My Father and His Secret (BoyxBoy)

Present

   It was story after story of families being torn apart, literally, by beasts. Beasts! That was what these were. No other word for them!

Oh, it breaks my heart. This book could not have possibly been written of the same being that my father is!

I feel the hysteria building in me, aching me.

I beg now with my whole heart that Fredric hurry home to me, to comfort me.

But that bitch! He would pressure me to tell him everything on my mind, and further he would push me until he had me convinced to kill my father!

Calm down, Wisteria, I was telling myself now. This isn't like you.

But the longer I sit alone, eyes out the window and to the towers of the chapel against the grey sky, the fuller and more potent in my mind sits the idea that my father truly needs to die.

But only if these beasts were ones so like my father! And how could that possibly be true? He was neglectful of me, but solely because he had to be! The sun would roast the poor dark creature, he wanted me to at least have the notion I wasn't alone!

And he assured that I had dinner most nights, never was it more than a week I didn't eat sat beside him! But thinking of it now, I don't know if I could go back. Go back to hardly eating, now having breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day, next to someone with me whenever I need ...

And red hot does the image of those women burn in my head, how glutenous of him to take two lives when he merely needed one!

But it was still better than them! This conflict in my head pains me, to think for a second I'd be so selfish to compare lives taken to a greater number of such, valuing the former as meaning less, I would've thought this never.

"Father, father," I rock myself back and fourth, moaning, "why, why?"

The truth is, I know what the correct thing to do is. I have for a while. My problem is that now I have to honestly make the decision of taking action on this belief or not.

I only wish that I had never craved to see what went on at night, when all else was sleeping but him. I wish I was simply a better son.

Because now, as I am admitting finally that he will die and it will be at my hand, as I am reading the pages on exactly how to bring this what he deserves to him and swiftly, his last impression of me will be the same he always had.

   An arrogant little boy with nothing but hate in his lonely heart.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Fredric returns a little after noon, and I tell him I read it. I don't tell him I'd made my decision, that I feel would be as hard to tell him as confessing my father was a beast.

"You did?"

I nod, nothing else.

"So," he sits beside me, looking forward towards the wall. "What do you think?"

"I could hunt with you," I say, taking his hand. "We could bring the peace we never had."

He smiles. "Good," A kiss. "Well, I bought the old lady what she wanted," he shifts towards me and crosses a leg over the other. "I really want to get out of here now."

I nod, fine with whatever he so wishes to do. "Where to?"

"Perhaps ..." he thinks for a moment. "More towards the countryside."

I had never expected him to not like the city, or at least to not want to live here. "Alright."

"That's fine with you?"