As I looked around the now-dilapidated storage room through teary eyes and listened through ringing ears, the pain became almost unbearable. I curled into a ball and began to sob uncontrollably, as I suddenly realized I wasn't able to fight against it like before. "Why? Why won't it work?" I hissed as a stringy wad of spit left my mouth in frustration.
Just then, I heard my father's muffled voice entering the room, but he didn't immediately rush to my aid. Instead, he was rapidly asking the old man a plethora of questions, but he only raised his grimy hand to stop him. "I've done enough for now. Your son will never be able to reach his full potential unless I allow it," the old man said, from what I could hear.
You bastard, I thought, knowing this was a part of his plan all along.
Even though the events were still exceedingly fresh in my mind, I dreaded the day I'd ever have to meet him again. If the only way to remove whatever he'd done to me were by allying with him, then I'd prefer to have lived with whatever he'd done with me and never see him again.
They must have realized I was awake because they immediately lowered their voices to a hush, preventing me from hearing anything further. At that point, I didn't want to anyway. I didn't care anymore, since whatever he did to me would likely be with me for the rest of my life, and I knew there was only one way out of it.
I stayed in the position I was in, focusing only on trying to survive the pain I was in. I could feel the tears streaming down my face and soaking into the wooden floorboards beneath me as they puddled beneath my cheek. The only thing left to do at the time was wait for it all to be over. I didn't know why my father had brought me to this person, but one thing I knew for sure was that whenever my mother got home, she wouldn't be happy to hear what had happened.
A few minutes later, my father came and untied the ropes around my hands and ankles, which left bright red marks due to my struggle against the old man. He held my face in my hands, but at this point, I remember I was little more than catatonic, and entirely unable to give the slightest shit about whatever words left his mouth.
He helped me put my shirt back on and wrapped my cloak around me the same way he had before, then led me out to the horse, which carried more supplies now than the night we'd left. He helped me up onto the horse, probably knowing he didn't have to knock me out this time, and mounted just behind me.
As we turned to leave, the old man waved us off, but gave me a knowing look from beneath the cloth, sending what little contents I had in my stomach soaring from between my teeth. "It's alright, Thoma. You're all better now," my father said, patting me on the back as I spat the remaining bile.
Better? I thought, feeling a rage against him I didn't know I had in me.
Perhaps I did know, but this was the first time I ever dared to acknowledge it. I had no idea what he was thinking in putting me through that, but there was one thing I knew for sure: there was something about me that changed enough to satisfy him.
I don't know exactly how long we rode for, as all I could do was focus on not passing out from the pain accentuated by the horse's gait. I closed my eyes and focused inwardly, doing my best not to puke or fall off the horse. At some point, however, we finally made it home, and after helping me get down from the horse, my dad gave me a self-satisfied look that rubbed me the wrong way. I hardly had the strength to challenge it, and decided it was best to turn away and ignore whatever he was about to say.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked as he watched me begin to walk toward the treeline, but I just ignored him. "I asked you a question, Thoma," he said, revealing a hint of annoyance in his tone, causing me to halt and turn to face him with a furrowed brow. "Does it matter?" I asked, not bothering to maintain any sort of pleasantries with him as my mental state finally recovered.
"How dare you speak to me in that tone?" he snarled, but it did nothing to me. There was nothing he could say that I cared for, and even less that I was going to obey at this point. I rolled my eyes and continued walking away, hearing him shout something I willingly ignored, though it was probably a string of insults and name-calling, judging by the pattern and tone of his voice.
As I moved through the trees, I found a spot I felt was far enough away from him to be outside of earshot. I slumped against the roots of a massive tree and gazed upward at the gently swaying branches.
Well, at least I can still smell the rain coming, I sighed as I looked off toward the distant rain clouds.
What's done is done. The only thing I can do now is live with whatever that old man did to me. If Mom were home, this wouldn't have happened, right? She would've probably killed that old man long before he laid a finger on me, I thought as I rested my head against the thick roots.
I didn't know what to do. Was there anything I could've even done about that situation? Not likely, but I figured I had to make the best of it while I still could. After a few hours, the smell of rain grew stronger, meaning it was time to head back home.
No, that's probably not a good idea right now, I thought, knowing my father was likely still angry at my behavior when we got home.
I sighed again, and as I let out the last bit of air in my lungs, the rain began to fall. The clouds above me were dark and gray, though the rain brought me a solace I didn't know I needed. I knew he wasn't going to come after me in the rain, so I decided to stay in the woods overnight.
If a creature wants a snack, I don't think I'm much of a meal, but I also wouldn't care if it did, I thought, letting my forehead rest on my knees as I bundled my cloak around me.
The following morning, the rain had subsided somewhat, though it was still drizzling, and I could feel my stomach rumbling from hunger.
Damn it, why now? I thought angrily at my body's inability to sustain me on nothing but rainwater and the handful of dried fruit I stole from the horse before I'd left.
I accepted my fate and decided it was time to head home, but I heard a rustling behind me. Initially, I thought it was just a wild animal, but when I turned to look, all I could see was a white piece of cloth hanging over a scraggly beard off in the distance.
Shit, did he follow us home? I thought, trying to feign that I hadn't seen him.
Whether he'd heard my thoughts was another story, but thankfully, nothing came of it, and I made my way back home without another instance of him appearing.
I snuck in from the back door, knowing my father seldom visited that area of the house, as he usually stayed in the living room during the early hours of the morning. I had no idea what time it was, but it was early enough that it was still the most likely place he'd be. But as I cracked open the door, I was surprised to hear not one, but two voices in the living room.
Mom? I thought, using my knowledge of the floorboards that creaked, and the ones that didn't, to get closer to hear their conversation from around the corner.
"I'm not going to ask you again. Where the fuck is my son?" she asked in a harsh tone of voice. "Siraye, I've already told you that I don't know. He went off into the woods and hasn't come back since yesterday evening," he said dismissively. "And why would he do that? What did you do?" she asked again, leaning in toward him. Her silver hair was still matted from her journey home, and she was still wearing her armor.
It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that she's been back, I realized, immediately revealing myself.
"Mom, I'm right here," I said, stepping out from behind the corner of the short hallway that led to the pantry. "Thoma!" she said, rushing over to me and wrapping me in a tight, wet hug. Her armor still smelled of a creature's blood even though the rain had soaked through it. "I'm glad you're home safely. He didn't hurt you, did he?" she asked as she pulled back to give me a once-over with her eyes.
I glanced over at my father, who put a single finger to his lips and shook his head. I didn't have to be an adult to realize that if I'd said the truth right then, the next time she left, he was going to hurt me. "N-No, Mom. I'm okay," I said with as fake a smile as I could muster. She regarded me curiously for a moment, but her curiosity shifted into a bright, beaming smile, one that made me feel better immediately.
"I see. Gods above, you're soaking wet! Go upstairs, take a bath, and get into some warm clothes. I'll be up there shortly," she gave me a pat on the shoulder before I nodded my understanding and rushed upstairs. As I reached the last step where I could still see her from, I saw her fingers ball into a tightly clenched fist before she slowly made her way over to my father.
"Go upstairs, Thoma. Your Father and I need to have a conversation," she said, somehow knowing I was still watching. I swallowed dryly and did as she told me.
An hour later, the rain had gotten worse, and as I was just about to sit down on my bed, I heard the sound of a crashing glass and my mother's raised voice coming from below.
I know she told me to stay upstairs until she got here, but it's been an hour already, and they're still arguing? I should probably check on them, I thought, knowing it was something my older brother, Bernar, would have done.
But as I walked downstairs, I saw the front door wide open as the smell of the heavy rain began to fill the living room's air, and my mother standing in its doorway, with a tightly clenched fist around the hilt of an elegantly curved blade.
Is she leaving again? No, she just got home, so why…? I felt my stomach drop, and tears welled in my eyes as she took the first step out of the door, saying something I couldn't comprehend in my confusion.