Alliance of Shadows, Book 5: LEIF

The First Betrayal

The chair scraped back, the sound echoing off the walls of our otherwise empty home. The weight of the moment clung to the air, thick and oppressive.

"I'm going to be back in an hour or so," he said quietly.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "Why?"

I followed him out to the foyer, where I watched him shove his feet into his favorite sneakers. His movements were tense, deliberate, as though forcing himself through the motions. "Get some rest, keep the doors and windows locked, and get something to eat, okay?"

I shook my head. "Please, Dre, donnae leave me."

His hand gently covered my mouth as he stared me directly in the eyes. There, just beyond the sapphire of his gaze, was a flicker of deep-seated guilt. The intensity of it sent a chill racing down my spine.

"I'm not, but I should have handled everything differently. I didn't, and it's bothering me, so go on. Ask me where I'm going."

There was no need to ask him anything. If he felt that guilty about everything leading up to this, he was going to see his father.

"I donnae have te," I told him. "Be safe, my love."

Smiling, he nodded. "I will. Now, go lock everything that can be locked, and get something to eat, sweetheart. You look ready to drop, and you don’t think clearly on an empty stomach. You already know me well enough to know I'm heading to see Dad, so don’t worry about me, okay?"

"Okay," I replied.

Dre's eyes flickered before a small smile graced his lips. "I love you, Leif. I'll be home in a bit, so try not to worry too much."

"I love ye all the world," I whispered, and he pulled me in for a kiss so heated, I could feel his hunger for me deep in my bones. The warmth of him, the certainty in his touch, nearly unraveled me.

The door clicked shut behind him, the boundary clearly drawn between us as reality crashed around me.

Once I'd done as he’d asked—including grabbing a quick shower to recenter my mind under the rush of water—I grabbed myself a plate of leftover pasta and sat down at our heavy oak dining table. The warmth of the meal did little to soothe the cold knot forming in my stomach.

In front of me lay a stack of notebooks and a handful of pens. Wasn’t sure how many I’d use, but I knew I’d drain the ink out of a few of ‘em. My fingers clasped a pen with ink as black as night, hovering over the first line of the page at the start of the first book.

The weight of the moment pressed against me, thick and suffocating. My grip tightened around the pen, my pulse hammering in my ears. I was hesitant, the memories fighting against my sanity, the strength of truth weighing heavy on my shoulders. The silence of the house contrasted sharply with the chaos inside my head—stillness surrounding me, while thoughts clashed like a storm I had no control over.

This was it. My moment, my truth, my pain laid bare for him to see for the last time.

Though I might not have been able to verbalize what had been done to me, I was more than capable of writing it down. As the ink finally bled onto the paper, it felt like the first crack in the dam, releasing everything I had kept locked away for far too long.

See, my father worked a nine-to-five while Mother kept the house, and I went to school. They had no other children, so when Mother was done with her household chores, she would go for a walk to visit her friends. On days that I had no school—more precisely, when I was a lot younger—she would take me with her.

I would have to endure the boring tea-time sessions fueled by vodka and whatever other alcoholic drink was available that afternoon. Gossip would carry on for hours before they even remembered I was there.

After I came out to what I thought was a friend, my life turned upside down. I was only ten, naught more than a babe learning his way through the murky waters of the world around me. That moment stripped away the rose-colored glasses of my childhood in a single, disastrous instant.

Gone were the hugs, the kisses, the tickles, and the pride they used to have in me. In their place came harsh words, starvation, and nightly beatings with my father's two-inch-wide belt. On the days that his work went well, he left me alone.

It was a struggle to keep outsiders from seeing the marks and bruises I was left trying to hide every morning.

Why did they do this to me? Why change how they felt about me so suddenly?

Simply because I came out of the closet. I had thought love was unconditional, that nothing would shake the bond between us.

The first person I told? My supposed best friend, Seamus McDillard.

I walked in through the door that same day, hoping for a nice family dinner. What I wasn't expecting was my father's fist in my face the moment the heavy front door closed behind me. I wasn't expecting the scalding water my mother dumped over my head so unceremoniously.

Crying, I hugged my knees to my chest tightly. "Stop, please, Mummy. What ‘ave I done wrong?"

Their behavior confused and hurt me.

I had believed they would always be there for me, no matter what. Instead, I had been sold out by my own friend. A friend who promised he would never breathe a word of my secret to anyone.

Just another person I could no longer trust.

"Please stop," my father mocked in a whiny, nasally voice. "Fuckin' faggot, I'll give ye somethin’ to cry fer, a’right."

Grabbing me by the back of my shirt, he dragged me kicking and screaming to the basement door.

"No, please no," I pleaded. My hands struggled to hold onto anything I could hook my fingers on, but it didn't help. "Daddy, stop! Please, Daddy, not the basement. Please, not the basement!"

The place terrified me, and he knew it.

I looked for my mother, sure that she would save me from his violence. She caught my eye for just a moment before she snorted in disgust and looked away. I knew then that I was on my own.

Anger flashed hot in his dark green eyes as he looked down at me, "Don't call me that, you little c**k jockey. I didn’t father some little b***h, I sired a boy to mould into a man. Yer nothin’ but a feckin’ mistake, if I ever made one."

He wrenched me to my feet, lifting me until my toes dangled three feet off the floor, and pulled back his fist to hit me. "No! Daddy, no! Please don't hit me, Daddy!"

My breath left my body, and I saw stars dancing in my line of sight. I barely heard my mother telling him to take care not to beat me where others could see the marks. That she didn't want the Bobbies or the Children's Services at the door Monday when I went to school.

Coughing, I gasped for breath as he hit me again... and again... and again. He kept at it for a good ten minutes before she finally stepped in to check him.

“You're going to kill him, Matias," Mother said as she finally pulled him away from me. My body too weak to do anything anymore. "We'll lose the benefit for him if he dies, ya stupid cunt."

"f**k the damn benefit," my father growled. "I never wanted a Sorcerer, anyway. I told you that when ‘e was born! Oh wait, he's a tart. That makes him a wee Witch."

Another closed fist hit to my abdomen had me throwing up whatever I'd eaten that day. I was barely staying awake. My head was spinning, and I could taste the bile mixed with blood in my mouth.

Pissed that I'd gotten him covered in vomit, my father yanked me off the floor where he'd let me fall and opened the basement door. Too weak to fight back, and exhausted to the point of collapse, I didn't struggle as he threw me over the stairs.

Thankfully, there were only three, but it still hurt to land on the unfinished, dirt-covered floor.

I clawed my way up the wall to my feet and tried to go up the steps only to be kicked back down. Crying, I looked up at them. I still couldn't figure out what I'd done so wrong that it warranted this kind of punishment.

"Stay in ‘ere an’ think about what ye've done. Thing of te shame you've brought te this family," my mother sneered as she threw a bag at me.

Looking down, I realized it was my school bag.

"Mummy, please, what have I done," I begged.

Spitting on me again, she hissed out the words, "It's not what ya did. It's what ya are."

I shook from both pain and fear, "But, Mummy, I don't understand. What am I that made you and Daddy so angry?"

"Good Gods, are ya that thick?" She laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "Ya told that little friend of yours ya like boys o’er girls! You ‘ave shamed this family for the last time, laddie."

I wasn’t sure how long they kept me in the basement. Time blurred together in the stale air, and hunger gnawed at my stomach. When I reached for the thin cord hanging from the rafters, the light didn’t flicker on. They must have shut it off from the switch outside the door.

Feeling my way over the steps, I gripped the handle—it didn’t budge. Locked solid.

The cold seeped into my bones, and my body trembled with exhaustion. Searching in the dark, my fingers brushed against an old, moth-eaten blanket. It wasn’t much, but I pulled it tightly around me anyway.

I curled up on bottom step and let sleep take me in uneven fits.