LUCIEN

 

THAT NIGHT I'M lying in bed next to Adeline.  She's already asleep on the other side of the mattress, resting peacefully on her stomach with her hands curled under her chest and her pretty face turned towards me.

I watch her sleep…her eyelids fluttering softly…her deep even breaths causing her back to rise and fall.

She's devastatingly beautiful, and I still can't believe I was lucky enough to have her walk into my life.  It's almost as if she's some kind of serendipitous gift, something perfect to reward me for surviving the first half of my life, the light at the end of a very dark tunnel that was my youth.

And if fate truly led me to her, then I would gladly suffer through everything again just to be here with her now.

Gently, I brush my fingertips over her soft cheek, grasping a stray, dark lock and tucking it behind her delicate ear.  The fact that I can touch her now without panicking is amazing.  I never thought there would be a cure for me.

But Adeline is my cure.

I believe that to be true.

I become so fixated on her when she's near that nothing else can permeate my thoughts.  There's only her.

Hesitantly, I move closer to Adeline.  I never wanted this type of intimacy with anyone before.  But when it comes to her, it's like I can never be close enough.  I want to crawl inside of her and live forever.

I want to make her mine…because I'm already hers.

As if sensing my nearness, Adeline snuggles up against me, laying her head on my chest as I wrap my arm around her, protecting her.  Keeping her safe with me.  Always.

My lips kiss her crown, and I memorize every hair on her head until my eyelids begin to grow heavy.

As I begin to drift asleep, I can sense the nightmare coming before I can stop it.

It's the smell that always hits me first…the overwhelming stench of cigarettes, booze, chemicals, cat piss and burnt toast…

 

It's early when I wake up to the smell of burnt toast.

My stomach clenches with both hunger and nausea at the same time.  Mama's only nice before something terrible happens.

And if she's making me something to eat for breakfast, then it's probably gonna be a bad day.

I stand up from my small, dirty mattress on the floor and get dressed for school.  I just started sixth grade this year, and so far it's going okay.  I just wish my mama would let me go more.

Today's Thursday, which means it's pizza day.  My belly growls loudly at the thought of food, and I grimace in pain when my stomach cramps up from being empty for so long.

Mama didn't make dinner last night, not that it was out of the ordinary for her, and my search for food in the cupboards left me empty-handed.

After shooing away Lucy, a black cat with yellow eyes, off of my book bag, I slip the straps around my shoulders and walk out of my room, pushing past the shower curtain serving as a makeshift door.  It's almost time for the bus, and I don't wanna be late.

The acrid smell of burnt toast grows stronger as I trudge through the cluttered living room, littered with beer cans and boxes of junk that Mama buys for next to nothing from yard sales and auctions.

We live in an old, single-wide trailer, and there's not much room for even the two of us, let alone Mama's numerous boyfriends and friends that come over all the time to party and crash on the ratty couch or recliner.

Her current boyfriend must still be in her room sleeping off his hangover from drinking all night.  At least all he does is drink and occasionally hit or kick me.  Her prior boyfriends were much, much worse. 

A shudder passes through my body as I think about the things they've done to me…and the things my mama let them do to me.

I walk into the small adjoining kitchen and watch Mama standing over the toaster with a cigarette precariously dangling from two fingertips.  Almost the whole cig is ash, waiting to fall at any second as Mama stares off into the distance as if she's in a trance.  She probably has no idea I'm even here, and I can't help but always wonder if that makes it easier for her.

To pretend like I'm not here.  To pretend that I don't exist.

Dark smoke rises from the toaster, which Mama found in a neighbor's trashcan a long time ago.  It always burns the bread almost to the point of no recognition, but she usually scrapes the charred parts off in the sink before giving it to me.  Sometimes I have to do it myself if she's too far gone after having taken her medicine.

The toast suddenly pops up, causing Mama to jolt and snap out of her trance.  The long ash from her cigarette falls to the filthy kitchen floor.  With a frown, she smashes the butt into a nearby ashtray, and then places the toast on a dirty plate from the sink before handing it to me.

I sit down on a rusted and squeaky metal folding chair in front of a small wooden table.  Mama's hands are trembling as she lights up another cigarette, so I figure she must be out of her medicine again.  She always gets the shakes when she's out of her medicine.

Mama didn't even bother to scrape off the burnt parts this time, but my empty stomach growls loudly for food.  I only manage to sneak food here and there whenever I can get it or when Mama lets me go to school, and I feel like I'm always starving.

Other boys my age are all much bigger than me, and I'm always asked how old I am.  I guess I look much younger than eleven because I'm so small.

I manage to swallow down several bites of dry, scorched bread and tell Mama, "Almost time for the bus."

"You're not going to school today, baby," she tells me while running a hand through her greasy, matted, blonde hair.

A sick feeling instantly sours my stomach, and I push the plate away from me.  She must really need her medicine bad.  And when she gets desperate like that…really, really bad things always happen to me.

"I need you to go next door to Mr. Merton's place and do a couple chores for him, okay, baby?"

I freeze, my blood instantly turning to ice in my veins, and now I'm the one who's shaking.  "N-n-n-o, M-Mama.  I c-c-can't," I stammer, while tears are already collecting in my eyes.

"You will do as Mama says now," she tells me sternly.  "Mama needs money for her medicine.  He said he only needs you to do a few things for him this morning, and then he'll give you the money."

I think about the past couple of times I went to the next door neighbor's house.  Mr. Merton touched me.  And he made me touch him.

He hurt me.

Shaking my head, I get out of my seat.  If I can just make it outside and get onto the bus, Mama will have to come up with the money herself.  I know some other kids who have fathers and mothers who work.  I don't know why Mama can't find a job to afford her medicine.

Mama wraps her thin, bony fingers around my shoulders and shakes me.  Hard.  "Lucien, I need you to be Mama's little helper today.  Okay?  Can you do that for your mama?"

I want to tell her no.  I want to tell her again about all the evil things Mr. Merton makes me do for the money, but the words just won't come out.

Besides, Mama already knows what happens over there.  After the first time it happened, I told her he touched me.  But Mama told me it was because I was bad and that I deserved it.

Mama tells me I'm bad all the time even when I try not to be.  But even when I'm good, nothing good happens to me.

Maybe I'm always bad and just don't realize it.

She slowly takes off my book bag as I start to cry.  "Now, now, don't cry.  You'll be back home before you know it.  And when I go to get my medicine, I'll buy you a Snickers from the gas station up the road.  How does that sound?"

I nod even though I want to scream at her and tell her all the horrible things swirling inside my head.  I hate her.  I hate my mother.  But I can't say the words out loud or even more bad things will probably happen to me.

"Such a good boy.  That's why Mama loves you so much."

I cringe at her words.  Mama only loves me when bad things are about to happen.  I associate love with horrible things now because of her.

She gives me a rough push towards the front door, and I almost stumble.  "Go on now.  He's waiting for you," she snaps, her voice stern.

I slip on my old, scuffed tennis shoes that are too tight for my feet.  And then I run out of the trailer and down the porch steps, stopping at the bottom to upchuck the burnt toast.  I dry-heave for a few moments, tears streaming down my face.

I hear the bus pulling up at the end of the trailer court lane, and I numbly watch as all the kids from the neighboring trailers get on it.

Wiping the spit from my mouth on my sleeve, I glance back at our trailer.  I want to run and get on the bus…but I can't leave.  I just can't.  Mama needs her medicine.  And if I don't get her the money for her medicine, I'll get punished.  And sometimes her punishments are even worse than what happens next door.

Sometimes.

Besides, she took my book bag with all my stuff.  And my teacher, Mrs. Conner, always gets mad when I forget my books and homework.

Releasing a quiet sob, I watch the bus pull away, wishing that I was on it and on my way to school instead of having to get money for Mama.

Balling my right hand into a fist, I lash out and strike the side of the trailer.  Pain wracks my hand as my knuckles land against the unforgiving aluminum siding.  Clutching my bloody, bruised knuckles against my chest, my entire body shakes with pent-up anger.

It's not fair that other kids have mothers who cook and clean and tuck them in at night and that they have fathers who play ball and read them bedtime stories.

Why didn't I get to have parents who do things like that?  Parents who love me?  What did I do to deserve a life like this?

I must be rotten inside, just like Mama says.  She's told me a lot of times that I was a mistake; that I wasn't supposed to be born.

Maybe she's right.  And now I'm being punished for it.

Reluctantly, I force my feet to move to the rundown trailer next-door.  I climb the rickety stairs of the porch and slowly push through the front door, which is ajar.

Mr. Merton is waiting for me in the living room when I walk in.  He's old and fat, but he always gives me something to eat…after the bad things happen.

A cruel smile is on his face as he leads me back to his bedroom.  He slams the door shut and locks it, making me shudder in terror.

"Take off your clothes and get on the bed, boy," he instructs.

I stare at him in confusion.  Usually I just have to strip and touch myself while he touches himself.  Sometimes he touches me to show me what to do or what he likes…but he never asked me to get on the bed before.

"W-what?" I ask.

"Are you deaf, boy?" he asks, knocking me on the side of my head with his fat fist.  "I said take off your clothes and get on the bed."

Not wanting to anger him any more than I already have, I quickly take off my t-shirt and shorts.  I wish Mama would buy me some new underwear.  Maybe I wouldn't have to be totally naked, and maybe Mr. Merton would let me keep them on at least.

I stand by the edge of the bed, eyeing the dirty, discolored mattress.  There are no sheets; just a greasy pillow that looks stained with sweat.

"Get. On. The. Bed."  He says each word separately as if I'm stupid and can't understand him.

I'm not stupid.  Mrs. Connor told me I'm one of the brightest boys she's ever met.  It's just that Mama doesn't let me go to school enough, so I'm always behind.  I'm always paying the price because she needs her stupid medicine.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when Mr. Merton roughly grabs my arm and forces me onto the bed.  I crawl to the middle, covering myself as best I can with my hands.  I watch as he undresses, not wanting to look, but needing to know what his next move is.

He's fat, and his large rolls move and shake as he walks over to the bed and lies down beside me.

I'm figuring this will be like all the other times, and that he won't actually touch me or hurt me.

I keep telling myself that over and over in my head as if somehow they'll come true.

 

But that time was different with Mr. Merton, because he didn't just make me cry…

He made me scream.