Chapter Text
Mordecai barely gazed up from his book as he sat on the couch, the sight of his mom bringing another man home caused a huffed sigh from the young boy. He grabbed his bookmark and placed it gently between the pages of his book, closing the hardcover as he slipped down the couch's cushion. Mordecai made sure his steps on the hardwood were quiet as he snuck past his mom and stranger in the kitchen.
Mordecai’s ears were pinned back, the noises from the kitchen making him uncomfortable. He made his way to his sisters’ room and lightly knocked the signal the three of them had come up with whenever their mother had company over. The young boy gave a small sigh from how long it was taking for the door to be opened, but once it had been, there was an excited grinning Rose standing before him. Mordecai held a finger against his lips, telling the young girl to be hushed.
Rose pulled her brother inside and started bouncing around him, stepping on his tail a few times.
“Would you calm down? It’s quite immature to bounce like that.”
Rose stared up at him with wide eyes before sticking her tongue out and giggling, ripping the book from her brother’s hands. She waddled and danced around the room with Mordecai’s book, humming a random tune that had no rhythm at all.
Mordecai sighed with a roll of his eyes and grabbed a blanket, throwing it over his head as he plopped onto the floor. He held his hands together, finding himself nervously picking at the skin around his fingernails.
“Cher!” His mother's voice chimed into every small anxiety he had.
Mordecai forced himself to his feet, ripping the blanket from his head. He wrapped it around Rose’s small body and placed her in a corner next to her bed.
“Stay here - if you hear anything, don’t come out. Climb down the fire escape and get to the closest phone booth, you hear?”
Rose looked up at her brother with clueless eyes, giving him a hesitant nod.
Mordecai straightened himself out and walked to the living room where his mother and company were. He pushed his glasses onto his face, his heart pounding.
“Cher, there you are … do Mommy a favor and get us a glass of wine, would you?”
“We ran out last night … remember? … you wanted me to,”
“Enough! I’m tired of you constantly talking back to me, Marolin. Just go find something so I can entertain our guest.”
Mordecai felt a cold sweat wash over him from how spiteful his mother sounded. He wasn’t her son, he was her daughter. And she would never see him as anything else. No matter how much Mordecai insisted on being the male figure in this family, or how much he offered to help. It would never be enough for his mother.
“Yes ma’am,” His voice was small and quiet, it was unusual for him to be heard like that.
It took him a moment, but once he’d rummaged through the pantry he found a bottle with very few drops of alcohol left in it. He walked back to his mother and handed it to her, trying his best not to make much contact with the male sitting next to her. Mordecai stifled a cough from the man’s cigarette.
“Don’t like smoke, d’ya kid?” The man asked.
Mordecai looked up. “Not particularly, I don’t think it’s healthy for you either. But telling from your physic already, I don’t think you’d have much of a problem with that.”
The man grabbed Mordecai’s arm with strong force, a look of offense and anger plastered on his face.
“You fuckin’ brat!” The man spat.
Mordecai barely had time to process a comeback before there was a burning sensation against his wrist. The man had placed the butt of his cigarette on Mordecai’s skin, causing a high and painful shriek from the young boy. Tears started to fill his eyes the longer the pain lasted. He tried pulling and clawing at the man’s arm but nothing seemed to work. Mordecai was helpless and his mother was doing nothing but watching. She didn’t care. If anything she seemed pleased to be watching her child getting hurt.
Mordecai scratched the man’s arms with such force he started bleeding. He let go of the young boy who rushed off, running into a wall at the end of the hallway with how much he’d he panicking,
Mordecai pushed himself into his room, quickly closing the door. He pushed his bookcase in front of the door before remembering Rose. More panic rose inside of him, his chest started to feel tight, and his throat felt dry. He couldn’t breathe.
The pain in his wrist started worsening. When he finally gathered the courage to look down to see how bad the damage was, he almost cried more; there was a deep indent in his skin that dragged down his forearm. The outer layer of the skin was red and agitated, dusted with blood.
Mordecai pushed himself against the wall, holding his arm closely to his chest as he silently started to cry.
He didn’t want to believe his mother would simply let her baby get hurt. He wanted to convince himself he was dreaming. But he knew this pain was all too real.