╔══《"Caught between the tides 》══╗
of pain and rapture, then I saw the time."

       Pain. All Corbin felt was searing pain. It throbbed throughout his entire body. From his curled up position on the floor, the ache never subsided. His head was bashed continuously, and yet he remained frozen in place .

       A drip of blood trickled down his forehead. He felt the vicious liquid slowly ooze on his cold skin. He reached his hands to his head. Immediately, they were slapped away. Every thump echoed continuously, the berating seeming to have no end.

       "You!" Slap. "Stupid!" Slap. "Devil!" Slap. By now, Corbin's body had gone completely numb. His ears rang loudly, blocking out all the curses yelled at him. His shirtless body trembled, exposed to the cold air.

       Hundreds of horizontal lacerations were slashed onto his torso, following the direction of his ribs. Each gash was dark pink and raw, stinging irritably.

       After what felt like forever, the smacks slowed and eventually stopped. Corbin pried his eyes open, despite every muscle in his body screaming at him to rest. Slitted eyes were followed by a pounding heart.

       Hovering above him, a whip clenched in her right hand, stood Corbin's very angry mother. She panted rapidly, sweat trickling off her red face. She was the farthest from composed Corbin had ever seen her.

       The cold floor beneath Corbin was stained red--as it had been for forever. Corbin's mom never cared enough to take the time to remove the blood imprints from the white stone. In fact, the entire room was white.

       The brightness made Corbin's migraine ten times greater, the lights blinding and bright.

       No furniture was set up in the alcove, not even an ornamental rug to add color and spice to the space. Cowering in the middle of the empty room was Corbin and his mother, the only tangible things there.

       With a final puff, Corbin's mother finally turned around and walked toward the door, leaving Corbin alone in a heap on the floor. Too weak to protest or follow her out, he was forced to remain laying limp as his mother slammed the door behind her.

       The tired boy listened, breathing out when he heard the click of the lock. Exhausted, his body went lax, becoming slime on the floor. Blood pooled out of multiple open wounds, collecting around his body.

       Corbin knew he had to examine his injuries, aware that he would be here alone for a while. Upon attempting to sit up however, he found that he couldn't move a single limb. His opened eyes slowly fluttered closed involuntarily. His blinks lasted longer and longer until he finally was passed out on the floor.

       No dreams welcomed Corbin in his slumber. His mind and body unable to truly rest...

...

       The slamming of the door alerted him awake. Slowly pushing his upper body off the floor, Corbin looked toward the door, knowing only one person could be entering. Just as he had suspected, his mother walked in.

       She changed clothes. Corbin noticed, observing that her previous bloody attire had switched to a business suit. Gripped in her hand, as she strutted inside, was a large duffle bag. Corbin recognized it instantly, shriveling up into himself.

       Still laying on the ground, Corbin frantically scooted backward, trying to escape the terror that approached him on stiletto heels rocking a business suit. "Where are you going?" his mother laughed, knowing Corbin was cornered like a cat chased down a dead-end alley. The isolated room was as large as a prison cell; Corbin having nowhere to run--or crawl--to.

       Firmly, his mother yanked him up with a gloved hand, as if the disease of his existence was contagious enough to spread to her like a plague from hell. Hauling him over, she dragged Corbin to the front of the room. Here, she put out a carpet–a boring rectangle of white abrasive fiber–where she threw her son down on.

       Corbin was forced to comply, knowing resisting only fueled his mothers hatred. His cracking lips were so dry they felt glued together. He was unable to open them, but he wouldn't dare scream regardless. "I just have to run a few tests," she began explaining, pulling items out of the bag.

       Knowing the protocol, Corbin nodded slowly. Turning her attention to her son, the young woman began inspecting Corbin's body. She prodded at the skin, mapping each limb with her eyes. She wasn't gentle, tugging and pushing the body parts as she willed.

       First, she started with his face. Tracing the spot on his forehead, the one near his mouth, and the one that followed his neck. She continued, noting the ones on his chest and torso. Following each arm, she eventually reached Corbin's waist.

       Without so much as a second thought, she forced Corbin's only clothing item--his underwear--off of him with a single tug. Now, with his body fully exposed to his mother's demanding eyes--tears trickled down his cheeks.

       Embarrassed, he tried to curl himself up, to hide his dignity from his mom. When he tried this, she forced his body flat out with her invasive hands. Her prodding continued until she forcefully grabbed Corbin's genitals with a strong unwavering grip. Flinching, Corbin cringed at the spike of pain.

       "Mmm," she trailed off, observing every angle and side. Now fully sobbing, Corbin was forced to endure the violating observation. "Your torso is covered in slashes but this part is completely unharmed..." she trailed off, deep in thought.

       By the time Corbin had closed his eyes--too disgusted to look at his mother's sinister face--they were flung open again by a sharp pain. Taking measures into her own hands, his mother had taken her whip out of her bag, and decided it was time to punish the only area she had previously missed.

       The sensitive appendage screamed. Each slap felt like hundreds of knives stabbing into Corbin with no remorse. His mouth was unhinged open as he screamed loudly. Continuing to sob, his wails ripped through his throat leaving the skin tender and throbbing. Each whack felt more painful than the previous.

       The area was pulsating, going flaccid and excreting blood slowly. To pain-ridden boy had no choice but to endure the abuse for the foreseeable future.

       After a minute of constant pain, his mother suddenly stopped. By now, Corbin had lost all feeling below his waist. Previous scars had been reopened and new ones had been formed in the spaces in between.

       The beating was over, but his mother's furor wasn't finished. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a long candle stick. Plucking the lighter daintily out of the front pocket in her button up shirt, she lit the wick with a flick of the spark. Bursting to life, the flame illuminated largely before dying down slightly.

       Corbin knew what was coming, but his mind still fought the urge to give in. His face scrunched up as his mother gripped his hands. He skewed his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable.

       He screamed. The heat coursed through his body, spreading from his knuckles--the tender skin there was being scorched. His mother held the flame in place, even as Corbin squirmed. The smell of burning skin overtook the air. The stench was so strong, causing Corbin to gag.

       Puking on himself, Corbin continued to sob. The intensity of the pain was so overbearing that he began to get light headed. His vision became spotty, and he knew if he didn't pull away now, that he'd pass out again. Who knows what she'll do to me when I'm unconscious...

       With a gust of adrenaline, Corbin ripped his hands back toward his body and away from the fire. The motion caused the candle to snuff out, his mothers smile dropping to a frown. Fuck. Corbin cursed, knowing he messed up.

       This could be it. His thoughts raced as his mother began digging in her bag again. This time, she pulled out a sharp blade, the silver surface reflecting off the bright light. Despite being scared, Corbin knew this was one thousand times less painful than being burned, usually.

       Abruptly, she stood up and flipped Corbin's body around, placing his body stomach down on the bloodied carpet like he were a doll she could toy with. Corbin's breaths began to shallow. 

       His back was the one area of his body his mother had never touched.

       She would pound his body with various things, but the unspoken rule was to never touch his back. Later on, after her fit was over, she would make Corbin undress and face away from her. She would stare at his back, as if the untouched back was enough proof to convince herself she hadn't touched him at all.

       It was evident in her scary eyes that she had lost any sanity. Without hesitating, she slid the knife along his spine. The skin split, blood escaping out of the open wound. She continued to drag the knife along, following the bumpy bones. The first cut began at his tailbone, and ended near his nape.

       Corbin blacked out for a second, the initial pain washing over him like a tidal wave. When he regained his consciousness, he only had a second to breathe before his mother dragged the knife against his skin again. She followed her previous line, this time thickening it.

       The skin spread apart more, the edges opening like the pages of a book. Underneath was pure red. In a rage, she continued to hash at the skin, cutting through more and more layers of flesh. After a while, she switched directions, cutting horizontally below Corbin's shoulder blades.

       Corbin's frantic screams were the only sounds audible in the room.

       With the two lines, his mother finally finished carving a cross into her son's throbbing back. At some point, Corbin had passed out once more, this time remaining unconscious. Large quantities of Corbin's blood were soaking into the floor. Happy with her handy work, Corbin's mother stood up, brushing off her pants.

       Blood was splattered on her white polo shirt, but she didn't seem to notice. She hummed a happy tune to herself, tiding up her belongings–paying no mind to her unresponsive son—leaving him alone as she had done earlier.

       Her loafers tracked bloodied footprints through her clean house, her psychotic state distracting her from the evidence she was leaving behind. Plopping her butt onto the couch, she turned the tv on and began watching the news, as if it were any normal day.

       She didn't enter the white room again, continuing her night in peace.

...

       Finn bit at his nails in a frenzy glancing to his left for the millionth time that period. He couldn't stop the creeping panic from rising in his throat. He's probably sick! Stop worrying over nothing. He convinced himself, returning his gaze to the front of the room.

       A week. It had been a week since Corbin had last shown up. Not that I'm counting! He huffed, putting his head down in frustration. His absence was bothering Finn more than he had expected.

       For the first few days, he hadn't noticed Corbin was missing at all. It wasn't uncommon for him to miss a couple days of school in a row. But now, Finn couldn't ignore it any longer.

       It had been over a week, including a weekend, and yet, he was still nowhere to be seen. Finn knew why he was stuck on this. After he talked to his dad about him, Finn had become hyper aware of Corbin's condition.

       Before, he had no reason to look close at him. Before, he was just a plain student. His hands...Finn shuddered, gulping aggressively. Once he had noticed the mysterious boy's hands, he couldn't stop worrying.

       Was he in a house fire? Or maybe he injured himself roasting marshmallows? Finn racked his brain. He knew it was useless, the only way he could get the answer would be from asking him directly.

       Id rather jump off a bridge then ask him that! That's way too personal... Closing his eyes, Finn relaxed slightly. Before he could drift off to sleep, he pinched his arm, causing his eyes to open instantly, sighing in exhaustion.

       That was another issue Finn's been having. For the past week, he's been having the same nightmare. Not the kind that scared you in the moment but became quickly forgotten. This nightmare haunted Finn every time he blinked for a second too long. The screaming goes off in his head, and the flash of red overtakes his vision.

       The eye bags under his eyes were proof of the hauntings he had experienced every night for the past week. He averaged two hours of sleep per night, and even these were filled with horror. He often awoke feeling more exhausted than he had before falling asleep.

       This endless cycle continued, leaving him to his position now. He was beyond tired, but unable to rest. He couldn't ask his parents to buy him melatonin, because that meant inconveniencing them. That also meant Finn had to tell his parents everything.

       When Finn was first brought into his current family, he made a single deal with them. He promised that he would never ask for anything. And while at the time, his mother and father had laughed at the silly joke, Finn kept his side of the promise.

       In the past twelve years, he hadn't told his parents one thing about himself. They knew what foods he liked, because they assumed he liked the same foods that they did. They knew what clothes he liked, because they simply bought him the clothes that they liked.

       His mother and father had raised him the same way they had raised their two older sons, failing to see that Finn was very different from them. They were treating him like he was the same puzzle piece as his brothers, and therefore fit in all the same spots.

       This was far from the truth, however. Finn's brothers were popular, and smart, and attractive, and social. Finn was a loner: a stupid, unattractive, antisocial loner. He would never fill the role of his brothers, and he had long since accepted this fate.

       With his mind in a haze, Finn floated around the day only mentally half-present. His notes were scribbles, and his papers were filled with doodles. Doodles of nightmares; creepy monsters that consumed the darkness.

       Alas, the final bell rang out. Finn shoved his notebook into his full bag, accidentally crushing a few stray papers sitting at the bottom. Too rushed to care, Finn took off out of the school. His brothers drove him home every day, but he always sat in the car for a while before they arrived.

       They have too many friends. He whined after he had been sitting in the back seat for over fifteen minutes. Always the social butterfly. He rolled his eyes.

       The sound of the car doors opening alerted Finn. Laughter flooded the car, filling the small space. The two brunettes talked carefreely, continuing a previous conversation. Vance started the car and pulled out, neither brother looking back at Finn once.

       They talked like he wasn't there at all. Finn simply stared at the window, ignoring the light-hearted words exchanged in the front seat. He overheard bits and pieces from stories and gossip, but he didn't push to eavesdrop.

       The short drive to their house ended when the Mini Van pulled into their driveway. The Wood's lived in the most average suburban house. The gray siding matched the stone accent wall. Finn stared at his feet as he walked up the wooden porch. Beside the front door hung a swinging bench. Nobody used it much, but Finn smiled, remembering the days he would read outside while sitting on it.

       When he entered the house, his mother quickly rushed over, excited to greet her children. Alden entered a couple steps behind Finn. Rushing over to him, Finn's mom hugged her older son, giving him a squeeze before moving onto Vance. Finn, who entered first, received no hug. Instead, he sighed before continuing his walk through his house.

       While his siblings skipped to the kitchen, grabbing snacks from the pantry, Finn ascended the stairs, wanting to be anywhere but downstairs. His parents were fine alone, but when they were with his brothers, Finn became invisible. He understood though. It's not like I'm their real son, anyway.

       He flopped down on his bed, closing his eyes briefly. Finn was laying down, but his mind was far from rest. A thought popped into his head. It was something he considered often, but had never previously gained the courage to follow through.

       He stared at the window on the far side of his room. Right outside of it, stood a tall tree. The trunk and branches were thick, the sapling having been established in the soil for tens of years. He knew it was sturdy enough to hold his weight, because Finn often used the branches to climb up onto the roof.

       Glancing over at his bedside table, Finn noted the time, 3:09 p.m.. Dinners at 7, so I have four hours before that. Finn knew that he wasn't going to be able to nap, and doing homework was the last thing he wanted to do.

       Video games seemed less than appealing, so Finn was left with only one thing to do. Bounding up off his bed, he crept to his window. Making sure it was unlocked, Finn pushed it open. The hole was just big enough. With his sneakers still on from school, he stepped onto a thick looking branch.

       Maneuvering his weight strategically, Finn climbed out of the opening feet first. Once his entire body was out, and he triple checked that his window was unlocked, he shut it behind him. Swiftly, Finn climbed down.

       Scoping out which branches looked the safest, he calculatedly climbed down the tree. Once the branches stopped, and he was six feet off the ground, he jumped. Landing with a thud on the dirt, Finn stood up quickly. Brushing off his pants, he smiled hugely. Success!

       Finn whistled to himself as he marched away. With one final glance back, his eyes caught the living room window. On the couch, his brothers and mom were talking and laughing. They looked happy. They had no clue where Finn was, but they didn't even care. They were content to just laugh together without him.

       Turning his head back, Finn began to walk. The road of his neighborhood stretched on, but he continued to walk...

Question of the chapter: do you guys ever dream?

╚══《Word count- 3,106》══╝

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