A fresh wave of relief washed over Rock when he saw little Donnie standing unharmed on the other side of the monkey bars. But there was still another feeling. A dread lingering on in the background. He knew what came next.
It wasn’t pretty.
The boy’s chances of survival were slim to none, but somehow Rock still felt like there was a chance.
I saved him just to leave him to the wolves again, he thought.
Rock peeked back at the parents.
Greg sat staring forward like a wide-eyed maniac.
Tom and Molly whispered amongst each other, plotting their next move.
He knew what they were doing; contrary to his cadence and meathead appearance, Rock wasn’t stupid. He certainly hadn’t let that nugget about the oiled-up monkey bars slip out because they’d tricked or manipulated him. Rock offered it because it was the right thing to do.
The right thing for Donnie and everyone else.
The more he thought about the events of that day, the more distraught he felt. There were countless instances of unappreciation. He was feeling closer to the Grimleys than he did with his own ‘family.’
Geraldine’s lack of gratitude, praise, and love, continued to pound him over the head. Her outright hatred of his mere existence was obvious enough for even the strangers in the room to pick up on.
It felt like steam was coming out of his ears.
When the day had begun, Rock thought he might finally find acceptance. Even if it was acceptance into the arms of evil, it was still an elusive feeling he’d relentlessly sought. A measly offering of basic emotions might’ve potentially subdued his rage. Just a taste might’ve left him a smidge more complacent in his goonish role.
Maybe I am the dummy for thinking it would somehow be different…
He toyed with Donnie’s leash in his pocket, recalling the pulpy heap he’d turned his mother into. Liberating the boy, even if it was to his potential demise, was still redemptive. The carrot dangled in front of him; was there more room for redemption that day?
He understood Tom and Molly’s actions even clearer now. They wanted the same simple things he desired. When Molly had given the announcement over the speakers, he could see it on her face; the love she had for her children was powerful enough that it still lingered in the room.
They were the kind of people that didn’t have the ‘class’ or bottomless prosperity like Geraldine, but they had heart. When Rock was a child, and even in that very instant, he’d have cut off his own hand to have someone feel that way about him.
Greg, not so much.
His eyes darted back to the king of competition. The deranged, glazed-over gaze on Greg’s face was more familiar to him. Greg watched the children closely with a subtle grin curling his lip. It was almost as if he was looking past the images in front of him. Rock wondered what it could possibly be.
Maybe a fantasy?
Maybe a reality?
Whatever it was, it seemed to cloud Greg’s spirit. He was like a thunderstorm; he carried an unmistakable darkness with him wherever he went.
Rock’s eyes bounced back and forth from Greg to Tom and Molly, before finally returning to the screen.
Within the glass, he saw his reflection.
He’d never been excited by what he saw; the sins of his past came to mind each time. Self-hatred oozed from his pores like a bum-rush of blackheads being purged.
Outside of the hate, he couldn’t help but focus on his flesh. The nagging pain from the slices on his face wouldn’t allow him to forget.
What am I doing? he wondered.
The many particles of glass that slipped under Rock’s stubble served as a smarting reminder of his inferiority. He was at the edge. When he finally fell off, where the tumble would lead, even he didn’t know.
Something had to give.
The aches in his face.
The guilt in his gut.
The disappointment in his heart.
The lack of change in his ‘family’ dynamic after such a monumental moment had left Rock sure of one thing:
He was tired of being abused.
