His mother came back home at four in the morning.

She had left at six at night.

Blinking, the eight-year-old lifted up his head from the worn couch he had been sleeping on and he looked at his mother.

She was haggard looking; her hair and clothes still mussed up from the thirty men she had slept with before finally coming home. A crumpled up cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth, dangerously close to falling out and burning another hole in the threadbare carpet.

"Mama? Where were you?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he got up and walked over to her, hugging her legs absentmindedly.

"I missed you, mama." He said, looking up at her and smiling.

He was caught off guard when she suddenly shoved him back, glaring down at him with her hands on her hips.

"You stupid son of a bitch! You think you're better than me?!" she raged.

"Mama what..?"

"I saw that look on your face! I'm your mother! You don't get to look at me like that! Understand?!"


Her hand swung out without warning, striking him across the cheek. The blow knocked him to the ground, causing his head to bang against the wall harshly.

Whimpering softly, he looked up at her with tear filled eyes, feeling a wet warmth flow down the side of his head where it had hit the wall.

"I was better off before I met your father!" 1956's Miss Sweden raged, standing over her son now as he covered his head with his arms fearfully. She reached over and took down a belt that she had hung up on the wall for use whenever her damned mistake made her feel guilty for being nothing but a slut rather than a mother.


"I'm not your mother! I found you in a dumpster and I should have left you there!" she shrieked, bringing the belt down on his back; the buckle cutting his skin and making him bleed.

Skwisgaar woke with a jerk, a soft gasp escaping him as his body tensed up.

Why had she beaten him for hugging her anyway?

Staring up at the white ceiling of his room, Skwisgaar tried to find an answer, but as was the usual case with child abuse, there wasn't one that made sense.

Toki's soft groan roused him from his thoughts and Skwisgaar blinked as he looked down.

Mumbling something nonsensical in Norwegian, the lanky young man turned and wrapped his arms around his Swedish lover's middle, cuddling up close as he rested his head over his heart.

Chuckling softly, Skwisgaar ran his fingers through his auburn hair tenderly.

It was impossible to stay upset about anything with Toki around.

Pressing his lips to the top of his head, Skwisgaar sighed and then rested his head back on his pillow, falling back asleep to much better dreams.