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One my father couldn’t touch.
He’d done enough touching of things that didn’t belong to him during my life.
Including me.
Every fucking inch of me.
It started from as early as I can remember until the day I left for the academy. I know the moment Pierce Sterling decided to send me away. It was the moment I found my voice and spoke back to my father in front of his fucked-up, child-abusing friends.
He didn’t like it.
I’ve wondered many times what would have become of me if I’d stayed living at home.
Would he have broken me completely?
Would I have killed him?
I certainly imagined it with every dirty kick and punch in those dark streets while we were running the Alliance Fight Club.
Some nights, I hated myself for it.
Other nights, I itched to go home and follow through with it.
“You want to spend your life in jail?” Parker would ask me. “Because that’s not revenge. That’s letting him win.”
“I won’t get caught.” I hissed back.
“Maddox.” Killian had a way of saying my name and getting through to me when the others didn’t. His deep voice, even back then, snapped me out of it.
Let me be clear, it’s not like we shook our ten-year-old hands the first day we met and openly declaredmy father fucked me up the ass, how about you? Also, which is your favorite, Batman or Superman?
Over time, trust formed between us, and we witnessed one another drift off into the abyss—the dark, safe, and lonely space in our minds—and brought one another out.
We shared what we felt safe to, but none of us required a lot of words.
We knew what the results of abuse looked like, simply by looking in the mirror.
The teachers were unaware—or didn’t want to know—and so it was our friendship that got us through the rest of our childhood.
That and the Alliance.
We were the children of wealthy and powerful men who paid an insane amount of money to send us away, to free them from their sins.
The sick fucks.
My stomach turns as flashes of my childhood return, and I push them back with the full force of my willpower.
It does no good to think about it.
I’ve studied enough psychology books to know what harm it’s caused. The guilt and shame I carry is normal and all that bullshit.
I don’t remember a time when Pierce—as I now call him—wasn’t torturing or abusing me.
The truth is, he broke me, but not completely. I know I’m not a whole man. I’m not someone capable of love, and I accept that.
How could I be?
When I was learning to walk, he would use a whip. Not that I remember. I had to ask my mother what the thin scars on my legs and thighs were.