He was about to knock on the door when his mother opened.

“Hey, M-“

“Try to be silent, he just fell asleep,” she interrupted him.

Welcome my beloved son, I missed you so much would have been too unrealistic anyways, he thought. She wore a blood-red sweater and sweatpants. Her hair was chocolate brown and long and — unlike Shawn’s — her eyes were bright blue. However, it was apparent who Shawn inherited his freckles from. She was in her mid-forties, rather slim, and wore an expression of sleeplessness. Two silver, heart-shaped earrings and a big, silver, braided necklace with a cross decorated her. He took a step in and felt like he entered the cave of a troll. It was indeed dark inside. The air was stale and smelled like old furniture. To the left was the kitchen and to the right was the living room. Shawn’s room was upstairs. He took his shoes off and as he walked in he could see that Willy — their parakeet — was covered with a blanket again. Shawns’ father, Elmer, used to cover the cage to make the bird shut up. Idiot. He could see his father’s legs and an empty beer bottle laying on the floor from behind the wall as he slept in the single-seater. He took another step when the wooden boards gave a loud creak. Both Shawn and his Mom already knew by heart which tiles not to step on. In the same instance his mother — Christine — twitched, stopped in her tracks, and gave Shawn a what-the-fuck-did-I-tell-you look mixed with terror. She covered her face with her palm, trying to collect some strength. When the old man grunted their blood pressure spiked.

You might think that his Father hadn’t woken because he hadn’t moved, but both of them knew that wasn’t the case. Shawn was still in high school when he learned that his father was acting poorly too. While Shawn and his mom prepared their lunches to leave for the day, Elmer — after a gallon of booze —was still asleep in his single-seater. They walked on tip-toes from the moment they got out of bed, if they didn’t, they were reminded by a moan or grunt, which felt like whip slashes eating into him. One morning Shawn’s mother — Christina — couldn’t take it anymore and switched from stealth to casual mode. He gave his mother an anxious, almost terrified look as to why she was so careless.

“He is not asleep,” she said, “he is just acting.”

When Shawn came home, something about his mother’s smile was off. Despite the thick layer of makeup, he noticed that she had a black eye.

As he stood there a memory came up of how he was at a sleepover at a friend’s house and cringed every time he heard a light switch turned off or a door shut carelessly. Why? He felt a ball of rage swell in his chest, and before he knew it, he took a brisk step and entered the living room.

“Could you stop with the fucking acting?” he said. “And what about the fucking windows?” he opened the blinds and shoved the curtains aside.

Elmer slurred with a deep voice, “Watch your mouth.”

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Shawn turned around and looked at him. He still laid in the single-seater and watched him with one eye half open and his head leaning back. Elmer was about to be sixty and had a full beard and wavy, fatty, black hair. He wore a green button shirt and worn-out jeans. However, what ticked off Shawn the most was the look in Elmer’s eyes. It wasn’t malicious nor resentful. It was full of sorrow.

“Yeah? Or what? Are you gonna hit me?” Shawn countered immediately. Do it, said one of the voices in Shawn’s head. “Do you know how fucking tired I am? Every time I come home, it’s like this.” Tears rolled down his face, the look in his eyes painful with no sign of fear. He clenched his jaw and pressed his trembling lips together, barely able to hold back the rage.

Elmer said nothing.

“Shawn,” his mother said, with a snap-out-of-it voice. He turned and saw his eight-year-old brother, Will, standing on the staircase.

“Hey,” he said with a calmer voice and wiped his tears.

“What’s going on?” Will asked.

“Not much, just…” he looked around him as if looking for something, “Mom said she’ll make the chocolate fudge for us tonight,” he said.

“Really?” Will brightened up. Shawn’s and his mother’s eyes met. Her eyes —now merely slits— glared a hole into him. After an extended second or two, she answered, “Really.”

“Yaaaaay…. Chocolate fud—“

“But only because Shawn promised to vacuum and do the dishes for the day.” She now had a smirk on her face. Both boys went, “Ow,” when she pinched them in their cheeks.

“That was unnecessary,” Shawn said.

“Why me?” Will protested.

“Shawn, I’ll need some eggs and butter. You’ll have to fetch them from the store if you want the fudge.”

“Yeah…” Shawn said, then had a coughing fit again, shouldn’t have shouted so much, he thought. Christine and Will both looked at him with concern in their eyes, “I’ll go,” somewhat eager to take in nature again, “Wanna come, buddy?” He extended his fist for Will to bump.

“Hell yeah,” Will replied and bumped his fist trying to make a sound effect, missed the first time, then on the second time Shawn was hit with saliva flying from Will’s mouth.

“Shawn?” Elmer said, standing in the light-filled living room. Shawn’s smile faded, but instead of anger, he now felt remorse in his chest. He came a bit closer to take the conversation away from Will and Christine. Their eyes met.

His father, somewhat taller than him, had his head tilted forward a bit while keeping eye contact with Shawn. Elmer leaned in so that Shawn could feel the warmth of his breath on his face. Elmer narrowed his eyes and rose his finger warningly toward Shawn and spoke slowly, “Don’t dare to do this again… I promise you… I will make your life a living hell. I will cut your money, and you can sleep outside as far as I care,” Shawn nodded, disgusted by the booze breath.

“Shut the hell up, are we clear?” there was something about the way Elmer spoke. A side of him came out. A side that endured things beyond what Shawn could imagine, a side, which had no regard for arbitrary rules or bonds. A side that was immune to a priest’s prayer and ought to be shackled and hidden in the dark. Shawn felt he was in danger. The rage he felt before, a small fire, was extinguished by Elmer’s eternal, dark inferno. His limbs were weak and his breathing shallow. He avoided eye contact and wanted to run away. Looking down he nodded. “Are we clear?” Elmer asked expecting an audible answer. “Yes,” he replied.

Feeling that the conversation was over and it’d be better to keep it discreet, he disengaged. On his way to the kitchen, he uncovered Willy —the parakeet— and saw that the cage was in a sorry state. “Leave the bird and get outta here,” Elmer said. Shawn covered the cage again. Poor guy, he thought, then went to put his shoes on. “Come on, Will, let’s hit the road. Got stuff to do today.” Will ran down the stairs, and they left.