Mr & Mr Hitman

The Tale of Cameron

"I'm forever thankful to them, but," Priscilla swayed under the influence of alcohol, "That doesn't mean I'll give up on Candace."

Cameron furrowed his eyebrows, as he got up from his seat, staggering his way to the balcony, situated just outside the living room, where everyone was discussing.

He sat down at the edge, leaning all his weight on the railing, while his feet dangled into the air, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He stared at the distant lights of the illuminated neighborhood, hearing shuffling just beside him.

"I thought you didn't like alcohol?", Samuel smiled, taking a seat in the same manner, a drink in one hand while the other one held the whole bottle.

"It's funny how different people are, don't you think?", Cameron slurred on his words, showing signs of drunkenness. "Some hate their parents, some love them," he paused, sighing, "Some children are abandoned, some are showered with love.", he swiftly downed the contents of his glass in one go, "Pour me another one," he turned to Sam.

The older man blinked, hesitating on his next action before he obediently served him another shot, "You okay mate?"

"Shut up," Cameron violently turned his head to face the protagonist, "Let me tell you a story."

The reflection of the stars was present in the deuteragonist's hazel eyes as he looked up to the rather cloudy night sky. His fingers tapped his glass slowly, at the same pace that he swung his legs. His lips quivered before he started narrating the tale of his childhood, flashbacks flowing in front of his eyes while Samuel tried his best to portray it visually in his mind.

A young Cameron stood in front of the closed kitchen door, his mother and grandparents having a conversation. He remembered how tightly he gripped his teddy bear, not being able to accept the words his own mom was spouting.

"I bore this child because you wanted an heir," his birth giver cried out loud.

"But didn't you want to have a baby too?", the desperate voice of his grandmother nearly brought tears to his eyes.

The little boy quietly opened the door and left a gap enough for him to peek through, and the first person that he noticed was out of place was that tall, sinister-looking unnamed man. He gasped, putting his hand in front of his mouth to avoid himself from making noise. Despite his young age, he understood what was happening.

This man was about to take his mother from him.

He was about the steal her.

He recollected how he dashed to hug his mother's leg, tears streaming down his face as he pled, "Mommy, you won't leave me right? Right?"

A physical hit does more harm on the surface than it does mentally. But when it comes to someone close to you afflicting damage, the injury can be greater, more painful, but more importantly, it can haunt you for the rest of your life. Just like words.

And that, Cameron, experienced it in the worst manner possible.

He revived that moment his 'mother' pushed him aside, repeatedly kicking him as he cowered and cried, protecting himself as much as he could by curling into a ball.

She screamed profanities at the human she gave birth to but never considered as her own, "I hate you. I knew I should've taken that pill. Do you see? You tied me back. Because of your stupid existence, I can't-"

Her words came to a halt when she received a slap across her face from her father, who gritted his teeth, "No one is tying you anymore. Leave from here, and never come back."

He took his grandson in his arms, "I'm ashamed to call you my daughter," he wiped away a tear from the boy, "And you're a disgrace of a mother."

From then on, Cameron would be reminded every day that it wasn't his fault, and as the youth grew up to learn more about his younger years, he would realize the horrifying truth that wasn't uncovered because of his naivety.

Why did he always end up sick when his mother cooked? She poisoned the food.

What was that horrible burn on his back? She poured boiled water straight from the kettle on her own baby.

Her dream of traveling was crushed when she found out she was pregnant. She didn't care. She was a pure, innocent woman in love, and she thought that creating a family would be the happiest outcome of her choices, but, she didn't know that her beauty was fading away in her lover's eyes.

She didn't perceive that a baby bump and chubby cheeks would appear unpleasant to him. What once were the signs of a healthy pregnancy, she now considered them as imperfections.

Few days before she gave birth, he left.

Young love. A fairy tale everyone wishes for but never ends well.

"It's pathetic how a matured man like myself can still crave for the affection of my mother," Cameron gulped down, his body not able to contain his emotions as he cried without holding back, hiccuping as he felt broken inside.

Samuel bit his lips, pondering on his next move until he finally decided that he would face whatever consequences later.

I hate seeing him like this.

He sighed.

I'll just blame it on the alcohol.

He wrapped his arm around the other man's shoulder, the latter flinching on impact and looking up to see the dazed expression in the chocolate eyes that stared down at him. "To make you feel less embarrassed in the morning, I'll tell you my story. How about it?", he grinned.

Never. I never thought I'd try to comfort someone.

Let alone a guy.

"Yes," Cameron sniffled, wiping away the tears on his cheeks, only to have them replaced by new ones as his body acted on its own, "But let me tell you I'm burning this sweater tomorrow," he pointed at the other man's hand, that was still resting on him.

Annoying little man.

Samuel rolled his eyes, taking a sip of booze before he started to describe the last memories he remembered having as a child.

Though it might have been a terrible experience just like Cameron's, his past had a rather positive effect on him.

Or to be more precise, advantageous in his career of murdering people.

...

Villains were once victims.

-Shitty quote by your Narrator