Felix's boy

Chapter sixteen

Jacks POV

"It's my father. I knew from a young age that I was.." I cough awkwardly, though I'm sure why I feel awkward. He's dating me, I don't think he cares that I'm bi. "...not straight. And, I don't think it was because I liked boys, I think it was because I liked... b-both. Anyway, without going into detail, he treated me p-poorly. H-He told me that I was a freak. T-that no one could love me, because they couldn't trust me to be loyal to them when I h-had so many other o-options." Mark takes my hand in a comforting way. "Um, so it got really bad last July. He just... things got worse. Felix announced that he was moving to Ohio, and I jumped on the opportunity. My aunt had already grown up here, so it was a stable living arrangement.

"When we got here, she reported everything my father had done to the police. T-they informed her that without proof, there was no way they could arrest him. They s-said they would investigate, b-but they wouldn't promise us anything. When they finally got back to us, they said... t-they said his house was empty, and had no traces of where he went. S-since then, I've gotten phone calls with no caller ID, a-and anonymous mail. There's nothing that can trace it back to him.

Every time I get something from him, or hear his voice I just... I panic."

With my free hand, I began braiding the top of my hair again. My lip quivers as I stare down at Marks hand, intertwined with mine.

"Jack, I--"

"Please, d-don't say anything."

Mark nods slowly. He takes my hand that I've weaved into my hair, looking at the tangle I've done. One handed braiding isn't easy.

"Nervous habit," I explain self consciously.

"It's cute." Mark takes a breath. "Can I say one thing on the topic?"

I sigh, nodding. "Go for it."

"There's nothing anyone can do? He's just... around?"

"I guess so."

...

I laid down, stretching my legs after a day of running. I'd joined the schools soccer team, and I was already sore and tired. Getting on that team was work, so I prayed it would be worth it.

I yawned, wanting to just fall asleep on this couch, but I knew I couldn't. Felix wanted me to call him about how soccer went. It was his mothers birthday, and even though he wanted me there, I didn't think it'd be fair to her if I crashed her birthday party. He insisted I called him when I got home.

I was about to hobble my way up the house stairs when I heard the back door slam.

"Seán!" I heard my fathers voice call from downstairs. I silently continued up the stairs, around to my room. I'd successfully snuck out of this house more than once when he came home at unexpected times, and I could do it once again.

I wasn't fast enough. He found me at the top of the stairs and ordered me to come back down.

I did as I was told, allowing myself the extra second of preparation by pretending to stumble.

"I was just at the school. Your guidance councillor told me I might want to read up on different sexualities so I could be ready to have a conversation with you. Would you like to elaborate on this?"

He knew. He was just teasing me, and how cruel it was. It was like he watched me steal something and then asked me where it went. No, it was worse than that. This is something I can't control. This is who I am.

I shook my head at him, totally in spite of myself. Sometimes, I think I'm so self loathing that I'm actually looking to get my ass kicked.

He shoved me to the ground, one swift motion. Unlike the fathers on dramatic television programs and eerily lovely novels, his moves were soft and slick, for he was always sober when he hit me. His judgment was never impaired. I never had anything to blame for why my own parent despised even the look of me, all I had was the profound realization that I was hated by someone who was supposed to love me.

I allowed my head to hit the ground, wishing I could wake up from a bad dream and be in Felix's room, him playing a television show on his old laptop while we slept, and it'd calm me down.

But no, I was laying on the floor, my head throbbing as I didn't bother to move for any of the swings and kicks that came toward me. It didn't matter anyway. If I put up a fight, he'd put up a bigger one.

I didn't cry either, though I felt an awful pain. I knew he hated it when I cried. It was something he used against me. He'd say, "I wanted a son, not whatever you are!"

The words hurt more than the hitting ever could. Every pain in my head, every scar on my back, they were there as a sign that I survived. However, hearing the words in my head...

Useless.

Freak.

Unlovable.

Hated.

They're a reminder that I'll be fighting this battle my whole life. You win some and you lose some, right? Wrong. If I lose, I give up. Giving up is completely letting go. Letting myself become who he says I am.

Useless.

Freak.

Unlovable.

Hated.

I'd hum those words in a soft tune as I fell asleep, or repeat them over and over again until they were just noises, not words. But still, when he clenched his fist and opened his mouth, my heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest.

Useless.

Freak.

Unlovable.

Hated.

Unlovable.

Freak.

Useless...

Seán.

Seán.

Seán.

It all sounded the same to me.

(I'M SORRY I'M SORRY!

Ignoring the murder of my readers that I just committed, I just realized we're over 200 reads! I was waiting for one hundred to become two hundred because I missed the one hundred mark and was going to say how grateful I am for this community to already be rising, but then two hundred came, and now it's two hundred and fifty?!?!

Really, this means so much! Thank you very very much, and I'll see you in the next one. Bye!

*waves*)