Note from author: The usual. If you aren't 18 or older, not permitted to read this in the area in which you live, or find gay based fiction offensive, please leave now. It's been almost a year since I tried writing something like this. This is on a level that I've never tried before and as such, please be patient with installments. Also, please e-mail comments and suggestions to: yarnwahssirc@yahoo.com. Enjoy!
"Craig.....oh God, are you alright? What the hell happened?", asked Mark, the closest thing I ever had to a best friend.
I stood at his doorstep, covered in bruises, a bulging black eye, and small cuts, some still dripping with blood even 2 hours later, and while I wasn't sure, probably a fractured rip too. I had two bags that had the basics and a few more things to get by or things that I refused to keep around for him to destroy. It was just past midnight on New Years.
I opened my mouth to speak but hours later I was still beyond words. Tears started falling as those images kept appearing. My mind knew what had happened but my heart still failed to register everything.
I finally took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry for bothering you, but could I stay over, just for tonight?".
"Yeah, sure man. Come on in", said Mark.
As I slowly made my way in, I noticed the expression on his face and instantly felt my conscience telling me that coming here might not have been such a good idea after all. His face contained a mixture of confusion, worry,....and a look of genuine care. Gah, that wasn't something I hadn't seen in so long. I fought to hold the tears back. If he could care, why the hell couldn't my dad? As he led me to a guest room in silence, I knew that in a few seconds, he'd bombard me with questions and I'd have to answer them. I'd have to re-live what he did to me. I'd have to drag Mark into a world he didn't deserve to see. As Mark led me into a plain cream colored room, I put my things down and braced myself for what I'd have to do. We both sat down on the green comforter of a relatively new looking bed and I released a long held sigh.
"Craig, you gotta fill me in. What happened to you?", Mark finally asked.
After a few moments I finally began to speak, trying to hide the pain that I knew was in my voice. "It's all my fault. I thought being gay was okay but it's not. Gah I'm just some screwed up faggot. I shouldn't have told him. I thought after Tye's wedding though, he wouldn't care. I mean, anyone who goes to a gay wedding isn't supposed to care. I was so sick of having to hide it from him. To have to change who I was every time I was around him. To have to feel like some sick little liar all the time. I guess telling him when he's at home drunk doesn't help".
"Who though", Mark interrupted gently.
"My...dad", I said, finally getting it out. "Gah, he was so angry when I told him. His eyes...oh my goodness they had so much anger in them I didn't know what to expect. I should have ran, but I'm just so damn stupid. Instead, I waited for my whole world to come crashing down, and it did, harder than I would have ever imagined. The first thing he did was punch me in my eye, hard. He didn't even say anything. He just kept punching. I finally tried to run, but he took a hold of me and threw me across the room. I landed on my stomach. I wanted to get the hell away from him, but I was too afraid. I remember hearing him unbuckle his pants and I thought he was going to hit me with his belt. Instead he came up behind me and......".
I couldn't keep going. It was too hard. Why did he have to do that? I looked down, not wanting to chance looking in Mark's eyes. I didn't like him seeing me like this. I tried to speak again but small moan escaped as Mark gently rubbed my back, still filled with pain after what he did next. After a few minutes, I was finally able to go on.
"He pulled down my pants and then flipped me over really hard on my back. I felt like it was breaking. He put his mouth up to my face and said,"You stupid faggot. I want to see your ugly ass face when I give you what you damn queers are always wanting". I could still smell the whiskey on his breath. It was the most putrid thing I'd ever smelt. That was after I had noticed for the first time he had his pants down to his ankles. I knew what he was about to do and tried backing away, but he held me in place. I started screaming for help. He walked a few inches to the coffee table and came back with a pocket knife. He got back in the position he was in and held it to my throat. He told me if I screamed again, he'd slit my throat. So I just shut up. I kept quiet as I watched him slowly invade my body. God, it hurt so much. I tried telling him to stop and he just laughed. He didn't stop, he wouldn't stop. Every time he came back in, he'd punch me somewhere. I finally passed out", I said as the images filled my head again.
Mark just sat there with a blank expression. I knew it had been a mistake coming. My crying became so uncontrollable that I started to shake.
"I'm s..s..sorry. I shouldn't have c...c...c...come", I said, sobbing as I stood up and began to walk away. Mark stood up and pulled me into a hug.
As I cried into his shoulder, I quietly said, "What did I do that made him hate me so much?".
After what seemed like an eternity but really only about five minutes of silence, Mark finally broke the hug and I realized that he'd been crying too.
"You'd better get cleaned up; you look like hell", said Mark with a small smile as he quickly wiped away his tears. "Bathroom's down the hall to your left".
"Thanks....for everything", I said as I pulled out the only set of cloths I had enough time to get before he noticed. I planned to throw what I had on away when I got the chance. It was just another constant reminder of the night's events.
As I walked into a soft green colored bathroom, I caught sight of myself for the first time that night in a small mirror above the sink. My left eye was practically swollen shut and my right eye was bloodshot from all the crying I'd done that night. My bottom lip was swollen and my left cheek bruised from where he had slammed my head against the floor. My usually fair complection shone a soft blood red. As I took off my cloths, a small whimper escaped. I was covered in purple and black bruises from my chest to my thighs. I glanced at my back through the mirror and saw it had a few cuts. As I reached down to turn on the water, I noticed my arm had been cut and was still bleeding slightly.
After adjusting the water slightly, I let the cascade of warm water wash the dry blood away. It hurt a little as it gently caressed my aching body. After a few minutes, I noticed blood was coming from where he had penetrated and I felt my eyes for the fifth time fill up with tears that night. I felt myself shake as I realized how worthless I was. I had to have done something for him to hate me so much. I must have deserved it somehow. God wouldn't allow something like that to happen if I hadn't done something, anything at all to deserve it.
After about ten minutes, I finally stepped out of the bathroom, still feeling dirty. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much soap I used, I couldn't wash away the stench or pain he left on me. I couldn't wash away how worthless and stupid I felt. When I got to the guest room, I noticed Mark had left me some pajama bottoms and a t-shirt to sleep in instead of what I had on now. After changing, I laid my head on the pillow and was finally able to escape a world I wasn't even sure of anymore.