The Blood That Bore Him

Atreus Theoros knew he was a monster. He had been running from it since 20 years old. When the accident happened, he left his hometown that same night, and never looked back. He couldn’t bear to process what he’d done, but ever since that day, he knew that he wasn’t normal. He was a sick imitation of a satyr with something rotting in his brain, something that made him do terrible things. Of course, no one would know this by looking at him. Atreus looked fairly average compared to other satyrs. He had short, curly hair that he’d dyed black since leaving (he used to be a brunette–but he feared being recognized in public), striking blue eyes, and a silver septum ring that he’d gotten just a few months back. His face made him look old, not from wrinkles or puberty’s natural process, but from his hard stare and ghost-like look in his expression–one that made you think “damn, he’s been through something.” His journey across the globe had aged him at least 30 years, though he was only 23. Three years away from home and he’d seen more in his life than he ever could have imagined, for better or for worse.

Atreus travelled alone, and he never made friends. People had tried to bond with him, some even tried to join him on his journey, but he never gave in. Despite the suffocating loneliness that he knew would lead to his inevitable death, he couldn’t risk another connection. After all, what would they do when they found out who he really was? What he’d done? What he was capable of? They’d surely leave him, which would hurt more than never having anyone at all. However, Atreus was a very polite traveler. He tipped well, made conversation, and helped people when he could. Still, he refused to maintain a solid connection to any one person or creature. He knew better than to get attached, that’s why he was always moving from place to place.

Atreus sat at the bar and checked his watch. He was waiting for someone.

“What can I get you?” The bartender inquired.

Atreus scanned the room again for a moment before answering. “Budlight, please.”

“You got it.” The bartender replied, reaching for her bottles of beer.

She grabbed a bottle opener and popped the lid off of the beer before handing it to him, not bothering to check his ID. Atreus wasn’t surprised, he knew his journey made him look older. Not to mention, bartenders could often tell; anyone old enough to fend for themselves travelling across the world was old enough for a beer.

“Atreus!” A voice behind him boomed. He turned around to see his dealer, a big smile on his face. “So lovely to see you!”

“You’re late Babiker,” Atreus replied plainly, “I’ve been waiting almost an hour.”

“Right, right,” Babiker said, inhaling sharply through his teeth in a wince, “sorry about that. I got a little caught up at Gunther’s place. You know how he is. He says ‘let’s have one’, then it’s two, then three, then you lose track of time and well–I’m just glad to see you, my friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Atreus clarifies, “and I’m expecting a discount for tardiness.”

“Woah, woah woah,” Babiker says, mock-offended, “not friends? C'mon now, Habibi, we have been seeing each other for months now, no?”

“Which is why I ought to get going soon,” Atreus states, “I’ve been here too long, and I just need some supply for the road. That’s why we’re here today–not to hang out or shoot the shit. Just give me my stuff, I’ll give you your money, and we’ll be done.”

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Babiker shakes his head, “that is not how I do business, Habibi. You know that. Let’s relax, have a drink, tell me about your life! You have been travelling quite some time now, my friend. You can afford to settle down for one more day.”

“Don’t call me friend,” Atreus rolls his eyes, “unless there’s a ‘friends and family’ discount. Then I’ll be your fugly uncle for all I care.”

Babiker belly-laughs, loudly, causing heads to turn. Atreus looks around, embarrassed, as eyes meet his.

“Can you keep it down?” He whisper-shouts at the dealer.

“You are funny guy–you know that?” Babiker grins. “Hey, bartender, can I get a whiskey sour? Uh–oh his tab please.”

Atreus rolls his eyes as Babiker looks at him sheepishly, too ashamed to admit he doesn’t have the money for the drink right now.

“So, what brings you to Madinat al-Ghurba?” Babiker asks, slowly sipping his drink as he stares at Atreus.

“Babiker we’ve been through this before,” Atreus sighs, “I’m just a traveler, okay? I don’t have a home, I don’t have a family, and I’m not looking for either.”

“Ah, yes,” Babiker nods, “you know, you are perfect for this city. Madinat al-Ghurba, city of exile. Nobody here has a home, or family, we make our own. You could too, you know?”

“Thanks,” Atreus acknowledges, “but no thanks. I’m happy alone.”

“Whatever you say my friend,” Babiker shrugs, “but nobody is happy alone.”

The dealer finishes his drink and sighs happily before turning to the satyr once again.

“Ok,” He starts, “how much you want? I give you a pity discount because you are a sad man with no friends. Take $10 off.”

“As much as you’ll sell me.” Atreus says quietly.

“Oh, wow,” Babiker laughs, “I didn’t expect that. Ok, well, with what I have now, that would total you about $500.”

“Jeez, Babiker,” Atreus winced at the sound of the price, “your pity discount can’t be a little bigger?”

“Gotta make a living!” He replied.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Atreus sighed and counted his money before handing it to Babiker, who provided him with an envelope. Atreus took a peak inside and nodded, satisfied, before closing it again.

“So, is this goodbye then?” Babiker asked, a slight sadness in his voice.

“For now,” Atreus shrugged, “until I make my way back here someday. But who knows how long that’ll be.”

“Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you, my friend.” Babiker smiled sincerely and opened his arms for a hug.

Atreus cringed. “Thanks, you too.” He got off the chair and walked away, leaving Babiker’s arms empty and his soul moderately crushed by the rejection.

The satyr wasn’t sure where he was going next. His map showed another city nearby about 100 miles away. He knew he was fast enough that he could get there by tomorrow afternoon if he left right now. On the other hand, he could spend the night here and leave in the morning. He gauged how tired he was, and came to the conclusion that he’d rather spend the night. He looked around and saw a local inn where he could sleep, and trotted over. He surveyed the area, making sure that those entering weren’t too prestigious. After a careful look at the on-goers, he determined that it was safe to go inside.

Atreus trotted in and headed up to the front desk.

“Room for one please,” He asked, “one night only.”

“No problem.” The employee responded. “You’ll be in room 219.”

“Thank you!” Atreus nodded, and headed over towards his room.

When he opened the door, he was met with a small room, complete with a made-up bed, a nightstand, a TV, and a bathroom straight to his left when he walked in. He felt satisfied, and laid his stuff on the nightstand. When he sat down to relax, he immediately fell asleep, tired from the day’s events. In his slumber, he dreamed of his youth in his hometown; chasing butterflies through the fields, rough-housing with his best friends, and learning to play the flute. Then, his memories quickly turned sour; coming out to his conservative family, breaking his arm, and the reactions he got when he cut his own hair. Then, he saw her–the woman who haunted him more than anyone else. The woman who stole his youth and whimsy from him at a ripe age, the woman who made him believe he wasn’t worth more than the dirt on his shoes, the woman who he could never escape: his mother.

Atreus grew up in a broken home with an abusive mother and a neglectful father. Throughout his childhood, he was constantly told that he wasn’t enough. From a young age, Atreus developed a pathological need to prove himself, under any means necessary. Gaining his parents’ love became a conquest that defined his very existence; if he was not their son then he was nothing. Despite this, there was a certain kind of positivity that cemented itself in his mind; he believed that people are inherently good, and if he tried hard enough, then he knew he would become worthy of the love he so desperately craved. There was a sickness in his soul, but if he ignored it long enough, he was sure he could flush it out and grow into something more.

Atreus’ mother, Nathara, was a merchant with high expectations and a stuck-up attitude. The name Nathara means snake, and it suited her perfectly. She was an expert at manipulating her customers, her neighbors, and even her husband. Her constant degradation and abuse sunk into Atreus like fangs, pumping the venom of doubt and insecurity into him. Atreus' father, Petran, was a farmer. He would often spend his days in the fields, preferring to be with his plants rather than his family. When he was home, he paid little attention to his son, and even less so to his wife. In fact, when Atreus first transitioned (from female to male), it took Petran a full two years before remembering to call him by his proper name. Though he never seemed to have an issue with Atreus' trans identity, he never seemed exceptionally supportive either. The apathy was like a knife to the heart, and Atreus would have preferred he’d been against it (at least that would have shown that he cared enough to have an opinion). When the accident happened, Petran realized that he didn’t know a thing about his son beyond his name, which took him two years to learn in the first place (and Atreus realized his father cared about no one but himself).

In his dreams, his mother stood in front of him with a disapproving look. He was 17 again, and he had gotten second-place in a musical competition in the community. She was disappointed.

“Runner up, again,” She spat, “I don’t know why I bother with your silly little instruments. Any other mother would have given up on you by now.”

“I’m sorry, mom,” He replied, “I did my best.”

“Your best would be the best!” She snapped.

Then, the dream transitioned to the night he left home. His mother had gotten violent with him, so angry that she’d begun shoving him. She yelled at him angrily. He lashed out at her, telling her how atrocious she was. He recalled every moment she had ever let him down, ever made him feel less-than, and twisted the narrative for her own benefit. He collapsed to the floor, sobbing, begging his mother to stop this, to be better, to love him. He wanted to fix it all. He wanted to be a family. He wanted to be her son. He reached out his hand to her, breath shaky and eyes wet. She wrapped her hands around his tender fingers, and he dared to allow hope to enter his heart. Then she broke his wrist in one swift motion.

“You will never be the son I want you to,” Nathara hissed, “and nothing can ever change that. Nor will anything ever change me. You may have a mother and father, but you were born alone, and you will die alone.”

Atreus cried out in pain, whether emotional or physical he didn’t know.

“I see the terror in your eyes, but you are not afraid of me, and you are not afraid of your injury,” She continued, “you’re afraid of yourself. You're afraid that I'm right about you.”

“You’re afraid that if I can’t love you–” She brought her face close to his, fingers forcing his chin up so she could stare into his eyes, “–then no one can.”

Hot tears streamed down the boy’s face, a million thoughts running through his head. He felt so many emotions surging through him at once, like his mind was channel-surfing, unable to land on something to feel. She got more aggressive, slowly beginning to choke him physically as she pushed him into a wall.

Nathara looked her son dead in the eyes, laying the final blow: “And no one ever will.”

Something inside Atreus snapped, the tv paused, and there was nothing but red, hot, anger running through his veins. He didn't notice that his hands had found their way around her neck, he didn’t notice how hard he was squeezing.

“You’re wrong,” He said through gritted teeth, “everyone fucking loves me. Everyone but you." Nathara was gasping, hands barely gripping his own neck now, but Atreus didn’t notice.

“What kind of mother are you? It was your job to take care of me, your job to love me.”

Her eyes began to flutter.

“So just remember,” He seethed, “anything I do, is, and always will be, your fault.”

He threw her to the ground, but there was no gasp for air, no snide comment. She didn’t move. It was too late. Atreus waited for her to make a move, to tell him how sorry she was, how wrong she’d been. Nothing happened. He continued to wait, 30 minutes passing. He found himself on his knees, praying for her to scream at him, to tell him how ridiculous he is, how childish his behavior was, even how worthless and embarrassing he could be. He didn't care what it was, he just needed to hear her speak. He needed to know that it was not what it looks like, that he didn’t do what he thought he did. How could he even be capable of something like that? He couldn’t, right? Something else must have happened, something he couldn’t remember. One moment he was screaming at his mother, the next she laid motionless on the floor. Maybe someone knocked him out and attacked her? Maybe someone controlled his mind? Regardless, it didn’t look good for him. He didn’t know what to do. So he did nothing. He sat there, frozen and expressionless, and then he woke up.

Atreus arose in cold sweat, panting and shaking as his cheeks were wet with tears. He put his head in his hands, the guilt from his past swallowing him whole.

People often tell you that the only way to get the poison out of a snake bite is to suck it out, but this is only a misconception. You cannot suck a snake’s poison out of human flesh, and like a snake bite, Atreus could not suck the poison out of his mother, and no one could suck the poison out of him. He knew that she would live with him forever, one way or another. Her blood was on his hands and in his body. No matter how far he ran, he knew he could never outrun that fact, just as much as he knew he could never go home. He was a monster, and he knew it to be true more than anyone else. He could never forgive himself for the atrocities he’d committed. But like a blood trail, it followed him everywhere he went. He could feel it dripping behind him with every step, never daring to check the color of his hands or the status of his strength. He didn’t know how to live with himself.

He slowly stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. A coward stared back at him. He couldn’t even face the consequences of his own actions, instead, he ran, and continues to run. Tears streamed down his face and he let out loud, heavy, sobs, the kind that make your whole body shake until it hurts your throat and you’re choking on your own saliva. Then, he turned on the shower, and stepped inside, still fully dressed. He felt the cold water run over his face and he cried more, until he couldn’t tell if the water in his eyes was from tears or not. He hugged himself tightly, wishing that there was someone to hold him–wishing it was his mom.

But she was gone.

She was never coming back.

And it was his fault.

There is never a justification for taking another life. One could argue that Atreus was acting in self-defense, as his mother had her own hands around him, trying to choke out her own son. Still, as much as he cries or showers, he will never be able to rinse himself clean; blood is thicker than water, after all.

Family is a complicated word. For some, it is simple, but for most, it is a fine line between the people who know you best and the people who don’t know you at all. Through family, you see the best and the worst of people, as they share parts of themselves that they would never reveal to anyone else.

A monster can be defined as a large, frightening, imaginary creature. Despite this, I think we all know a monster in our lives. Sometimes it is the woman who gave birth to you, and sometimes it is the person in the mirror. Every monster stems from a greater evil that rests inside all of us, always prying to come out. The only remedy known to man is a four-letter word with more power than any monster I have ever known: love.

To love and be loved is to turn even the darkest parts of ourselves into light.

May love guide you into a brighter tomorrow.