5
1657 Words
“Useless little brat! Do it again!”
Crying in pain, the little boy tried to block the beefy hand that moved to slap him yet again. He cried out, landing hard against the corner of the doorframe. Blood poured from the small head wound, splattering onto the polished wood floor and the spotless white wall.
“Damn the day your mother dropped you off for us to take care of,” the older man bellowed, his voice echoing through the quiet house.
“I’ll be good, Grandpa. Please, I promise!” the boy pleaded, his small body trembling with fear.
Another smack. “Get up and do the math again. Clean that mess up as well.”
******
Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Russell bolted upright on his couch, heart pounding in his chest. The TV was playing a random black-and-white comedy, the riotous laughter from the audience contrasting sharply with the horror of his nightmare. He combed his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself.
Glancing around, he forced himself to focus, remembering his sister’s advice. The best method they found to deal with his nightmares was the five senses technique. Redirecting his brain to ground it in taste, touch, smell, hearing, and sight was a reliable way to calm down. Starting with the next phase of the exercise, he looked around for five things he could see.
“The TV. The window. My books. My bed. My hands.” He continued, steadying his breathing.
“Four things I can touch. Easy. My body, the table, my blanket…” he glanced down at the drink on the coffee table. Giving a small laugh, he gently touched the rim of the glass. “My drink.”
Russell got to his feet, stretching his muscles. “Three things I can smell. Old pizza, stale beer, and…good Lord, is that my garbage? Damn. I gotta get that out this week.”
Moving into the kitchen, he changed the bag in the trash can and sighed before grabbing the one from the bathroom. Setting it by the door to remind himself in the morning, he groaned. “Almost there. I can do this. Okay, now, two things I can taste.”
He wanted to grin at the fact that he and Declan shared a love of peanut butter cups, but his nerves were shot. The nightmare about his grandfather getting pissed when he couldn’t get his math homework right haunted him even now. He had to go to school the next day with a bandage and lie to his teachers. He didn’t want to, but the last time he tried to get help, he was made to look like he was just acting out, and they beat him after the social worker left.
There was no choice but to lie. He had to tell the teachers that he had an accident at home. He had to tell them that he’d tripped over his laces and fallen into the doorframe, but it wasn’t that bad. It was just a little cut that happened to bleed a lot, like all head wounds did.
Absently reaching up, he bit into the sweet treat as he traced the small scar he’d been left with that day. “Sugar and peanut butter. That’s two things I taste right now. One thing I can hear?”
Closing his eyes, he focused on his hearing. That’s when he noticed that his phone was ringing. Running to grab it, he breathed a laugh. “Hey, Rob. What’s up?”
“Cousin Cal and David just left. Heard through the grapevine that your girl rode off with the muscle men of Nix’s crew, too. You good?”
Looking around, he winced.
‘Lie,’ he told himself. His friend could never know that he still suffered because of his childhood. There was no way that he’d ever tell the guy that he was weak from nightmares every other night of the week. He’d be tormented to hell and back over something like that. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“Because you sound like you haven’t slept yet,” Robert replied stoically. “Now get off your duff and come answer the door before I break it down.”
Oh s**t.
His friend and partner in the mafia was literally outside his downtown apartment. Unlike the others, he didn’t want to live in the Towers because it would be too easy to monitor his movements. They already did that, but living there would give him zero chance to heal on his own.
“Why are you here?”
“You know, as hard-headed as you are, your sister is so much worse. She sent me to check on you because you haven’t answered her calls. She’s worried, asshole. Now, come open the door,” Robert said again, his tone brooking no argument.
Groaning, Russell said, “I just woke up, man. Can’t we do this in the morning? I’ll call my sister back when she gets her kids off to school.”
“Open. The. f*****g. Door, Russell. Don’t make me break it down. I’d hate to wake your neighbors at nearly one in the morning.”
Was he ever going to get a good night’s rest? Or even a moment to himself without Amber going into worried sister mode?
“Robbie, please, I really can’t do this tonight. My place is a mess, and so am I.”
The sound of keys rattling made him pale. The only other people who had a key were his siblings. Had Ambrosia given hers to Robert in advance?
“Like I care. I came to see you, not your apartment, Dickwad. Besides, I brought beer. Figured you were out with that freaking insomnia that keeps you up all the time.” Robert’s disgruntled voice cut him deep.
This was the man who stood by him eight years prior. The man who trusted him enough to take a stand and force Russell to see the truth for what it was. He’d been a pawn in a deadly game against the mafia. One he would have died in had it not been for the same powerhouse of a black man who saved him from Hans’ fiery temper.
“Fine. You have a key anyway, so I don’t know why you thought threatening to kick in my door was a good idea.”
“f**k you, and that super hearing of yours. What? You and that crackpot we call a pincushion get bionic ears when you were born or something?” The call disconnected as the door opened to admit Robert Drake into the flat. Glancing around, he raised a brow. “You said the place was a mess.”
Russell scoffed, “You didn’t see my living room?”
“That? For f**k’s sake, I live with my uncle, and our place looks like a tornado hit it every day. Especially when we can’t find something. This,” he lifted a hand, gesturing to the half-eaten pizza and cans of soda that littered the floor around the couch. “This looks like you’re becoming a shut-in. Don’t do that, man. I need you around and sane enough to be at my back.”
“What a woman,” Russ commented with a laugh.
“Careful, that sounded like a challenge to me,” Robbie warned playfully. Cracking a beer after handing one to his friend, Robbie straddled a chair and sighed. “So, what’s going on?”
Putting up a wall, Russell plastered a grin in place. “What makes you think something’s going on?”
Eyeing him with a dark look, Robert shook his head slowly. He leaned forward, tapping his forefinger against the table. “Don’t go there. Take that mask off before I make a game of shooting you for fun. Trust me, you do not want to make an enemy of a Drake. We go down fighting, or we don’t go down.”
Fear flashed in Russell’s eyes. He lowered his gaze, not wanting Robbie to see it. “I know.”
“Now, if you thought for one minute that I didn’t know the s**t you went through, you’re wrong. It didn’t take a genius to figure out you were abused as a kid, Russ. Come on, man. You’re my friend. My partner. So let’s get that s**t out and put all our cards on the table,” his friend said, his tone softening slightly.
Blowing out his cheeks, Russell barked a laugh. “Yeah, I had it bad, but I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
“You ain’t gonna bore me any more than my uncle’s lectures. Honestly, I’d rather listen to you than hear his old-as-f**k ass,” Robert said, leaning back in his chair.
Taking a sip of his beer, Russell nodded. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Launching into his explanation—the story behind his original betrayal—Russell filled Robert in on his history. As he finished, he looked across at the man in front of him and winced. The bottle shattered as Robert tightened his hold in sheer rage.
“Dude, that’s rough. You survived that? No wonder you’re all screwed up in the head. They legit knocked your marbles loose,” Robbie said, his voice filled with a mix of anger and sympathy.
“I’m still breathing, and I recently found out that they died a few years back,” Russell explained.
Robert grinned, showing off his perfect teeth. “Let’s go.”
“Go?” Russell asked, confused.
“Yeah,” Robbie replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let’s go piss on their graves. It’s what they deserve for treating you like absolute s**t for years.”
Finding nothing to argue about, Russell stood up, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’m down.”
- Writer
