In a neighbourhood like Waken, people didn't talk. There were no gossiping housewives; people kept to themselves while eyeing everyone shiftily.
Maybe that was why no-one noticed the decline of the Rune household.
The neighbours had ignored the ambulance that came to take the mother away, lifeless with glassy eyes.
They appeared oblivious to the growing collection of liquor bottles that littered the front yard over the years.
They took no notice of how the small boy, once so friendly, slowly withdrew into himself as bruises and cuts decorated his skin.
The indifference of a human being can be the most destructive thing to another person.
Apathy is a disease that has long plagued humanity since the 20th century and as time has gone on it has only gotten worse.
Now in the year of 2112, the world was not clean and electronically controlled, like the movies of old had proclaimed. Instead, the streets were littered with antique junk from earlier decades and the world had plunged into a technological dark age.
Of course, none of this mattered to the small boy in the Rune house as he curled up in his bed and listened to the drunken commotion downstairs. Lex was 12 years old, and his greatest want in the world was to read. His mother had told him when he was younger and he was nestled in her lap, pudgy fingers grasping at the worn pages
'Reading is the world’s greatest escape. There are worlds in between the pages that you can’t even imagine, Lexie.'
He wanted to escape so badly on nights like these. When his fathers voice became rough and slurred from the whiskey and he seemed to turn into someone else. A monster of a man with heavy footsteps and a quick temper. Lex’s fingers curled into the worn cotton of the blanket and pulled it tighter around him as there was a loud crash of breaking glass downstairs.
He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply, hoping if he pretended to sleep for long enough that eventually it would claim him.
When Lex made his way downstairs the next morning, his father was lying slouched against the wall; an empty bottle that stank of whiskey was clasped loosely in the man’s hand. Lex crouched in front of him and gently shook his shoulder.
Darryl’s vacant eyes surveyed the wreckage of glass shards and liqor stains around him. A chair had been smashed against the wall, his hand throbbed and his knuckles were scraped raw. Blinking away the haze, he could see his son’s socked feet in front of him. Darryl raised his gaze to meet Lex’s; his heart clenched tightly as he saw nothing but open forgiveness in his boy's eyes. He tried to speak but his voice caught in his throat and instead he gave a choked sob, eyes becoming blurry with tears. He could feel a small hand stroke his hair softly and he was about to sob again when his stomach gave a sickening heave and vomit surged up his throat, burning his nose and making him retch as he emptied his stomach into his lap.
He coughed, spitting at the sour taste that had flooded his mouth. He couldn't see through the tears but he could feel Lex pat his shoulder and tell him
Darryl could feel something inside him break at those words; he curled in on himself while Lex went to get a mop from the kitchen to clean up after him. He felt himself dry heave. The only thing that made him sicker than whiskey was himself.
‘Fuck, puppy, I’m so sorry.’ he finally choked, his throat raw. He had a feeling Lex didn’t hear him. It wouldn’t matter if he did, Darryl had apologized and promised before. It didn’t change anything.
It was the smell that Lex hated the most. Thick, acrid and sour, it soaked into his skin as he scrubbed at the tacky vomit stains on the balding carpet. His hands were red and cracked from the bleach, the scent burning his nose. His knees ached bone-deep from where they were pressed against the floor.
He could hear the radio blaring over the running water of the shower. His father was probably curled up in the corner, sobbing into his knees. It made Lex’s stomach twist and he wondered if he’d end up spilling his breakfast all over the floor as well.
It wasn’t like this all days. Sometimes Dad would have breakfast ready for him when he came down. He’d ruffle his hair and ask how school was, walk with him and kiss him goodbye. Lex liked those days.
He glanced at the clock, he was going to be late for school. Lex nibbled at his lip, considering if the carpet was clean enough that it wouldn’t stink by the time he got home. His father would stay in the shower for most of the day. He tended to do that sometimes.
Lex hurried around the room, washing his hands as best as he can before he grabbed his bag. The sound of knuckles on the bathroom door seemed impossibly quiet over the radio but somehow his father still heard him, turning off the music.
‘I’m going to school now.’
Lex tried to ignore the way his father’s voice sounds hoarse and feeble, wavering on the words. Instead he steeled his nerves and headed for the door, leaving the chaos of the morning behind him.
School was no better, even on good days. Lex wasn't smart, he couldn't understand big words like Tracey Brodie, or do multiplication without using his fingers like Mark Sylak.
Lex couldn't even read; he sat at the back of the class and desperately tried to make sense of it all before his teacher would come over to help him. He hated the way his cheeks would burn with embarassment and his skin felt too tight for his body.
The other kids laughed at him because he had to say the words aloud softly to himself and his eyes burned with tears but he never let them see him cry. Sometimes they would make fun of him for being stupid, other times it was the bruises he had.
On bad days, they would talk about his father. He hated that the most. Lex hit one of them, once. Then his dad was called and it didn’t make anything better. Lex didn't hit back again.
That was Lex’s life for the most part. Some days when he came home his dad’s friend Anya would be there. Sometimes she’d stay the night, other times she’d let Lex sleep at her house. She was Dad’s sponsor from the Meetings. He didn’t know what the Meetings were exactly, but Dad said that they were going to help him go back to the way he was in the good days. It all sounded nice, and Dad was always in a better mood after coming home, so Lex didn’t give it much more thought.
Anya sometimes asked about the bruises and where they came from. He could never meet her gaze, instead staring at his feet and fiddling with the hem of his shirt; the fabric worn and soft to the touch.
‘Does your Dad hit you?’ she asked one day.
‘It’s not Dad at the time.’
This is the only answer he could give. It’s true, it isn’t his father. The man who hit him stomped around the house, and yelled. He said he didn't remember moving to that house,didn't remember Lex’s mother. He claimed he was years younger than Lex's father, and that his name was Darryl not Dad now shut up you little snot. He scared Lex, jumping from place to place and moving around jerkily, like a machine that needed oiling. When he smiled it split his face and his eyes burned wild.
That man was not his father.
Lex’s father would never have hurt him.
Darryl wasn't the only one that hurt him though. Lex seemed to have a gift for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he paid for it on more than one occassion.
This particular occassion was in May and he was walking home from school. He'd decided to take a different route, a back alley, to try and avoid the kids from class. It didn't always work but today his classmates had left him alone.
It was after a few minutes walking he began to understand why.
The alley was long and winding, and lead to the downtown area. The suburbia home that Lex lived in was far from luxury with it's bottle littered garden and rubbish lining the gutters. But it was better than this:
Children hunched over trash cans where fires burnt to keep warm. Some of the older teenagers walked the corners and climbed into strangers cars, coming back with bruises on their arms and cash clutched in their hands.
Downtown was where everyone was hungry and cold and desperate. It stank of despair. Kids would fight each other to the death over a slice of bread here.
His eyes caught on a figure standing seperate to the rest. A boy around his age who seemed to be doing as Lex was, surveying the chaos that was the downtown ruins.
His gaze locked on to Lex, burning blue eyes and Lex could feel his skin crawl. He felt like he was being hunted. He could feel a shiver travel down his spine as his hurried footsteps travelled back along the alleyway. He froze as a long fingered hand yanked back on his hair and the ice edge of a blade pressed against his throat.
The threat didn't need to be said, Lex fumbled in his pockets with shaking hands and handed him the wallet. The kid was probably around his age, and his voice was thick with a Russian accent, but Lex knew better than to think they were the same. The boy behind him was an adult trapped in a child's body, eyes aged beyond his years and body language screaming hostility and condescension. He stared wide eyed at him and wondered what kind of life you'd have to live to earn so many scars at 11 years old. He smelled of smoke and sweat and cigarettes, and in a moment his gaze became blue fury at Lex's staring.
Lex crumpled in a heap as a fist connected with the side of his face. His face throbbed and his eye ached as he lay there and the boy just grabbed the fallen wallet and walked away, not even looking back.
Lex felt too numb to cry.
It was worse when he got home. His father's worry stricken face hurt the most, large heavy hands gently checking his face to see how bad it was and pressing a cool ice pack to the worst of it. His eye had become swollen and bruised on the long walk home. Lex had cried about giving away the money, he knew that they needed it, but Dad had just gathered him up in his arms and hushed away his tears, telling him was just glad he was safe now; Lex cried even harder at that, curling his fingers tight into the fabric of his dad's shirt and sobbing until every breath brought him pain.
Later on, when Lex was in bed, he could hear Dad talking to Anya downstairs.
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Darryl, did you never wonder where those bruises came from?'
'The kids at school give him a bit of a rough time-'
Lex pulled his pillow over his head, unable to listen to anymore. He loved his dad and he knew his dad loved him. But he hated Darryl, he wanted him to go away. He wanted Anya to tell his dad about all the things that happened because he never had the words; he just wished he didn't have to break his fathers heart in order to make Darryl go away.
His pillow is stained with tears by the time he falls asleep, exhausted and aching.
When he wakes up the next morning, his father is gone.