WARNING: CHILD ABUSE
That night, Rosanna cleaned and dressed the wounds on her son's body, remorse and guilt washing over her as she tried to ignore the red marks and bruises that covered his back, neck and arms.
Sevastian's eyes were swollen and red from crying for hours, his heart beating calmly now. His eyes fixed on the wall void of any emotion and expression. That night Rosanna slept holding Sevastian, but her hold brought no warmth only fear and sadness.
The beatings did not stop, it only increased. She had grown so used to beating him with a belt that she had bought seven more belts to add to her collection and every single time, Rosanna would cry with her son after she finished brutally hitting him.
Sevastian stopped playing with his friends or the neighborhood children, fearing what would happen if Rosanna were confronted by anyone who noticed the marks on his body.
Money became harder to come by as Rosanna's gambling and drinking addiction worsened. They could only afford to eat once a day, and sometimes Rosanna would make Sevastian beg for food, as the small amount she had was only enough for herself.
Today marked the third year since Gabriel left them and Rosanna was in a horrible mood, her room was dim and cold, the flickering of a single candle casting long, jagged shadows across the cracked walls.
The little money people gave her was not enough to fill the empty bellies of her and her son, Sevastian. It was an important day for the people of Lakewood and everyone would be out in the market square celebrating the happy day, it was then an idea struck her. The boy, no more than twelve sat in a corner of the room, his knees drawn to his chest, watching his mother with wide, nervous eyes.
She turned to him abruptly. "V!" she barked, her voice sharp enough to make him flinch. "Get up. You are not going to sit there all day like some useless sack of grain."
Sevastian scrambled to his feet. "Yes, mother," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Her eyes bore into him, glinting with a mixture of desperation and fury. "The festival is tonight. Everyone in the village will be at the square, stuffing themselves with food and drink. Their houses will be empty. Do you understand where I am going to?"
He knew what she meant, but dared not speak it aloud. "I do not understand, why mother?"
"I am sure you understand, do not play stupid with me boy. You will go," Rosanna continued. "Slip into the houses, take whatever you can carry. Food, coins, trinkets—anything worth something. We can sell it all at the next town, Do you hear me?"
"But mother," Sevastian stammered, "what if someone sees me? What if—"
A sharp slap cut him off. His cheek stung, and tears welled in his eyes, but he dared not cry.
"Do not dare come back empty-handed," Rosanna hissed. "Do you want us to starve? Do you want me to waste away because of your cowardice? Go, be a man and do not embarrass me like your father did?"
---
The festival was in full swing when Sevastian slipped into the shadows. Lanterns hung from every tree, casting a warm glow over the laughing, dancing villagers. The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine filled the air, making his stomach ache with hunger. He crept along the edges of the square, avoiding the light and the merry crowd.
The first house he entered was silent and dark. His hands trembled as he rummaged through drawers and cupboards, finding only a half-loaf of stale bread and a handful of coins. He stuffed them into a porch and moved to the next house, climbing into it from the window.
But, his luck ran out quickly. As he reached for a silver goblet on a shelf, a voice rang out behind him. "Who is there?"
Sevastian froze, his heart pounding in his chest. A burly man, clearly drunk but still intimidating, stumbled into the room. "A thief!" the man bellowed, grabbing Sevastian by the scruff of his neck. "Caught you red-handed, you little rat!"
---
The man pulled a pleading Sevastian out to where the villagers were gathered, their cheerful celebration turning into a spectacle of scorn. He was forced to kneel in the dirt, his sack of stolen goods dumped unceremoniously at his feet.
"Stealing from your own people," one woman spat. "Shame on you!"
"Who is your mother, boy?" another demanded in anger. "Who taught you to be a thief?"
Sevastian kept his head down, tears streaming down his face as the crowd jeered and mocked him. They lashed him with a stick—not enough to cause serious harm, but enough to make an example of him. His small frame shook with each blow, the humiliation cutting deeper than the pain.
Sevastian lifted his eyes and they locked with that of his mother who stood in the dark with a distasteful scorn on her face, she watched as her son was punished by the villagers.
Finally, they released him, warning him that worse would come if he ever stole again. Limping and defeated, Sevastian made his way back to the dark, crumbling house he called home.
Rosanna was waiting for him, her arms crossed and her expression cold. "Did you bring anything with you?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing when she saw his empty hands.
"I—I am sorry, mother," Sevastian stuttered. "They caught me. I could not—"
Her hand struck him hard causing a cut on his lips before he could finish. "Useless!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the small room. "You can not even do this one thing right? You let them catch you? Do you know what you have done? Now, everyone will know we are desperate. We will be the laughingstock of the village!"
"I am sorry," Sevastian whispered, his voice choked with sobs. "I tried—"
"Sorry does not feed us!" Rosanna shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "Sorry does not put food on the table! What am I supposed to do with a worthless son who can't even steal properly?"
She pushed him away, and he stumbled, falling to the floor hitting the side of his head beside the table. Curled up on the cold stone, Sevastian wept silently, the weight of his mother's disappointment crushing him. Rosanna turned her back on him, her face a mask of bitterness and despair.
"Get out of my sight," she muttered. "I can not stand to look at you."
Sevastian crawled to his room, clutching his knees to his chest. His body ached from the blows he had received, but the pain in his heart was far worse. He stared out the small, cracked window, the sounds of the festival still faintly audible in the distance, and wished for a life far away from this misery.