Playground

When Rock entered the room, the remnants of celebration stung him. He wasn’t confronted by just a single champagne bottle—Geraldine and Fuchs were on their third and their glasses had just been refilled.

He figured it must’ve been sweet to take a few moments and drink nice booze. To pause and recognize their many years of hard work coming to a head. Things had gone off almost without a hitch. Rock’s poisoned mind instructed his heart to ache; he just yearned to be part of something, even if it was something evil.

But after years of obedience, there was still no thanks. Decades of hard labor and following Fuchs’ complex instructions meant nothing. Kidnapping men and using their slave labor to help erect their sinister playground didn’t deserve praise. No matter how hard he worked maintaining the grounds, a peep was never said. Regardless of how many destroyed corpses of used-up men and test children he disposed of, Rock would always be taken for granted.

The presence of the German and Geraldine caused him to cringe. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists at the sight of them. Rock’s ears grew red hot and the discomfort under his skin bubbled.

The rotten memories of insignificance and unflinching abuse were gnawing on Rock’s limbic system.

They didn’t understand him.

They’d never understand him.

He’d always be shit to them.

The joyous chatter between Geraldine and Fuchs died down. It was as if the lady of The Borden Estate could sense a presence in the room. As she sluggishly craned her head backward, her suspicions were validated.

Geraldine’s cold, drunken gaze cooled Rock’s steaming fury. He’d seen those bloodshot, perverted eyes too many times to count. Flashes of unpleasantness bled into his brain. The many repulsive chores she demanded of him molested his mind. Rock’s hammy fist slowly un-balled and his jaw slacked as he attempted to speak.

“The monitor in the—”

“What the fuck are you doing here?! How many times have I told you not to leave them alone?! There was one rule for you to follow, one rule and—ugh, I should’ve known it was too much!” she screamed.

With her tantrum in full swing, the filled glass of champagne Geraldine had just lifted off the counter went flying toward Rock’s face.

When it slammed against his jaw of steel, the glass burst into fragments. The sharp remnants sinking into his flesh shouldn’t have stunned him, but it did. The cuts weren’t deep, but the trauma was and the shards were mighty enough to draw blood. Several slices of various dimensions resulted in a drizzly expulsion of blood from Rock’s overly-defined cheekbone.

He lifted his big mitt and wiped the blood and bubbly off his face. Rock had grown physically immune to the abuse, but emotionally, it was another story. He didn’t know what to do next, so he did nothing.

An uncomfortable silence surfaced as Geraldine, and Fuchs gawked at him. The look of irritation shriveling Geraldine’s expression was wince-inducing.

“Well?! Why are you here?!” she barked.

“The monitors in the spy room went black. You may wanna fix it if you want them to see what happens,” Rock replied.

The big man watched as Fuchs turned back around and quietly sipped at his champagne. Just as the Nazi bastard had always done, Fuchs had no issues watching the violence unfold without protest.

“That’s because we’re shifting to the second playground, you buffoon! If you’d just listened the first time you’d understand. I told you we would come to you if we saw a lack of reaction in the parents! If you could just learn to listen, then your face wouldn’t have to look the way it does.”

Rock raised his hand up to his cheek and wiped away the new blood. Some of the tiny glass particles remained in his skin. As his calloused fingers pulled them downward, they scratched at his cheek again. Save for the branding of his chest, most of his other scars had been subtle. Similar to Donnie, they seemed to manifest in places that most strangers weren’t privy to.

He took pride in not selling the attack; he didn’t want Geraldine to get the satisfaction of hurting him. The outbursts occurred frequently enough that he’d conditioned himself. He was like one giant ball of pins and needles. Tough as nails and numb as Novocain.

Whenever the darkest feelings came to Rock, Geraldine knew how to counteract them. But this time felt different from the others.

For the first time, she saw the inner rage lingering on his face. Such berating usually erased all emotion in the massive man. The emotional positioning Rock presented puzzled Geraldine.

The detestation Rock typically subdued caressed his brain. He enjoyed thinking about Geraldine and Fuchs. He was enjoying it so much that the blood creeping down his face had stained much of the yellow enamel that formed his unhinged grin.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?! What do you have to smile about?! Another failure?!” Geraldine yelled.

She picked up the champagne bottle at her side and took a swig directly from it.

“Just happy is all,” Rock lied.

“Well, go fucking be happy in the spy room, you feeble-minded waste!”

Rock tipped his flat cap at the old hag, not allowing his wide grin to waiver. The irony taste of blood that entered his mouth would act as his champagne.

For now…

In the back of his mind, Rock wondered if he might ever have a celebration of his own someday. The possibility didn’t seem out of the question, but first, he would have to find something worth celebrating.