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“C’mere kid.” The man motioned for the boy to approach his overstuffed recliner chair. “I got something for ya.”

The woman on the couch giggled and looked sideways at her boyfriend, then across the room to where her nine-year-old son appeared in the doorway.

The boy hesitated, looking uneasy for just a brief moment before he recovered his guarded expression. He glanced back over his shoulder as if looking for someone who could help him.

“I said, c’mere!” The man’s voice had a sharp edge to it this time. “Dumbass...” he muttered.

The boy’s gaze lowered to the floor as he shuffled into the room. His brother had, once again, left him to fend for himself as their mother and her boyfriend rapidly grew more and more intoxicated in the living room. “Just stay in your room and you’ll be fine,” his brother had assured him when he’d asked--pleaded--to go out, too. But his brother ‘didn’t want a brat tagging along’. So he’d been left behind. As always.

He stayed alone in his room for several hours. But he got bored. And hungry. But he should have just stayed in his room. It would have been safer.

He stopped a few feet away from the man, reluctant to step within the man’s reach. Even from his distance, he could smell the whiskey on the man’s breath. And on his clothes. Hell, it smelled as if the man had bathed in it.

“God damn it, c’mere! What are you? Retarded or just stupid?”

The woman giggled again. “G’on, Babyboy, get yerass over th’re,” she slurred. “It’s Chrissmass f’r gossakes...he jus’ wan’s to give ya som’fin.”

The man gave a hearty laugh as the boy stepped closer. He reached out and grabbed the boy’s wrist, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together. The boy barely managed to stifle a cry of pain and tried to pull away, but the man simply tightened his grip and yanked the boy closer. The boy’s heart raced but he forced himself to keep his gaze steady as he looked at the man, who just stared at him, making him that much more uneasy. The man’s gaze flicked distastefully down his body, then back up to his face. From experience, he knew that if he showed any of the emotion he was feeling--humiliation, anger…fear-- it would only make things worse. He had to maintain calm.

“God, but you’re a pathetic little fucker, aren’t you?”

Forgetting for just a moment to keep his expression guarded, his face flushed with shame. He glanced over at his mother, hoping she would maybe stand up for him, but she only sputtered out a laugh at his expense. He really was pathetic. Pathetic enough that even his own mother couldn’t defend him.

He just wanted to get this over with. The sooner the man gave him whatever it was he wanted to give him, the sooner he could retreat back to his room. He should have just stayed there. His brother had told him to stay there, but he just couldn’t listen, could he? He was so stupid sometimes.

He looked back at the man, and tried to maintain his deceptive calm. “You said you had something for me?” he asked quietly, keeping his voice steady and his gaze level.

Again the man laughed, looking at him as though he were the stupidest kid on the planet. Perhaps he actually was. Sometimes he wondered. He always seemed to land himself in trouble. The man yanked his arm hard, pulling him close so that they were practically eye-to-eye. It took all his willpower not to look away and not to let any fear show in his eyes. Or to let the disgust show as he was nearly overwhelmed by the stench of whiskey and cigarettes.

“You got to sit on Santa’s lap to get your Christmas present,” the man informed him silkily as the man’s free hand reached out and traced down his jaw with a deceptively gentle touch.

For a moment, the boy froze, but the sound of his mother’s snigger ignited a fury in him. With lightning fast reflexes his free arm lashed out, striking the man across the face. He pulled his arm free with a surge of strength that none of them had known he had. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room. For a moment, there was only stunned silence as the three simply stared at each other in shock.

Unfortunately the man’s astonishment quickly dissolved into rage. The boy was small enough that his strike had really only made noise. Hell, he’d barely even felt it. But it was the principle of the matter. The little shit had hit him. He burst from the chair, grabbing the boy’s arms and lifting him from the ground.

A moment later, the boy found himself pinned against the living room wall as the man screamed in his face. “Stupid little shit! It’s fucking Christmas you little faggot!” The boy struggled, unsuccessfully trying to raise his arms to ward off the blows. “Make your mother cry on Christmas?”

The boy stopped struggling and let the blows come. His mother was crying. The boy felt overwhelming shame about that fact. He wasn’t even aware of the blows that were connecting with his face, stomach and chest. He was only aware of his mother’s loud sobbing.

He was only dimly aware of when the blows stopped and the man let him crumple to the ground.

“You just had to go and ruin Christmas for your mother...” the man spat down at him in disgust. “I’m outta here.” The man grabbed his bottle of whiskey, but stopped on his way out. “You’re pathetic. No wonder not even your momma loves you.” A moment later a hard soled boot slammed into his ribs. He was fairly sure that he felt something break inside him, but he felt no pain. Except in his heart as he watched the tears drip down his mother’s cheeks one by one.

And then the man was gone.

For a few moments he lay still, almost afraid to move. If he stayed still, he’d be okay.

His mother knelt beside him, tears staining her face. He forced a smile to let her know that he was okay. He always was. He hated it when she cried. “Why did you have to go and make him mad?” she asked him miserably.

He laid his head against her shoulder, touched that she was so upset that he was hurt. She really did love him...in her own weird way.

“Now he’s gone and it’s all your fault.” She ran a hand through his hair in a mockery of affection.

“Sorry,” he murmured, feeling stupid. Of course that’s why she was upset. So it was true.

He was unlovable.