Author’s Note: Yes. This part was insanely hard to write—it made me feel sick at times. Yeah, this part is not for the weak of stomach/mind. Forgive me. X_X But… I think it turned out well.

Disclaimer: Screw… I don’t want to type it. See chapter one. =P

Chapter Two

Something Late at Night

Luka always came home late, because he’d go and do his homework somewhere away from home, and then return when it was done. It was much easier to work in an open area like the schoolyard or a nearby park than in the confines of those dreary apartment walls… the walls that held him in with no escape…

Call him claustrophobic, but that most certainly wasn’t it.

School had only started weeks ago, so the homework load for the sixth graders was next to nothing. Review math problems (same shit as last year) and a one-paragraph essay (how the hell can an essay be one paragraph?). Luka finished in under an hour.

He walked home alone, and the streets were devoid of the after-school rush Luka had watched from the schoolyard. Which was, of course, a good thing.

The walk home was much quicker than the walk to school—probably because Luka didn’t have to deal with that girl (wasn’t her name Nicole?). Soon he was at the apartments, walking through the gate, and turning the knob to he and his father’s room.

Though you could really just call it his father’s room.

The boy set his things by door and walked cautiously inside.

Was he home? No, he couldn’t be… he was never home this early…

Cautious green eyes peered around the wall and scanned the interior. The bed was unmade and the sheets were unclean, empty beer cans and stains of god-knows-what lined the floor and it stank to high heaven, but it was empty.

It was empty….

Luka didn’t notice the sigh of relief escaping his lips as he walked inside, kicking aside the garbage on the floor. In the back of the apartment, next to the bathroom, was a tiny oak desk, shoved against the wall. Luka regarded it with a tiny pang of sadness at his heart, but the sadness was lost when he saw something atop the desk.

Something that didn’t belong there.

A clear, glass object with a vivid label, half-filled with frothy yellow liquid.

A disgusting object—a beer bottle.

Leaping at it, Luka bit back an angry scream. He took the thing by the neck and hurled it against the wall, watching in grim satisfaction as the shimmering shards of glass exploded everywhere and the yellow liquid ran like blood to the dirty floor.

Luka turned back to the mahogany desk and realized in disdain that the bottle had left a perspiration ring in the wood. In an instant he was trying to wipe it off with his sleeve, muttering bitterly to himself as he did so.

You see this wasn’t just a desk—Luka’s mother had given it to him for his birthday the year she died (was it already a year ago?). After that, his father had decided to move away and leave all memories of the woman behind, including everything Luka had to remember her with. Photos, toys, gifts…

But he’d manage to salvage the desk. If anything, he still had his mother’s precious last gift to him. Since then they’d moved plenty of times, each time leaving more and more, but Luka always succeeded in bringing the desk with him.

When the ring in the wood was basically gone, Luka sighed and sat down on the cold seat. From a drawer he withdrew a sheet of paper and a dull pencil. With these he began to draw…

Luka had loved drawing since he was a small boy, and his mother had been an artist as well. That was the reason she’d gotten him the desk in the first place…

And there Luka sat, sketching away, random pictures of anything Luka thought of appearing on the paper. He was rather good for his age, though he’d never be appreciated or praised—he didn’t show his drawings to anyone.

For hours he drew, until finally, around seven, he fell asleep at the desk.

Until he was awoken by a sharp bang at the door.

Luka’s head shot up, alert, and he looked around in the dark (how long had he slept?). Bright digital numbers shining from somewhere beside the bed told him it was almost eleven at night…

Another resounding bang and the door swung open. Luka shrunk back against the wall and gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles nearly white.

From the shadows stepped a large man of medium height. The boy at the desk watched as a darkness-cloaked hand reached for the light switch, and in an instant the nearby lamp blinded him.

Through his spotted vision he saw his father’s round, scowling face. His eyes were aflame and his black hair was wet with sweat or grease (it didn’t appear he’d bathed recently). He was dressed in tattered pants and a sweaty tank top covered in beer stains and traces of dried vomit.

Like always, he’d been out drinking since early morning with ‘bar friends’.

"Boy," the man hissed, and even from that distance Luka could smell the alcohol that coated his lips and mouth.

"Yes, sir," Luka replied quietly. He knew better than to not say anything. He also knew better than to call him "dad" or "father".

The man lumbered closer, belching loudly and wiping his mouth on his hand. "I got into a fucking fight, boy,"

Upon closer inspection Luka realized that his father’s face was swollen and bruised, and his shoulder was scratched and bleeding.

"I’m sorry, sir," Luka replied mechanically.

His father took another step, snarling and showing yellow teeth. "Do you know what happened? I lost all my fucking money, kid, and I couldn’t buy any damn drinks,"

Luka wanted to retort with an icy, ‘Well that’s too damn bad! Next time stay the hell away from that bar and get a job!’, but he knew better. Oh, he knew better.

"I’m sorry, sir," he said again, like some sort of pre-programmed robot.

"Where’s your money?"

A cold, clammy hand of fear gripped Luka’s lungs. "I don’t have any, sir, I’m sorry,"

"Why don’t you have any fucking money, boy?"

"Because I don’t have a job," said Luka, glaring at him. "And I can only go to school,"

The second he’d finished, Luka gasped and added, "Sir,", but it was too late. The man was in his face the next moment, eyes wide, spittle flying off his lips and onto Luka.

"What the hell was THAT, boy?!"

"I-I’m sorry sir," Luka cried frantically. "I…"

He trailed off as his father’s hand reached out and gripped him by the arm, dirty fingernails digging into the flesh, leaving tiny crescent-moon wounds that slowly began to bleed.

"Don’t talk back to me, boy," he growled, and with a single harsh movement he wrenched Luka from the chair and threw him to the floor.

Luka cringed and sat, leaning on his elbows, to face the man. Just don’t… cry, he told himself. Never cry.

His father towered over his small form, silhouetted against the lamplight. "You fucking worthless kid," he growled, slurring. "You can’t fucking make money, you don’t deserve to be here,"

Before Luka knew what happened, a blinding pain blossomed at his temple and sent him sprawling backwards against the bed. He cried out and squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness and nausea the blow caused, temple throbbing, world around him swirling…

"Dammit, boy," came the harsh voice again. "Damn you straight to hell. If it wasn’t for that bitch you wouldn’t exist, and then it would all be fucking easier!"

On his knees, Luka covered his head with his arms, shouting, "When mom was alive you weren’t like this!"

"When that bitch was around I could put up with your fucking whining," the man was leaning forward, getting to his knees, crawling like a beast towards his son (his prey). "Shut the hell up,"

Luka backed away, still sick with dizziness and a ringing head, but his back touched the bed and he knew he was cornered. "No--!"

Frantic emerald eyes turned to face the snarling, spitting creature before them, and Luka pressed himself against the frame and turned away. A dirty, stinking hand touched his throat, and Luka gasped for breath, trying to scream.

"Damn boy," the raspy drone grew nearer. "Fucking worthless…"

"Get away," Luka cried desperately, pulling away from the hand. "Don’t… please…"

But the hand gripped him, choking him, curling around his slender neck and pressing him against the bed. Luka gasped, trying to scream for help, trying to get away, anything, anything….

Somehow he managed to pull himself away, and he scampered along the dirty carpet to the other wall and cowered against it. Pain seared through his neck and he clawed at it desperately, crying.

Crying.

It was too late now. The tears had come, running in crystalline rivers down his pale cheeks. He was sobbing despite himself, shoulders wracking and hands trembling.

"Stop that damn crying," hissed the beast. Luka looked up to see him standing again, hands curled around an empty glass bottle. "Shut up! DAMMIT!"

Glass shattered above the boy’s head and rained down upon him. Luka cried against the wall, shaking all over. But he was in tears now, and once you cry, you can’t argue anymore.

And though his father’s beating eventually stopped as his drunken stupor subsided, Luka’s tears fell throughout the night, and against the wall he cried softly to himself, though only the darkness around him could hear.

~*~

Nicole sat up in bed.

She’d heard something in her sleep—a shout, maybe? Perhaps something being knocked over…?

Whatever it was, it had come from the apartment above hers. For a moment she sat there in the dark, listening. From upstairs came the sound of breaking glass, and then more dry shouting.

"A… fight…" she whispered, but cowered back into her bed.

It was none of her business what was going on with whatever couple lived upstairs. They could sort things out themselves.

No, nobody upstairs needed her help…

If only they’d shut up… it was eleven at night.

She rolled over and went back to sleep.

End Note: Myaugh… poor Luka. Reviews are loved and will be used to make Luka happy (okay, that was cheap, I know). 3