Chapter 7 #2
I can’t move or breathe. As my eyes roll up into my head, a burning sensation instantly brings me back to reality.
It stings, and the smell of burned skin fills my nose.
Then he tears open my shirt like it’s made of tissue paper.
A scream bursts out of me when Steve puts his cigarette out on my chest.
My reaction pleases him, and he laughs and laughs.
“Fuckin’ pussy. You’re so goddamn weak, Arthur.
Even your name is for pussies. Arthur. Your fuckin’ idiot mother must’ve thought you was some royalty or some shit.
Now look at ya, a simpering weakling, who cries about fuckin’ everything.
Can’t even take a little burn. Dad used to burn me, and I didn’t cry as much as you. ”
I’ve had a lot of burns and got the scars to show it. Little circles sprinkled over my body like polka dots.
“Please,” I whimper. I just need him to stop. Or to kill me. I’m not sure how much more I can take and for how much longer.
Steve quickly grips my throat tightly, no longer laughing, and squeezes. Between his weight on me and his hand tightening its hold, I can’t breathe.
Do it.
Do it.
Again, I pray to a god that probably doesn’t exist, but I so desperately want him to be real.
Kill me.
Let him kill me.
But Steve doesn’t kill me. Instead, he leans forward, and now I’m nauseous with his stench of alcohol, sweat, and putrid breath. “Please, what? Do you want me to let you go? If I do, you’d better come down and open your present.”
A sob escapes me as I nod. I guess I am weak. If I were stronger, I’d tell him just to kill me already.
He lets go of my throat and gently pats my face. “Good boy.”
Once he climbs off me, I stand, wobbly on my feet, and I’m gasping for breath, coughing a few times. My arm and chest still burn. After I open my gift, he’ll let me treat my wounds.
My T-shirt is in shreds, so I remove it and toss it onto the floor, not bothering to put another one on because the fabric will stick to my burn marks.
Steve leaves my room, and I follow him out. I try to hold back my tears, to stop fucking crying, but I can’t. I’m just so lost and afraid. He hurts me a lot, but Christmas Eve is a goddamn nightmare.
We reach the living room downstairs. Mom is passed out on the couch already as the music continues to blast through the stereo speakers.
“Sit down,” Steve orders.
I do as I’m told, still crying and shaking.
After pouring himself a shot of something, he chugs it back and reaches for the gift sitting on the old coffee table before handing it to me.
It’s ominous. I know there will be horror inside.
The strangest thing about it is that each year, Steve takes the time to wrap the gift perfectly.
He does it with so much care, almost reverently.
Does he actually believe what he’s giving me is a real gift?
Like, he takes pride in what he’s picked out for me.
But that’s crazy, right? Right?! I know he’s insane.
He has to be. And the years of suffering have made me…
off, too. I can feel myself mentally slipping more and more.
I’m always paranoid, and my mind goes into hiding sometimes, making me black out.
My body is shaking violently, and I feel sick to my stomach. I take shuddering breaths as I tug at the bow to untie it. I glance at Mom, who’s still passed out, silently begging her to wake up and finally protect me for once in her sad excuse for a life.
Steve sits on the sofa, lighting up another smoke. I know he’s going to burn me with that one, too. God, I want to run, but he’ll just find me and bring me back. Not that I can run far without money or anything.
By the time I get the paper torn off the box, I want to throw up. It takes all my willpower not to barf everywhere, and only because Steve will beat me for it. And cleaning it up is gross.
My hands shake so much that I can barely pry off the lid of the box. He just sits and watches me with curious fascination, not saying a word.
I finally get it open and slam my eyes shut. I don’t want to see it. Please don’t make me see it.
“Open your eyes!” he snaps. “I went through a lot of trouble to get it for you.”
I slowly open my eyes as more tears spill down my face, making my vision blurry. When I finally look down, a sob escapes me, and I throw the box and the gift off my lap. It tumbles to the dirty rug as I scramble higher on my chair, taking my feet off the floor.
“No, no, no…”
I don’t see him coming at me when he takes a fistful of my hair and yanks me to the ground, putting me face-to-face with my living nightmare.
“Look. At. It. Do you have any idea of what I went through to get this for you?”
Steve finally did it. He’s leveled up to humans. He must kill regularly.
The hand on the ground is crusted with blood on the stump, and it’s nearly purple. It doesn’t smell as bad as the other gifts, but it will soon.
“Isn’t that the most perfect hand you’ve ever seen, Arthur?”
I can only nod. But I want to die. So much.
He lets me sit up, and I wipe away the tears from my face. “Pick it up and hold it.”
I’m weak. Too weak.
I pick up the stiff, cold hand as he watches me in awe.
Please take me away from here.