Taylor rolled on the cold cement of the basment floor. He couldn't get comfortable. Everytime he rolled, he hit a bruse. The remnents of his mother's latest rage. He had almost come accustomed to sleeping on this floor even more than his own bed.
He remembered the first time he had been sentenced to sleep in the basement. He was 5. He had broken a glass. His mother had never physcially disciplined him. So it shocked him when she hit him. Not like you spat a little kid that you punish. She hit him. He had a black eye for a week, and couldn't go out until it was gone. Just to make sure any unexpected company didn't see him he had to stay in the basement.
He didn't think his mother realized that she couldn't just hide him in the basement any more. People were going to see him and they were going to ask about the bruises.
He did everything he could to cover up the bruses on his body. He wore pants almost all the time and wore long sleeved shirts. Even at the burning up concerts. The marks on his face were harder to hide. If he had a dollar for every excuse he had to give a make-up artist as to why he had a shiner on his eye he would be richer than he is now.
The dim basement light lit up, and he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He laid there praying it wasn't his mother coming back because she wasn't finished. To his relief it was Zac.
"What are you doing down here? If mom sees you she will kill you!" Taylor didn't want to watch his brother get beat by his mother.
"Shhhhh. I brought you a pillow and some covers." Zac sat the items down beside Taylor and began his way back up the stairs.
"No one else is to know about this. Ok?"
The light went out and Zac was gone. Taylor curled up in the fluffy sleeping bag, put his head on the soft pillow, and attempted to drift into sleep.