**I don't own any of the characters** **Not Beta-ed**
I remember those days, when I had to cower in fear and flinched at the mere movement of his hands near me. All I could remember from that age were the constant beatings, the vulgar words he would shout at me, and the hoarse sound of my pleading voice. I would beg and plead for him to stop, anything to stop the pain, anything but crying. I HAD to suck it up. I could whimper and shield myself as much as possible from him, but the moment I started crying was the moment he would make me regret it.
My days, of course, did not entirely consists of being beaten and yelled at. I went to school, I had friends, I attended church at my father's demands. It was like being like any other child, except I was the one that constantly had bandages covering his face. No one asked, and to be honest, maybe no one cared enough to ask. Why won't they help me? I prayed at church for someone to help me, the priest said that if we prayed to God, he would save us. Where was he? Why didn't he help me when my father whipped me with his belt? Was it because I wasn't worth saving to him?
He never came, but maybe, maybe his help came in another form. Instead of his aid, He gave me my two best friends instead. Gilbert was a rambunctious child, with his piercing red eyes against pale skin and snowy, ashen hair. He liked to run around the neighborhood terrorizing the girls with his makeshift, wooden sword, but when handed to him a little, baby brother, he was a gentle beast. I befriend Gilbert during a tussle on the playground. I was using up his favorite swing seat and he wanted me off. When I refused, he pushed me off, smug face and toothy smile.
"That wasn't nice!"
"Yah wouldn't get off when I asked, yah asked for it!"
And for some reason, I had the courage to push him back. A decision that led him to jump on me which led us to rolling on the ground, scratching and biting at each other. I mainly had to defend myself since Gilbert was a fighter I didn't stand a chance against. Not at that age. Finally, with all my strength, I threw him my strongest punch and it hit home on his face. He fell back, holding his face, silent. I thought he was going to get it then, but nothing happened. Except, he started laughing. Laughing! I couldn't believe what I was hearing, he was laughing after I just had hit him! The laugh was contagious, and soon I found myself laughing along with him.
When we were finished with our burst of laughter, he wiped his cheeks and extended a hand to me, "hey kid, whatcha name?"
"A-Antonio…"
"Antonio huh? Sounds funny, I'll call yah Toni instead! Yah can call me Gil, I like you Toni, wanna be friends?"
I was silent.
"So? Do yah wanna be friends?"
"Friends…" I repeated to myself, friends. "S-sure!"
I think that was the first time I had smiled so widely; I had made my first friend.
I met Francis through the sandbox when we were building little castles together with what we had. Gilbert was off trying to get Ludwig, his little brother, some ice cream from the ice cream man. The meeting with Francis wasn't as violent as the one with Gilbert, it was rather peaceful to say. We were building a castle for the King (me) and Queen (him), though I did most of the building since Francis didn't want to get his hands too dirty. Out of nowhere, in the midst of the building, he reached his hand out to me and touched my cheek. The one that had a large bandage covering it.
"Did your papa hit you here?"
The question stopped me in my tracks and I looked up at him. How did he know? Was it a smart guess or was it…
"How…did you know?" I asked slowly.
He rubbed gently at my cheek, careful to not hurt me there, "I heard papa and maman talking about you and how your papa treats you. They told me not to play with you 'cause you were a bad infru-influence, but…but you're like a hurt puppy, and a hurt puppy needs someone to take care of it or it dies. I can't let a puppy die, so, so I'm going to help you!"
"You're going to help me?"
With a determined look, he said something that was possibly God's second answer to my prayers,"Yes! I will become your friend!"
"Hey Toni! Who's the girl?"
"Excusez-moi I am not a girl!"
They were indeed a blessing to my life, a part of it that made the world just a bit brighter than it had been for me.
–-
Even with that, the beating didn't stop. The older and more rebellious I got, the more father hit, punched, kicked, and threatened me. It was like a hellish circle I had to repeat every day.
At school I had to wear long sleeves and turtle necks to cover the bruises and scabs that covered the surfaces of my skin. I sloppily grew my hair out to cover the spots on my face that could be clearly seen with short hair. But I guess that was a mistake too. Father didn't like my long hair, he thought I was being a "faggot", a "pussy", a "cocksucking whore". There were many times he had taken a pair of scissors and threatened to hack it short. I was scared, not because of his threat, but because of how close he would hold those scissors to my throat. As though he wanted to cut off something more valuable from me.
I had tried to run away several times, each of which were of little success. All I wanted was to escape from that monster, from that demon that haunts and confronts me in my dreams and my wake. But the consequences of being found and brought back to that house were enough to cripple my will to leave each time. When I had requested for child service's help, they didn't help me. They couldn't, because father wasn't an alcoholic, he had a clean record, and he lied. There seemed to be no reason why he would do those things to me. It would have made it better if he had a reason, a reason why he would put me through all the pain and suffering because maybe, maybe then there was a chance that deep inside, he loves and cares for me. But there wasn't any reason, none that I know of.
One night, when I had Gilbert and Francis over for the night and father was out on "business". We were joking around and Francis got on top of me when father had open the door. He cracked instantly, throwing verbal slurs at both of them and running to grab me by the collar. Screaming and shouting words phrases such as, "LIKE HELL I'LL HAVE YOU FAGGOTS AND MY FAGGOT SON FUCKING IN MY HOUSE. YOU ALL FUCKING LEAVE BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!" His words made me cringe, and I hated them. I hated how he used them against my friends, how he throws them out with no thoughts or consideration. He shooked me, roughly pushing me back to the couch. Gilbert lounged at him while Francis ran over to see if I was alright, but I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't let my friends get into something that was between me and that monster.
I rushed over the the wrestling bodies and yanked Gilbert from my father, placing myself between them when he was ready to hit Gilbert.
"Get out of the fucking way."
"No."
"Listen here you piece of shit, if you don't want to wake up with a broken leg you fucking get out of my damn way."
"No."
"Oh alright, you wanna get it? you wanna see what your stupid, filthy mouth got you into?"
"Leave him alone."
"What was that?"
" . Alone."
"What did y-"
"I've had enough of you! I will not stand by to see you hurt my friends like you've hurt me! All you've ever done to me was abuse me, you showed no compassion, you never showed me any love! I was your child, I was your baby, but you treated me like I was trash! Strangers have treated me better than you have. You, you're no father of mine, you're a MONSTER! A monster that haunts my life day in day out even when I BEGGED you to stop. You've turned from my father into my worst, walking nightmare!"
And then, and then something crossed his face, an emotion I had never seen before. It disappeared the instance it appeared. He lowered his hands and left. Just like that, no words, nothing, and left.
After that night, he never came back. That was the last night I had saw my father and the night my nightmare ended. Even if I was relieved, I wanted to know the reason behind why he left so easily. Was that all it really took to end it all or was there something else? I never got my answer to that, he never sent me anything, and maybe that was for the best.
I was taken in by my Aunt and her husband 4 months after my father abandoned me. They treated me well, and for once, I was truly happy. Of course they also made me go through therapy and get a full physical exam after learning what my father had done to me, but I was happy, I had fought my fear, the nightmare has ended. End.