Possessive (Completed)

Reflection

Asher closed and opened his red fist. His ring had a new red liquid dripping from it, and a strange boy laid on the floor at his feet clutching his cheek. Asher couldn't remember the last five minutes, even if he wanted to, but as far as he could tell he'd punched the boy in front of him.

"Get up." He commanded, and the boy let out a slight whimper. His blood dribbled down his cheek pooling by his nose. "I said get up." Asher whispered, and the boy gathered himself, and scurried from the restroom. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Asher to forget stretches of time, especially stretches of violence, but he figured it wasn't uncommon in his position. Asher turned his attention to the mirror. After an outburst Asher didn't recognize his reflection. He ran a hand through his blonde hair to make sure it was attached to his body. In his head he would see a ten year old when he looked in the mirror, but in truth he saw a muscular teen-aged boy. He flexed his aching arm. The punch had hurt his arm more than expected, and Asher figured he'd need to spend more time practicing boxing. After a deep breath he was able to plaster a smile on his face and walk out the door. The police hadn't been called, not that it would have mattered, and so he decided he would pretend nothing had ever happened. Asher slid into the booth with a grin on his face.

"What happened?" Kit asked. His eyes were wide with fear as he stared at his brother.

"Oh. Nothing." Asher smiled. Shea and Kit shared a knowing look, but didn't press him further. Simon hadn't looked up from his uneaten food since he'd gotten back. "Are you alright, Simon?"

"I'm fine. Are you?" Simon looked up for a moment and his eyes locked with Asher's.

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" Asher chuckled, but Simon wordlessly grabbed his hand from his lap and placed it on the table, revealing already bruising knuckles. Asher stared at his hand as if it were a foreign object. "I uh.." He cleared his throat, "I fell." Kit raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and Shea just looked away in disgust. The rest of the night was awkward despite any attempts of Kit to loosen the tension. After a meal they all packed into the car once again and Asher drove past Shea's house to get to Simon's first. When they were there he got out of the car to walk Simon to the door.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"See what?" Simon asked after a moment. His somber face was lit up yellow by the porch light. "I didn't see anything."

"Oh.. uh.. I forgot." Asher rubbed his hands together, "You stress me out, you know that?"

"You stress me out."

"heh." He chuckled. "I.." Asher began then stopped mid sentence, "We can't.. you shouldn't see me again."

"Why?"

"I'm.. I'm uh.." Asher's eyes shifted as he searched for the words, "I'm no good."

"I disagree." Simon stated plainly, "and I'll choose to see whoever I wish to." With that Simon turned around and bolted back into the house.

....

Asher flopped onto his bed. It had been a long anxious day, but he was happy with most of the outcomes. Asher knew what people said about him behind his back; they said he was dangerous, and he agreed with them. Asher was out of control, even by the admittance of his highest praise-givers. Though almost nobody praised him, because nobody gave him a chance. Asher was difficult, but it wasn't his fault. It was entirely no his fault. Asher shut his eyes to the dream he had every night.

....

A seven year old Asher ran through the house trying to hide. It was dark and the clock read that it was past midnight. As far as Asher ran, however, he couldn't hide from the noise. He couldn't shut his ears, or choose not to hear, and when he tried to muffle the sound it only penetrated from the inside of his head out. It was as if the noise was coming from his own head, and he wished it was. The noise was a man yelling, but that wasn't what Asher feared. No; Asher feared what came after the yelling, the noise of a woman screaming. The voices got closer, and Asher knew he ought to have been in bed, but he wasn't. His parents were just a room away, and the screaming had turned into a horrific wailing. A wailing that filled his entire body. Finally Asher could take no more. He sprung from his hiding place behind the couch and grabbed the landline from it's home. Then he dialed the police. Each ring dug deeper into his soul as he tried to only listen to the other end of the line.

"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?"

"Hi..." His tiny voice attempted to be strong, "My parents are f... fighting and..."

"Are they alright sweetie?"

"N-No." His voice broke in to a whisper.

"What's happening?"

"D-Daddy... he" Asher paused, "He hurt mommy."

"Is there blood?"

"I can't see. I can only hear her..." Asher stated slowly. He'd seen the bruises before. He'd had the bruises before.

"We're sending a dispatcher over, what's your address?" Asher's lip quivered as he disclosed his home, and invited strangers to take his father.

"What's going to happen to daddy?" Asher's tiny voice quivered on the phone, asking the question he knew, even then, that the dispatcher couldn't answer.

"Nothing Sweetie. Daddy's going to fine, and so is mommy. Just stay where you are." The lady lied. And Asher did stay where he was. He stayed there until the police came. He stayed there until the police left. He stayed there while his father beat him for calling the police. And he even stayed there as his mother screamed at him for being over dramatic. She screamed at him, but her eyes were crying, and her walk was a mere limp. She called him awful words and told him he was a terrible son, but she was hurting. More than he was, and he accepted that as her coping mechanism.