Leather

by Abby Mccullough

(TW: Child Abuse)

With each strike, he shook 
Starting in his ankles, 
wracking his abdomen, 
whipping his head. 

I went there a lot as a kid. 
Sonya was friends with my mom, 
she also regularly beat her kids. 
With a belt. 

I crouched in the stark white doorway to that room once. 
A little mattress and smears of fluid on the walls. 
There was never a reason. 
I only remember the belt. 

The sounds erupting from his body. 
Animalistic grunts as 
the belt sliced his flesh, 
the pain got worse, he said, never numb. 

The day I watched, he saw me, 
his eyes pleaded with me as I looked on in horror. 
She never slowed down. 
His tears finally streamed, holding back as long as possible.  

The whipping turned wet 
and loud. 

I crawled away.