woke up about an hour later. Since I had calmed down, I decided to go and apologize to my mother for my behavior. I made my way downstairs as quietly as possible. I was almost to the living room when suddenly, I heard my mother scream in pain. I rushed to the bottom of the staircase and crouched. I peeked through the wooden rungs and saw my mother on the kitchen floor. She turned her face towards me. Her mouth and nose were bleeding and her eyelid was turning purple.

I covered my mouth to silence myself. I wanted to rush to her side, but I caught a glimpse of her face as she mouthed the word 'No.' Bewildered and scared, I stayed where I was.

'Ungrateful woman!' My Father hissed as he spit on her, his knuckles were red and bloodied from beating her. My blood boiled, I wanted to kill him, but I couldn't move from where I crouched. I had to adhere to my Mother's request.

'Do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt our son.' She pled weakly. Father reached into the back of his pants and pulled out a revolver.

'I have no son.' He said as he cocked the gun and aimed it at her. Mother turned towards me again and mouthed the words, 'I love you' just before a loud gunshot echoed through the halls our house. A large pool of blood dyed our wooden floor." He stopped, his eyes brimming with tears. I just stared at him aghast as he stood up, picked up a pebble and tossed it as far as he could into the murky water. After a few more seconds, I followed.

"I'm so sorry." My voice cracked, a strange lump lodging itself in my throat as his words sunk in. He stood there with his back to me and gazed quietly out at the lake. On instinct, I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around him from behind.

(A/N: Poor Croy! I swear this chapter always makes me want to cry! He's such a tortured soul DX. What did you guys think of the chapter? Let me know in the comments and be sure to have a marvelous day!)