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Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

At exactly ten minutes after nine o'clock the doorbell rang.

The young boy was sitting at the breakfast bar finishing his plate of toast and eggs, drinking a cup of coffee, when the doorbell rang.

"Good morning," he heard his father say.

"Morning, Papa," said the young boy.

His father walked over to the bar where their son was waiting. He picked up the empty bowl and placed it in the sink.

"Did you brush your teeth?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." replied the boy.

"And did you put on your clothes like we said you had to?"

The boy nodded.

"All right, I'll call you once your grandfather gets here," said his father.

"Okay."

The young boy was about to return to his chair, but before he did his father placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't forget to turn off the TV when you go to work today," he warned.

"Yes, Papa, I will." replied the boy.

His father patted him on the back and then removed his hand. The young boy returned to his chair, picked up his phone, and started scrolling through twitter, not really watching what was on his screen. His gaze drifted over to the picture of his father and Mamma together; the young boy frowned as he stared at it.

What happened to us?

He snapped his head up as his stomach dropped. Something was wrong. Something bad. Something was very, very wrong. Suddenly, it hit him. The young boy's face went pale. He slowly stood from his chair, his heart pounding. He slowly crept up the stairs to his parents bedroom, making sure that no one was coming. No one ever came during the mornings anyway, because nobody worked. Not until today.

The young boy froze in his tracks when he heard voices coming from behind the door. One he recognised as his own father's. But which one belonged to whom?

"Papa? Are you alright?"

The answer surprised him.

"Mm, yes, yes I'm fine," answered the other voice.

"That isn't an answer, Papa," replied the young boy.

There was a pause, and then, "Just drop it, son."

"But I want to help you! You're hurting yourself and Mom! If I could help you, maybe I could stop whatever it is hurting you guys..." the boy started to speak desperately.

"STOP IT!!" shouted his father.

The boy stopped talking. There were only two people on earth who hated that word. One was him. And the other... The boy looked around the bedroom, trying to find somewhere to hide.

"It's not your place to come here," continued his father. "We don't want you here! Go! Now!"

"NO!!!!" shouted the young boy. "I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!!!"

"GET OUT!!!" screamed his father.

The young boy stood rooted to the ground, unable to move. He felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

"No. I won't leave," said the young boy, his eyes full of anger.

Suddenly the bedroom door flew open and his father came running to grab the young boy, but the latter moved away in time. His father's arm caught nothing. The young boy jumped back and landed on the floor on top of the bed.

"Get off me!" yelled the young boy, pushing his father as far away from him as possible.

Then the boy pushed his body against the wall, so that the whole wall shook, blocking his father from moving closer.