The Arrest

He knelt down on the bed and took off the wet condom. He smirked as he threw it at me. She was still lying on the bed, laughing and rubbing her foot on his testicles. He pushed off her foot and frantically searched for something on the bed. He was unsuccessful. He looked around for about a minute before he found them. My eyes followed his gaze - he was staring at the doorway.

He walked to it and picked up his pants. He laughed as he approached me.

"Sorry boy," he said smiling, "we just had to have a quickie. You understand." He reached for his pant pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He took my hand and released me from the radiator. My arm dropped like a deadweight. I'd been in that position for four days and I practically lost all feeling in it the previous night.

He playfully rubbed my cheek then walked away, humming. I rested against the radiator -at least this time it was off, and as a result, this time, I wasn't left with what looked like third-degree burns. However, it made no difference with the rats. An hour after sundown, they came out of hiding like clockwork - imagine if the Army has such organization. I'd become so used to them that I didn’t even wake up when they nibbled on my feet.

I moved the bottle of water and gripped my leg. As I stretched, I felt someone grab and force me up.

“You lazy boy,” she screamed, “get up!” I tried, but I couldn’t - I needed another minute to compose myself.

“God! What am I going to do with you? Why can't you just do what I ask? Huh? Just do it! Just do it! I've suffered because of you - doing everything I can, to put food on the table. Why can't you just act right? Huh? Isn't it enough that I carried you for nine months? Or am I supposed to regret that? Should I regret going against your father's wishes? Tell me, should I?”

Her tirade continued, “Kids on the street do not have blankets, they don't have television, do you want to be like them? I’m going to throw you out if you do not get up this very minute! Get up you lazy fool!” She screamed at me.

“Babe, stop yelling at him!” He walked to us and winked at me.

“Why, not?” She asked him. “The house is filthy! He needs to do his chores instead of just lazing about like a rag doll!”

He caressed her shoulder, “Leave him alone,” he said, smiling at me. “Sometimes a man needs to rest before he works.” I always wondered about the power he had over her but at that moment, I didn't care. Eyeing me, she walked out of the room.

About 40 minutes later, while I was cleaning the living room, he called out to me.

“Dennis, come and sit next to me.” He patted a spot on the couch.

I didn’t want to. “Mom will be mad if I’m not done by the time she’s back.”

He didn’t look bothered. “Don’t worry about your Mom -she’ll probably be drunk by the time she gets back and she won’t notice a thing. Besides, this won’t take that long.”

“But…” I really didn’t want to. I always hated it when Mom left me alone with him. Granted, sometimes he was a lot nicer than her, but he’s not my Dad so I don’t even know why I have to talk to him in the first place.

“No buts,” he cooed. “Sit next to me.”

Before my butt could hit the soft cushion, he handed me the remote control. “What do you want to watch?” he asked.

“Nothing."

“Your Mom isn’t here, so relax. Pick something,” he encouraged.

I played around with the remote for a minute till I found some soccer.

He nodded approvingly, “good taste.”

After sitting in silence for about 5 minutes, he reached into his pockets and took out a blunt. He grabbed the lighter from the coffee table and lit it. After inhaling a few times, he handed it to me.

“Take!"

I shook my head. The last time he gave it to me, I had a very funny feeling in my head. I wasn’t quite sure what was going on but I knew I didn’t like it. I liked being in control of myself and knowing what was going on around me. It was always great to know what Mom was doing so that I could prepare.

“Come on, boy, take it!” He ordered, holding it out to me.

“No,” I cried, “please, I don’t want any.” The smell had begun to fill the room and I just wanted to get out of there.

His eyes narrowed. “ I said, take it!”

His face was increasingly becoming a dark shade of red and his nose was flaring. I knew what was coming next, and I braced myself. I kept looking at his left hand because I knew that at any moment, he’ld reach for his belt. I kept looking but nothing happened.

He turned back to watch the television. I sighed in relief.

Five minutes later he resumed, “Dennis, take a drag.”

I shook my head. He put the blunt on an ashtray. I looked into his eyes and knew it was time for me to leave his sight. As I got up, he grabbed my arm.

“Now, you just sit where you are!” he said through barely moving lips.

Knowing what was good for me, I obeyed.

He turned to look at me. “Are you saying you won’t take this?”

I was trembling so hard I couldn't speak. I nodded.

“Are you saying that there’s nothing I can do to make you change your mind?”

I nodded again.

“O.K.” he said. In a sift motion he flicked open the lighter and put the flame in front of my eyes.

He grabbed my hand with his left hand and held the lighter with his right.

“You’ve got two choices - the blunt or the light. I am going to count to three. If you don’t pick up the blunt, you are going to feel this flame, do you understand that?”

“One… two…”

Before he said “three” I reached out for the blunt. However, it was too late - he put the flame on my elbow and watched it fade into my skin. I screamed.

“But I took it!” I managed to utter through sharp breaths. It wouldn't have hurt so much if he'd kept his half of the bargain. What didn't he just do as he promised?

He smiled with no trace of amusement, “that’ll teach you not to waste my time like that. Now keep your voice down!”

I was in tears as I held the blunt. I tried, I really did but I just couldn’t put it between my lips.

“Now, smoke it you fool!” he shouted.

When I didn’t, he slapped me. Then he slapped me even harder on my right cheek.

“Now smoke it!” he yelled, right before he slapped me once more.

And for what felt like hours, he played this little game where he alternated between hitting and screaming at me.

Then I felt warm liquid trickle down my face. I didn’t fight back because I thought he’d stop - just like the other times. But he kept hitting me… then, I felt a tooth dislodge and I knew that I had to do something. Blood was in my eyes, making it difficult for me to see, but I remembered that the heavy paperweight Mom had received last Christmas was sitting idly on the coffee table. Somehow, I reached for it. I thought he’d notice but in his rage, all he could see were the blows he was dealing me.

The minute I got a strong hold of it, I hit it on the side of his face. That caught him by surprise. I found an opportunity and there was no way I was letting it go. I cursed at him and I hit him. I kept hitting and hitting him. He fell to the floor. I went after him and kept hitting him. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. All the anger I’d suppressed for countless years had been set free.

Suddenly, I felt my mother's strong hands around me, grabbing me, holding me, pulling me away from him. I didn’t want to stop. I kept cursing at him. The arms pulled me to my feet. I looked around. I staggered… I felt faint. I was disoriented. I looked around me again. I didn’t know where I was. I blinked a couple of times to get my eyes into focus.

A strange woman ran to him on the floor. She was crying. She was caressing his face and crying. She looked at me with pain and hatred. She hated me? I didn’t even know who she was. Why would she hate me? I looked for my mother, but she was nowhere to be found. What was going on?

The lady started screaming at me. She was speaking to me. I couldn’t make out the words. But she kept repeating them… I tried to listen. I finally understood her.

“His name is Tony not Mike. His name is Tony not Mike,” she said over and over, not even breaking to catch her breath.

I looked at his bloodied face -it had swollen a lot, but even accounting for that, he didn’t look familiar. Who was he? I was getting confused. I looked at my blood soaked hands - they were long and hairy. It dawned on me - I wasn’t 9 years old and I wasn’t at my mother’s flat. I looked at my surroundings again. Everyone was staring at me. There were stools, tables with drinks, a bartender… I looked at the owners of the arms subduing me. They looked angry behind their caps. They looked nothing alike but were dressed in identical blue shirts and black pants.

While I stared at them, the tall thin one looked back at me and said, “You have the right to remain silent….”