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    Ripples of the Abuse Monster
    Ripples of the Abuse Monster
    Ripples of the Abuse Monster
    Ebook106 pages1 hour

    Ripples of the Abuse Monster

    By M. Demetrice

    ()

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    About this ebook

    When it comes to a mother’s duty to protect, Bobbie falls short. She has a history of looking the other way, allowing her kids to fight a battle that isn’t among drug dealers and bullies, but inside the home shared with a man considered father and husband. Will her children win the battle or be torn apart?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherM. Demetrice
    Release dateOct 16, 2015
    ISBN9781311536358
    Ripples of the Abuse Monster
    Author

    M. Demetrice

    Indie Writer, M. Demetrice resides in Lufkin, TX and is the author of Multi-Genre Short Stories by a Woman Whose Husband Holds Her Purse. Her many works includes Sadie, The Olds, and Carrot Cain. For fun, she tutors the inspiring young in math and reading. She has a degree in Human Services from Angelina College and has incorporated resourceful information into her moving short story, Poetry’s AIDS. To learn more about M. Demetrice and read her published works, please visit her website at http://marlenahixson.wix.com/mdemetrice

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      Book preview

      Ripples of the Abuse Monster - M. Demetrice

      RIPPLES OF THE

      Abuse MONSTER

      By

      M. D e m e t r i c e

      Copyright © 2015 M. Demetrice

      To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at mdemetriceshortstories@yahoo.com.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

      Disclaimer: Some material in this book is for mature audiences only and contain strong content concerning child sexual abuse and reading this books may bring back strong unpleasant thoughts and feelings. These could even lead to thoughts of suicide or other injury. If you find yourself overwhelmed by these thoughts or feelings, please seek professional mental health services immediately!

      Dedicated To The Quiet Survivors

      Caroline’s Sorrow

      *********

      How could a headstone seem so monstrous? It was a cheap, gray, ordinary slab that read in italic letters: BELOVED FATHER and HUSBAND.

      Not true.

      Not true. She shook her head, scowling at the lies that were beautifully etched in stone. She held back tears, angry with herself for wanting to cry, shout and show emotions that were lost among the dead, however, teardrops escaped, sliding from doe wide eyes, traveling a long distance toward the two-day-old fresh grave.

      Not true, she said again. Her slender frame stood near the newly dug resting place of her father. Why didn’t you do anything? she whispered as if the graves around her were eavesdropping. What kind of father just stands by while his only daughter is fondled by a monster. Snot and tears rolled into the corners of her mouth, tasting like sorrow.

      Beloved father, she croaked. Beloved husband – what a piece of shit! Nearby, a bird flew away and a squirrel dashed up a tree, her anger boisterous. Lies . . . lies carved in cheap granite. Beneath her, the dirt of the grave cushioned her feet. She kicked at the grave. Even when you looked the other way, I still loved you! Even after I told you – I still loved you! She exhaled, her heart beating heavy against her chest. She looked up at the sky attempting to find some kind of peace. She had never seen it so blue. So peaceful. A perfect day in June.

      Above a bird called.

      And then the horn to a truck blared. She turned toward the sound. Inside, behind the wheel of her expensive gas-guzzler, a man waited. Annoyed, she waved her hand, indicating she was almost done. She turned back at the grave.

      I hope you’re burning in hell, she whispered, and then she kicked at the grave again. Pain shot up her already sore leg.

      The kick hurt more than the bastard that didn’t do nothing.

      Part I

      Big Black Monster

      Chapter 1

      *********

      The painted evening sky held white translucent clouds that sped by an off-white crescent moon, fading, then gone. The stars twinkled; they seemed to be bouncing with the music coming from a small three-bedroom duplex home sitting on a trifling, dirty, grassless patch of land.

      The music was the blues.

      The sound rose high, filling the air with the soul of the people that dwelled in that five room duplex. Their souls were somber.

      Brother and sister sat in the living room, known to them as the front room; mother slept heavy in the master bedroom, sleeping off the alcohol she began drinking nine in the morning. Finally, a small boy and a very grown man fought each other in a bedroom shared by the only two boys.

      The young boy was crying, dirty tears and snot falling down his face and creeping into his tight-lipped mouth. His eyes shut tight against the Big Black Monster; however, even with lids closed, the image remained.

      His father knelt beside him, huffing quietly. His right hand moving quickly, his left hand holding his son’s penis, massaging the little eight-year-old limpness. He jacked himself off, his eyes open wide watching his son, but at the same time not seeing him at all.

      He came and his seed . . . his smelly sperm shooting up hitting the boy in the face, sticking to his cheek and eyelid like snot. The boy welled louder; he wanted it over! The man, his father, who was the main breadwinner and a good lover to his woman, covered the boy’s mouth with his cum-crusted hand to suppress the frightened and disgusted moan.

      He was spent. Johnx bent over, took a dirty sock from the floor, wiped the boy’s face, then his penis and hand.

      He finally spoke.

      You bet not tell yo’ mama . . . you hear?

      The boy nodded and more tears fell. His little immature penis hung free from his father’s grasp.

      Johnx stood and left the bedroom that opened into the front room. The two kids looked up at him from the sofa and quickly turned back to their program.

      They were glad it hadn’t been them this time.

      Poor Ro, they both thought.

      Minutes passed. Roman listened for his father’s steps – his sound. When he thought it was safe to leave, he stood and walked timidly to the bathroom. His spirit was broken; he could hear the blues coming from his mother’s room as she slept. The song spoke of East Texas heat and the girl at his feet.

      He took off all his clothes and stepped into the shower. The cold water ran down his tiny frame. He sobbed hard, wishing God would kill his father . . . if not his father, then he.

      Lawd, kill him – please – please – please, he repeated as the shower filled the bathtub. It was clogged again. He reached down and pulled out black and grey hair – his mother’s.

      Drinking and smoking was killing her.

      The door opened and his heart jumped. It was his brother. For a second, he thought it was Johnx coming for round two. That had happened a couple of times. There used to be a lock on the bathroom door, there use to be a lock on his bedroom door too, but his father had done something so it wouldn’t lock anymore. He was a monster – a BIG BLACK MONSTER.

      Markris walked in; he pulled the shower curtain back and stared at this brother. His young-old-eyes were searching for bruises. He hated Johnx. He had molested him too, but that had been a year ago. He had put a stop to that.

      You okay, Ro?

      Roman nodded but he wasn’t okay.

      Markris closed the curtain and sat down on the toilet, he contemplated his words, he was always thinking before speaking. People assumed he was slow but that wasn’t it. He was smarter than the average kid his age. He took wisdom in things. Everything he focused on was for a purpose.

      Did you do what I told cha’?

      Ro didn’t answer. He had tried, but it wouldn’t come. He had strained and pleaded with his body but his body was too terrified to comply.

      Ro, he don’t like piss or shit. You gotta’ piss and shit on yo’self. He playin’ with your pe-pe now, but he gonna try your backside next, he paused, letting the words sink in.

      You listening, Ro?

      Yeah.

      The shower went off and Markris reached

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