Yet another new fic from me. I can't believe that I'm starting another one when I have like 3 others that I'm nowhere near close to finishing. Though, this idea would absolutely not leave me alone under any circumstance! Thus, this fic was born. I have a lot of free time on my hands, especially since summer is almost here and school will be closed for me in about another 29 days. So regardless of the fact that I have 3 or so other fics that need to be completed, the updates on this fic should be quite frequent.
Oh, and by the way, the title of this fic is bound to change. To what? I have no clue. So if you have any suggestions, then hit me up! Also, this chapter is ridiculously short. I know. This is simply a prologue. The next chapters will be much longer, I assure you.
Well, before you start reading I suppose I should throw out a few warnings first.
Warning/s: Uchihacest/shota, yaoi, child abuse
Have fun! ...and REVIEW.
"Why can't you be more like Itachi, huh?"
The little raven-haired boy tried to stand his ground against the angry, drunk man before him who he had always known to be as his father, but failed when a harsh blow came down on his back which forced him to the ground. He hit the floor with a sickening 'thud!' as his mind processed what this meant.
In time and through experience, he eventually began to realize that his father had the greatest advantage when he was forced down. The continuous kicks to the stomach always knocked the very breath out of him and left him heaving for hours on end, and that was the worst out of anything that his father had ever did to him. It also gave him a sense of pride and just proved that he had power over Sasuke, all of which Sasuke knew, though he couldn't do a thing about it. No one else had a clue.
Sasuke could already practically feel the foot to his gut before it even made contact, so he began to prepare himself for the hit as he saw his father's foot begin to rear back, and then—
"I'm home!" The sound of his mother's voice in the distance startled both of them before they even knew what it was. He couldn't say that he wasn't glad at the moment to hear his mother's voice, because he was, though he truly didn't believe that he had a reason to. What would be the point? The beating would simply be postponed until another time, and after that one would eventually come another one, and then another... He hadn't anything to look up to in his life, so being glad wouldn't have any meaning.
"Get up!" his father shouted, though not too loud, lest his wife hear. He roughly grabbed Sasuke's wrist and jerked him up, forcing him towards the shouji door. When he saw that Sasuke was headed towards the direction of his room, he quickly went to the kitchen to where his wife, Mikoto, resided. He was still a bit buzzed from the previous alcohol that he had consumed, though he figured that she'd look past that.
Back with Sasuke
Tears threatened to spill from the child's obsidian eyes as he ran the best he could to his room, wounds aching with each step he took. At times like these, he wished Itachi was home and not on some stupid ANBU mission. He was the only one who didn't act completely indifferent towards him, and treated him like he actually mattered. Although his brother hadn't a clue about the beatings, he still sensed something wrong. If Itachi couldn't exactly pin-point the problem, then his father certainly did a well job at concealing his motives.
Once he approached his room, he slammed the door, not caring if his mother had heard or not. His body was aching in several places as he laid himself down on his small twin-sized bed, not bothering to turn on the lights. His back throbbed with each beat of his erratic heart, pulsing the blood through his veins making his wounds ache more.
He promised himself over and over that he wouldn't cry, wouldn't give his father what he wanted. His father wanted him to cry angry, helpless tears after each beating. He wanted him to feel worthless and inferior to everything and everyone, and he wanted him to think he wouldn't get anywhere in life, that he would never be as good as his older brother.
But the main reason he told himself not to cry was because it only served to make himself look more pathetic in the end.
Though, as he laid there thinking about the events that allowed him to feel this type of misery, he let the first salty drop fall from a tightly closed eye.
After that one came, they all came.
He clenched his fists into the now tear-stained bed sheets as he allowed himself to cry, surprising even himself with the ferocity of his own sobs. He didn't stop until all of his pent up emotions over time were rode out of him by the tears.
Because tonight, he had finally broke.