Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers apply - i.e. The story may describe sexual relationships, sometimes explicit, between two consenting male adults. If this offends you, you are not interested in such material, or if you are not of legal age to access such material you are advised to direct your web browser to another page. The story and characters are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. I welcome feedback, both positive or negative and comments or suggestions can be directed to me at dkenned777@yahoo.com. This is the first of several planned chapters. I hope/plan to add more chapters as time permits.
A red haze. That's where I was drifting. God, I never wanted this to end because I knew what was waiting for me when it was over. Pain. Pain with no hope of release except...well, I still wasn't ready to think about that. Yet. I could feel the pain rising like the tide. My haze quickly thickening into a suffocating fog.
"Aaron. Aaron Lorings", I whispered to myself. It had become a ritual to me. I wondered how much damage the asshole had done to me this time.
"You better not be laying there fucking crying like a bitch, boy!" Though the pain seared through me, I got up quickly. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to start round 2 if I didn't get up fast.
"Sorry, Dad.", I said in as neutral a voice as I could manage. I still tensed up when I saw him stop drinking his beer and flinched slightly when his gaze turned on me, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Fuck, How'd I get such a pussy for a son?", he spat out hatefully to the universe it seemed. When no answer was forth coming, he went back to nursing his beer. I began slowly limping towards my room when I heard him mumble, "Least he ain't a fag." I nearly stopped when I heard that. How many times before had I heard him say that? I had lost count but for the first time I wanted to turn and tell him so bad! I was gay. I always had been and always would be, at least till he killed me for it. Which would be about 30 seconds after I said it. Luckily, my slight stop had gone unnoticed and I continued down the cramped hallway to my room.
Shutting my door, I slowly peeled off my shirt and stared into my mirror. Large, red splotches across my chest and ribs were already beginning to darken with the promise of several days of suffering. Reaching to the back of my head, I felt the angry knot swelling up in size. It was that hit that put me into the haze so that I had barely felt the rest of the beating.
"How can he hate me so much?", I mouthed to myself silently. Looking in the mirror, I already knew the answer. My dark blonde hair was shaggy and hanging into my eyes which were an intense dark brown. "Smoldering", was the word I had heard several of the girls at school whispering about them. Looking over my body, I was content...besides the bruises at least. My chest was pretty big for my size, as were my arms and shoulders. It gave my body that distinctive V shape that many people liked. The rest of me was trim and toned with little body hair to speak of. Still, I was no model, but I really was content. I let my eyes wander up to my face and took in my high cheek bones, dimples and full lips. I cringed as I saw the faint scar running down my right cheek. It was barely noticeable, hair thin and not ugly, but still it brought up painful memories. No, I thought as I continued to stare into the mirror, it wasn't me he hated so much. It was the woman I saw closely resembled. Every time he looked at me he saw her, my mother. The woman he loved so very much, that he had given up everything for. The woman that had so coldly and cruelly left him as a single father of two boys, all alone.
I remember before that my father being a kind man, always with a smile on his face. But after she left us that all changed. I was 8 when she left us and though I was upset, I wasn't really sad about it. She never really seemed like she cared about us, always seeming annoyed when we needed her. I learned early on to do it myself or go without. While Dad was always doting on her, my older brother was always looking out for me. Elliott was the best, no one could ever have asked for a better big brother than him. He always did his best to take care of me and I always saw the love in his eyes when he looked at me.
Elliott or El, was built like me but bigger all the way around. I had stopped growing at around 6', but he was 6'3'' easy and my 190lb looked small compared to his 235. Besides that though, everyone could tell at a glance we were brothers. I was just the smaller version. I always wished I had eyes like his though. I swear his eyes could see into a person's soul. Always a piercing blue, they varied in shade based on his mood. Darkening whenever he became upset or angry, and becoming bright when he was happy. His eyes were always sky blue when he looked at me. I hadn't felt that gaze for a long time though.
Right before I turned 12, I came home to find most of El's possessions tossed out to the curb for trash. I ran inside to find his room absolutely destroyed. Hearing noises down the hall, I followed to see my father exiting my room, a beer bottle in one hand and an white envelope in the other. Looking at the envelope, I saw my name printed clearly on it in a handwriting I'd know anywhere. The letter was for me from my brother. If I would have looked at my father's face, I never would have done it but I was fixated on my letter.
"Can I have my letter, Dad?", I asked as I reached out to take my letter. Without a sound, he snatched the letter back and snapped out his other hand, holding the bottle, at my head. The beer bottle shattered as it impacted against the side of my face and a deep, burning pain lanced across my right cheek. I felt the blood begin flowing down from the injury and ran into my room to grab a dirty shirt form the ground to staunch the wound. Keeping the shirt pressed up against my face, I emerged from my room just in time to see my name in El's handwriting blacken as the flames ate them. He walked over to our wood stove and used the letter to start the tender before thrusting it deeply into the ravenously growing fire.
My father closed the door of the oven and stated without any emotion, "He left because of you. He just couldn't stand you anymore." His words slammed into me with a million times the force of the bottle, tearing into my heart and soul. As if reading my mind, he finished his statement, "First your mother leaves because of you and now your brother. Too bad I can't leave you but 18 will come soon enough."
I ripped myself out of those memories, wiping away the tear that was running down my cheek and feeling the scar that my father's bottle had left. That had been the first time he had ever hit me, but it certainly hadn't been the last. Stepping away from the mirror, I lay down on my bed trying to find a few hours peace in sleep. As I began drifting off, I thought about sky blue eyes and how I had lost their love.
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I hope you guys liked this story. I hope to write at least a couple more chapters but please please please give me some feedback!!!! This is my first story and I'm sure I need the help