Flashback Circa 1979
Flashback
Alexei knew to admit that he wasn’t as strong-willed as the other boys around him.
The ones who roughhoused and filled the air in their lungs with harsh words that shaped around their thin and cracked lips.
The ones who marred buzzcuts and wore tattered clothes that didn’t hold the same effect as when Alexei wore a similar attire.
They were foster kids, and it didn’t take a genius to know that their clothes would have at least a few threads out of their respective sewing lines.
When he trudged downstairs and into the living room, he tried to press himself against the wall as much as he could, hoping to make it past the group of boys piling against each other in front of the old television without notice.
As if out of sheer coincidence, the sound of the movie they were watching crackled and stopped before it turned to black.
And Alexei’s heart seized up in fear and anticipation.
He tried making a run for it, but even he knew that it was only a matter of time and circumstance before Martin Addams would find him to punish tenfold.
It was a hot, summer day, the rusted fan in the corner turned at a glacial pace that barely produced a breeze of air and made a squeaking sound every time it made a full circle. Alexei’s shirt clung to his skin from the heat, but the sticky feeling skimming over his back wasn’t from the humidity.
Slowly, as if a monster, Martin seemed to sense his prey and turned his attention to Alexei. A sinister smile grew upon his lips as he stood with careless posture. “Alexei, we were waiting for you to wake up. Must be pretty tired from last night, huh?”
Alexei pursed his lips against the involuntary swallow, strained and painful. He was mocking him, which seemed to make the fresh bruises ache at the mere reminder.
Bass Robinson and Aaron Blaine, the two boys always flanking their leader’s side, almost lapped up Martin’s words in excitement. All four boys were well aware of what was going to happen next. Except, only one of them was dreading it.
Bass was a boot licker. He was weak, and Alexei, if he was ever strong enough to say it, would consider him a loser. But his laugh was loud and crackling, like a whip against lightning, and his teeth were a little crooked.
He reminded Alexei of a comic book villain. Only, he was worse.
Aaron, on the other hand, was the most vicious of them all, though too weak to be a leader like Martin. The darkest of ideas always came from him, in a suggestive whisper before slipping behind Martin’s final word.
“Let’s go back upstairs. You look like you need a little bit more sleep.” Martin wrapped his arm around Alexei’s shoulders as the smaller, malnourished boy flinched, before steering him back up the stairs that made a sound every time anyone stepped on them.
Alexei hated those words, but he knew what resistance meant, what it led to. He was starving, but it wasn’t like he was going to make it to the kitchen, so why bother focusing on it?
During the day, the boys residing in the home always spent their time in the yard or in the basement where the ‘game room’ was. Martin and his small gang hogged the television, and besides, no one liked to be around them.
The adults were always busy doing one thing or another, coincidentally.
Or maybe they just didn’t care enough to solve any problems when the checks came fresh and on time.
Alexei imagined if Martin, or Aaron, or Bass were moved because of a complaint, the useless caregivers wouldn’t be getting their checks, and they would very soon grow unhappy.
In the end, there would always be someone that found Alexei to take their anger out on.
When they made it into the cramped bedroom filled with bunkbeds and discarded clothes that littered the floor, Martin’s grin sharpened. He nodded to the door. “Get the door, Bass.”
The routine was the same, Alexei found.
It wasn’t comforting in the least, but he hoped that one day they wouldn’t decide to throw him out of the windows just to see how many times he could fall before cracking his head open on the pavement.
Alexei’s heart, routinely, began to pound as he silently and helplessly waited for the first punch.
Except, this time, it didn’t come. Instead, Aaron tilted his head and regarded Alexei with a glint of wickedness as the three boys closed in on him, forcing him back against the wall.
“What’d I tell you, he looks like a girl. ”
Bass laughed. “You were right, Aaron, he does.” He poked an eye to Alexei’s undereye and dragged the skin down, careless to the boy’s wince and momentary lift of his arm. “Look at those eyes, too.”
Aaron smirked, fisting Alexei’s hair that, with enough neglect, grew up to his shoulders. “The hair too. Golden locks and all. Tell me, Alexei, should we call you Alexa now?”
The small boy had his arms up as if to prepare in defending himself, but even he knew that one word from Martin to put them down and he would. Because he was a coward. Because it was easier to submit than to fight back.
Finally, Martin, after being silent for an unusual amount of time, spoke up, his features no longer cruel and smirking but instead, he looked serious, pursed lips and a glare, “Take off his clothes.”
And that. Made. Him. Break.
Alexei, for the first time in his life, seemed to understand where they were going, where this was going, and tried to run.
In fact, he’d almost made it to the door, but that goddamn toy truck.
Isn’t it silly, how a single object could change the trajectory of someone’s entire life.
If he’d made it out of that room, Alexei would have promised himself to never return.
To run and hide and look for his old friend who’d abandoned him.
But he didn’t make it to the door.
Alexei lost his balance stepping on the toy truck and tripped over the rolling wheels when Aaron grunted as he grappled for him, only to fall on top of him.
There, right on that very spot, Alexei’s shirt was torn from him, his soul along with it. Then came his pants, and then anything else that could have stopped the three boys from getting what they wanted.
They didn’t sound afraid or hesitant; in fact, their movements were pure confidence. They were proud of what they were doing.
Even on the ground, Alexei tried to scream, but Bass pressed his arm over the bottom half of his face, smothering any sound that could alert anyone to Alexei’s distress.
Who would care?
Surely not the adults. And all the other kids were younger and just as afraid of Martin and his crew.
Alexei was so blinded by fear, his mind taking him to another reality than this one, he could only squirm and listen to his screams fall into silence.
And then, when his mind seemed to catch up to the invasive hands against his skin, pressing against the bruises and cuts, fresh tears filled his eyes as they grabbed for his hands to hold him down.
His bones felt as though they would crush against the heavy body above him and the hard floor beneath him.
But nothing was as painful, nothing would ever feel as gut-wrenchingly feral as the way they’d torn him open and tortured him for what felt like hours.
Alexei wasn’t sure if it was a few minutes or hours until his mind and body gave out. He should have kept feeling that burning, agonizing abuse. But he only remembered lying there against the dirty floor with glazed-over eyes and a static mind.
His lips were parted in a brain-dead way that seemed to make the three boys retreat, not before reminding him that they didn’t find themselves regretful of anything. In fact, in the end, they revelled in their pride.
Except, Alexei wasn’t listening. Because his eyes were focused on the small boy curled up and hidden underneath the bed. Just out of sight, just out of earshot. Always.
Alexei watched him watch him. The boy’s eyes were as wide with fear as Alexei’s were dead. Then, in that moment of silence, his mind seemed to restart, the cogs finally beginning to turn again. And so, it was decided that night would seal the fate of Alexei Andreeva.
Because it wasn’t the first time Alexandr Miroslav watched as Alexei got beaten to a pulp. He was a sadist, no matter how hard he tried to muster a pitying glance.
It hurt more when Alexei remembered all the snippets of his life he’d shared with the boy. About his parents, about his childhood, about Cassius.
Alexei remained on the floor for a long time after that, as long as it took Alexandr to muster up an ounce of courage and slither out from under the bed. Slowly, he slipped out without a care for the broken and tattered boy in front of him.