She continued to stroke the side of his face. “Do you think it was easy for me to share stories about my dysfunctional family? I can assure you it wasn’t, but now that it’s out in the open, I’m glad the two of you know.” India knew Rafe had told Grant what she’d said because of the understanding looks he’d shot her through the day. She appreciated his lack of pity which made her certain he knew how she felt.
Rafe finally nodded. “I guess it’s only fair, but I’m warning you, it’s not a pretty story.”
“They never are.” India dropped her hand and placed it in her lap, waiting for him to begin.
He gulped hard, opened his mouth, then closed it again, obviously not able to get the words out.
“Maybe I should start,” Grant broke in from the other side of her.
Rafe’s gratitude was evident as he bowed his head.
Grant seemed as if he too was having trouble finding the right words to say, but finally he began. “Rafe and I met when we were kids. He and his mom moved next door to my father and me. I saw him around school but we never really hung out until the night Rafe was thrown out of his house in the freezing cold by his mother’s latest boyfriend. I offered him a place to sleep that night and we’ve been friends ever since.”
India knew she was getting the very short version of the story and realized she’d have to ask questions if she wanted to learn more.
“Why would your mother’s boyfriend kick you out, Rafe? How old were you?”
Rafe kept his head lowered, his body shaking. He licked his lips before answering. “Because I wouldn’t let that motherfucker touch me again.”
What he said wasn’t spoken much more than a whisper, but she got the message loud and clear.
India’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. “You don’t mean…he didn’t try to…”
“Tried and succeeded on several occasions, only that night I fought back. My mother was passed out drunk as usual and Julio had come for one of his nightly visits. You see, the house was his and my mom and I were there on his sufferance or so he liked to tell me. He said I’d have to earn my keep. Whenever I cried, he’d beat me, pummeling me with his fists until I was too battered and weak to protest. I was only ten years old, goddammit!” Pain, anger and shame radiated from his every pore.
“Oh, my God.” India whispered her astonishment.
Rafe continued. “My pleas for mercy never affected him, and he did things to me that made me ashamed to be alive. I wanted to die and had tried to kill myself, but for some twist of fast, the pills on my mom’s dresser only made me mildly drowsy, and I didn’t know I had to slit my wrist horizontally to do any real damage. I can’t even remember my other failed attempts.”
India’s heart bled for him as the anger welled within her. How could anyone do something so horrific to a child? “Did you talk to your mom about it?”
Rafe let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Julio wasn’t the first of my mother’s boyfriends who used his fists to communicate—he was only the most perverted.” He spat on the ground, underlining his disgust. “Of course that bitch who called herself my mother knew what was going on and welcomed it. She didn’t give too shits about anything beyond where her next drink or drug would come from. She was going to put me in a home before she moved in with Julio, but he insisted I come with her. Oh, she knew all right. When I would cry, she’d tell me to shut up and not mess up her good thing.”
India wasn’t sure if she could listen to anymore. Hearing his story hurt her. She was physically ill for what Rafe had gone through, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What happened that night?”
Amber eyes glistened with the suspicious sheen of tears and India wanted to wrap her arms around him. “He came to my room and told me to put my mouth on his dick. I cried and begged him to leave me alone, but he choked me until I nearly passed out. I don’t know what happened, but something inside of me snapped. When he grabbed my head to bring it to his crotch, I latched on and bit him. Hard. I clamped down like a pit bull, not letting go until he bled. I think I would have severed it if he hadn’t punched me on the side of my head. The blow was enough to send me reeling. I let go, but not before I got in a few kicks. He told me to sleep outside for the night. I had nowhere to go, so I sat on the porch.”
“That’s when I came outside. Our row homes were connected and I heard the screams. I saw him out of my window sitting there,” Grant continued. “My father was out on another one of his binge drinking excursions. I don’t think he even came home that week if I recall correctly, but Rafe ended up staying with me for a couple days. We learned what we unfortunately most had in common was being used as human punching bags. My dad only got violent after he drank. Too bad that happened to be all the time. The funny thing is, I don’t think he did it because he hated me. He was just a miserable son of a bitch.” Grant snorted in derision.