Chapter 1 | Aaron

My dad is my hero

  That was what five-year-old Aaron would be taught to chant through childish poetry in preschool; a constant reminder for all the innocent kids gathered in the classroom that their dads were such incredible, selfless beings—fighting for them, loving them, protecting them.

Because my dad hugs me when I'm sad

  Aaron would tilt his head unsurely as the tall lady who called herself a teacher would usher them all to repeat after her. As everyone else would continue hollering at the top of their lungs the words written with big, distinct letters across the chalk-board, his own lips would press together confusedly and he'd remain quiet instead.

Because he kisses my owies until they stop hurting

  Aaron's confusion would grow further as the new line would be put out; everyone around him would seem so amused, so enraptured within the blissful memories that'd swamp their childish minds with each word they spoke. He wanted to relate, but he couldn't.

My dad is my hero-

  Once, and as the teacher had been teaching  the class-full of vivacious children the poetry for Father's Day, she had noticed how all them were teetering at the edges of their seats, leaning forwards excitedly as they'd fight for whose voice would be the most distinct midst the entire chorus, except Aaron, of course: he'd been the only she noticed sitting there with a frown across his dark brows and a confused tilt cocking his head aside. His facial expressions and body gestures had contradicted everyone else's.

"Aaron," she'd said, patting his little shoulder encouragingly. "Come on, sing with them. So you can go home and tell the poem to your dad! Tell him he's your hero."

"But-" Aaron had looked up at her, his bottom lip jutting out in a soft pout. "My dad doesn't do these things."

"What does he do then?"

"He hits me sometimes."

  The teacher had recoiled at the confrontation, her jaw dropping enough for her teeth to be revealed and a flustered breath to fill her lungs through her throat. She'd tutted at him as she knelt down by his side, shaking her head as if she had been trying to deny the reality of what she'd heard. Because she'd met his father; Mister David Williams, the respectful man whom she'd seen pick Aaron up after school several times before. That man had always been all warm smiles and fatherly love to his son, or at least that was what she was allowed to see. Hearing what Aaron had said rattled her brain, but she didn't have the desire to look deeper into the issue or invest time in figuring out what he meant.

So instead she'd chosen to bury her head in the sand. "Aaron, don't say that. It's bad to disrespect your dad, he's a good man."

  Aaron had watched her disapproving glance and as the five-year-old he was at that point, he simply nodded with tentative caution, the slump of his shoulders deepening as he'd slouched further in his seat. And perhaps it was at such a young age, the result of reckless behavior and fallacious claims out of supposedly responsible teachers, that Aaron's inclination to believe that he shouldn't express what he really felt began to develop.

Maybe dad is just a different kind of hero, he'd decided. 

  And now five-year-old Aaron sat by the window in his room, the pad of his small finger pressed flatly against the cool glass pane as he leisurely traced the top half of it; he carefully went over the blazing stars that scattered in far flickering dots amongst the deep, navy sky above. He liked to convince himself that he was touching the stars just like he tried to convince himself his dad was the hero they'd described earlier at school.

  But in a way, the former was much easier for him to believe. If he put his finger up, it would look exactly like he was brushing by the little star and maybe he could deceive himself into imagining it was true, but no matter how much he tried to turn and imagine his dad's behavior, slaps couldn't resemble kisses and pushes couldn't feel like hugs.

  He didn't like the different kind of hero his dad was. Was a hero still considered a hero if his difference from others was so stark it extended to a villain's lane anyway? It confused Aaron how a noble savior could be associated with such traits; yelling, pushing, cussing. Or worse, it confused him how his own hero didn't even love him.

Aaron had always wondered why his dad didn't love him. It broke his heart but he'd never admit, because 'it's bad to disrespect your dad, he's a good man.'

 
  In the background and just behind the door to his room was the familiar hassle of both his parents fighting; he'd grown so used to it that he felt his ears had been inoculated against the loud shouts and sharp exchange of hot, furious cusses and words. He could still hear some of them in tattered fragments, though, something along the lines of leaving and can't stay, and get out of my face and I've had enough. The jumble of words bothered Aaron but he tried to act like they weren't there.

  Of course, that didn't exactly work when he heard a sickening thump followed by a loud crash. He pulled back from the window in a shocked jerk, averting his gaze from the comfort of the flickering lights to the horror of what lay beyond the door. The fleeting second of shrill silence that had set upon the house right after the ambiguous crash vanished,  and suddenly the air was filled again with shrieks and yells and shouts, so harsh, so aggressive that Aaron's heart pounded between his small ribs hysterically with each approaching wave of the haunting sounds.

He knew things were getting bad when their voices were so unbearably loud, possibly like never he'd heard before.

  Even with the hesitation that swallowed his gut, he forced himself to move with slow, shaky steps forwards until he was by the door. He reached up for the handle, carefully pulling it down and opening the door as he heard the expected click; across the carpet of the corridor now lay the broken shards and scattered shrapnel of what was once a vase, and in either ends resided his parents' feet that led up to stiff, aggressive body stances and squared shoulders. Higher, face level, was were sharp frowns lived and cutting words slipped from viciously parted lips.

"This can't go on anymore! I can't live with a man who can't even respect me the slightest bit!"

"Well then leave, Jannette! Get the hell out of my house!"

"Yeah! That's what I want to do! It's better that way for all of us!"

Aaron watched with concern lurking in his eyes both his parents storm into their bedroom as they shamelessly continued fighting. There was a distant creak that Aaron could tell was the closet being pulled open, then some more loud hassle that he couldn't quite fathom and more words he couldn't quite attain.

  And soon enough his mom stormed out again, this time with a suitcase behind her. Aaron didn't have the chance to question when she'd already begun stomping angrily towards him. She pushed the door to his room wider open with an aggressive slam of her hand, and headed in past Aaron towards his bed; she groped frantically beneath the frame of the wood for a second before pulling out another suitcase and slamming it up on the mattress. Her shaky hand struggled to grip the metallic zipper, but as soon as she managed, she just about ripped it open with furious haste.

"Jannette-" Aaron's father stumbled upon his son as he made to follow her into the room. He gripped his arm harshly, mindlessly shoving him out of the way and completely relentless of how Aaron crashed helplessly with the door; his small head came right in contact with the splintering wood, and he whined quietly at the pain that persisted in throbs across his skull. "Jannette! What are you doing!"

Aaron's dad caught her arm right midst her move to open the closet, keeping her limb locked tightly within his fingers as he pulled her back, towards him.

"What the hell does it look like? Packing Aaron's stuff too, David! Don't you want me to leave? That's what I'll do!" She spat at him as she jerked her arm free, proceeding to the pull the door to the closet open and blindly grasping a handful of the clothes; she yanked them off the hangers, then turned and threw them into the suitcase just as the gathered lumpy mess they were. She filled the case with whatever her hazy mind could supply he'd need even as her husband stood over her shoulder, then closed it up and pushed it down to the ground onto its squeaky wheels.

  David watched as she gripped Aaron's hand, and he laughed toxically before reaching out to clutch his son's arm and pull him towards him. "Woah, woah, woah," he drawled. "You will leave the house. Alone. My son—" he slung an arm around Aaron's small shoulders in an annoyingly relaxed manner, forcibly pulling him closer against him. "—is staying here. With me."

"Oh, hell no, David." Jannette shook her head firmly, reaching out for her son but David pulled him away. "There's no way I'm leaving Aaron here. He's coming with me."

David tutted; his eyes were closed and he shook his head along, as if disappointed she'd ever even considered that ridiculous option. "You want to leave and I'm letting you. But I think Aaron's pretty happy with me, he's staying."

"Happy?" Jannette parroted mockingly. "You mean scared. You just slammed his head into the door. Why do you even care about him staying?" Her eyes softened and her hand reached to Aaron, gently stroking the back of his head where she'd helplessly watched crash with the hard wood. Aaron didn't move closer to her even with the increasing desire to do so; surely not with his father wordlessly restricting him in his place. He knew what would happen if he disobeyed and he didn't want a bruise at the moment—his head was hurting enough. "Now give me my son."

"He doesn't want you. He doesn't want to go with you. Right, Aaron?"

Aaron remained weakly quiet. Jannette's lip twisted into a lopsided, disgusted smile before she allowed herself to speak. "He's scared. He doesn't want you. Don't throw him between us like that, he's just a kid!"

  But all she could find for a response was her husband's eyes now viciously scrutinizing Aaron, the expectant sharpness to his gaze just about piercing his youthful skin even through the short distance. Aaron only fidgeted uncomfortably beside his dad, helplessly trying to squirm out from beneath the grueling weight of the heavy arm that settled  upon his shoulders. He froze when he felt David's fingers drum expectantly against the top of his arm where his hand settled, and he looked away with his black hair flopping against his forehead and thick lashes fearfully downcast.

Aaron's ignore mechanism failed as soon as his father spoke the second time. He didn't miss the threat woven through his sickeningly sweet voice.

"I said, right, Aaron?" David repeated. "Come on, son. Tell her that you want to stay with me. Tell her that you don't want her. She should leave alone, eh?"

Leave. Aaron didn't like the sound of that.

  Aaron looked up again, his eyes directly connecting with his mom's. "Mom? W-where are you going? You're leaving?" He shakily questioned. His reflexes worked by themselves and he winced as soon as he finished his inquiry, as if already expecting something violent from his father at his unrelated words. "D-don't, mom. Don't leave me."

"I'm going away from your dad, baby. He's very mean-"

"Hold up," David announced. He turned to Aaron, his fingers trailing up the tender skin around his jaw and gripping it harshly. "Aaron, I think I just told you to say that you want to stay with me. She can go to hell, what do we care about, right?"

  Aaron didn't want his mom to go to hell. And if she had to, he'd rather go with her than stay with his dad. The seriousness about the departure settled, and the thought about her leaving him alone to deal with that monstrous human rattled his focus. Aaron suddenly jerked his head up, his eyes wide and frightened as he searched for assurance  in the depth of his mom's. "Mom, no. I want to go with you," he thoughtlessly rebelled now that he realized she might leave him. "Please, mom. Please."

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry," Jannette assured as she eased him out from beneath his father's arm and gently pulled him closer to her. Her hand settled on the apple of his pale cheek; almost every inch of his skin was sickly yellow and pallid, and her heart ached as she watched how the same innocent face that should be flourishing with the rich golden hue of youth was instead dimmed with the dread of fear and despair.  She let her hand drop down until it encased his tiny one. Through the slick skin, she could feel the little tremors that wrecked it and the pulse that raced in his artery. "I won't leave you. You're coming with me, don't you want that?"

  Aaron nodded at her without devoting a single second for apprehension. He didn't need to think twice. As much as he was scared of his dad, he wasn't ready to stay alone with him. "Yeah. I want to go with you," he whispered, covertly glimpsing back at his dad and regretting it as he clashed with that threatening clench of his jaw; the same twitch in the muscle around his mouth that oh-so-often preceded violent pushes against his frail shoulders. Aaron felt like it was a sign.

"Okay. Okay, good. Don't be scared. We're just going somewhere safe. And he'll never hurt us again." She leant forwards until she could kiss his temple before looking back over to David. "You heard him. Happy now? Clearly, he doesn't want to stay here. He wants to come with me."

  David's eyes lingered on the duo and his lips remained sealed tightly. It took a second for him to act again—for the pent up anger to tear the restrictions—but as soon as his bubble popped, he lunged forwards, ripping Jannette away from her son and grabbing Aaron by the shoulder as he pulled him so he was facing him squarely.

"You sure about that, Aaron?" His words were filled with drippy poison and his crazed eyes spoke tales of anger and contempt against his wife that he decided to empty onto his son's head. For him, Aaron was a bait he could pull at the strings of Jannette's emotions with. He could play her around if Aaron stayed with him. She was weak without her son. "You sure you want to leave with her? Because if you do, there's no coming back." His grip tightened onto his son's flesh a final time, enough to make him whimper and squirm helplessly in his place. "She doesn't have money. She won't be able to make you live well. You'll be poor on the streets. You sure you want to leave with her?"

  But Aaron didn't care about money, perhaps didn't even understand the concept and aftermath of the lack of it. All he wanted was his mom. He shivered when he imagined how life would be for him with his dad alone, his mom thrown somewhere far away where she couldn't assure him after he'd endure a lengthy shout from his dad or hug him when he'd come running to her with a red mark tainting his pale cheek. If he'd agree and stay with his dad, things were surely going to turn ten times worse, and Aaron's five-year-old self immediately categorized that as a horrible option.

So, he looked at his dad again, blinking rapidly as if trying to avoid seeing his face as much as possible. "Yeah, dad. I-I'm sure. I want to go with mom."

  Aaron received another harsh stare, only that it lingered a little longer this time. Or a lot longer. David's haunting grey eyes—the very same majestic set that Aaron himself had inherited—remained plunging like knifes into the depth of his son's. His jaw tightened enough for Aaron to prepare himself for the impending crash of the familiar callous palm into his skin, yet it never happened and a slap was never delivered. Instead, surprisingly enough, David's tense shoulders relaxed, and so did his jaw—or so did practically everything in him.

  Except it wasn't the genuinely relaxed type. It was the threatening type in which the muscles of his shoulders and face had deflated the tension only for it to be absorbed and displayed again through other ways; part of it was thrown in the harsh grip he had on Aaron's shoulder and another was translated in his atrocious stare.

  There was silence for a little longer. David smiled wickedly. "Alright," he breathed, finally releasing his son's shoulder from the harsh clutch of his fingers, and the loss of pressure had Aaron letting out a relieved sigh through his lips. "Look at my son failing me after all I did for him. After all the money I had to pay to make you live. Go, Aaron." David roughly pushed Aaron away, closer to Jannette. She opened her arm and Aaron quickly scrambled closer and nestled against her side; he hid his face there, barely allowing himself a fearful glance forwards as his father continued speaking. "Go with your mom, you ungrateful son of a bitch. Let's see how much you'll survive with her."

"Like I was going to let him stay even if he said he wanted to, David. The kid's coming with me, even if he doesn't want to," Jannette spoke as she kept her arm circled protectively around Aaron's frail figure. "Now get out of my face." Even as she walked forwards, intending to grab her and Aaron's suitcases, she felt her heart pounce in her chest with each step she made past David; she knew he could be as sly as a fox, readying himself to lash out and hinder her any moment now. It wasn't his nature to give up easily.

  But she was eternally surprised as David never reached out to grab her or her son, never stopped her from quickly grabbing her and Aaron's suitcases. Then she was perhaps confused more so than surprised, as she found herself freely rolling them both over to the front door without ever feeling the roughness of his grip claiming her arm and twirling her the other way around.

  She'd purposely avoided looking back at him through that all. But now, she was there, the small suitcases standing by the door and her son pushing himself innocently into her side as she softly stroked his hair with one hand and held the keys in the other. And it was then that she turned to her husband a final time; he was right in his spot, his chest puffed and his shoulders squared defensively, yet he never made a move forwards.

David just stood there, smiling tightly. The skin just below his eye twitched. "There's no coming back, Jannette," he warned. "If you and Aaron want to leave, then leave. But I don't ever want to see either of your faces again. Ever."

"Good. We don't want to see yours either."

Jannette turned and opened the door, but just as she ushered Aaron out before her, David spoke the last of his words.

"This boy isn't my son anymore when he leaves with you now. Don't ever think about sending him back."

"What would you do if I send him back? Close the door in his face? There's no way you can be a worse father anymore, David."

  David ignored her, setting his eyes on Aaron instead. He smiled again, wicked and toxic enough for the venom to sink through Aaron's skin where his gaze was lingering until it seeped to his bloodstream. He tilted his head, barely enough to be noticeable, before parting his lips just enough for the low words to spill.

"If I was you, Aaron, I'd really hope that you'll never have to come back here. Trust me when I say you wouldn't want that happening."

With a quaking heart, Aaron started hoping fervently.

It didn't work.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

So your thoughts about Aaron's dad? And his mom? His life so far?

Anywho thanks so so much for reading/commenting/voting you lovely people!xx and omg I missed this so much, I love you guys <333 also I'm sorry updates are gonna take longer, school this year is literally killing me help lol.