I had to turn the volume right up so I could hear him, whether it be because my pc simply had a bad connection, or that he spoke in whispers; he always sounded cautious, as though frightened that someone would hear.
We were happily chatting when he all of a sudden fell silent, and I could hear a door thrown open from his end of the line. Another figure moved in front of the camera, a man whose face I couldn’t see but whom I guessed could only be the boy’s father, and I let out a stifled gasp as the man harshly grabbed hold of the boy’s collar, pulling him to his feet with a force that knocked his chair to the floor. I winced as he let out a yelp, quickly falling silent when a heavy hand slapped him hard in turn across both cheeks.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you mean?” His son’s reply was uncannily steady although his breathing was hitched, and it was obvious that he was in pain…and he was frightened. And I was frightened too.
“You know full well what I mean. Now WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU‘RE DOING?”
I wanted to click the conversation window off and stop the feed of video. I didn’t want to see anymore, it was painful to watch.
The boy who had been happily talking to me moments before yelped in pain as his thin body was thrown against the desk. I jumped to switch my microphone off before the man could catch on that there was someone watching, although I wasn’t entirely sure he would care; he only seemed to have one goal right now, which was to let loose his anger by putting the poor kid through as much pain as possible as punishment for whatever it was that he had done. Although, I personally didn’t know what he possibly could have done to deserve that.
I couldn’t hear his exact words; the mic seemed to have been knocked out of place when he’d thrown the 15 year old against the desk but I could hear the soft pleas to be left alone, which were enough to rip my heart in two, and I felt tears roll down my cheeks. He was in pain, and all I could do was watch, and silently pray that the cruel figure that stood over his trembling body would leave him be.
I sat slumped in my chair, horrified yet unable to pull my eyes from the screen as the man took one last blow, spitting some cruel words as he did so, before storming out and slamming the door behind him.
The next few moments passed in silence. I sat listening to the wounded boy breath softly against the floor before he pulled himself back up onto the chair, eyes swollen and flushed-red cheeks tear-stained. I wanted to soothe him, to at least dull the pain but we were more than two hours away by train, and the lump in my throat was preventing me from saying anything. My hands remained limp by my sides, not knowing of anything I could type that could possibly be of any comfort.
Long minutes slipped by as he sat still, silently crying to himself, and wiping my own tears I felt strangely…close to him, and at the same time I’d never felt further away. In all of our long conversations, he had never said a word about his parents. I knew nothing of his family, and although I’d always been curious I had never pressed him for answers. I just wished that I hadn’t found out like this.
I sat still, watching silently as he let his long hair cascade over his face, and had he moved a moment sooner, I might have not noticed the shame that burnt brighter than the tears or the swelling as he reached a shaky hand out to his computer.
[Michael] has gone offline.