Monster

Monster
A Short Story By Leah Staker

I settled in with a cup of tea after my busy day. It had been quite a productive one. I’d gotten more out of him then I’d planned on, but at least he was quiet now. He’d finally given up screaming. I guess he finally realised that no one was going to help him.
He’d remember in the morning when I went back in. He’d look at me and remember.

I reminisced in the feeling of control, of watching the fear on his face return every morning. Like he actually thought something would change over night, that maybe I wouldn’t be the one to come to him in the morning.

Well, wouldn’t he be terrified in the morning. I laughed gently to myself, drunk my cup of tea and planned my day for tomorrow. Mentally preparing everything I would need as I went. Then I settled in to watch Gray’s Anatomy.

*****************

The screaming began almost straight away, today was going to be a long one but a good one. I could listen to this all day. I loved the feeling I got when something I did resulted in him screaming, or crying even a little whimper was sometimes enough to make me smile. But terror, THAT was the real kicker. Seeing terror in his face before I even started on him, that was always special.

This morning I’d been nice, he’d even been allowed to play on the floor with a toy for a while. I’d gotten bored of that pretty quick though, but I did allow him that.
Although, he couldn’t move far, as the bones in his legs had been broken numerous times and had set crooked after a while, he still tried to get our the door. It didn’t matter how many time I had to tell him he wasn’t allowed out there, he still tried. That made me mad; he really, really, really shouldn’t make me mad.

Why don’t they ever learn, if he just had some control he wouldn’t make me so mad, he wouldn’t deserve the punishments he gets. I slapped him across his face, his eyes wobbled in is head. He looked like one of those little dogs that people have in the back windows of their cars. What are they called? A bobble-head, that’s it. Shit, that’s really kind of funny.

The bruises on his face had started to turn yellow, making his complexion even more disgusting then usual. I threw him onto his bed feeling sick at the sight of him and left the room, not bearing to look at him any more.

‘He’s going to test the boundaries’ they say, ‘try and get control early so that he knows the rules’ said another. ‘He’ll eat you out of house and home!’ and ‘He’s just like you when you were a baby, out of control’, that came from my mother.

Well, I’ve showed them haven’t I? I’m the one with the control now. I’m the one that he’s scared of. He won’t be the one to tell me how to live my life. I’m the one who tells him when he is hungry. He will eat what I tell him to, when I tell him to. I’d shown him that when I’d made him eat his one shit last week. He should have waited for toilet time for that.

What about all those times I gave him a bottle? Did he ever offer anything back? Did he ever try and smile? No, take, take, take, take…that’s all he does.

I’ll show him…My son will wish he’d never been born, if he doesn’t already.

I picked up the hot iron and went back into his room.

“Mummy’s here”. And then the screaming began.