Sharp Edges
Sharp Edges
By K.L. Middleton
Copyright ©2012
by K.L. Middleton
Copyedited by: Carolyn M. Pinard
www.thesupernaturalbookeditor.com
This book is purely fiction and any resemblances to names, characters, and places are coincidental. The reproduction of this work is forbidden without written consent from the author. The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of this copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
To my family,
My friends,
And my readers,
Thank you for supporting me.
Contents
“I’m hungry,” whispered the small voice huddled next to him in the darkness.
“
Shh...” he murmured to his three-year-old brother. “She’ll hear you.”
T
ears streamed down the boy’s cheeks and his lips began to tremble. “But…”
He clamped a
hand over his mouth. “You have to be quiet,” he pleaded. “Or… she’ll get really mad. You don’t want that, do you?”
The boy’s
large brown eyes widened and he shook his head.
He released his grip. “
Okay, then. Don’t worry, he’ll leave soon and mommy will let us out. Just play with your Legos for now.”
His brother wiped his face with the back of his hand and then resumed playing with the small plastic pieces
.
“Here,” he whispered
, turning on the flashlight. He pointed it towards the colorful spaceship. “Better?”
The boy smiled.
“Yes.”
He sighed
and drew his knees up to his chest, wishing his mom would finish with the man in the bedroom so they could come out. They’d been hiding inside for almost an hour, which was much too long for any three-year-old to sit still.
“Keep your brother q
uiet,” she’d warned him, earlier, as she’d applied the black stuff to her eyelashes. “My clients won’t come back if they find out I have kids.”
His mother was
some kind of a massage therapist, and because they lived in a one-bedroom apartment, she made them hide in her walk-in closet whenever the neighbor from across the hall was unavailable to babysit. Tonight was one of those nights.
“Is it almost over?” whispered his brother.
“I don’t know,” he answered. Once in a while he could hear the man grunt or the bed shake. The noise made him feel funny inside.
“
Um…I have to pee.”
He sighed
. “Too bad, you
have
to hold it.”
“But, I
need to go really… really… bad.”
He gripped
his brother’s pale, skinny arm and leaned closer. “Hold it,” he warned.
The boy put his other
hand over his crotch. “But...”
A loud crash
from the bedroom startled them both and they could hear their mother whimpering in fear. “Please,” she begged. “No more.”
Hearing the terror in her
voice, he stood up and pushed the door open, ready to do battle for her.
“No!
” she hollered in protest, seeing her nine-year-old son step out of the closet.
He
froze and stared in shock at the scene before him. Standing above his mother was a sweaty fat man wearing nothing but dark pants, while she was crouched down on her hands and knees on the mattress, naked with angry red marks on her skin.
He clenched his fists.
“Leave her alone!” he yelled.
The man pointed a
shiny black belt at him and turned toward his mother. “Now who the fuck is that, Karen?”
“Mommy?” cried h
is little brother, now peeking out from the closet.
His mother groaned.
“Shit. Take him and go to the kitchen,” she ordered, grabbing her robe from the floor.
“
These your brats?” asked the man, a weird smile spreading across his ruddy face.
“
Yeah,” she mumbled, grabbing her smokes from the nightstand.
“You nev
er mentioned kids.”
“Sorry, George
,” she said, lighting a cigarette. She took a long drag, blew out a cloud of smoke, and pointed towards the door. “Didn’t you hear me? Take your brother into the fucking kitchen now!”
“Let’s go,” he sighed, leading the little boy out of the bedroom.
“
But, I still have to go potty,” he pouted.
“Mom said we have to go to the kitchen
and she’s already pissed. Just hold it a little while longer.”
His brother
brushed a lock of dark hair away from his face and nodded. “Okay.”
They
stepped into the kitchen and sat down next to each other at the chipped porcelain table. Bored and frustrated, he stared at his clasped hands then shifted his weight back and forth on the wobbly chair, listening to the familiar creaking sound. He knew it was a matter of time before the chair finally collapsed, just like everything else they owned.
“I’m still hungry,” whispered his brother, staring longingly at the refrigerator. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now almost bedtime.
“
We have to wait until
she
feeds us,” he replied, trying to ignore his own hunger pangs.
The boy scowled.
“But my tummy’s rumbling.”
“
I know; mine too,” he answered, bitterly.
They
sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. As he mulled over the weird scene back in the bedroom, his eyes drifted to the drained bottle of
Wild Turkey,
sitting on the counter. She loved the brown liquid but it sometimes made her mean. He was relieved to see that the bottle was empty.
Sighing, he sat back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest, w
ondering what was happening with his mother and the man; it was obvious that she wasn’t giving
him
a massage. As he reflected upon this, George stepped into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator.
“Jesus Christ,” he grunted, staring into the empty box. “
Nothing but bologna and beer?” he said, scratching his fat, hairy belly. “Fuck it.”
The boy watched in anger as the man
grabbed what was left of their food, as well as two bottles of his mother’s beer, and then closed the refrigerator.
“That’s ours,”
he told George, motioning towards the bologna. “You can’t eat that.”
The man raised his
bushy eyebrows. “Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah,” he answered, raising his chin
defiantly.
George
calmly put the bologna and beer down on the counter, then reached around and grabbed him by the shirt, lifting him out of the chair. “Listen here, tough guy,” he growled, “I’m going to teach you a lesson about respecting your elders. Got that?”
“
No!” he yelled, pushing at George’s sweaty chest, trying to escape.
“What’s going on?”
interrupted their mother as she stepped into the kitchen, wearing her tattered blue robe.
The man
tightened his grip on the boy’s shirt. “Me and your boy here are going to have a man-to-man talk,” he said. “He needs to learn to respect me, especially now that I’m going to be moving in.”
He stared at the man
’s bloodshot eyes in horror.
Moving in?
His mother
’s face paled and she grabbed George’s arm. “No. Please. I’ll make sure he doesn’t backtalk you again.”
George
backhanded her and she toppled to the ground. “Shut the fuck up, bitch. You still owe me, big time – so guess what? I’m collecting.”
Her nose began to bleed and his
little brother, whose jeans were wet with urine, rushed to her side, sobbing. She put a protective arm around him and glared at George.
“Don’t even think about i
nterfering, again,” warned George. “Or I’ll make
both
of these little shits pay.”
Terrified of the strange gleam in the man’s
beady eyes, he struggled as hard as he could to get free. “Let me go!” he choked. “Please, let me go!”
George
smiled, coldly. “That’s it, keep fighting, kid. I like a fighter.”
“Please
, not my son!” his mother sobbed from the floor. “Do it to me instead. Please!”
George
ignored her and dragged him out of the kitchen towards the bedroom, where he spent the next hour, paying off some of his mother’s debt.
Twenty-Five Years Later
“Would you look at that?” murmured my best friend, Darcy, squinting across the dark street at the lone figure stretching his hard, sexy calves.
I took a sip of my coffee and chuckled. “Mm hmm…I know.”
It was early morning, the sun was just beginning to rise, and we’d been standing outside on my porch, talking about her court appearance scheduled for later in the day. She was going through a nasty divorce, and her ex, Frank, was being a total asshole about settling. Apparently, he’d forgotten about his infidelity and was trying to gain full custody of their five-year-old son, Max, who I’d volunteered to watch while they hashed it out in court.
