The Dawn I Didn't Desire

- a one-off fic about John Paul's past -

"You're a poof! Bloody bender!"

The shouts echoed in my mind. As soon as I stumbled into my room, I took off my t-shirt. It was stained with blood. Thank God, Michaela wasn't in our room. And that mum was out of the house for that matter. I let myself fall back on my bed and closed my eyes. It didn't help. The scene just kept on playing in my head.

'How did it happen?' I kept on asking myself.

As much as I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened. Finally I gave in to the tears and allowed them to flow from my eyes.

I must have fallen asleep.

I was still wearing my jeans – I could feel the denim strain my erection. I remembered the dream and the shame engulfed me again. Still, the urge remained and I gave in and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans and allowed my left hand to take control.

A few minutes later I was downstairs in the kitchen. I was just about to put my blood-stained t-shirt in the washing machine when my oldest sister barged in.

"What you up to, John Paul? You never do the laundry! Do you even know how to work the machine?" Jacqui joked.

I felt myself go white in the face and tried to hide the washing machine – like that would somehow fool her. Obviously it was in vain.

"Move! Let me see! Hiding the evidence, are you" She giggled, as she pushed me aside and bent down to fetch what was inside the tumbler.

"John Paul! What's this?" She asked in shock, her demeanour completely changed. "Is it your blood? What happened?"

"I just had a fight. Good a bloody nose. Big deal!" I tried to act nonchalant to end the interrogation and made to leave the kitchen.

It didn't work.

"John Paul! Answer me – or you'll have to deal with mum! Is this your blood? You don't look hurt." She kept on prodding.

I knew she wouldn't back down.

"No, it's not my blood. And yes, I'm not hurt." I sighed as I took one of the kitchen chairs and sat down.

"So what happened? You had a fight and somebody else has his blood all over your t-shirt! What did he say? Was it about any of us?"

"He didn't say anything! And I don't want to talk about it!" I rose to my feet and turned to leave the kitchen.

To my surprise my sister didn't try to stop me.

I should have known the peace would be short-lived.

I heard the phone ringing in the living-room. I reached out for my head-phones and put them on, blasting the music, wishing that the pain in my ears would even out the one in my gut.

My eyes closed. I didn't see or hear my bedroom door open and so I was startled when Jacqui pulled off my head-phones.

"You queer-bashed that lad?" she shouted, but didn't give me the chance to reply. "John Paul, how could you? He's got a broken nose and you're lucky his parents aren't gonna press charges. School's not gonna turn a blind eye, though. You've got detention every day for the rest of the month. Lucky, that it wasn't mum who answered the phone, ay?"

Jacqui had a long experience in pretending she was our mum, so it didn't surprise me that she managed to fool whoever rang.

"But John Paul, why did you do it? You don't hate homos, do you?" Her voice had calmed down, and it was almost tender.

"Because he's a filthy faggot," I shouted back, "Just a horrible bloody poof. And I hate'em!"

"Why would you? Do you know anyone?" Jacqui asked.

"Only him! And thank God for that!" I snarled back.

"How do you know he's gay?" She kept on, her tone of voice even.

"Everyone's saying! He only hangs out with the girls, wears those girly clothes and walks like a girl, and I heard he tried to kiss Adam."

"Even so, John Paul, so that's why you attacked him?" Jacqui seemed incredulous.

I didn't answer. Instead I turned in my bed to face the wall. But despite not having to look at my sister, I couldn't hide from the scene that kept playing in my mind.

I was sat on a bench near the small football pitch in the school yard, watching some older lads playing footy. One of them was a boy called David who I knew was in Carmel's class. He was tall, dark-haired and very good with the ball, so good that I couldn't take my eyes off him. His team was winning, mostly thanks to him, as he'd made two vital assists, and when he finally scored himself, I wanted to jump for joy and cheer. Instead, of course, I remained sat on the bench, and watched as his teammates jumped on him in celebration. I so felt that I wanted to join them, hug him, kiss him … 'Hold on! Where did that come from? Erase that thought – I do not want to kiss him!' That thought had the opposite effect, of course, and I started imagining exactly that, kissing him, holding him, him holding me, tearing off my …. 'No! Stop it! I'm not … I'm not…'

I forced myself to take my eyes off the football pitch and looked around the school yard, searching for some of the cute girls in my year. There were Georgia and Jane giggling, clearly talking about the lads playing footy, as they repeatedly looked in that direction while pretending to be focusing on something totally different. They'd do. 'Yes, I could definitely see myself kiss one of them!' I felt myself calm down a little.

It didn't last long, though. Suddenly they were not alone any more. That lad in our parallel class had joined them. Phillip, I thought his name was. 'Yes, Phillip the fag, that's it!' I felt the anger return and before I knew it I was up on my feet and then my fist was in his face, again and again.

"You're a poof! Bloody bender," I heard the shouts around me, "Filthy fag!"

It wasn't before someone pulled me off him and the shouts stopped that I realised that it had been me shouting.

"John Paul, talk to me!" Jacqui had sat herself on my bed and soothingly stroked my upper arm. "What's wrong?"

I turned around, my eyes welling up.

"I think I might be gay, too!"