StevenBy Steve Eik

Please note before I begin that this is a real life story. A lot(but not all) of the dialogue may not have been exactly how it happened word for word, since I cannot remember each event perfectly, but these events did happen, I just added dialogue in some parts to add to the story telling. I have changed the names of the people in this story since I do not have permission to use them.

Prologue

            I was four or so at the time. I didn't have much on my mind those days, my parents fought, but living in Brooklyn and barley going out I think that I thought everyone fought in those days. I didn't realize the problems that my parents had till very later on in my life.

            I lived in a two floor house on 36th street, we had a basement and three bedrooms, one for me and one for my brother. He was two at the time, a little pudgy, and didn't talk much then. My dad wasn't much of a father, he was an alcoholic and usually just yelled and screamed at me or my mom, while drunk, getting me to eat the stuff I didn't like, or do the things I didn't like to do.

            Instead of normal parents that let their kid's do the things that come natural to them, my mother told me later on that since I was the first child that most of the mistakes that could be made, were made, on me. Instead of slowly letting me potty trained they forced me, had me sit on it for hours and hours, till I actually feared it.

            My dad instead of letting me slowly learn to like fruits and vegitables, or other foods children normally don't like, he would force me to do it, not literally, at that point anyway, but I would spend a good amount of time at the dinner table till my mom threw the things out and sent me to bed. She saved me many times from my dad, even if he wasn't home much and all she had to do was cover for me.

*** *** ***

            I was eating soup in the kitchen, which was one of the only foods I did eat willingly(willingly without them having to keep me there for hours till it was cold and I was on the verge of tears) and my mom was in there too, cleaning or what not. My dad should have been home earlier, late again, probably drinking. I didn't think much of it.

            He came home a few minutes later, stumbling and cursing to himself. His face was down and he looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. His eyes were barley open, his face red, and he sputtered out low curses to himself. My mom's face changed from lowly mother cleaning to a deer in headlights. I thought she had seen a ghost as I slurped up another spoonfull of soup.

            "What the fuck?" he mumbled.

            My mom just sighed,  and tried to put on a calm face. "What is it?" she said in a shaky voice.

            "What the fuck is that kid eating?"

            I looked up at him and froze,  as if I did something wrong. I hovered back in my chair and took a sip of my water. I didn't know what to say, if I should say anything. "I'm eating soup daddy." I finally blurted out.

            "For christ's sakes!" he screamed,  banging on the table and causing the bowl to rattle and some of the soup to spill out from the top. "Mary what the fuck is wrong with you? I know you're a fat fucking cow but that doesn't mean the kid will become one, especially if all he fucking eats is soup!" he screamed, his voice getting louder and louder.

            My mom seemed to shrink smaller and smaller, her face filled with fear and sadness. "Thats what he wanted to eat."

            "Who gives a shit what he wants to eat? He's going to die if this is all he eats, it isn't even real fucking food."

            "It is food Steven, please--"

            "Shut the fuck up bitch, I swear to god I don't know why the fuck I put up with you." He cursed to himself and paced back and forth for a bit. I looked at my mom, wanting to leave and my dad just gave me a glare that sent chills down my spine when I stirred. "You ain't going anywhere kid, jesus christ you're going to eat some real fucking food.

            Mary for God's sakes, cook this boy something." He said turning to my mom finally.

            "Steven, it's ten o'clock, I'm not going to cook anything,  and he's already eaten the soup he's not hungry."

            "I'm not hungry anymore--" i tried to pipe in but I don't think he even heard me.

            "Don't fucking talk back to me!" he screamed slapping her. "For god's sakes just make him some fucking real food, I mean can't you do anything right?"

            "Steven..."

            "SHUT UP!!" his face was very red now and he stamped his feet back and forth. "I said fucking cook! Don't you understand english bitch?" He ran to the freezer and tore the door open, I thought the door would have flung off of the fridge but they somehow stayed on. He swayed back and forth and zoned out looking inside of the freezer for a second then shook his head. "Cook... SOMETHING!" he screamed, grabbing random things and throwing them out onto the floor.

            Tears were streaming down my mother's face now. "Stop it please. Steve, go to bed."

            "No!" my dad screamed rushing up to me and holding me down. "He isn't fucking going anywhere till he gets a fucking meal!" He sat down and rubbed his head. "Why don't you listen to a word I say you stupid bitch."
            "Because I'm not put on this earth to serve you!" My mom yelled back. Both my dad and mom went into shock, I think my mom was even more surprised that she had the courage to say it then my dad was to hear it. Either way it didn't help him calm down.

            He stood up and half walked half ran up to her and grabbed her neck with his hand, pushing her back into the corner of the wall. He held her there, his hand around her neck, hard, but not hard enough to stop her from breathing.

            The tears were streaming now as she tried to speak but couldn't. My father couldn't find the words to say, or maybe he was just dumbfounded by what she had said, and I sat in my chair watching helplessly as he looked around and grabbed a big steak knife out of the sink.

            My mom's eyes went wide with fear and she started banging on the walls. My dad grinned and put the knife up to her throat. She continued to scream and bang on the wall and yell for the neighbors to call the police, tears streaming wildly down her face,  her hair now as messed up as my dad's and a big red welt on her cheek from where he had slapped her.

            I could tell by her face she wanted to run, to fight back, to do anything, but she didn't move, the knife was too close to killing her, she stood there banging the walls stairing at my father's grinning sweaty face, and glancing to me, as if wondering what would happen to me if he killed her.

            Suddenly he turned to me, his eyes wide, sweat dripping down his face,  the knife still pressed firmly against my mother's throat his mouth wide in a toothy smile. He swayed back and forth a little bit and I wondered then if he knew what he was doing, or even where he was. He laughed..."Say good-bye to your mother kid."