Three days have passed since I first met Sean. It felt like I have finally found a friend or a companion after all these years after having graduated from High School. But it wasn’t like I had friends back in school. Staying in an orphanage doesn’t exactly help you fit in.
It didn’t always used to be like this. I used to have a family, a place where I could call home. But that part of my life crumbled away when my mother died. No wait, it was way before that. It should be the time when my father left us when I was seven. After which, all the memories of my mother was of her beating me up when she was drunk and bringing different men home every other night.
Yes, she was a whore, in every meaning of the word, and I hated it. Each time she staggered home into our one room apartment, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes with one of those disgusting men who didn’t take more than a glance at me, all it did was to fuel my detest. Little did they know that I still remember their faces, every single one of them, the colour of their hair, the shape of their eyes and the uplift of the edges of their lips with thoughts of what was promised to them in the room. She would just wave her arms at me, telling me to sleep on the sofa and then make her way into the room clinging onto the man.
The moans and cries which emitted from behind the door only made me winced. I couldn’t concentrate on anything and all I felt like doing was to bring hurt onto someone, to hit someone, to pierce someone with a knife, anything! But all I could do was retreat into a corner of the sofa and forced myself to sleep.
On nights which she didn’t bring a man back, she would probably be either too drunk to talk to me or would be hitting me, blaming me for my father having left us. My bruises and cuts increased day by day and so did my anger. The scars never went away, like a constant reminder of what I was about to do to my mother.
She was having a huge row with one of the men whom I have seen around for a few times. The quarrel soon became a fight, with him pushing her into a corner and placing blows after blows onto her face and body. But she wasn’t one to be left beaten up, she was trained from the days when my father used to beat her. It wasn’t long before they were screaming, shouting and causing as much pain as they could to each other.
All I did was to sit and stare and watched as the man finally pulled out a Swiss army knife from his pocket and stabbed her in the stomach. Specks of blood hit me in the face but still, I remained where I was. Was it due to shock? She let out a long and dreadful scream. The man panicked and fled, leaving the knife in her body. As she cried out to me for help, I got off the sofa and slowly made my way towards her. Her pitiful body lay helpless on the floor while she reached out her hand towards my leg and grabbed it.
“Help me… Call the ambulance…” she cried out desperately, but I stood still, looking back blankly at her.
“Chris… My dear boy… Hurry up and call the ambulance. You wouldn’t want your mummy to die would you?”
Her final sentence struck me. This woman who had lashed at me when she was drunk, who didn’t care less that I was alone at home all the time and when I needed my mother. Yes! I wanted her to die! In a moment of furyand determination, I pulled the knife out from her stomach and stabbed her once, twice in the chest until she fell limb onto the floor.
- to be continued -
