(Good day all. This is my first story ever on here. I'm not much of a writer, but this story has been in my mind for a bit. It does have base in truth, but otherwise, it is stylized. Feel free to comment!)
I lay there. On my hospital bed. The sound of nurses rushing around me. The beeping of hospital equipment. I gazed down to my chest. Bandages covered it, soaked in blood. A doctor came to me. He was nice. He took care of my wound, and sealed it up. His eyes met mine, and i slowly smiled as i lost consciousness. How did i get here? To this bed. Wound in my chest. The sound of a woman crying nearby. Let me fill you in on me. My name is Angel. You don't need to know my last name; at least not yet. I was born like many children before me, in a small town in New Jersey. My father had gone off to war when i was about a year old, and my mother had left him. You see, they had what i would call, a "volatile relationship". They were high school sweethearts. My mother, the doughy, nerdy, book worm type. She came from a family that had fled Dominican Republic, during the years of Dictatorship. She was the oldest of four. My uncle, John, was second oldest. Next was my aunt, Elizabeth. She and my uncle John would clash often. Last in line was my favorite uncle, Micah. Micah was born with a sort of autism and learning disability, but his love was the strongest. From young, i realized that mentally, i was miles ahead of him. As a third grader i had helped him with his homework. Advanced for me, but i tried my best. This gave us more of a brotherly relationship.
Anyway, my mother. Growing up, my grandmother was rude, hotheaded, and very militaristic. She herself had never served, but years of taking commands from her father and growing up with next to nothing, had hardened her. But i'm getting off topic. My father was a drinker, a party goer, and, at the time, a singer. He started small with some friends, singing Salsa at parties, until they started to get gigs. Either way, they met, and married as soon as they left highschool. You can imagine what happened nine months later. They had a turbulent marriage, and he was not a faithful man, a problem that still troubles him today. They split soon after. I spent a year in Dominican Republic with my mother, until she met my stepfather. They married, but yet again she found trouble. He was a troubled man, always on the verge of destruction, but barely making it through. A drinker, a drug user, and a womanizer. But my mother was determined to make it work. Can't say there weren't times she wanted to quit. Hell, i almost killed the guy with two kitchen knives when he raised his hand to her. By some miracle, they made it work. Years and years later, after them having another child, my stepfather found Christ. He was reborn. A new man. He dedicated his life to a higher purpose, cleaned up his life, fixed his marriage, and started fresh. He became a pastor, which to this day, he holds true to.
My mother raised me. Along with my grandmother (who had softened tremendously over the years and fixed the wrongs she had done), and my aunt. To this day, i credit them with making me who i am. If it weren't for their teachings, my eyes would have been clouded as most men are. I was taught respect, honor, value, and unconditional love. Not the kind of love kids give, but, as i like to say, a dog will. You know when you step outside for a few minutes, and your dog can't see you, and as soon as you step into the house, they pretty much throw a party at your arrival? Well, woof. That's what i was taught. It was debilitatiing, for i trusted easily and gave my heart to many. I remember my first crush. Her name, was Megan. Blond hair, full lips, legs to die for, and big blue eyes. I was in 5th grade. For valentines day, i got her a rose. And in the rose, were a pair of earrings(I cut many lawns for that). She smiled, looked at it, and gave it back. "Gross.", she said. I was heartbroken. I later re-purposed them and gave them to my mother. My next love, Judith. She was something else. We started talking to each other over our shared love of Lord of the Rings. It was puppy love. I was in 6th grade when we spoke. We started dating in 7th grade. She was in 8th. She was my first kiss. I remember it clearly. We sat under a tree, after school. I had picked her up so we could go to the park. I wanted to read the Two Towers to her. I remember holding the book to my face, and seeing a soft hand move the book down. "Don't like the book?", i said. She replied, "Of course i do, silly." I laughed. I looked down at the book, then up at her. " I wanted to thank you. For standing up against my ex.", she said, batting her eyes lashes at me. I chuckled nervously, rubbing my head, "A man who strikes another woman, should be put down. Only cowards use violence against those closest to them." She leaned in close, and pushed me onto my back. My heart was beating faster then i imagined. She put her hand on my chest, as she snuggled closer. Yeah, i was petrified. She knew it. She put a finger to my lips, "Relax. Close your eyes. My Strider." We had always called each other Arwen and Aragorn, the two lovers of Middle Earth. Her soft lips met mine. I was amongst the stars. They flew past me, and every second that passed felt like a lifetime on the Earth. I ran my fingers through her hair, and pullled her closer. This is what kissing was like? Who knew that such a simple act from the one you care about, could erase so much pain? So much hardship? And make the world melt into nothingness until there was only the two of you? A tear rolled down my cheek. This is what it's like to be in love. To love more then a friend, to melt away my shame and walls, to show my inner self naked to my love? Whoever said guys don't feel the way women do, is a liar. We feel, deep, maybe, deeper then women think. The only problem is, we are told, men and women alike, that we should act a certain way. Because it is expected of us. That day, i thought to myself, Fuck the world. Fuck what i'm supposed to be. Why not be what i want to be? Inside?
The happiness was not meant to last, for we broke up a year later. She was moving away, and we would not be able to see each other. She wrote me a letter, completely in Elvish from the Lord of the Rings. She knew i could read it. In it, she told me that my path was no longer hidden from me. That it is laid before my feet. Only, i have to have the courage to take the step, and fight the evils of this world. If we met again, farther down the line, we would consider it fate. I met her a few years later, and she confessed to me, that she had become a lesbian. Only to me did she say this, for i did not judge her. I touched her face, hugged her, and said, "The beauty that you possess should not be determined by sexual orientation. Thank you for being my first love, and for opening my eyes. Go find your happiness. I love you, and always will." Balling her eyes out, she hugged me, and said, "I knew my trust and love for you was not misplaced. Please take care of yourself, and know that i will always be here when you need me."
(Well guys, that's part one. I wanted to see what the reaction would be. This story has so much more to explore. I promise it's not completely boring! Let me know what you think in the comments. This is an original work, but i will be writing actual fan fiction! Remember everybody, be who you are! And if they hate you for it, who cares! You're a mile away!)