Third person POV

Derek Baker's past:

Derek huddled in the dimly lit crawlspace beneath the stairs, his small frame trembling with fear. He could hear the heavy footsteps of his father stomping through the house; the man's anger was visible even from a distance. Derek's heart raced in his chest, each beat a thunderous drum echoing in his ears.

The crawlspace was cramped and dusty, with cobwebs brushing against his face as he pressed himself further into the shadows. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and neglect, but Derek dared not cough or make a sound that might give away his hiding place. He knew all too well what would happen if his father found him.

Just then, a door slammed somewhere above him, causing Derek to flinch. He held his breath, straining to listen for any sign of movement. The seconds ticked by like hours, each one stretching on endlessly in the crushing silence of the house.

Moonlight filtered in through a nearby window, casting ghostly shadows across the rough wooden floorboards.

Outside, a lone owl hooted mournfully, its call echoing the boy's own sense of dread. He could hear the distant murmur of his father's voice as he stomped around the house, searching for him. The boy knew that if he were caught, there would be no mercy. His father's rage was a force of nature, consuming everything in its path.

Tears welled up in the boy's eyes as he thought back to the events that had led to this moment. The fight at school, the angry words exchanged with his classmate and teacher—all of it had been like kindling thrown onto a roaring fire. And now he was paying.

Derek's hands clenched into fists as he fought to control his ragged breathing, desperate for some way to escape the confrontation. But as his father's heavy steps drew nearer, Derek realized there was nowhere left to run. The sound of a door creaking open sent a jolt of pure terror through his body, freezing him in place like a cornered animal.

"Derek, you can't hide from me forever, you little shit," his father's voice boomed, each word laced with rage. The man's shadow fell across the floor of the crawlspace as he peered inside; his eyes narrowed in a threatening glare.

As their gazes locked in the dim light, Derek felt a surge of resistance rise within him. He knew he couldn't outrun his father's wrath, but he refused to cower before it any longer.

With a trembling breath, Derek slowly rose to his feet, meeting his father's gaze head-on. The air crackled with tension as they stared into each other's eyes.

Without warning, his father's hand lashed out and struck Derek across the face, the force of the blow sending him staggering backwards. Pain radiated through his cheek as he gritted his teeth, refusing to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him cry out. But as another blow followed, and then another, Derek could feel the fear and helplessness creeping in. He knew he had to endure this torment for now, but he swore to himself that he would break free from this torment.

Just as the final blow was about to strike, a soft whispered plea echoed through the house.

Derek's mother, unable to bear the sounds of her son's suffering any longer, had been listening from the floor above, her heart wrenching with each cry.

In that split second, she knew she had to act. Throwing the door open, she stepped between her husband and their trembling son, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and disgust.

"The boy's going to die if you don't stop this madness right now," she declared, her voice trembling with newfound strength. Derek watched in disbelief as his mother stood up to his father. Her voice broke through the tense silence like a lightning bolt. She took Derek in her arms, wrapping him in a protective embrace and shielding him from his father's wrath.

For a moment, the room was still. The dark clouds outside seemed to gather around the house, mirroring the tension inside. Derek's father, taken aback by his wife's intervention, hesitated, his fists clenched at his sides. The boy's fate hung in the balance as the family stood at a crossroads, unsure of what would happen next.

As the three of them stood amidst the shadows, the silence felt like a living entity, weighing down on them with its heavy presence. Derek could feel his mother's warmth through the fabric of her shirt, her arms wrapped tightly around him, a shield against the raging storm.

The man's eyes met his wife's, their gazes locked in conflict, a silent war being waged between them. It was clear that he was caught off-guard by her sudden actions, momentarily unsure of how to proceed.

Derek's mother, her eyes filled with purpose, spoke up once more, her voice clear and firm. "You need help, Harold. We both do. We're not doing this to ourselves or to our son."

Harold's face twisted, the lines deepening around his mouth and eyes. With an accusing tone, he asked, "Do you know what he did at school today?"

Derek's mother answered, "That's not the point, Harold," her tone unbending in her desire. "Before it's too late, we must deal with the
problems in this situation."

"That sh*t almost killed a kid with a pencil," Harold retorted, his voice tinged with anger. "We can't keep ignoring it."

With a strong sense of dedication, Derek's mother sighed and answered, "I know, but we have to approach this with love and understanding."

"He is beyond that now," Harold replied, his frustration evident.

Derek's eyes widened as his father pushed his mother away and grabbed him, his face red with fury. "You're right, we need to take action before it's too late," he declared, his voice authoritative.

As Harold's grip tightened on Derek's arm, a chill ran down the boy's spine. The glint in his father's eyes was no longer familiar but cold and calculating.

Derek stared at his mother, who was on the floor clutching her head in pain, her hands streaked with blood from where her head had hit the corner of the table. The sight made Derek's heart race with fear as he realized the severity of the situation. He knew he had to do something before it was too late, before more blood was shed.

Taking a deep breath, he mustered up his courage and said, "Mom! She's hurt, dad; she needs help."

But Harold's grip didn't loosen, and instead, he swung Derek's face hard against the wall, knocking him to the ground. The boy cried out in pain, but his words fell on deaf ears as his father's rage grew.

"Shut up, boy! She's not hurt; she just needs to learn her place!" Harold roared, his voice booming through the house.

Derek struggled to his feet, his body numb with shock and pain. He looked at his mother, her eyes wide with terror, and knew that he was the only one who could help her. With all the strength he could muster, he lunged at his father, barely managing to push him away from her.

Harold staggered back, momentarily off-balance, but he quickly regained his footing. He glared at Derek, his eyes blazing with anger.

"You think you can protect her?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're nothing but a disappointment." Derek stood his ground, determination in his eyes, as he faced his father. "I may be young, but I won't let you hurt us anymore," he declared, ready to defend his mother at all costs.

Harold shattered the vase on the table beside him, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the room. Derek didn't flinch.

With a primal scream, Harold lunged at Derek, his fists clenched in rage. The blows rained down on the young boy, who tried to shield himself from the onslaught. Despite the pain and fear he felt, Derek refused to back down. He felt breathless as his father held his neck tightly in his grip. Derek mustered all his strength and fought back against the man who had caused so much pain in their lives.

Derek felt he was losing his consciousness along with his will to fight. The room spun around him as he struggled to break free from his father's grasp, his vision fading into darkness.

Suddenly, Derek's mother found the courage to break free from her fear. She lunged at her husband, her eyes wild with tenacity. In her arms, she held a kitchen knife.

"Harold, you stop hurting my son this instant!" She shouted, her voice trembling with anger and despair.

"Oh, so you're going to kill me now? Is that it, Evelyn?" Harold sneered, tightening his grip on Derek.

Derek's mother stood her ground, her hand steady on the knife. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect my son from you," she declared, her voice filled with fear.

With a swift motion, Derek's mother slashed at Harold's arm, causing him to release his hold on Derek. Derek scrambled away, his heart pounding in his chest. The room was filled with tension as Harold glared at his wife, blood dripping from his wound. "You'll pay for that," he growled, advancing towards her. But Derek's mother stood her ground, ready to defend her son at all costs.

Harold grabbed his wife by the hair and slammed her head against the wall, his anger boiling over. She let out a cry of pain, but Derek's mother refused to back down. With determination in her eyes, she fought back, landing a hard punch in Harold's face.

Yet that was not enough, and Harold's grip only tightened as he pushed her to the ground, his rage consuming him completely. The sound of the struggle echoed through the room, leaving Derek frozen in fear at the sight before him.

Unexpectedly, the sound of the glass piercing flesh echoed through the house, and Derek's father stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the weapon lodged in his chest, shattered pieces of the vase. Derek's eyes met Evelyn, and he mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," as he continued to push the knife deeper into his father's heart, ending his violent reign.

As the room fell silent, Derek and his mother stood there, covered in blood and tears. They knew they had changed the course of their lives forever, and they had to face the consequences of their actions.

Derek felt somewhat relieved, knowing that their lives would never be the same after this moment. He held his mother's hand tightly, silently promising to stick together through whatever came next.

Present time:

The clock ticked loudly in the background, marking the passing seconds as Derek leaned back in his chair and tried to focus on the task at hand. The memories of that fateful night still haunted him; he was hurt.

"She left too, broke our promise, and ran away with another man. My father was right all along."

Derek closed his eyes as the pleasure kicked in, numbing the pain and allowing him to temporarily escape from his reality.

"Who ran away?" Derek's wife asked, snapping him back to the present.

"Did I say you could talk? Suck me faster and don't ask questions," Derek snapped, his voice laced with bitterness.

His wife obediently obliged, taking him into her mouth and sucking diligently as he requested to avoid any further dispute. The sensation brought a mixture of pleasure and guilt to Derek's mind, but he pushed the conflicting emotions aside as his wife's actions began to consume his attention.

For a brief moment, the pain of their past was replaced with a raw physical pleasure that was hard to resist. Derek closed his eyes, focusing solely on the sensation of his wife's lips and tongue on him, relishing in the escape it provided from his troubled thoughts.

The guilt, the remorse, the pain—it all seemed to close in around him as if it were a trap. The past had a way of following you, like a ghost that would not let you rest, taunting you with the choices you had made and the lives you had ruined.

Derek felt the wall closing in around him. The pleasure he had momentarily experienced was now replaced with a sick feeling. He knew that the past was always lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce when he least expected it.

Yet there was a subtle smile playing on his lips, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he stared at the woman in front of him, and he was sure to not repeat the same mistake ever again.