Chapter 1: It's Not Easy
I live in a small town in America, let's call it Blank Town, I wouldn't want to give the town a bad name with this story, so I'd rather keep the name unknown. Blank isn't a very exciting town, we have an elementary school, middle school and high school, even a community college. Mostly everyone knew everyone here, the only bar in the Town, The Roadhouse, is owned by my dad and his late best friend's wife, Ellen. My brother, Gabe and I work there along with Ellen's daughter, Jo.
Blank is known for being incredibly homophobic though. The people here would much rather shun you and throw you out of town than even consider the fact that it's okay to be gay. I blame Obama. The people here are also very superstitious, like, throw you in the asylum if you have an imaginary friend because that means you are bewitched.
Anyway, I myself am gay, and only one person in this whole entire town knows, besides me of course, that person being Anna Milton, my best friend and oh-so trusty confident.
That's enough background info though, let's get on with the story.
I dropped my school bag on my desk and landed face first on my pillow with a groan that embodied just exactly how tired I was from the walk home. It wasn't long before I was fast asleep, interrupted only by the sound of the front door opening and my father clanging around in the fridge.
"Hey dad" I groaned, kicking my shoes off, which, for some reason I hadn't done when I had initially face planted my pillow.
My father's reply was somewhat incoherent, probably just a slurred "Hey, Cas" and something about not being able to find the beer.
One thing about my dad: he might own the Roadhouse, but that doesn't mean he won't spend about 90% of his time staying at home getting drunk and throwing things at me and my mother. Yeah, that happens.
I generally tried to avoid any contact with my father, it's not very ideal having a half full beer can flying at your back, or any other part of your body.
I winced as I heard a can crash against the wall of the hallway.
"Clean that up!" my father commanded, as I heard another beer being opened.
I couldn't say no. It was always worse if I said no. So I simply filled a bucket with warm water and started scrubbing at the carpet and wall. I assumed that whatever team my father was rooting for in whatever sport that was on the television at the time had done something stupid. I shook my head, my back turned to the lounge, from which my father was watching television and loudly complaining.
Suddenly a pain shot through my already bruised back as another half empty can flew down the hallway and just so happened to hit me. My dad's aim was better when he was drunk, which was always. I stifled my scream, I couldn't scream, that would only make it worse.
As I sat in the bathroom, trying to look at my back in the mirror what hung over the basin, I heard the front door open again and the clack clack of my mother's high heels on the tiled floor. It wasn't long before a shouting match erupted from the general direction of the kitchen.
I sighed and pulled my shirt over my head. The large purple bruises would have to wait for now. I looked on my watch, 5:30, thank god, my shift at the Roadhouse starts in 30 minutes. I grabbed my motorcycle's keys and bolted for the door, trying to avoid the vicinity of the kitchen.
"Hey Gabe" I said, walking into the kitchen of the Roadhouse.
"Hey kido" said Gab, cleaning some glasses.
I walked through the door, tying the folded apron around my waist and sticking an order book and pen in the pocket.
"Hey, Ellen, hey, Jo" I said, waving at them from across the rather empty bar. Usually people only started coming in around 8.
"Hey, Cas!" Said Jo, practically running towards me and tackle-hugging me. I tried not to yelp when my back hit the counter behind me, but it was useless and before I knew it Ellen and Jo were lifting my shirt trying to inspect the seemingly permanent bruises on my back.
"Your daddy been getting rough at home again, Cas?" Ellen asked, walking over to the ice maker and folding a rag around a few pieces of ice. Jo placed her cold hand on my back where the can had hit my back earlier. Her cold touch made me sigh with relief.
"Cas, you know that if you ever need to get away, you're always welcome at our home." Jo said, dabbing at my back with the ice filled rag. I gasped at the touch, it was both relieving and painful at the same time.
"It's okay guys, really, I'm okay." I said, trying to pull my shirt back down before someone walked into the bar.
"Don't give me that. You're daddy's abusing you and you aren't doing anything about it. It kills me to see you like this Cas." Said Ellen, her hands on her hips.
"What is there for me to do? Run away? He'd find my in a heartbeat and it'd only get worse. I'm fine, really. Stop worrying about me, Ellen." By now my voice was raised, I had yanked my shirt out of Jo's hands and was pressing my back against the counter so I could get as far away from their pity as I could.
Who were they to pity me? Yeah, I have it rough, yeah, every time we had to swim for P.E I had to make up some crappy excuse so I didn't have to take my shirt off and show everyone my bruises, but I never asked for pity. I never asked for sympathy. It's not my fault Jo made me slam into the counter. I didn't need anyone's pity. Whenever Gabe tried to talk to me about our father I would walk away because I don't need to be felt sorry for. Gabe got out, moved out as soon as he finished school. He didn't have to worry anymore. This was my burden and mine alone, and here Ellen and Jo stood, with good intentions and kind hearts, but that's not what I wanted, that's not what I asked for.
"Cas. Kitchen. Now." Gabe's voice, calm and collected, drifted through the empty bar.
I pushed my way past Jo, who was still holding the rag in her hand, and pushed the kitchen door open.
"What the hell was that? Cas, you told me that it wasn't that bad anymore. You told me that dad was getting better." Gabe said, leaning against one of the counter tops, trying to take deep breaths.
"Gabe, don't worry about it. I said it was nothing." I said, trying my best not to shout the words at him.
"Nothing?" he practically laughed "you call that nothing?" Gabe pointed at me, probably referring to my back.
"Gabe, just leave it alone. You got out. Your bruises have healed. Stop worrying about me and get on with your life!" my voice had raised several octaves.
"Cas I-" Gabe started to say.
"No. Dammit Gabe, no. I'm not moving in with you. I'm not leaving. What do you think will happen to mom? If I leave, she's the only one who he can throw shit at. So no, I'm not leaving. So leave it the hell alone." I stormed out of the kitchen, grabbing my coat and bag.
"I'm sorry Ellen, I'm taking the night off." I said, walking as fast as I could to the door before she could protest.