-He was a monster, something unnatural that was undeserving of love.
Flickering bulbs cast a dim light throughout the corridor, reflecting dully off the thick motes of dust that consumed the air. Dirt and grime covered every surface, true to the motel cliché. The boy was out of place here; with only one glance you could tell he did not belong. Keeping his gaze cast down to the worn carpet he shielded his face from any passers-by with his thin, rain soaked hood, his small frame wracked with shivers caused not by his wet clothing but the events that had taken place that lead him here.
If someone had bothered to tilt his chin upwards they would have seen mousy brown hair that hung low into honey coloured eyes. If anyone had bothered to sweep his hair aside they would have seen the wall that he built around his soul through his eyes, a dull gleam that barely hid the pain and distress. You could see it from his soft, feminine features that he was just passing the age of childhood. No, although he still held childish traits, it was easily seen that he had certainly passed childhood a long time ago by the worn out, perturbed expression. He had been forced to grow up in a harsh world that held no room for juvenile antics. But no one bothered to do this. No one took time to notice these things.
To them he was just another lost person who had been cast down into the same poor life they had. If there was nothing in it for them then it wasn't worth a second glance as far as they saw it. And so he continued down the muggy hallway, passing the lambent lights that lined each door. Just before reaching the end of the passageway he turned to the second last door on the left. Taking hold of the cold door knob he pushed the key into the hole with a shaking hand.
He opened the groaning door and slipped in. Once stepped into the room he kept his back to the door, leaning on it to let his slight weight push the door closed. His legs gave out, his back sliding down the rough wood of the door and landing with a soft thump on floor. Slowly tears began crawling down his face, running over his cheeks and chin. He let the sobs he'd been holding in for too long finally break free as he pulled himself into a ball, securing his arms tightly around his legs. This was where he was going to spend his night, alone in the dank motel room. In the morning he would be back on the tough streets, struggling to make it through each day.
The Ross's had everything anyone could ever want. They lived the relaxing life of the rich, both holding high social statuses and large pay checks backed by big companies. To them the only thing missing was the perfect child, but that, in their opinion, was the exact opposite of what they received. They were a cold hearted and formal pair, treating their son as though he were a dog that could be trained.
The boy learned that his life would not be easy at an early age, there was no way to please his parents. At first he tried to follow their rules and be what they wanted, but his attempts were futile as there was always something he did wrong. When the couple decided the boy could not behave 'properly' they decided to cast him away, ignoring his existence. To them he was the annoying black stain on their perfect white lives. They barely mentioned him, telling most people they did not even have a child.
The boy did not mind this. He did his best to not be noticed by his parents for there was no actual connection between him and the two adults. For the most part he tried not to be noticed by anyone. In class he would sit quietly, waiting for the lessons to end before he would be collected by a driver that would take him home. From there he would go to his room and stay until it was time for dinner. After the age of five all dinners with his parents ceased; now all meals were eaten alone or sometimes with one of the maids that were helping out for the day.
The cleaning ladies and drivers all pitied the boy, but they knew better than to interfere with the personal lives of the Ross family. Sometimes they would gossip to each other about how the couple were so ignorant to the boy. But he didn't mind it; in fact, the son would rather have his two parental figures ignore him then actually having to face them. Whenever there was a meeting between the three there were always scornful words falling from their mouths, telling him of all his faults and how disappointed they were. Harsh glares that held no emotion but the hardness of a rock were sent his way while the boy just stood and took is all in. He knew better than to act or talk back and in his mind he believed that what they were saying was true. These family meetings happened rarely; maybe once a month but certainly no more.
Although it was clear to anyone that saw them that the Ross family had a certain disliking, or even hatred, you could say, towards each other, not one person could say they ever saw the Ross's strike their child. They considered the family to be more civil than that.
It wasn't until the boy started growing older that things started getting worse. As everyone knows kids tend to get crueller as they grow, lashing out at the more vulnerable and weaker. Because of his silence the boy was often a target for the others. He started coming home with bruises and sometimes cuts when things went too far. The maids tried their best to bandage them up, it wasn't until almost a year after the beating began that the parents noticed. Usually the boy would use his hair to hide his bruised face from his parents. Although they would lecture him on needing a haircut it seemed to work.
The kids at school decided to hit him on the low side of his cheek, right above his jaw on the day his parents had decided it necessary to visit. There was nothing he could do to hide this from the two adults. When he was called to his father's office both parents were soon enraged. They could not believe that their son had become such an embarrassment to them. His father yelled at him, saying that he had more of a daughter then a son as a child. He took it all once again in silence; he never spoke back. He knew better then to try and explain himself. It was just better to take it all and leave as quickly as he could.
After that the yelling got more frequent. Sometimes things were thrown and broken in a burst of anger. Apparently his parents' companies weren't doing so well; they also started to fight one another. The only thing the couple could agree on was that everything was their son's fault. They became harsher to everyone around them and started calling on the boy just to yell at him. When this became not enough the husband would find solace in liquor. Soon he began drinking heavily.
It started on a Wednesday. That's what the boy remembered. The very first time his father hit him was on a Wednesday when he was fourteen. He was going up the stairs in the large house when he heard the shattering sound of glass coming from below. Hesitating mid step he decided to go see what it was beside his better judgment. He found his father standing over a pile of broken glass at the bar. Obviously he'd been drinking. When Mr. Ross turned to face his son there was red anger in his eyes. He took two long strides towards the boy, reeling back his fist. That was all the boy could recall from that day before he felt the pain in his left temple and everything disappeared into a jumble of pain and cruel words. It wouldn't have mattered if he had decided to go up the stairs or not; the punches would have started sooner or later anyways. For that he was certain.
From then on any time the two males crossed each other's paths there was sure to be a collision. For a while the maids just assumed the bullies were getting worse at school but soon word went around that it was the father. Of course, no one ever actually saw his fist ever hit his child, but many knew that it was he to blame for the injuries. Not a word was said, though - everyone knew better than to get involved with it.
Life went on like this for a while. For the boy it had gotten into a routine that he was sure would never stop. Then he made a realization - a nefarious, appalling secret that he hid to himself. He had been called it before, but he had never taken much time to put consideration into the fact that maybe it could be true. Once he realized what he was he made it his goal to never let anyone know. Sure people always called him it anyways, claiming that it was true. To them it was just a cruel joke. They never did realize how much it ruined his life.
A business partner of his father's was the dad to one of the bullies. He had overheard his son talking about a boy at school and recognized the name. It was the exact moment when he asked Mr. Ross about it that the child's life was altered drastically. That day when the boy got home his parents were there waiting for him, confronting him about it.
He never did know how his parents found out; there was nothing that would have tipped them off about it. They weren't even around enough to notice, but somehow they did. It seemed to be the breaking point for the couple. They had finally had enough of being disappointed with their son. Something inside them snapped. Together they dragged him into the washroom and held him down, both with a razor and arm in hand and a glint in their eye.
The cleaning crew found him there. It was a sight that one does not forget. The fifteen year old boy's shirt had been ripped off, his arms and torso completely covered in severe lashes. He was soaked entirely in his own blood. His skin was a deathly pallor. The paramedics thought for sure he wasn't going to last, but surprisingly they managed to save him.
The two parents told officials that it was self-inflicted. People didn't question it for the boy had always been quiet. Only the house workers knew the truth, for they could reassure you that the boy had not been quiet in the least when his parents went to work on him. But there was no way they would go against the Ross's lawyer; they paid him so much the attempt would be in vain.
When the boy awoke he remembered the whole thing, the struggle against the strong arms holding him down, the sting of every slice. He could hear his parents telling him that he was a monster, something unnatural that was undeserving of love. It took a while for him to recover, but all knew that he would forever be physically and mentally scarred. He knew there was no way he would be going back to the large house he had been living in for the last fifteen years of his life ever again.
His parents didn't visit him once but this was no surprise to anyone. One of the maids that he had become a good acquaintance to had come by for a short visit. He used this to an advantage, asking of her a small favour. Confused, she obliged, trusting he had a good reason. Once he could walk again she was to bring him a pair of clothes and the dictionary he kept on his bookshelf. When the day came she did as she was told and brought the items. He told her that things were about to change.
When the maid left a nurse came in asking if he needed anything. He told her that he needed to go to the washroom. As soon as the door closed behind him he took the pair of clothes and hoodie that he hidden under his hospital gown and quickly changed into them. Many cuts had needed stitches which snagged slightly on his shirt but he tried not to let it bother him. A few cuts still had gauze on them while the rest had thankfully scabbed over on their own. The boy decided he could care less about the cuts at this moment. The only thing he wanted was out.
Opening the dictionary he gave a slight sigh of relief to see that the money he had stored there for emergencies was still in place, hiding in the cut out pages. Grabbing it he stuffed it into his pockets before taking a deep breath. This was it, he told himself, this was the day he was going to rid himself forever of the two fiends that had destroyed his life. He made a run for it, bursting out the door and down the hall towards the entrance, towards freedom.
Nurses yelled after him, telling him to stop, that he wasn't ready to leave yet. He ignored them, continuing his way quickly down a stair case and down a couple halls until he was finally out the front door. He didn't stop once he made out, he knew the chase was far from over. His feet slapped harshly against the wet concrete beneath as he kept going, trying as hard as he could to rid himself of his past by outrunning it. Clouds overhead were pouring the rain down, quickly soaking him to the bone. Finally he was forced by his body's limits to stop. Looking around he found that he had no semblance of an idea of where he was.
It was at this point that the realization struck: this boy was now no longer a boy.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Panic! At The Disco