The Souls Desire

His Hands clawed firmly into the back of the couch as he waited for the next blow of the belt.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyelids. He did not want to cry, did not want to let them see his weakness as the next strike of the belt hit his back.

He had stopped counting after the sixth blow.

"Smack"

He winced when the next blow struck him.

"Smack"

He was not weak. He would not give in and apologize, would not beg for forgiveness so that his uncle would stop. His magic was a gift that had saved him countless times, this time from his bully of a cousin and his friends. How he had appeared on the roof of the school, he could not even imagine.

However, he was quite confident that he never experienced whatever he felt, as he stood there on top of the roof, above everyone else.

Gleeful and slightly out of breath, he had looked at his cousin and his friends, who were making confused faces as they searched for him. They had no chance to follow him, and that was enough for the moment, consequences be damned. And at the thought, he had remembered something he once read in an old book at the library. Nothing matters, and that's a good thing as it sets you free. (- Naval Ravikant)

As he stood there above everyone, the wind playing with his hair and a serene expression on his face, it felt like freedom. He was untouchable and unbound would he take a step forward, he was sure he would fly and be able to reach the clouds.

It was exhilarating.

He knew what would happen when he saw the fearful look of his cousin as he saw him there, heard how Dudley called for the teachers, but he could not help himself to prevent himself from enjoying every moment he stood beyond the reach of everyone else. His magic had sparked beneath his skin as a result of the emotions he'd felt. His was a gift, and no coming punishment could convince him otherwise.

"Smack"

He hated his uncle hated this whole family, he could not even bring himself to call them his.

Even though his aunt did not hit him like his uncle, she was no better than her walrus of a husband, rather worse when he thought about how she was the sister of their mother.

Every time he looked into the eyes of his aunt, he could see her hatred for him. He knew what she was thinking, could glean in her memory the resemblance to his father. Each time her gaze would turn to his two years older cousin to compare him to her sister's son, and when she finally concluded that he, Lili's son was better than her own, he saw how she could not suppress her jealousy and immediately she would pull a grim face, her forehead would start to wrinkle, and she would turn up her nose as if she had smelled something rotten and would in a high-pitched voice begin to insult him with poisonous words.

"Smack"

He trembled as the next blow hit a sensitive spot, it hurt, but he had learned long ago how to distance himself from the pain and suppress his reactions to his tormentors.

He could not retaliate against the adults in his life, yet. He would abide till the right time, nevertheless was he not a forgiving person, and so Dudley was regarded as fair game for his frustrations. Dudley was fat for a child his age and not exceptionally smart, one could tell he had a lack of intellectual ability, and his actions were easy to predict. With effort, he was able to redirect his cousin's attention to more significant problems than to bully him. Dudley learned that to make him a target was to humiliate himself. Yet some days he still tried, to his consternation today was such day. A retaliation would follow he told himself. He was still too weak to go against his uncle and had not enough leverage to make him truly pay.

"Smack"

He was only seven years old but compared to children his age, he had a certain maturity due to his previous experiences the other children lacked. That led him to wish he could crucify his uncle.

At this time he was unable to fight back, but he will remember every single punishment, every single word against him, and one day he swore to himself, he would pay them back. Something in him urged him for vengeance would not rest still he could make them scream, and hurt them as he was hurt.

A sound made him attentive, and he fixed his gaze above the stairs only to catch the sight of the tear-stained Hazel eyes of his younger sister, who stared into his emerald green ones.

She was weak and naive, in his opinion, did not have his intelligence, and was therefore uninteresting to him most of the time when they interacted together. He had nothing in common with her except the blood that flew through her veins. Perhaps because he was so dismissive to her, she worshipped him so.

It was almost fanatical how much effort she put in to try to get his attention or interest. Like a duckling, she attempted to follow him when he wanted to go somewhere.

If she learned something new, he was the person his sister approached, she wanted to show him first, get his praise, and maybe even his admiration? he was not quite sure.

On the other hand, he loathed the way she called his Aunt Petunia Mama.

Contrary to him, had she no memories of their parents and was considered family in this household. She hadn't suffered. With her blood-red hair, was she a dead-ringer of their dead mother when she was her age accordingly to Petunia. As a daughter, their aunt could never have was she consequential Petunias pride and joy.

Where she is pampered together with Dudley, any whim indulged, he was no better than the plague, no better than an ant under a boot.

He was hit by a fist at the temple of his head a split second, bevor he realized that his uncle had stopped beating him.

He fell to the ground hard, almost threw up from nausea that was suddenly afflicting him, and with a kick to his abdomen, he almost lost his consciousness.

"Boy, don't you dare ignore me!" His uncle spat at him as blood dripped from his head alongside his temple onto the floor.

Dazed, he couldn't react when another kick hit his ribs, though he was all too aware when he heard something break and reflexively spit out a mouthful of blood. His face took on a pale color, wondering if he would survive the night, and if so, how long he would live in this household before his uncle accidentally killed him.

A hand grabbed him forcefully by his neck, and he groaned in pain before he could suppress his reaction.

The cupboard under the stairs was by his uncle violently unbolted, and unceremoniously he was thrown onto the cot. His head slammed with force against the wall, and once more, it was difficult for him not to lose consciousness.

Slightly grimacing, he wiped the remaining blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. It was so dark that he could hardly see anything.

The condition of his body was, without a doubt, beyond delicate. Every attempt to take a deep breath caused excruciating pain in his body.

As the door of the cupboard securely latched, he heard his uncle grumbling to his aunt. "Why did we have to take him in?. He is unnatural! A freak, I tell you!" followed by a mumbled, "I hope the beating you gave him will stop his freakishness" from his aunt.

When he heard the TV getting louder and his uncle shouting "Pet, bring me another beer" to his aunt, he began to focus on his gift so that it could help him.

In the beginning, it was challenging to use his magic as he'd required. It took a lot of coaxing and begging for his magic to work. It was a stressful and cumbersome process, but these days he had done it so many times that he didn't need much concentration. A small pull was enough to feel the warm tickle under his skin.

With his still foggy mind from the blow to his head, it was exhausting to strain his magic this way, but he had school tomorrow and would need every healing his magic could give him. When it became easier to take breaths, and the pain began to abide, he made himself comfortable on the narrow cot. The night would not be peaceful. Chances were high, he would sleep unsatisfactorily, yet he would take as much rest as he could get.