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He heard his mother cry out.
He heard his doctor hurriedly promise to “help” him some more.
The boy couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about...until he looked down and realized that he had peed himself.
****
WHEN THE BOY’S MOTHERsaw the look in her husband’s eyes, she knew she had to act fast. Federico would never allow his name to be tainted in any way, and she was certain he was cold-blooded enough to murder his own son to prevent word from getting out about his sexual deviation.
And so the first chance she got, she called her mother-in-law and confessed the entire truth. “Please take him away,” she said hoarsely. “This is the only thing...the best thing I can do for him.”
Her words didn’t fall on deaf ears. Before the day was over, the Ravelli family’s powerful matriarch swept in and took her grandson away. And when they were alone, Marcia had asked the boy in a pained, broken voice, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
And because she didn’t quite know what to do in such a situation, Marcia simply acceded to her grandson’s wish. If she were to be honest, she was relieved that it was so. What could one say when it was her own son who had abused her grandson?
Years passed. The boy became a man, and memories of that night gradually blurred until they had been reduced into a distant fragment. By the time Marcus Ravelli was sixteen years old, he had already convinced himself he had made it all up – a childish attempt to get his parents to take notice of him.
But nothing happened.
Nothing.
Nothing.
And yet, there were instances when the sixteen-year-old Marcus would feel a vile sense of darkness swelling inside of him.
When he lost his virginity—-
When he discovered the pleasure of holding a whip in his hands—-
When he realized he was attracted to a certain type of woman, one who thrived on pain—-
It was like a stain on his soul, but try as he might, Marcus couldn’t understand where it was coming from. He only knew that more and more of its essence was leaking into his blood, changing and tearing him into so many pieces that there were times he could no longer recognize himself.
He was a stranger to his own body, an unnamed monster under his own skin.
And he didn’t understand why it was so.
Every time he attempted to figure out why he felt so different, his head would hurt so damn hard it was like his skull was about to split open, and all he could remember was his father—-
Don’t you see you’re exactly like me?
It terrified him so that he would push the memory away, telling himself that he had only made it up.
Because nothing happened.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Time continued to march on. When Marcia asked her grandson if he was bothered about his parents’ continued lack of interest in his life, Marcus had only said, “No.”
And then they had looked at each other, both of them realizing that Marcus had spoken the truth – even when it wasn’t the answer he should have said. He was sent back to the therapy after that, and it was like walking back into a nightmare.
What do you think about your mother being in a relationship with different men since her divorce from your father?
Do you care about who your mother dates?
