Beaten By Cousin

by Ben
(Alberta, Canada)

G--- was 17, I was 6. My mother worked day and night to keep up our income, taxes, food, and whatnot, since we didn't have a father to help with it. When he was introduced, my mother had told me that he was only staying a couple nights. His mother abandoned him with us, after convincing my mother to let him stay. Every day, for almost a month, he asserted himself over me. Told me how I was much smaller than him and how I was weak and pathetic. He would carry around a little pocket knife with him. All I remember about it, is it was black with a dragon on the side. It was insanely sharp. He would pull it on me every time I spoke to him or faced him, so after that month of assertiveness, I started to hide. I didn't want to get cut or stabbed.


When he would find me hiding, he would get REALLY angry and ask why I was so afraid of him. He would tell me that he was nice once I got to know him.

When he took me out of where I was hiding, he would sit me downstairs on a chair and tie me with a thick string-rope... it was like a rope, but slightly thinner. Like whatever came between a dagger and sword. The gut is where he went for a lot, and he loved to give charlie horses. He would play his PSP, and every time he died, I would get punched. Every time he beat a level or a hard enemy, he would give me a candy he had in a bowl. He called me his "good luck charm" when things went right, and his "punching bag", when things didn't go as right. I had purple bruises all over me by the time he was done, and his was only day one. This went on for a long time. I can't remember how long. Sometimes it didn't happen for a day, and sometimes he did it ALL day. Sometimes I would hide, sometimes I would give in.

I never fought back. Not when he had his pocket knife on him. He ALWAYS kept it on him. He threatened me every day that he would use it on me if I were to tell my mother. I kept my mouth shut. I was 7 and a little more when he finally quit. He went somewhere and never came back for a whole 5 months. Or around that anyway.

I was around 7 years and 6/7 months old when he returned. He looked no different, and had the same clothes. His mother must have been the one to take him away for those 5 months, because she sure was the one that brought him back. She didn't even say a word to me or my mother. Just dropped him off and left. He looked at me with the most serious face when my mother left for work again. He looked furious. When the door closed, he immediately told me to meet him in the basement in 20 minutes. He went to take a shower, and I just watched TV for the first 15. When 20 minutes had passed, I heard him turn off the shower, so I booked it downstairs and sat in the chair, ready for what was coming. He was walking down the stairs so slow, it felt like everything was in slow motion. When I finally saw him face me, he stood in front of me, PSP in one hand, knife in the other. He gave me new rules. Now, every time he died, he would swing his knife at me. I did not need to be in the chair. He would take a wide swing, and then sit back down and continue playing. He said I could move out of the way of the knife anyway I wanted. Other than blocking. Also, G--- was so short, he was only a couple feet above me. Now when I think of him, I think of sans. He was very short. So it went on like that.

To make sure I didn't get badly hurt, he only went for legs, chest, and arms. He said I could only move when he shouted. Other than that, he got a free cut. He got one free cut. He cut both of the web part of my ankles. He ended the day there, considering the blood. He just told me to shower it off. This went on for a whole 6 months. I got cut so many times on my arms, and so many times on my legs. My chest would be only scraped, because I always threw that behind first. Once more, he got a free cut. I flinched on this one. He cut my elbow, I have no idea why. When I flinched, a huge chunk of my arm flew off onto the ground. I was bleeding so bad, I thought I would die. He just put a bandage over it after I showered.

After the 6 months, I couldn't stand it. He was making himself something for supper. I went in to get/ask for something myself, completely leaving the basement. I thought since I didn't need the chair, I was free to go when he was on his breaks. He grabbed his pocket knife, and turned to me. I will never forget what he said. "Get... the hell... DOWNSTAIRS, YOU BRAT!" the first part being silent, while the last being shouted at the top of his lungs. He was going all out on me. He lunged and would have stabbed me in the top of my forehead if I didn't grab my mother's kitchen knife and drove it through his torso. He screamed, blood coming from his mouth. I had no idea what to do. All I knew is that it was all over. All finally over. 2 years of literal torture and it was over. After all that, me and my mother went to court and I was let free for all of the pain.

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