I'm Not Trapped I'm Just Not Going Anywhere
"It's your fault Jaspers likethat!" My mum screamed from the downstairs dining room.
"You know it's not my fucking fault he's a fag, stop trying to shift the blame onto me. Boys only get the fucking disease when they hang around women all the time, YOU are always so obsessed with him its making him go down the wrong path!" My father shouted back. I think he was drinking alcohol.
"I was never once obsessed with that faggot!" she screamed, probably drinking alcohol too. "You are the one who's always taking him to the garage to show him bloody football photo's over and over again."
I heard a clatter as, presumably, a chair hit the floor. I could clearly imagine it, my father standing up with such force that the chair hit the floor, his face contorted with rage, but my mum continued.
"I don't even see how you can keep gazing at those photo's twenty four-seven, what is it you actually do in there huh?!!" her voice was high pitched and hoarse, not too surprising if you've been yelling for half an hour.
Then there was a loud bam as my mum hit the floor. My dad probably punched her. Big deal.
My mum had the sharp tongue and my dad the muscle. They were like,theevil couple. Except they always ended up using it on each other, or me.
I wondered to myself if being gay really was a disease.If so I don't know how I caught it, I don't know anyone else gay apart from me and my ex-boyfriend. And I had known I was gay before I met him.
I only really got together with him because it was bad enough being a faggot, but a lonely gay faggot, no way. Even so, he just didn't do the job for me, I mean, apart from the occasional kisses and goodnight messages, I just didn't feel right with him.
Of course I hadn't come out of the closet on purpose to my mum and dad, it was more like the doors where ripped open and torn of.
Dad had pick me up on my birthday because he so often forgot that he decided to give me a ride home from school to make up for it. Unluckily enough, he hadn't actually told me his plans and he went into school searching for me. I was in the locker room with my ex-boyfriend (of course he wasn't my ex then) snogging a bit and you can guess what happened.That was the day the violence began, 2 months ago. I almost laughed how lucky I am on my birthdays.
My mum and dad had clearly disliked me even before they found out I was gay though. I was not great at keeping my grades up, that annoyed mum, and I didn't like football, which annoyed dad. But no matter how many times he took me to the garage to show me his old football photos and talk over his victories.
I was simply NOT INTERESTED
Why can't my parents just accept me for the boy I am and treat me like the son I am?
So far as I know (and yes, that's very far lol), I had done nothing wrong, preference comes naturally and you MAY quote me on that.
I guess I'll probably end up falling for myself in the end.
Only I love myself for who I am. I didn't care I didn't care about how good or bad I looked. I understood everything there is to understand about me. I never left me alone and it was only I who whispered silent words of encouragement to myself as I fell asleep.
Things get worse, then get better, then get worse again, then get better again. It's a sort of gamble on which one you land on.
I could hear my dad downstairs, I think he was properly drunk now, my mum probably was too, I think she threw a plate at him after he punched her.Well, never mind, I sighed. They deserve everything they got coming to them and trust me... that's ALOT!
I closed my eyes and imagined, imagined that dad had never quit being a journalist for that stupid desk job, imagined that mum had never lost her job as a judge, imagined I was never a fag.
Sweet, sweet imagination, how happy we might have been.
Then I woke up back to reality, and looked around my dull, half empty room.
There was a cheap black, Ikea, wooden desk with two draws underneath it and a laptop on top, placed directly in front of the window. My bed was in the corner with three bookshelves surrounding it and purpaly blue covers to match with the window curtains. I loved to read, it was one of the only escapes from reality, in my case, the rotten life as a fag. My walls were an empty dark blue, no pictures of friends or family hung from the room. I had no friends or family. Well I suppose I do have a family and I do have a family photo.
When I was younger, about 8 years old and dad was still a journalist instead of that stupid desk job. I was standing in front of the green monster roller coaster with my mum crouching down beside me. Dad was in the picture too of course, but he was trying to get in the photo whilst holding the camera and his face was too close to it. I always laughed as I saw my 8 year old face with a lopsided smile and chocolate ice cream covering my mouth like a beard.
I put the picture back in the draw and waited.
"Get the fuck down here Jasper, we eat dinner together whether you're a disgusting faggot or not!"
There it was, then I would ignore her and she would walk into my room to find me "asleep" and walk out again grumbling.
Much to my surprise and horror, it was my father who came barging in. "You heard her!" I hadn't had time to even move towards the bed so he knew I wasn't asleep.
He was completely busted, this couldn't be good.
"I... I'm tired I think I'll j j just go to sleep now d... d..." I was just about to dad but I don't think he would like it if I did.
"D... D WHAT HUH! YOU AINT GOT THE GUTS TO SAY ANYTHING HAVE YOU!" he spat, taking his cigarette from his mouth.
I thought about my real dad, my eyes stinging with the memories, I wanted to cry. But never cry in front of this lunatic was rule number one. Rule number two was don't associate yourself with him if you can help it.
"Dad." I said, my voice a half whisper.
"I'M NOT YOUR DAD!" he screamed, he yanked me by the collar. This time I couldn't hold back the tears. "DONT YOU FUCKING CRY TO ME" He ripped my shirt off my back , his nailed scratched my back with such vigour that I could feel blood running down the side of my back. He slammed my head on the table and pressed the burning cigarette against my back, gently so as he could press a few more times. I screamed and writhed. I needed to get away. The cigarette was so hot it almost felt cold. I had been burnt by stinging nettles before, I'm not sure you have but try to imagine one stinging nettle with the fury of a thousand, because that was how it felt.
He stomped out of the room, his loud footsteps never seeming to die away.
I gasped for air, my nose was bleeding and... I know this sounds stupid since I get beat up allot but I get queasy when I see blood. So either it was the queasiness or lack of blood but I fainted.
"Goodnight to you too dad" I muttered, just before the black spots opened up into black holes and swallowed me entirely.
Sorry to start off with such a violent first chapter but I figured I had better get it over and done with.
Hope you liked it - Blackgoth