"Dad! Stop!" I shriek. Yesterday I was at Disneyland with my boyfriend, now I'm getting beaten by my dad. He called my therapist and told her I didn't need her anymore, so I'm all alone.
He shoves me into a body sized mirror, making the glass shatter, piercing my back and legs. I scream out in pain, but he doesn't seem to care. No, this is what he wants. He wants me to hurt.
He grabs my bloody arm and throws me into our coat closet, locking me inside. I'm not exactly sure why it locks from the outside, but it does.
I search the walls for a light switch before remembering the light is also on the outside. I sigh, running my hands through my hair. I fall onto my knees and start sobbing.
There's glass in my body. My nose is bleeding. I'm crying. I'm such a mess.
What did I do to deserve this? I didn't mean to be gay, I didn't want to be.
I would reach for my laptop, if I hadn't left it in my room.
I could pick the lock. I search the ground for a bobby pin, or a key, but I can't find anything. I wipe the warm tears from my face, trying to think of any way to get myself out.
With no other choice, I ignore the pain searing throughout my body and bang my fists against the door, screaming for him to open it. If he opens it, I'll be surprised if he doesn't hit me more. But at this point, I don't care. I'm scared in here, I'm terrified.
I scream for ten minutes, hitting against the door until my knuckles start to bleed, and the sides of my hands bruise.
"Fuck you! I'm calling the fucking police!" I try to threaten him, but I'm sure he knows I've broken my phone. I hear his laughter from the other side of the door. He's disgusting. He makes me sick.
"What, and have camera men swarm around you for years? You'd be be made fun of! Everyone will know you're a fag, Dan. Do you want that?"
I stay silent for a minute, listening to his disgusting chuckles. I wipe my bloody hands on my jeans, feeling more tears fall from my eyes.
"It's not my fault I'm gay, okay?! I don't care anymore, get me out of here!"
"Oh, but it is your fault. Say it, Dan."
"No."
"Say it or I'm hitting you even more. 'I chose to be a fag.' Simple."
"I'm not fucking saying that. Let me out of here," I hit my fists against the door again.
"Where are you going to go?"
"Away."
"To your boyfriend's house?"
I feel my heart race. He can't know. He can't. "What, I don't have one."
"Yeah right. You never go outside, you live in your room! There can only be one reason you're doing that, I'm not stupid."
"Whatever. Let me out."
I hear the lock and the door knob turns. Light is let into the small room, but my father is blocking the exit.
I push past him, regretting it immediately. He slams me against another wall, and I try to fight back this time.
I punch him.
I punch his throat.
His grip loosens on my shoulders and he stumbles back, fighting for breath. I run into the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the counter. I look back at the wall, seeing blood smeared on it from my back.
He walks towards me, an evil look in his eyes.
"That was a big mistake, Dan. what are you going to do with that knife, stab me? You're own father?"
"I don't give a fuck," Although I don't have any intention of hurting him again, I point the knife towards him.
He grabs a frying pan, and slowly approaches me. He gets closer and closer, and I get scared and slice his arm.
His hand comes towards me and the pan hits my head. And everything goes black.
***
I look around, pain radiating all throughout my body. My head pounds, and I feel a huge bump I under my hair, along with blood. Everywhere.
I slowly get up, looking around to see I'm still in the kitchen. I look down to see a pool of blood around me. The knife is on the floor, by my hand.
I try to ignore the pounding in my head, and go up to my room. I go on Skype and send Phil a quick message before collapsing on my bed, feeling cold tears roll down my cheeks.
"Help me."
I want to sleep. I want to escape this pain I feel. That's all I feel right now. No hope, no happiness. Just pain. Pain in my brain, in my back, in my stupid black heart. I slowly tear off my jeans, feeling the glass in my legs. I roll onto my stomach, looking at the blood I've left on my sheets. I try to sleep for a long time, but I can't concentrate on sleep. Just pain.
I hear my door open, and a gasp.
Phil, I'm guessing.
"No no no no no," I look to see him walking to me. "What happened? No!" I hear him sobbing.
"Don't cry, please," I manage to say.
I feel his thin fingers take my shirt off, and his thin fingers take the glass from my body. I feels his thin fingers trace my body, feeling my sticky blood.
He leaves and returns with a wet rag, carefully cleaning me up. I don't move once, I just listen to his soothing voice.
"Don't cry, love, don't cry. I'm here, I love you. Shh, please..."
He wipes up my hair, too.
After he's finished, he places my body on some pillows, on my back. I open my eyes, looking into his beautiful blue green orbs.
He places his hands on my cheeks, kissing my forehead.
"Do you need anything?"
"Just lay with me, please."
He carefully lays next to me, wrapping his arms around my damaged body.
I focus on his soothing breaths, and forget about the migraine.
And somehow, I fall asleep.
