The Shaping of a Man (Past)

Posted on 15 Jan 2015 @ 10:12pm by Lieutenant Elijah Williams IV, M.Sc.

1,752 words; about a 9 minute read

Athens, Georgia, Earth - 2383

The touch made him see stars, the nausea worsened and he felt like he was going to fall sideways off the kitchen chair. The urge to swat away the small, feminine hand had been instinct but the young man thought better of it. No. It would have only caused him to get hit... again.

"I just don't know why you test your father," said the female voice. Her thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of her son's nose gingerly. The young man, who was now seventeen, had flinched at the touch. She tried to be careful, but she needed to asses just how broken the nose truly was. The skin under the gray eyes was already starting to darken; his whole nose and cheeks were flushed with broken blood vessels. The left eye was swollen shut and once again the lower lip was cracked. Thank goodness, this time, no teeth were missing.

The torso underneath the bloodied t-shirt was even worse. She didn't have to see that to know. It was the way her eldest sat that she knew he was in pain. Once again, her husband had done a number on her oldest son, and then stalked off. The crumpled mess of a teenager was left to her to fix, just like always. This certainly wasn't the first time she had to clean up the mess, mend the bones, fix the broken blood vessels, and fix the nose. Then of course she had to scrub the carpet, to rid it of the spilled blood. It was expected of her, so she complied.

Though she supported her husband in how he handled the discipline of their children, there was a part of her that wondered if one time he would go too far. How would she live with herself then? Would she cover that up too? Why her oldest? The twins were never touched and their daughter was treated like she did no wrong. What was it about Elijah - her husband's namesake - that made her husband fly off the handle?

Jealousy?

Clara Williams shook her head at that. Her husband was successful, well liked and popular, he was the kindest man she knew. No, it had to be her son. He defied her husband and sometimes even defied her. She would never punch her son, but she slapped him and took a wooden spoon to his behind more than on one occasion. But still, she couldn't help but wonder why her husband had to get so rough. It was happening much more frequently these days and she was having a much harder time doing damage control. Last time she couldn't set the boy's ribs and they ended up in the Emergency Room for care. Thank goodness the doctor bought her excuses.

Thank goodness her son kept his mouth shut.

Over the years, she had become quite good at fixing injuries. She had amassed medical instruments and was able to get the medications and supplies she needed through other means. Her and her husband were Traditionalists, which meant they didn't have anything to do with Starfleet or much with technology and abhorred the idea that humans left Earth to explore. There were other Traditionalists as well; they formed their own little society. Starfleet Security kept their eye on the club, but they were never unruly or did anything against the law. Even when the Dominion War broke out, they were not heartless people. No, no. They didn't go 'I told you so,' or anything like that. No, instead they prayed for those families who lost loved ones, they also prayed for a swift end to the war. The Traditionalists were activists in their own right, but they were peaceful.

Though being apart of the Traditionalists had afforded them some things like access to black markets and such, Clara knew they would never condone what her husband did. They would brand him a child abuser and he would be hauled away. She couldn't have that; she would be lost without him. She wouldn't even know what to do.

"You need to sit still," she said to Elijah as she picked up a tricorder to scan.

The irony of being a Traditionalist and having a tricorder was not lost on her. In fact accepting technology and being a Traditionalist wasn't lost on her either. In fact, there were times she would be sitting in her kitchen and think about these things. She knew some thought she was an empty head that all she was was a housewife but she thought about things. She thought about the world and what it had to offer and couldn't deny the fact that technology such as replicators and tricorders were certainly positive contributions to society.

However, her home did not have a replicator and the tricorder was hidden from her husband. The tricorder scans only confirmed what she had thought. Her son had a broken nose, multiple broken capillaries on the cheeks and under the eyes, two broken ribs, several welts and bruises on his abdomen and chest and a sprained wrist. She sighed at the results of the scan. She set the tricorder down and picked up an instrument to start repairing the damage. "You never answered me young man," she scolded.

"What's there to say," Elijah Williams said through a swollen lip. His voice was meek, it hurt to breath and he just wanted to be left alone. After a few beats of silence, he continued knowing his mother would want an answer. "I was just... reading and he came at me."

"Were you reading something he approved?" Clara asked. The nose was set and then she went to work on the damaged skin.

"Yes," Elijah lied.

"Don't lie to me Elijah Williams," Clara said as she grabbed the boy's chin with a grip that was like a vice. She yanked his face up so he was forced to look her in the eye. She could see that he winced and a tear had fell from his right eye. "What were you reading?"

A few more beats of silence passed as he kept his lips tight. His chin was yanked again and he yelped in pain. His vision once again began to blur but from the tears that were welling. His head felt like someone bashed it several times with a rock. He just wanted his mother to stop. He cleared his throat; the copper taste of blood was not unknown to him. His tongue even felt swollen. Why couldn't his dad's fist just miss and hit his throat and end it. He often found himself thinking these things. The past few months, the thoughts had become more prominent. He wanted a way out desperately but with each passing year, with each passing beating, his self-esteem and self-worth just withered away until he was nothing but a hollow shell of a person.

He had also become more withdrawn. He kept to himself, was quiet and didn't say much, if anything at all. Sometimes he would go days without really speaking to anyone and only answering his parents with a 'yes sir/ma'am' or 'no sir/ma'am'. Even his brothers, whom he was close to, were given the silent treatment. The fact his own mother was questioning him concerning his reading material, appalled him on some basic level. "It was a book on rocks," he finally said through a clenched jaw. Though he was being far simpler about it then he let on. The book was far more detailed than just about rocks. His mother wouldn't get it anyway; so it was best just to keep things simple.

Clara scoffed as she let go of the boy's chin. "That damn geology stuff again." She shook her head as she continued her work. "You know your father doesn't like any of that science stuff."

Elijah almost sighed at that. Science stuff? What was this, the early days of Christianity? His father's way of thinking was so archaic, But then again he beats me, so much for an enlightened era, he thought to himself. "He probably thinks the Earth is still flat, too," he snapped back.

He felt the sting of the back of his mother's hand against his bruised face. He cried out in pain.

"Don't you DARE speak of your father like that," Clara snarled. For good measure the back of her hand connected with the other bruised cheek of her son, the diamond of her engagement ring breaking the skin. There was a part of her that instantly regretted hitting her oldest child but she quickly pushed that regret from her mind.

A few moments passed and the tension in the air simmered a bit. Clara continued to mend the damage her husband inflicted. At some point she became numb to this part. At times she thought that possibly she was a bad mother. Some of her friends would have been appalled to see what she put up with and what she condoned. She loved all her children but she also loved her husband. He was the provider so he had to come first.

Just keep telling yourself that, Clara.

Clara continued to work, expertly but quietly. She didn't ask any more questions and she was sure Elijah would be fine with that. Her husband would come home and ask if she patched up their son and then that would be the end of that conversation. Life would continue on. She wouldn't question it or say anything more either. It wasn't her place to do so anyway.

It took almost an hour to complete her work on Elijah. The injuries took longer to heal and she wasn't sure if it was due to the fact they were repeat injuries or that her equipment was becoming outdated. Maybe a bit of both. "You need to go to your room," she said as she watched her son get up slowly from the chair he had been occupying. She knew he would be sore at least the next couple of days. If he asked for pain meds, she would give them to him. But, only if he asked.

"Thank you ma'am," Elijah said softly. His chest felt on fire even when he breathed, talking was out of the question.

Clara nodded as she began to clean up. "Remember," she stopped and faced her son, "not a word to anyone."

All Elijah could do was nod.

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