Stitch: Satan's Fury MC(2)

“But I’m just about to slay the dragon,” he whined, never looking up from his game. His little nose crinkled into a pout at the thought of having to stop.

“Don’t even start, mister. You know the rule.” He’d been playing since we got home from school, and he’d keep playing all night if I let him.

“Okay. Five more minutes,” he answered in defeat. His shaggy brown hair dangled in front of his eyes, making me wonder how he could even see to play his game.

“Dude. I think it’s time for a haircut.”

He quickly ran his fingers through his bangs, brushing them to the side and said, “No way! This is how it’s supposed to look.” He gave me a quick glare, his dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration before he looked back down at his game. Seeing him sitting there, I couldn’t help but smile. He looked like your average eight-year-old boy with his wrinkled t-shirt and jeans, but to me, he was anything but average. I could see that Wyatt was an exceptional child, always marveling at all the wonders of the world. Every day he’d share something new he had learned, eagerly telling me every single detail of what he’d discovered. I loved hearing the excitement in his voice when he spoke, flicking his wrists at his sides as he focused on what he was saying. I had no problem admitting that my entire world was wrapped up in that little boy and there was nothing better than seeing him happy.

“How about fish sticks for dinner?” I offered.

“Nah. I want chicken nuggets.”

“Wyatt, you had those last night. You’re going to turn into a chicken nugget one of these days,” I laughed.

“That’s physically impossible, mom. Chickens are birds. People can’t turn into birds,” he fussed, shaking his head.

My child, always so literal. I smiled and said, “I know, buddy. I was just teasing. Are you set on chicken nuggets?”

“Yeah. I won’t get them tomorrow night. Dad never has them at his house,” he grumbled as he turned off his game. His brown hair fell into his face, hiding his look of disappointment. I cringed at the thought of him going to his dad’s. He’d been going to his dad’s every other Thursday for months, but it was still hard for him to transition from one house to the other. It also didn’t help that I was terrified every time he had to go stay with his dad. I tried my best to hide my concerns from him, but I could tell that he sensed something was wrong.

I started dating his father, Michael, when we were still in high school, and I absolutely adored him. I loved that he was so strong and protective, not to mention devastatingly handsome. He came from a good home and was extremely close to his parents which I loved…at the time. I felt safe wrapped up in his arms, thinking that our love for each other would be enough to see us through anything. Back then, I really thought we’d spend the rest of our lives together. Unfortunately, the thing that I loved the most about him ended up being the very thing that scared me the most about him. Over time he became controlling and jealous to the point that I felt suffocated by him. I was nearly paralyzed by my inability to make a move without his approval. If I didn’t do things the way he expected me to, he’d get angry, so very angry. His temper was a force to be reckoned with. When he snapped, I didn’t know how to protect myself from his wrath. I’d tried everything from talking him down with reason to silently enduring it. Nothing worked. I’d known about the fights he’d had at bars and various other places when his temper got out of hand, but I never thought that he’d be like that with me. The first time I saw the flash of rage that crossed his face was directed at me, I was stunned. I wasn’t expecting him to be thrilled that I had gotten pregnant so early in our marriage, but his intense anger caught me completely off guard. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me when he reared back his closed fist and slammed it into the side of my head. It was like he wasn’t even the same person. That beating was so bad the doctor was surprised that I didn’t miscarry.

Michael cried for days afterwards, pleading with me to forgive him. He promised—he swore to me—that it would never happen again. Michael said he would do whatever it took to make our baby happy. I hadn’t even finished college yet. If I left him, I would end up moving in with my parents and raising my child without a father. Truthfully, I loved my husband, and I wanted – no, I needed – to believe him. I had to trust him when he said he would take care of us and give us the life he’d promised. Even though I was only a few months pregnant, my child had already become the most important thing in the world to me. It’s one of the reasons I named my son Wyatt, my little warrior. At the time, I had no idea how much the meaning of that name truly suited him.

In reflection, I should’ve left Michael that night and never looked back. I honestly thought the incident would be a one time thing. I told myself that the shock and stress from the news of my unexpected pregnancy had just completely overwhelmed him and caused him to totally flip out. Unfortunately, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The attacks were sporadic but effective. I never knew what was going to set him off, and over time, I became a different person. I hated that I didn’t stand up for myself more, demand that he treat me better, but the fear was just so all consuming. I eventually learned to do whatever I could to make him happy, always trying my best to keep the peace. I was finally learning to deal with Michael and his temper, but when we found out about Wyatt, things got worse.

As Wyatt got a little older, I became worried that he wasn’t talking like most of the children his age. When I finally took him to be tested, they informed us that he had Asperger’s Syndrome, a form of autism that causes some children to have trouble with social interactions, and they often exhibit a restricted range of interests and repetitive behaviors. It was a heartbreaking discovery, but I still managed to remain hopeful. Wyatt was a wonderful little boy, and I loved him just the way he was. Unfortunately, Michael hated that his son was different. Image was everything to Michael. He was fixated on us appearing as the perfect all-American family, especially to his parents, and he blamed me for Wyatt’s delays. Ultimately, I ended up in the hospital for five days with three cracked ribs, a broken wrist and slight head trauma, all due to his frustration with our son. That night changed everything. I was done trying to make things work with an abusive husband. I gathered up all the courage I could muster, and I pressed charges against him. It’s one of the reasons he now has supervised visitation with Wyatt and had to attend anger management classes for a year. The classes seemed to be helping him, but they didn’t make me feel any better about sending Wyatt over there. I just don’t trust Michael, but in the end, the courts left me no choice.

When Wyatt caught me staring at him, he asked, “So, are you going to make nuggets?”

“Yeah, I’ll make chicken nuggets, but you’re going to have to eat some vegetables, too,” I told him as I headed towards the kitchen.

Wyatt reached for his backpack and followed me, tossing his things on the floor by the table. “Okay, but no broccoli. I hate broccoli. And I got a one hundred on my math test today,” he told me, pulling his books out and placing them on the kitchen table.

“That’s great, buddy, but I’m not surprised. You always do well in math.”

“It’s my favorite,” he confessed.

“I know. It was always mine, too. Since you did so well, you can have a few extra minutes on your game after dinner.”

As usual, I got no response. He knew he earned extra time on his game when he made good grades, so after dinner, he curled up in his favorite spot and finished creating his new world. When he was done, he headed for the shower without being told. I searched through his drawers looking for his favorite pajamas and laid them on his dresser. I sat down on the edge of his bed and waited for him to finish up in the bathroom. The shower turned off and seconds later I heard Wyatt’s wet little feet slap against the hardwood floor as he headed down the hall. He stopped at the doorway and stared at me with one towel wrapped around his waist and another around his head.

“What’s up, Buddy?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he answered as he walked over to me and wrapped his little wet arms around my neck. When I wrapped my arms around him a mix of fruity shampoo and my favorite body wash surrounded me. I held him tight against my chest, kissing him lightly on the side of his head. I cherished those moments. Wyatt isn’t one to give affection often, but when he does, there’s no better feeling in the entire world. There was a time when he wouldn’t even talk to me much less touch me, so I held him close, enjoying the moment while it lasted.

“Time for bed, momma,” he told me, pulling free from my embrace. He reached for his clothes and started to get dressed, letting me know that he didn’t need my help.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you,” I told him as I got up and started to leave. “Love you, Buddy.”

“You too,” he replied while he crawled into the bed. I went back to check on him fifteen minutes later, and he was already sound asleep.