Our Powerful Family

The Suffering Of a Child

Jorden’s POV:

Weakness. That’s what having friends is. It’s pure weakness. I haven’t even called them friends yet and I already am forming a soft spot for them. Especially Kelsey. It’s not that I had a crush on her or anything. It’s just that she is too innocent and happy to not form a quick soft spot for the girl. Mercy was also easy to form that weakness for. Not because of any bullshit ‘her being weak’ thing. She is strong, no matter what gets thrown at her. I feel for her because she dedicates herself to helping others. 

I’m still learning to care enough about the others, not that I would be fine if they died. Seeing them in pain now makes me angry, though I’m trying not to show it. I see Mercy make eye contact with me. I can see the fear and pain in her eyes. She loves them all so much that witnessing this is taking more out of her than she would ever admit. She’s like me, faking her confidence. She’s trying to be strong for them but her heart is breaking. I know she sees right through my bullshit too. She was watching. I don’t know what exactly she thinks. Probably that I’m weak.

I haven’t struggled this whole time. I’ve felt pain before. A lot of it. I want to help Kelsey and the others. But I can’t. I know it will be easier to once I’ve suffered so I can understand their pain a bit more and figure out how to block it. I’ve suffered most of my life. But the thing I could never get through was watching people I care for in pain. That’s why I’ve been alone for so long. It’s easier than having people that others can take away from you.

Mercy opens her mouth and two words escapes. I can't hear it out loud very well, maybe she is just mouths the words. "Help them." Even now she is more concerned with helping the others than herself. I know that a girl like her, always moving, never staying still for too long, has to have dark ghosts of a past. She knows it will be torture. From the look in her eyes, the fear, she knows she might not be able to handle it. 

I suck in a breath, she has no idea how much I do want to help. I want to save them. But I'm powerless. My eyes scan over the group. They are a family to each other. Mahto is the only one that looks like he would still be able to successfully fight, his eyes full of strength and determination as he searches the shadows for our attacker. If I can get through whatever punishment she has for me, I can fight with Mahto. He's strong enough to help get a few of them out and if Mercy can just hold on... She can help too. 

My eyes meet hers once more and I see it. She knows she probably won't be able to make it through. Unlike the rest of us, she knows exactly what her fear is. The shadow. She knows what's within the darkness. And she doesn't believe she has the strength to face her fear. "I-" I start to speak when I suddenly can't see her anymore. My stomach drops. "Mercy!" I call out her name, though I still don't let my weakness show. I can't. If they can see me, I don't want them to worry more.

"Moj Malysh... (My Baby...)" I freeze. I know that voice. But she's dead, I remind myself, the memory already making my heart ache. I slowly turn around, trying to put on a touch facade, the group might be able to see me still. I can't be weak. But when I see her, I feel my strength start to diminish. She smiles at me, stepping up to me so she can cup my face in her delicate soft hands.

She's shorter than me, her shoulders hunched over slightly from aging and sickness. Her thin medium length black hair is plastered to her pale skin by sweat. Her blue eyes sparkle with the life that was taken from her years ago. The bags under her eyes are heavy from the lack of sleep. I remember that night clearly, the night my life changed. But she's in front of me now, so I lift my hands, caressing her cheeks. "Mam... (Ma...)" I can feel the tears threaten to fall but I hold them back. There has to be more.

I'm correct in assuming this, because suddenly the scene changes. My mother smiles at me, "Be strong, lovely."Bud' sil'noj. (Be strong)" She pats my cheek and I reach to touch her fragile hand before she fades into nothingness. But I am not fast enough. She's gone. I blink slowly, my hand quivering but when I open my eyes again, I'm not standing. I'm laying in bed, a quick look around confirms my fears. It's my childhood room. 

I used to be obsessed with galaxies so my walls are painted with stars, the warm comforter covering me is of our starry night, I see the lines connecting dots in various places to form constellations like Orion and Leo. I shove the large blanket away and look down at my clothes. They've been replaced with my old rocket ship pajamas. I also notice I'm not the same tall muscular man I was a moment ago. I'm a kid again. Only seven years old, my birthday was coming up in a few weeks and I already had the room decorated with streamers and posters. I always loved my birthday. 

My mom would take my father and I out to this really cool dancing place. It served ice cream and the people there were like a second family to me. We lived close to the place, in a small town away from other civilization in Russia. It was dark outside, why am I awake? I never wake up before my alarm. Then I hear the yelling. I recognize both voices instantly. Мама. папа. My mother and father are fighting only it sounds one sided. I can hear my mom's voice rising above my father's. "Ja skazal, otpusti menja! (I said let me go!)" She screams.

I hear the fear in my dad's voice when he raises it so she can hear him. "Pozhalujsta, prekrati, ljubov' moja! Ne delaj etogo! (Please stop, my love! Don't do this!)" His voice is frantic and I start to panic. She's having another one of her episodes. My mother suffered from a mental illness that caused her to sometimes lose full control over herself. She'd go insane and her snow leopard would freak out. Golias was his name, she told me once. The amulet she wore around her neck was unstable. She said it was cursed but she couldn't part with it because she always thought she was strong enough. 

I slide out of bed, shuffling silently across the floor of my room, slowly turning the handle and flinching at the loud creaking of the hinges. But thankfully, neither of them seem to even remember the child upstairs. The stairs ache under my feet and yet I still go unnoticed. The yelling is getting louder. I know what happens but I can't stop myself. This is a memory. I would have tried to change it if I didn't already know it wouldn't do any good. 

The kitchen door is getting closer... My heart is pounding loud in my ears, because I remember what I open the door to see. I flinch when I hear the grunt and thud right on cue. My father's voice has faded and I can hear the heavy breathing coming from my mother. The strong metallic scent of blood hits me full force and I almost fall. Then I reach the door and push it open slightly. I don't open it all the way because father always warned me to never go to mom if she was having one of her episodes. He said it was dangerous.

I clamp a hand over my mouth as tears start to flow. I can't stop myself. I haven't cried since that night. This event had been the only thing able to make me cry because I thought nothing could be worse than what I was seeing now. My mother standing over my father's limp body. She's holding a bloodied knife, watching as dad takes his last breath. Blood is covering the floor of the small kitchen, and I nearly vomit. 

My mother turns in my direction and I react automatically, darting out of the area, down a hall and into the small closet dad had told me to hide in a few times. I have to cover my mouth to conceal the sobs that threaten to rip out of me. But luckily for me, mother isn't after me. I realize too late that she is targeting the others. I don't know why. 

Their screams, cries, and pleas for help fill my ears. The screaming gets louder and it takes me several minutes to realize that's because I'm screaming as well. I'm trying to drown out their pain with my screams but it's not working. This is my worst nightmare, I remember, losing everyone. Because when my mother gained control of her snow leopard, she is covered in blood and the smell is overwhelming. I don't come out. 

I'm frozen. My screams have stopped so now I can hear everything. Mom shuffling across the house as if in a daze. I know the moment she realizes what happened when I hear her sudden sobs and cries. But I still don't come out. Maybe I should have. But I was too scared. What was I supposed to do anyway? I was seven. But then I hear the all-too familiar sound of a knife plunging into something. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what she had just done. She couldn't bare the weight of her sickness or what she would do when she lost control.

And so she killed herself. And with them - my parents and my town - died that happy innocent little boy. The scared little boy that couldn't protect those he loves or himself. Because now, he lived with a darkness in his heart, weighed down by the amulet around his neck. I lived with the knowledge that my amulet would eventually cause me to go crazy. To hurt those I now care for. And until now, I hadn't had anyone. I hadn't been more scared as I am every day I spend with Mercy and the others.