Tasting Darkness

Chapter 78

It was like watching a timeline of the most significant memories he had, those that shaped him into who h e is today. A glimpse into the depths of who Kalen truly was and the things that haunted him, made him happy, everything that made Kalen, Kalen.

His youngest memory was horrible. At first, I was an outsider watching until the vision warped, and I was suddenly Kalen, seeing the world through his eyes. Feeling what he felt, enduring what he endured. I found myself running into some room with gray walls with peeling wallpaper, exposing the mold-covered walls beneath. Beds lined the room in rows, large bay windows overlooked the city, and the room was ice cold.

He crawled underneath his bed by the window only to be ripped out by his ankles, his nails clawing at the wooden floorboards, making his fingertips bloody as they tore away his fingernails. His screams were horrendous and hurt my soul. The fear he felt made my heart race, and at first, I had no idea what he was running from until he was rolled over.

It was other children, Kalen crawling on his hands and knees is, blocked by legs and backed into a corner. The kids huddled around him in the corner of the room. He tried to cover his ears with hands over his head as they screamed and taunted. Throwing things and kicking and hurting him. Most of his childhood was spent being bullied relentlessly for being the weakest amongst the Fae. But Kalen wasn’t just the weakest; he was also the smallest amongst his peers.

The bullying was horrendous, the things they did to him. Setting him on fire, urinating on him, beating him bloody, and the teachers or those responsible for looking after him turned a blind eye to it or outright condemned him by telling him he deserved it. Kalen’s childhood was tragic up until one day, and that day changed everything for him. Kalen was worried as he sat in the playground by himself, and a new kid walked out the doors.

He thought it was another person to add to the list of bullies he already had. The boy reminded me of someone, and it didn’t take long before I recognized who he was. It was Lycus. He was younger in this memory. Lycus was just a boy, like Kalen. Only he was frighteningly bigger, and Kalen watched, horrified a s he argued with one of the teachers before stomping off to sit on one of the bench seats. Lycus watched the other children play, his eyes falling on Kalen, and Kalen dropped his gaze, cursing himself for making eye contact with the scary-looking boy.

When the bell went to signal class and he had to return back into the orphanage, he ran for the doors, hoping to go unnoticed. However, Kalen knew his bullies weren’t going to give him a day off when the one he hated most stepped into his path. The boy was a teenager and almost looked too old to be still in the orphanage that Kalen called home. Kalen had to have been at least half the other boys’ age.

As the bully steps out the door into the concrete playground, he takes a step back. Kalen’s eyes scan his surroundings, looking for an escape. He notices Lycus watching curiously from where he still sat, ignoring the sound of the school bell. Kalen goes to make a run for the door across the quadrangle, only for the teenage boy to tackle him.

and his eyes blur as they swell. Pain rippled through me as I experienced what he did, the helplessness, and the acceptance. Kalen doesn’t fight back.

promised Kalen he would before he aged out of the system. Kalen accepted it. In some ways, he hoped this was it, the day his torment ended. Just as his bully gripped his head in

a collective gasp was heard from the surrounding crowd of children. Kalen’s eyes flew open to find his tormentor beside him on the ground, and the new kid that had arrived was punching into him, the bully’s head bouncing off the ground as Lycus pounded his face with

were a demonic black, and he foamed at

away in fear as Lycus stood upright, breathing heavily before his gaze turned to Kalen, who cowered away from him as Lycus stepped over the kid. Yet instead of offering Kalen a fist, he offered him his hand and pulled him

asked him and Kalen just stared at him. No one ever asked if he

Lycus asks him. Kalen nods, and

to tell me, or

“Kalen,” he stuttered out.

down at his bloody

first aid kit,” Lycus tells him, grabbing Kalen’s arm, but Kalen shakes his head, pulling away. Lycus stops

trouble. The teachers don’t help,” he whispers to Lycus. That seemed

or

don’t care, ” Kalen

them listen,” Lycus tells