Warnings: Child abuse, disturbing imagery, implied death.
Rating: [15] (R)

If I were a better woman
I would stretch out my arms and free you
From behind these rusty iron bars
In perfect time I would carry you away

But I’m a shameful imitation
Forever a day too late.

The phone rings out twice, and for one terrifyingly long moment he’s almost certain the unlisted caller won’t try for a third time. His breath slips and slides past parched lips, muscles twitching, eyes wide and crazed, spinning wildly back and forth from the phone to the hallway doors.

With a half chocked scream he stumbles, scrambling back in irrational fear at the desired third ring breaks through the thundering pulse in his ear. Pulling back into a crouch, he glances once more to and fro, and then dashes forth, sticky ruby fingers wrapping around the extension and dragging it to his ear.

A familiar voice sails down the line, but still every last muscle stays clenched, his tongue firmly tied back, only desperate whimpers echoing behind barred lips. Minutes pass, the low hum of words out of time with the harsh thunder of fractured breaths.

The phone clatters to the floor as the melodic chimes start to sound through the house… and he’s out, grasping desperately with small sticky fingers, shocked pale face pressing into the hollow between chest and arm. Broken babble spilling out as warm, soft woollen wrapped arms enclose his, blue and whites rushing past.

Bloody footprints lead back to a mess of a room, a final fatal battle that’ll haunt the dreams of the shuddering wreck of a boy who put his faith in a system too often a day too late.