Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ A Word He'll Never Know ❯ Crumbled Bridge ( Chapter 3 )

I do not own Pokèmon but I do own character designs

Chapter Three: Crumbled Bridge

The rest of the night was a blur. The boy laid in a heap on the floor, in the middle of his arguing parents. Tears slide down his face, but he made no sound. His head ached, his body felt numb. The rage in his father's voice made his fur stand on its ends, but his mother's voice over powered the father's. The boy wasn't sure why they were arguing, or how he was involved. All he could hear was his own heart throbbing, his wounds aching, and a faint echo of his parents' voices seeped into his ears.

As they continued to scream, the boy attempted to get up, only to be disapproved by a chair leg swung down on his back by his father. It smashed him straight in to the ground. Della screamed even louder at the male, and he returned with even louder and heavier words. Seconds went by. Then minutes, then around an hour later, they finally ceased to scream. The father flung out of the apartment room and the mother shoved horrid smelling alcohol down her throat. As she drank, the boy looked up to her, and whimpered sympathetically. She sneered in response. He took the rejection and forced himself up slowly. Nothing was broken, but he had bruising even heavier then normal, and a small concussion. He debated with himself wither to go see his mother, or to run for the only heaven which was the closet.

He made the wrong choice, and moved to his mother.

"Mama?" His voice was a sullen whisper. She took a big swig of her drink, and had her other hand behind the counter. "Mmm?"

"Why does daddy hate you?
"Because of you."

"….why?"

Della glared coldly, her eyes like fire embers. The boy heard a drawer close, but thought nothing of it, and stared up at his mother passionately. Della laughed, mainly at some secret thought she held in her head, which seemed to be in another world. A much happier world.

The boy waited and waited. Then something odd happened. He saw a flash of silver, and felt something cold yet warm under his left eye. He dabbed at the substance, and glimpsed at his mother. She had a knife in her hand, smudged with blood. He looked at his light ash fur fingers; they were draped in a deep crimson blood blanket.

"You…You…You bitch." He gasped.

She was semi shock by her son's language and froze for mere seconds. But she quickly recollected herself, and leapt for her son. The boy yelped and ran off, Della in pursuit.

Things clattered against the floor, blood flew off him and his mother. Chairs were shoved out of place or smashed to firewood. For 13 minutes they played fox and chicken around the apartment. Della finally gave up and slowed to a stop, panting.

"Damn brat." While trying to collect her breath, her hand mindlessly swept the floor, looking for the knife she seemed to have dropped.

But something was wrong. The knife was missing.