Is there even a point anymore? As much as I try, as much as I hope, as much as I pray.

Nothing will change.

Why do people keep telling me to hold it in?

To act as if nothing happened and to move on like it was all just a bad dream?

How can they expect me to move on?

Then again I'm always the one having to hold it in.

I've always been the one told to keep it together so others don't go questioning my family.

I've always been told that I can't say anything.

That I can't escape this nightmare I've been living in for my whole life!

Even now. Even now that I'm a grown ass man living with my lover.

I still can't scream.

I still can't shout out all the pain I've been through. I can't tell anyone the things I've seen.

And it's all because of I'm a coward...

Because I can't even think about speaking about the things that happened in that house. The things they've forced me to do because I was the oldest. Because I was the one to protect my brother from the faith given to me. Because I was the one to always take the beating so he wouldn't have to. So I could be...abused...broken..shattered and battered. Until the point were I couldn't even recognize myself.

Five hospital trips and a psychological therapist could still not heal my damaged mind and soul.

Though you can't see them.

Though you can't notice them.

I still have them.

I still have the battle scars that I've gained over the years in that home.

And no one knows. Only my lover. Not even my brother knows.

And that's how it should be.

He shouldn't ever find out about the things I've seen and been through.

No.

He's the pure one.

He's the sweet little Vargas who doesn't have a care in the world.

He's the pasta loving Italian who's in love with a potato freak and is to oblivious to notice the obvious.

He's sweet little Veneziano Vargas who loves everyone and cares about everyone.

I am just Romano Lovino Vargas.

The oldest who holds everything because he loves his brother and doesn't want him to realize that their parents abused him so badly behind the scenes that his own grandfather had to take him away before child services came.

But it's useless now...

I can't sleep anymore without crying.

Toni asks me what's wrong but I never tell him.

I just sigh and tell him to leave it alone.

I can't stand it anymore.

I can't keep living a lie.

I can't keep pretending like this never happened.

Like my father and mother never fucking molested me and hit me.

I can't do this anymore!

I can't fucking lie anymore...

So with this I give you my last farewell.

I'm sorry Toni that I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry that we didn't get married like we planned.

I'm sorry Feli. I'm sorry I never told you about our parents.

I'm sorry to my friends that I never told you guys...

I'm sorry...

~Romano Lovino Vargas.

August 5th, 2013, 3:20 P.M.

"L-Lovi...why..." Antonio whispered as he held the letter and cried out in pain along with Feliciano. Both had walked to Antonio's shared home with his fiancee Lovino when they found the older Italian brother with both his wrists slit open in the bathroom floor. But that was weeks ago. Now they were at the funeral home along with their close friends and family, mourning Lovino's death. They hadn't received this note until now by one of Lovino's lawyers. Once Antonio read it he gave it to the younger Italian who kept crying into his husbands shoulder. No one could have believed that the easily angered Italian was abused by his parents. They couldn't even tell and that made them feel worse. Especially Antonio. He thought he knew everything about his lovely tomato but he was wrong because he never knew something like this happened to him. Oh how he wished he could have gone back in time and make Lovino tell him what was wrong. To support him and help him get over this hurdle in life.

But no.

He was too late.

And he was regretting it.