Through the thick veil of slumber, I sensed something. It was distantly familiar, and yet foreign. It was remote, yet embracing. It was warm. As I came into wakefulness I sensed other things. The warmth clung to me, entangled me, and blanketed me in a layer of moisture. Dampness coated me in places like sweat, yet they were the wrong places. I became aware of the body pressed up against mine. It was the warmth of the body that I sensed, not the temperature of the room.  

In a flash of memory, consciousness returned to me. Then I opened up my eyes.  

Richard lay alongside me drenched in sweat. His breathing was very shallow, and his skin was terribly pale, even with his skin tone. I tried waking him with little shoves from my shoulder. His head lolled away from me and rested against the side of the tub with an audible thunk. I could see the dark circles around his eyes. I had turned up the heat in the hopes to keep the boy comfortable, but now I realised that too much heat was causing more harm than the cold. 

I extracted my hand from between my body and the side of the tub and reached over and slapped his cheek. His eyes fluttered momentarily underneath his eyelids. I called his name.

“Richard.”  

No response. I called again but louder, and I nudged him again with my shoulder.  

“Richard!”  

This time the boy started. His eyes flicked open and blinked a few times slowly. His brow furrowed and he worked his tongue in his mouth. When his eyes focused, they found me. He groaned. I called his name once more, softly, and I brushed the matted damp hair from his face.  

“Are you alright?”  

“I—so tired—thirsty.” His voice cracked when he tried to speak and he began to tremble. “I woke up a couple of times, but I could barely move.”  

“Don't worry I'll get you something to drink. I can bring you out to the sofa where you'll be more comfortable.”  

Richard looked around, and tried to get up.  

“Oh no, what time is it? My dad will be home!” As he struggled his grip on the side of the tub gave. If I hadn't been bracing him, trying to help him, he'd have slammed into me. As it was, one of his elbows jabbed into my stomach.  

“I'm sorry!” 

“Don't worry about me, let me help you.”  

I slipped out of the tub and grabbed my bathrobe. I then got Richard to his feet and I wrapped him in the robe. I steadied him while I opened the bathroom door. I carried him to the sofa and set him down at one end. I told him I would get him a drink. I filled one of the few glasses I actually had with water from the tap and returned to find Richard slumped in the corner of the couch dozing. I propped up his head gently and set the glass to his lips and tipped it slowly. I could see ugly bruising where his injuries were. Soon, he began to drink eagerly.  

Then I heard someone come in upstairs. I sent took away the water and set it onto the coffee table. His mouth was dripping as he still tried to swallow lazily. I flashed a look at Richard and bent closer and grabbed his shoulders. I shook him gently, but urgently.  

“Richard, I think you're father's home now."  

“Wuh... Oh God!”  

“Stay put! I can handle this.”  

“You don't know my father.” Richard whispered harshly, his eyes were rolling around in their sockets. He looked dizzy.  

“Richard, just—here, drink more water.” I reached for the glass, but my hand froze as a loud voice from upstairs called out.  

“Richard!”  

“Omigod, oh no.” The boy started to curl up. He pressed his face into the back cushion and groaned and mumbled. I heard heavy steps thump across the floor above me. There was a pause, then another loud bellow.  

“He's going to kill me he's gonna be so mad he told me not to get into any more trouble he told me last time that he would beat me good if I did anything wrong he's coming to get me!” His voice was cracking and strained as he rambled. I put my hands on either side of his face. He resisted and tried to face the doorway.  

“Richard.” His eyes moved to meet mine. His chin was quivering, and he was shaking all over. 

“I'm not going to let anyone hurt you.”  

The stairs leading to my door creaked heavily.  

“Go! He's going to kill you too if he sees you. If you go he'll only hurt me.”  

“Richard.” I spoke forcefully only inches away from his face. His attempt at sacrifice was not lost on me, I simply ignored it for the sake of tempering the situation. “I will not let him hurt you.”  

“But~” A loud crack sounded against my door startled the boy. 

“I know you're in there. What did you do to Richard?” The doorknob rattled. “Richard! Are you in there?”  

The boy opened his mouth as if to respond. I placed my fingers over his lips. If it was at all possible he seemed more frightened than the scare I had given him the previous night. He nearly jumped when another crack pounded the door. It dented inwards. I got to my feet and approached the door. I readied myself for what was to come. My steps became fluid and my stance ever-shifting and low. After the next pounding, I opened the door.  

There standing with an aluminium bat at his side, was the angry bull of Richard's father. Small furtive eyes spotted the boy behind me, and widened.  

“What happened!” the man bellowed.  

“He's fine." I told him, my voice did not rise to meet his, keeping an even tone when I was being yelled at was an effort.  “He's just not well and needs rest, and some quiet.”  

His eyes pounced upon me. He eyed me up and down and hefted the bat over his shoulder.  

“Move out of my way. Richard, come on!" He stepped across the threshold, and I remained in his path. He shoved me aside. I reached over and grabbed the door, my arm barring his access. Then, his fist with the end of the bat hit me square in the stomach, and he was passed me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Richard retreating along the couch. When the house coat fell open revealing the boy's nakedness, his father began to rush forward.  

“What the fuck is going on?!?” 

I lunged forward and grabbed the man's arm. He whirled around and swung with the bat. I brought my other hand up and the metal slammed into my palm and stopped. My fingers tightened around the shaft and the man's eyes widened. He struggled to regain control of the bat, but I quickly wrenched it free from his hand. He stumbled away. With my eyes fixed on his, I flipped the bat around, it whirred as it rotated nearly a dozen times; and I caught it deftly around the handle. His eyes warily moved to the readied weapon in my hand.  

“What are you doing?” He demanded.  His attention wanted to return to his son,  it now I had it locked onto me. 

“Funny, I was about to ask you that very question. Unfortunately for you I'm not laughing.”  

“Come on Richard, we need to leave now.” The man called still eyeing me while motioning to his son.  

“No. You need to leave right now. Richard is fine where he is.”  

“You're the one leaving. I'm evicting you immediately.”  

“Oh, I'll be gone by morning. If Richard wants, so will he.” I saw his mind piecing together the words one by one until a fraction of a second later, he understood.  

“YOU CAN'T TAKE MY SON!” He roared incredulously.  

“YOU CAN'T KEEP HIM!"  I snarled back. 

I swung at his head. Instinctively he dodged backwards-a little quicker than I had anticipated. The wide end of the bat connected with the end of his nose. Blood splattered in an arc across the room as the blow whipped his head to the side. Richard cried out. His father spun and fell to his knees.  

“Don't hurt him!” Richard cried.  

“Richard. I'm leaving tonight, very soon. If you want to leave and come with me you'll have to pack some of your things. Go, or stay.” I said without letting my eyes leave his father's. I heard the boy mumble, move from the couch and head towards the door behind me, then up the stairs.  

“Now, I will ask you a few questions.” The man was sweating now. His eyes darted around like little mice.  

“What are you doing? Don’ —"  I swung at him a second time, missing by a hair.  

“I told you that I would be asking you some questions. That involves you answering to me, now listen.” 

He was shaking at my feet, pressed up against the wall like a cornered animal. I stared him down. 

“Do you yell at your son?” His face drained of color yet he looked startled by the question.  

“What kind of-”  

“DO YOU?” My voice visibly crushed him against the wall its volume shocked him so. 

“DON'T LIE TO ME! DO YOU YELL AT HIM? DO  YOU?!?" I launched each syllable at him as separate blows. 

“YES!” He shouted back. “I do! Why do you want to know?” The man was crying openly now.  

“Good, you didn't lie to me." I told him in a flat voice ignoring his question. “Do you ever threaten him?”  

“What?” 

“It's a remarkably simple question.” My voice switched to a stone cold yet conversational tone. I raised the bat. “Do you ever threaten the boy in any way?” He sputtered and I stepped forward and swung. I softened the blow to his side. He yelped. “Do you?”  

“Yes! Yes I threaten him. He deserves it.” I swung again. “Holy fuck man, stop it!" I stopped short of contact.  

“Do you beat him?”  

“Why are you going through all this? Did the little bastard tell you stories about me?”  

“Stand up.”  

“What?”  

I swung at his feet. He squawked and rolled away. He crawled towards the couch. I swung and connected with his outer thigh. He screamed.  

“Stand!” I was poised to swing again. He clawed at the couch and came to his feet, leaning heavily on his other leg. He was panting now. “Now answer me. Do-You-Beat-Richard?”  

“Y—y—yes.” 

“How often?”  

“Uhh...” I saw a deceitful glint in his eye, through the fear. 

“Don't lie to me. How often."  

“More than once a week.”  

“That's vague.” I gripped the bat with both hands.  

“Okay! M—m-more like t-two or thr—th-three times a week.”  

“Better. Do you use your bare hands? Or do you always use something like… this bat?”  

“Nothing, I usually use nothing. Please.”  

I tossed the bat across the room through the open bathroom door. The aluminum clanged brightly against the cast iron tub and floor tiles. The man flinched at the cascading sound.  No doubt he’ll be flinching at the bathroom renovation cost later as well. 

“Alright then, I'll not use any weapons either.” I pounced upon him. I struck the side of his head and pummeled his chest and stomach with three quick blows. I waited until he steadied himself. He gripped the couch tightly while recovering his balance.  

“So you yell, threaten and beat your son. Anything else 1 could be missing?”  

“No!” The quickness of his response and the acute movement in his eyes told me what I needed to know. I lurched forward and feint an attack. He drew his arms up protectively in front of his face. Then I followed through and slashed at his exposed forearms. My nails were harder and sharper than any humans and they tore thin dark wounds into his flesh. Blood and bits of flesh fell to the floor and covered the both of us. 

Suddenly, what I saw before me was superimposed with flashes of the past. I blinked and breathed deeply.  

“Liar. Tell me what else you do.” I stepped forward and grabbed his head with both hands. I dug my nails into his skin causing blood to well up in many spots. The whites of his eyes were bright with fear. I flexed my fingers slightly. “Tell me, or else.” 

“Okay okay! I'll tell you!” His voice was high pitched and barely distinguishable. He hesitated. I shoved my knee between his and pressed my thigh into his groin. I brought my face close to his. I smelled the blood from his nose. It was still bleeding profusely, spilling into a large dark stain across his shirt. I licked some of the dark red from his bottom lip. 

“The more time it takes for you to answer me, the less chance I have to- restrain myself.” I tugged hard on his bottom lip with my teeth. I turned his head to the side and whispered my last question.  

“What else do you do to your dear precious boy?”  

“I… I beat him and. I… touch him…  I make him…  I… He deserves it. He… he asks for it… and I give it… to him. I fuck him—I make him hurt.” The words escaped him, and were soon followed by a barrage of tears. “I'm sorr~”  

I snapped his neck. If you were truly sorry, you'd still be alive right now. 

He dropped to the floor in a heap. The rage coursing through me had been impatient. As I stood there minute after minute, it was subsiding and I soon felt a wave of disgust rush at me. I turned and surveyed the apartment. I decided that I should take everything that was mine, which was not much all things considered. I gathered up what little I had and rushed towards the stairs. Halfway up, I met Richard. He was sitting at the top of the stairs with a large duffle bag at his side. He was wearing nondescript jeans and a hoodie. He looked me over and saw the blood splattered over my front.  

“I heard the screaming. What happened?” His voice was small and shaky. I saw the suspicion and fear in his eyes.  

“Don't worry about it now. I need some clothes and a bag.” I indicated the things I was carrying. “And then we need to leave.”  

“Is he alright?” Richard's eyes moved passed me. 

“Are you alright?” I asked him grabbing his attention once more. My eyes locked onto his. “I need to know if you're okay with this. I don't mean to drag you from your home, but I want to help you. I'm not sure why, but somehow I like you Richard. It's been a long time since I felt anything about anyone. I don't know what it is about you, but I can help you and protect you.”  

He stood there, staring, my words seeming to enrapture him. Maybe it was the boldness in which I spoke, or the honesty behind the words. Or maybe it was because he was an impressionable teenager. Even I was lulled by it, though part of me was amazed at the humanity of these feelings.  

“Where are we going?”  

“We're going far away. For tonight though we need to get to a place where we can stop and think and decided what to do next. I think I know of a place but it's a long drive.”  

“Drive?”  

“We're taking your dad's car, at least for now.”  

“Okay.”  

“But I need you to get me a bag for my stuff. And I'll get changed.”  

He nodded and went off in search of a bag. As he turned from me, his eyes flickered down the stairwell behind me. I had seen him hesitate a fraction of a second before turning away. In that moment, I sensed the questions in his eyes. 

I'll have to address that soon.  

I closed the door behind me while Richard went searching. I stripped off, which meant shedding my boxers, which I used to wipe some of the blood off of me. Then I put on a dark outfit from my bundle. Richard returned, slowly approaching me. He held out the duffle bag he found. I grabbed it and stuffed the rest of my things in it.  

“Thanks.” I slipped on my pair of boots and tied them up. When I stood up, and faced Richard he was staring at me intently.  

“Did you kill him?” he asked. I studied him while holding back my answer. He was holding his breath, and seemed very tense. I could smell a strange anxiety about the boy.  

“Yes.” I told him simply. 

He sighed. His anxiety faded somewhat and he looked down at his feet. I almost went to him and embraced him, but as soon as that urge struck me he looked back up and spoke. His dark eyes a were welling up but his voice was oddly steady. 

“Ok, let's go."  

“Are you sure?”  

He nodded and picked up his things and headed for the door.