Shameful

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


People don't like to admit it, but it happens.

Submitted: June 14, 2018

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Submitted: June 14, 2018

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Shameful

Child abuse – something that people are rightly horrified about. Especially when so often the abuse is carried out by an adult who has a role of responsibility of care. A parent or a sibling, an aunt or uncle; these are often the guilty culprits. The same goes for teachers, priests, adult neighbours. No matter which, we all share a sense of disgust towards the perpetrator. They are beneath contempt; let’s throw the book at them – make them pay.

But there is a much more well-hidden abuse being carried out on quite a large scale. No one likes to think of this, let alone mention it. And that includes the sufferers, for are they not in some way to blame. Here, I am talking about parents that are abused by their children, especially older ones, but not exclusively. But why should anyone care? I mean, they brought it on themselves, didn’t they? They must have had really bad parenting skills, and ultimately they have failed their children.

That is the prevailing attitude, whether you agree with it or not.

Marissa is abused by her son. He is the youngest of her children by seven years and by this time both of his older sisters have moved, sharing a flat together not too far from where they grew up. He had spent a lot of time insulting them, blaming them for things that they’d never done; if he pays them a visit they are just ‘not home’. The door to their flat stays firmly closed to him.

His father left years ago, she doubts he remembers much about him; after all he could not have been older than three or four. His dad does send him gifts sometimes, the kind of things his Mom simply can’t afford to buy for him herself. And these, he cherishes. It is over one such gift that the problem begins this time.

He is sixteen, is Bryce. A big lad, both in height and in build. Strange really because his father was not that tall, and his mother is almost a foot shorter than him. He doesn’t drink, steers clear of drugs, but his temper is so volatile she spends all her time tiptoeing around him, trying not to cause any upset.

“Mom! You stupid f*****g c**t. Get in here!”

Every nerve in her body says ‘no’ but she walks up the stairs, deep breathing and trying to keep calm.

“Look at it!” He thrusts one of his father’s more recent gifts towards her face, stopping just one inch short of touching her. “You idiot! You’ve broken the f*****g thing.” He’s clearly worked up, almost spitting the words in her face.

“Bryce,” she attempts to sound calm, “I’ve not touched it. Only when I moved it to clean up your desk.”

“You stupid c**t! I told you to leave my stuff alone.”

“No, you asked me to clean your desk because of the mold, remember. That’s all I was doing.”

“Ah, you’re a useless piece of s**t, you know that! Can’t even keep the house clean.”

Marissa knew what was coming next. He picked up the rubbish bin and upended it all over the floor. “Come on, Mom. Clean it up!”

“No!” It was getting hard to keep her temper now, this was only heading one way. “You put it all there, Bryce. You pick it up!”

He spat straight into her face and much as she wanted to react she stood immobile. “See this!” Bryce picked up his desk chair, waved it in her direction. “I should f*****g pick it right up and smash it over your useless f*****g head. Beat your brains in with it, if you’ve got any in that thick head of yours.”

“Please do. Go on, get it over with and put me out of my misery.” There was only so much she could take before going and retaliating, even though it was the last thing that she should do. She bends down to the ground, and making sure that she does not even galnce his way, she picks up the rubbish and returns it to the bin. She stands back up, tense and ready.

“You’re useless, you know that! This is all your fault. If you’d not broken it in the first place.”

She says again, “Honestly, Bryce. I did not touch it.”

“Stop f*****g lying.” The chair went flying across the room, nowhere near to where she stood, but he punched her hard in the back, pushed her hard against the wall, storming past and locking himself in the bathroom.

Marissa had felt the tears pricking at her eyes, but he didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing them. It was over now, this time at least. He’d emerge about half an hour later, in tears himself, apologizing and saying how he never meant it. He wanted her to feel sorry for him, and for the first hundred or so times she had. Now though, she just felt nothing other than resignation and despair.

The authorities knew all about it. He was receiving treatment, medication, not that any of it seemed to do much good. She hated seeing them; she could see the condemnation in their eyes. Clearly they believed that she had failed; perhaps was responsible in some way for how he was now behaving. They had more disturbed kids to deal with; for the most part she would have to cope alone. Unless 'something' happened there were others more in need of their help.

And that is what she was. Alone! For how could she have friends, acquaintances even. She’d see the pity, she’d see the blame. There was no getting away from the fact that she was a terrible mother and Bryce was paying for it. She took it all because, after all, she deserved it.

And the really sad thing is that most of society would agree with her. She’d brought it on herself, wrecked her son’s life in the process. She’d not give up because she could not give up. He was her son after all.

One day maybe he would take it too far but until that happened she was, and would remain, very much alone and suffocating on the guilt of failure.


© Copyright 2018 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

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