Forged Bonds (BxB)

CHAPTER 6

In school we're taught questioning is a good thing.

The greatest philosophers came up with mind blowing thoughts just by asking a simple question. But what no one tells you is that there are certain things that you're allowed to question, and certain things you aren't. Most of them fit in the last category.

The patterns of society was one of those things. It was ironic, really. We studied about people who stood up against what society had to say. Martin Luther King, for instance. The guy was a genius. But if you try to be anything close to him, you're out of the game.

But I think what people despise the most is when you question yourself. How could you not be sure of who you are? How could you want to try something new? How could you want to try being yourself? And finally, but not least, how dare you be something else but what we want you to be?

I would never fall for what those teachers had to say again. If my father taught me anything, was how the world was out there. It has no sympathy for you. Try to be empathetic and the world will kick you right away. Radesh has this habit of saying that when a sentence rhymes, it means it's true. No wonder empathetic rhymes with pathetic.

"John, it's time for your cousins' birthday" My father abruptly opened my bedroom's door.

I closed my laptop in a heartbeat.

"I thought you weren't home yet" I said, feeling out of air.

"What are you doing?" He looked down at the laptop in my lap.

"Nothing, I'll be down there in a second" Please, leave, please, leave.

"Give me that laptop" He extended his arm.

"No, it's nothing-"

"Give me that damn laptop"

He yanked the device from me. I didn't know if my heart had stopped or if it was beating the fastest it had ever been. Either way, I felt like someone had poured poison directly into it.

"You're a faggot?" He let out a short laugh and looked at me.

"No-"

"Yes, you fucking are" He threw the laptop on the floor, making a few pieces fly out of it.

"Dad, I'm not-"

"Don't call me dad" He pulled off a disgusted expression "I've never liked you calling me that way. And if you're not, what were you doing then?" He screamed the last sentence.

"I was- I was just- It was-" I couldn't finish my sentence as I was being thrown on the floor, hitting my head on the nightstand in the process, and my mother's portrait falling next to me and breaking it in a thousand pieces of glass.

I remembered a few punches were thrown against my face. I remembered I was kicked in the stomach a bunch of times. And I had a slight memory of my father telling me that I should use those pieces of glass to cut myself and die already. But maybe his voice had mixed with my own thoughts when I was starting to lose consciousness.

I woke up when I heard his voice again. I was in a white room with a strange device connected to my middle finger, a beeping sound close to me. But what really stood out was my father's voice. Calmer this time. Telling a doctor I had gotten home that way, that I had probably been involved in another bar fight. Creating another believable excuse that I'd agree with.

My eyes opened abruptly, as if I had been kicked out of my dream. I grabbed my phone on the nightstand and realized it was 3AM. Sighing, I stood up and followed my father's suggestion from years ago.