Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

| prologue |

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"We live in a world that is built on promises constructed by liars."
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Mason

"DON'T LEAVE ME MAMA." Tears swarmed my blue eyes as I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, struggling to stop her from leaving.

I had never felt so powerless and weak before. Her suitcase was already packed and through the front door I could see cardboard boxes stacked up in the boot of her car. Being eight, the futality of it all hadn't quite sunk in. I just couldn't get my head around it.

My mum crouched down in front of me, clasping her warm hands in my cold ones. She had a bump on her head and red marks on her neck from when my father got her into a chokehold and slammed her head into the living room table.

I was watching the scene unfold from the gap in my bedroom door. The moment she slumped to the floor after the blow to the head I charged into the room yelling, "Stop! Stop it!"

He merely backhanded me across the face, sending me flying across the room and turned his attention back to his wife who was struggling to her feet.

"I'm done." Her voice was the strongest I had ever heard despite the blood that trickled down her face.

"Done?" my father spat, hands balled into fists. "You stupid bitch, I'm not fucking done!"

"Yes, but it's not all about you is it, Viktor?" She stepped into his face, even daring to raise an eyebrow.

His face got hot and his lips tight. I expected him to throw another punch but he simply rolled his eyes and stepped backwards, folding his arms across his chest. "Leave," he commanded. "Leave, Quinton. I've had it."

My mother's eyes nearly jumped out of her head. "Pardon?"

"I'll give you five minutes to pack your shit and then you're out. I don't want to live under the same roof with such a filthy slut." A sneer curled up the corner of his lip. "The clock is ticking, sweetheart."

With wide, frightened eyes, she darted to her bedroom. There were sounds of cupboards banging and clothes being yanked off clothe hangers and I was left standing there in a puddle of despair.

"I love you, Mase." She pressed her lips to my temple and I felt her hot tears fall onto my neck. "I love you so much."

I clung to her desperately and shook my head wildly. If she really loved me then she wouldn't be leaving me. If she really loved me she would be taking me with her.

I was shaking violently and bile rose in the back of my throat. "Take me with you, Mama."

She inhaled sharply, gently removing herself from our tight embrace. "Your father needs you, Mason. He won't let me."

My eyes were red and puffy, and tears and snot ran down my face. "Please," I began to beg, my lower lip quivering. "Don't do this, Mama. Don't leave me. Not with him. Not alone."

She stood up, tears flowing faster now and brushed her dusty hands off on her skirt. My mother, with her blonde hair and grey eyes, her thin face and hollow cheeks. My mother with her stupid beaded brackets and her dumb fundraisers she held for the town. My mother with her fake smiles and lifeless eyes. It felt like that woman I knew was gone.

"Your father loves you." Her knuckles grazed my cheeks, wiping away the tears and a small smile tugged you the corner of her lip. "Take care, Mason."

No no no! The goodbye felt too offical—too final. I wouldn't survive without breathing in her comforting cinnamon scent every day. I wouldn't survive without our trips to the park and the warmth her smile brought to my heart.

"Mum!" I choked out. I could barley breathe. My head was pounding and nausea shook my stomach.

"Goodbye, my darling." She turned, hair blowing in the wind, arms held firmly by her sides and stalked right out the door, towards her car.

My screams vibrated my very bones. They tore through my lungs and burned my throat. I felt the gravel crunch beneath my bare feet and the pain as the rocks cut into the skin. That pain was nothing in comparison to the betrayal and terror I felt.

I reached for the back of her skirt when I felt arms scooping me up and restraining me.

"Let go!" I screamed, thrashing around wildly as I watched in horror my mother close the boot and get into the drivers seat. "Let me go!"

"Enough." My fathers voice was curt; controlled. He tightened his grip on me. "Stop being a baby."

The ignition began and she reversed out from the driveway before driving down the street and disappearing from sight.

"No," I whispered, unable to believe it. My father let go of me and I fell the ground in a heap, stunned and horrified.

"You shed one more tear, boy, and you won't like the consequences. No woman is worth crying over, you hear me?" His boots sent clouds of dust in the air as he retreated back inside.

And I was left sitting there on the dusty, empty driveway with his words ringing in my ears: No woman is worth crying over.

Hope you're enjoying the story so far! If you are, don't hesitate to vote or comment!

P.S The quotes above are not my own work, I have either collected them off the internet or found them in song lyrics.

Thank you and enjoy!