Begging

Felix walked the familiar route home, his chest tightening with every step closer to the house. It wasn't a home—not really. The word suggested warmth, safety, or at least indifference. What waited for him behind that rotting front door was none of those things.

The cold rain had stopped, but Felix was still soaked, his thin clothes sticking to his skin. His hands were raw from scraping the concrete floor of the school hallway, picking up the shattered pieces of the chessboard. The knight piece he'd slipped into his pocket felt like lead, its edges sharp enough to sting his fingers.

The neighborhood was quiet, save for the distant barking of a dog and the faint buzz of flickering streetlights. His house sat at the end of the street, its broken windows patched with duct tape, the roof sagging like a defeated man's shoulders. Felix hesitated at the gate, his hand trembling on the rusted latch.

He braced himself and stepped inside.

The first thing that hit him was the stench—rotting food, alcohol, and something acrid that burned his nostrils. The house was dim, lit only by the flicker of a TV in the living room.

"Felix," came a low, slurred voice.

His mother.

She was sprawled on the couch, an empty bottle of pills tipped over on the coffee table beside her. Her hair hung in greasy clumps over her face, and her eyes were bloodshot, unfocused.

"You're late," she said, her words dragging, dripping with venom.

Felix said nothing. He walked past her, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Don't ignore me!" she snapped, sitting up too quickly. She winced, clutching her head, but her anger didn't falter. "You think you can just walk in here like—"

A loud *crash* interrupted her rant.

Felix froze.

The sound had come from the kitchen.

His stomach sank as he heard footsteps, heavy and deliberate, crossing the linoleum floor. His father appeared in the doorway, his frame towering, his shadow stretching into the living room.

"Where've you been?" his father growled, his voice like gravel.

Felix stepped back instinctively. "I—I was at school—"

"Don't lie to me!" His father slammed a hand against the wall, making the whole house shudder. "Sneaking around like some damn rat. Think you're better than me?"

Felix shook his head quickly, his words stuck in his throat.

"Answer me!" His father's voice rose, his hand already reaching for his belt.

"No! I—I'm not—" Felix stammered, stumbling back toward the stairs.

His father took a step forward, but his mother groaned from the couch. "For God's sake, leave the boy alone," she muttered, waving her hand dismissively.

For a moment, his father hesitated, his hand hovering over the buckle. Then, with a low growl, he turned back toward the kitchen. "You're lucky, boy," he muttered.

Felix bolted up the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest.

---

His room was no sanctuary either. The walls were bare, peeling, the small window covered with a cracked blind. The bed creaked as he sat down, his soaked clothes leaving dark patches on the worn mattress.

He pulled the knight piece from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers.

This was the only thing that mattered now. The chessboard may have been destroyed, but this… this piece had survived.

His grandfather's voice echoed faintly in his mind.

"Every game has a turning point, Felix. Even the ones you think you're losing. Remember that."

His chest tightened. He reached for the small drawer beside his bed, pulling out an old photo frame. It held a picture of the two of them, sitting side by side at the chess table. Felix couldn't have been more than eight, his grandfather's hand resting on his shoulder, both of them smiling.

A heavy knock rattled his door.

"Felix," came the voice of his sister.

His fingers curled around the photo frame. He didn't answer.

"I need your help with something," she continued, her tone syrupy sweet, laced with something darker.

Felix felt bile rise in his throat. He stood quickly, shoving the frame back into the drawer and locking it.

"I said I'm busy!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

The silence on the other side of the door was deafening. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he heard her footsteps retreating down the hall.

Felix slumped back onto the bed, his hands shaking. He stared at the knight piece in his palm, the sharp edges pressing into his skin.

He whispered, so quietly that no one but the empty room could hear: "Why can't I just disappear?